#He's already got a cracked design ugh (affectionate)

[sysig]

He¥ $@il0r (Patreon)

Bonus:

[downywrites]

If you’re still taking requests.. maybe a t*ckle fight between the members of the sbi? ~🐉

Bird says take this. Maybe good enough, maybe not.

Beta reading? What’s that? Lmao

After a long night out at the nearest village, Philza was, for lack of a better term, tired. Trading with the people was...difficult to say the least. They had been scornful of the way he looked, glancing at his wings scornfully as they spoke about trading. He didn’t fail to notice the way the children were corralled away from him. Whispers floated in the air, long after he had left. And he certainly felt his lengthy trip out. His bones ached with every weary step he took. Every fiber in his body screamed for flight, for the air to be under his wings.

But he could not. It was late in the server and people would mistake him for a phantom at this time of night. He knew better than to take a tumble like last time. But he still thought of the idea anyways, mind distantly attached to the outside world around him. The grass rustled underneath his feet, brush gently rubbing at his ankles. He shivered and suppressed a smile, shaking his head a little bit. The hardcore charm dangling from the top of his hat swung back and forth like a rope attached to a mooring at sea. He grumbled quietly about his predicament. “Why do I have to be so ticklish? Ugh. I really, really want to be home with the others.” He knew his family would call him an old man if they heard him complaining about this. They’d probably mock him for a little, then ask him whether or not they brought back anything for them. His family...his eyes unfocused even more, following the blocks he placed on autopilot.

“What I would give to be home with them right now…” He fluttered his wings excitedly. He sighed a little, snapping himself back into reality. “Now is not the time to doze off. It’s still night-time.” He trekked on, sandals scraping on rocks, sinking into snow, into sand. By the time he had reached the beaten path of their shared home, Philza was barely walking.

He slowly trundled towards his destination, hope flourishing in his chest. The sound of crickets in the nearby pond surrounded him. A singular frog hopped onto a lilypad, blinking and croaking curiously at the winged man. Phil paid no heed to it. It was always there. Out of all the creatures that Wilbur had raised, that one was the one that somehow never got bored of the family. Philza never paid any attention to it. It was Wilbur’s pet, after all.

Eyes glancing towards the door handle, he fumbled for the keys loudly. He cursed slightly at the loud jingling noise it made, hoping he didn’t wake up the lighter sleepers of the family. The door creaked open, blinding him for a moment. He squinted through the light, seeing two familiar shapes sitting at the dining table. A single head popped out of the side of the door, grinning widely. His blonde hair bounced happily. “Phil! Where have you been? It’s been soo loongg-'' Tommy sank to the floor dramatically.

Despite his tiredness, Philza cracked a smile at the youngest of the family. “Wonder where. Were you even listening when I told you?” “Nooo-” Another voice rang out, smooth and melodious. “Jeez, Tommy. This is why nobody loves you in the household.” The blonde pouted, getting up from the floor to go argue with him. The bird hybrid entered the house, sighing gratefully for the cool air within the house. Techno got up from his seat and took a large step in his direction, making him startle a little.

“Hey, mate. How are-” He walked right past him, pink hair flowing in the same direction of his movements. Phil turned around slightly, tilting his head as much as he could in puzzlement. “Why did you...oh.” Technoblade made a small joyful huff, closing the door gently behind the eldest. He looked back at Phil, tail wagging slightly behind him. “Ah. Nonverbal today, I see.” He nodded, floppy ears bobbing up and down. His smile made his eyes scrunch up with its intensity. He walked past him again, pulling out some raw foods and chopping them up quickly. His hands flew over the cutting board quickly, chopping onions and tomatoes with an efficiency that only a trained warrior could muster.

He placed them on the table with a little flourish, before filling a pot with water with the intent of boiling it. The sound of running water and the footsteps of his children made Phil coo happily. His eyes fluttered shut. Feathers fluffed out with contentment, catching a pair of crimson-tinted eyes. Techno purred roughly as he waited for the water to boil. ‘Phil had a long day, huh?’ Before he could control himself, he had gently led Phil to his favorite armchair, settling him down and pushing his wings into the designated holes. If anything, his coos and trills got even louder. He moved away, focus shifting back to the soup. The feeling of someone gripping his tufted tail made him pause.

“Stay with me for a moment, Tech. The pot won’t overboil for a few minutes.” The piglin complied, sitting himself down carefully by his feet. He played with his hoof-hands, ADHD energy begging to be let out somehow. The elder of the two frowned quietly at that. Stretching out a single wing, he angled it to brush ever so slightly against his back. “Preen me, please?” Crimson eyes widened in surprise. He nodded, hair flowing gracefully around his person. As the soft, comforting feeling of someone carding through his wings slowly enveloped his being, he sat back, trilling loudly. He let his eyes shut, sinking into the blissful abyss of rest. Wilbur and Tommy, however, were certainly not resting. The two brothers wrestled playfully, shouting insults at each other with the gusto of a lively duo at a bar. “You fucker, you son of a bitch, you-” “Shut up, Tommy! Old man might be trying to sleep, you dumbfuck.” “Oh, I’ll show you dumbfuck!” They rolled over each other, pushing each other to the ground as much as possible.

Eventually, they rolled close to the doorway of Tommy’s room. With a small push, Wilbur pushed Tommy up to the door, grinning triumphantly. “I won.” The younger of the two scoffed quietly, pushing back with all his strength. Wilbur didn’t budge, irritating smirk plastered on his face. He tucked in his leg to kick him, grinning a little when the musician made a small noise of pain. “Tommy!” “Yeah, Wilbur?” “You little- I’ll get you for that.” Tommy snarked back, smugness twinkling in his eyes. “Get me how, big Dubs?” Wilbur smirked again, but this time it looked a little more wicked. “Oh, Tommy...I think you know how..” He released the younger from the pin. Before he could react, he darted his hands over his sides, scribbling lightly through the thin shirt.

He shrieked in surprise, batting Wilbur’s hands away. “Wihill! What the fuck?” The elder made no inclination of hearing him, moving closer to him like a cat stalking a mouse through the bushes. Tommy backed up as much as he could, eye widening when he hit the door. “Wahahait, cahahan wehehe tahalk abhohout thihis?” “I haven’t even touched you yet, Toms~” His face turned a light shade of pink at the tease. He averted his eyes, trembling in anticipation. The second the boy broke eye contact with him, Wilbur pounced, pinning the boy to the wall and grabbing both of his wrists with one hand. He scribbled his fingers all over the boy’s ribs, making him burst into laughter. Tommy shook his head, already feeling weak from laughing.

“Nohohoho, plehehease! Ihihihi’m sohohohorry!” Wilbur’s fingers rubbed gently between the bones, making him buck slightly. “Sorry doesn’t cut it, Tommy. Who in their right mind decides to kick their brother when they’re pinned? Certainly not someone who wants to say sorry right when their punishment begins.” He poked and prodded his ribs, eliciting little screeches and squeaks from the boy underneath him. His fingers followed the curve of his ribs down to his sides, tracing shapes and scribbling on the sensitive flesh there. Tommy squealed quietly when he shifted to his hips, pinching and drilling at the bones. “Wihihihi- Wihihihil- AHA!”

After a few minutes of being wrecked, Tommy’s eyes welled up with happy tears, shaking his head in hopes that his brother would slow down. The musician slowed down the tickles, then stopped completely, making sure his brother was alright. He pulled away, giving him a little space. The blonde panted for breath, dazed and tickled silly. He gazed affectionately at his brother through half-lidded eyes, a dopey smile painted on his features. Wilbur smiled back at him, warmth blossoming in his heart at the sight. ‘Aww, look at him! He’s so cute!’ His mind cooed at the cute sight of his brother not trying to kill him for once. (And that’s as close as it gets to affection that Tommy would ever willingly give him, as far as he was concerned. That should have been a clue that perhaps the next thing he was going to do was a trap.)

After a minute or two, he snapped out of his daze, pausing to fluff up his hair, then smooth it back down a little bit. He beckoned Wilbur to come closer, arms open. Wilbur gasped in excitement. “Really?” Tommy looked to the side, blushing softly again. “Just come here.” Wilbur eagerly crawled towards him, flopping into the embrace. He tightened his arms around the other, ignoring his protests. He squeezed his eyes shut, basking in the situation and the feeling of Tommy’s arms encircling him. The feeling of someone scrabbling their fingers over his shoulderblades made him giggle. His eyes shot open in surprise. Struggling in Tommy’s grasp, he pushed gently at the younger.

“Yohohou jeheherk!”

Tommy giggled softly in his ear. “Payback, Wilby.”

He scratched softly all over his back, making the taller of the two melt into his arms. “Tohohoms…” “Shh, Wilbur. I want my revenge and you want affection. It’s a win-win.” The musician’s charming little giggles was just as musical as the songs he played in the living room every day. He shifted his hands to scratch gently at the back of his neck with one hand. He squeezed Wilbur’s hip with varying intensities, reveling in the changes of pitch in the other’s laughter.

“Ehehe, Tohohommy...ihihit tihihickles…” He scrunched up his shoulders, giggling louder when Tommy traced shapes into his neck and scratched at his collarbone teasingly. “That’s the whole point, big Dubs.” The sound of hooves and talons stepping on the creaking wooden stairs gave him pause. The sound of Philza’s wedding ring scraping softly on the stairway rails made his hair stand on end a little. ‘Did I wake him up? Oh shit..’ He held his breath as he saw the familiar shapes of the two warriors in the house step into view. “H-Hi?”

“Hello, mate. What was that ungodly noise, hm?” His trepidation reached its peak. Eyes widening to the size of dinner plates, he let go of Wilbur, stuttering apologies. “I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry… sorry, s-sorry, I didn’t m-mean to wake you..” Philza gently scooped up Tommy, holding him from his underarms. He gazed at him with a soft, unfocused gaze, trying to convey to the panicking boy his level of annoyance. When it was obvious the poor kid still thought he was in trouble, he smiled at him a little. “Oh, no, mate. It’s alright. You’re not in trouble.”

Tommy’s muscles relaxed a little, but didn’t fully lose all of their tension. He looked at him with slightly nervous intensity, looking away from him guiltily. A small little squeeze to his underarms and ribs made him squeak. Cheeks burning, he looked back at his father to see a cheeky grin grow on his face. The winged man placed him down on his feet, wings fluffing out playfully. “So, Tommy.” “Y-yeah?” “Run.” Minutes later, the sound of Tommy’s screeching laughter echoed through the house, dissipating in the warm, balmy winds outside. Sitting idly on the lilypad, frogchamp blinked, croaking softly outside the lantern-lit door.

[lovelyirony]

Rody x Tony = domestic crack (names are hard)

no worries about the names! I just hope you like this one. 

Tony doesn’t always like going to any hardware stores with Rhodey. Don’t get him wrong, he loves hardware stores. He likes finding new tools, seeing what improvements he can make, and getting gifts for his husband. 

But he doesn’t like going with Rhodey most of the time. 

Rhodey takes about two hours. Just looking. He likes to investigate each and every tool, think and discuss about what they should get for the garden, and look at everything as if he’s seeing it for the first time. 

“Come on, dear,” Tony says. “We definitely don’t have all day to look at...oh my god, are you looking at different types of nails?” 

“We might need some different ones soon!” he defends, dropping a couple back into their box. 

“We don’t.” 

“Didn’t we buy a new painting or something?” 

“We bought a new frame for the new painting because you were, and I quote, ‘tired of hanging paintings all the time’.” 

“I don’t think I phrased it like that,” Rhodey mutters. 

“You totally did!” Tony sing-songs. “Now come on, it’s nearly lunchtime and I was promised that we could get hot dogs.” 

“Fine, but not ice cream.” 

(Tony has a coupon. They get ice cream.) 

-

Christmas decorations are a similar idea, although after Tony retires officially from being both hero and businessman, he turns into a whole other monster. 

“I absolutely refuse to have our place look like anyone else’s,” Tony fumes. 

“We live in a mansion,” Rhodey says flatly. “That we designed. Together. It already doesn’t look like everyone else’s.” 

“I’m talking decorations,” Tony says, making a noise in his throat that usually means ‘I’ll bitch with Pepper about this later’. Rhodey just rolls his eyes. 

“So are you sure you want to build flying reindeer?” 

“It’ll be a super realistic hologram. Of course I want to do it!” 

“I think the light-up deer we bought last year will be fine, Tony. Besides, isn’t that more than five deer or something? That’s a lot to work on.” 

“I can make it work!” 

“No,” Rhodey says. 

“Fine. But you’re putting them up yourself.” 

“I’ll put them up by myself along with Vision, who will get my hot cocoa only.” 

“Fine, I’ll get up,” Tony grumbles. “But only for your magical cocoa. Ugh. The things I do for you.” 

Rhodey smiles, kissing his forehead as he gets up. 

“Thanks, honey.” 

-

“Oh my god we haven’t gone on a picnic in years,” Tony says fondly, laughing as Rhodey digs out a dusty picnic basket from the attic. 

“We should.” 

“Yeah, sure. Some time soon.” 

“What about now?” Rhodey asks, eyes twinkling. 

Tony looks at him, grinning. 

“Is that why you went to the store again? You knew we’d find this, didn’t you?” 

“...maybe. Come on, it’ll be fun! Just like our honeymoon.” 

“You mean when I had such a bad cold and you were going to deploy in three days, so we had to spend it on a rooftop of a shitty motel?” Tony jokes as Rhodey laughs hysterically. 

“It wasn’t that shitty.” 

“The honeymoon suite was closed because the ceiling was made of asbestos.” 

“Okay, okay,” Rhodey concedes. 

“But this time we won’t be on a rooftop of a bad motel, and we won’t have questionable products from the convenience store. It’ll be a real nice picnic. Blanket and everything.” 

Tony smiles. 

“I wouldn’t really care if we ate at a motel as long as I was with you.” 

“Aw, you’re so gross,” Rhodey teases. “Imagine being affectionate. Couldn’t be me.” 

Tony rolls his eyes. 

“I’ll get the fruit and drinks together, you get everything else. We’ll meet at the door.” 

-

Dum-E has been putting on very dramatic fashions recently. They’re thinking he saw Pride and Prejudice one too many times, and now wants his own Mr. Darcy. 

“You are too dramatic,” Rhodey says. “I don’t know why you and your father watch that movie so much.” 

“You’re just jealous of Mr. Darcy,” Tony sniffs. 

“I am not,” Rhodey says. “At least I kind of got my head out of my ass when it came to you.” 

“Your own sister had to point out that you had a crush on me,” Tony says flatly. 

“And? Better late than never!” 

Dum-E waves his arm erratically at them as if to say “you two aren’t the focus of the conversation!” 

“I think he wants a partner,” Tony says. 

“You have your brothers,” Rhodey says weakly. 

Dum-E just pushes his father’s arm in a frustrated matter. 

“Oh, don’t get that tone with him,” Tony chides. “We’ll see what we can do.” 

He sends a shrug to Rhodey, who shrugs back in solidarity. 

Dum-E reluctantly goes to his charging station while Tony and Rhodey fret. 

“I don’t really want to build another bot for romantic purposes,” Tony says. “I think he should meet people!” 

“You mean other robots?” Rhodey asks. 

“Exactly!” 

Rhodey thinks, before getting out his phone and opening the email account. 

“...aren’t you judging that robot competition in Boston in a week?” 

“Oh my god, I’ll just bring Dum-E with me! We can bring all of them with us! They’ll meet friends!” 

Rhodey says, already feeling a migraine coming on. 

“You’re gonna have to let them have control over the music.” 

“A little Chopin won’t hurt anybody.” 

“A little won’t, but Butterfingers like a lot of Chopin,” Rhodey says. “And U will want Led Zeppelin, and Dum-E wants...is he still in his pop music phase?” 

“He’s moved to alternative pop,” Tony sighs. 

Rhodey nods. 

“I’ll get the jet all fueled up and ready for the three of them. I’ll also get the road trip snacks.” 

“Is it really a road trip if we’re flying?” 

“Do you want to have three kids in a car to Boston?” 

“...fair point.” 

(Dum-E does meet a wonderful bot named Cass. She’s delightfully sassy, also has one arm, and enjoys chasing him around.) 

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Do No Harm Take No Shit Chapter 4: You, Me Some Mew-vies

Take two. He’d failed after school, but there was nothing stopping him from asking out Marinette that evening.

Adrien had planned it out – how he would introduce the topic, where they would go, how they would get there. He’d kept track of some of her favourite things and planned to incorporate them on the way. Only the best for Marinette – their first date had to be unforgettable.

He’d spent half an hour in front of the mirror, psyching himself up. He’d asked Marinette out before as Chat Noir – this was no different. So why did glancing at his phone send butterflies through his stomach?

Adrien shook his head and strode over to his bed, picking up his phone from the covers. Marinette’s contact was pink with a smily face after her name – that wasn’t quite right. It needed a heart, at least. Adrien quickly edited it to read ‘Love of my Life’ with three heart emojis after it. Keeping it cool, obviously.

Adrien clicked call.

He turned to face the darkening Paris skyline through his window as the phone rung once, twice, thrice. On the fifth ring there was a click, a rustle, and then Marinette’s clear voice rang through like a bell.

 “Adrien! Hi. I wasn’t expecting a call from you, is everything okay?”

 “Everything’s fine.” Adrien hurried to assure her. “It’s just, there was something I was going to ask you after school today that I forgot to do.”

 “Hmm?” Another shift, as if Marinette was currently sifting through fabrics at her work table? His lady was always working, never still, even with a broken arm and masses of homework to catch up on. God he loved her. “Sure.”

 “So.” Come on, Agreste.

 “So.” Marinette echoed.

 “There’s this movie coming out in a few days, and I was thinking… um, well, as well as that…” His plan was crumbling! “Okay basically I was wondering if you’d want to go on a date with me?”

 Marinette squeaked, and then there was clatter and a rustle. Adrien held his breath as the rustling continued. She grabbed the phone and put it up to her ear again. “A-A date?”

 ‘I made a mistake. This was too soon. Maybe she doesn’t like me anymore now she knows I’m Chat Noir. Maybe it was just a crush and she doesn’t want anything serious. Maybe-‘

 “I would love to!” Marinette blurted out. “I – yes, I’d love to go out with you, Adrien.”

His face burned. He turned away from a snickering Plagg, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart. “Really?”

“Of course.” Marinette giggled. The sound of it was like bells. Adrien’s smile stretched so wide that it hurt.

“Okay! Um, can I pick you up on Saturday? You don’t have anything on then, do you?”

“No, I’m free then.” Adrien could hear the grin in Marinette’s voice. “What time?”

“Is nine in the morning okay?”

“Definitely.”

“Great.” Adrien breathed. “So, it’s a date?”

“Yeah. It is.” More rustling. “Oh, Adrien? Can we… keep this a secret? Just for a bit. I mean, Alya’s always kinda gotten into my business – I love her, of course, but she can go a little overboard sometimes, and I want to figure this out with just us. Does that make sense?” She groaned at her own clumsy wording.

“Definitely!” Adrien blurted. “Yeah, we can keep it a secret for a bit.”

“Maybe just until next Monday? After our date.”

Hearing her say the word ‘date’ made Adrien’s heart sing. He nodded, before realizing she couldn’t see him. “That sounds like a good idea.” And he couldn’t help adding, “Though it’ll be hard not to sweep you off your feet during school, this cat will try his best.”

Marinette laughed. “He’d better! Alya already interrogated me about when you picked me up at the hospital.”

“Picked you up, huh? So you admit my pickup lines work?”

“Ugh, Adrien!” Marinette snorted.

He grinned and teased, “You know you love my jokes.”

“They’re so bad.”

“That why you love them, Bugaboo.”

“I hate that you’re right.” She groaned good-naturedly. On the other end of the line Adrien heard a faint call. “Oh, my parents want me down. Are you driving me into school tomorrow? You know, I’m the hero of Paris, I’m capable of walking.”

“Now what kind of prince would I be if I let my princess walk?”

“Pfft.” Marinette snorted. “Ugh, worst one yet. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay then! I’ll – I’ll see you tomorrow, Marinette.”

“Goodnight, Chaton.”

A click, and the call ended. Adrien pressed his forehead to his window to cool the burning in his face. He was going on a date. With Marinette Dupain-Cheng. He was the luckiest cat alive. Now all he had to do was make sure it went well. How could the plan fail when it was so well thought through?

   “Plagg! I didn’t think this through!”

“You’re telling me.” Plagg yawned from Adrien’s pillow, while Adrien paced rapidly from window to window, pausing every so often to glance at his watch and then pacing a little bit faster. Saturday morning, and he hadn’t thought about this yet? Where had the time gone?

“What am I supposed to wear? She’s a fashion designer, Plagg. I can’t look like an idiot in front of her.”

“It’s not like you wear a skintight leather cat suit most days.”

“That’s different and you know it!”

Plagg groaned. “You know your father’s a famous fashion designer, right? Why don’t you just go ask him?”

“He already gave permission for me to be out today, I don’t need to jinx that. And besides, that’s him! I want to choose what I wear today, and it has to be perfect.”

At Plagg’s insistent whining Adrien finally picked out an outfit – a salmon shirt under a light grey jacket, and dress pants. You couldn’t go too wrong with that, right? Right???

Somehow he made it into the limousine in one piece, flowers and all. Adrien hadn’t really had anyone to go to for advice, so he’d resorted to Google for answers and ended up on a page about flower meanings. Blue roses for love at first sight, red roses for passion, orange tulips for happiness, and pink carnations simply because they reminded him of her. It looked kind of messy and Plagg had laughed, but hopefully Marinette would like them?

The Gorilla pulled up to the Dupain-Cheng bakery at nine on the dot. Adrien hurriedly straightened his jacket and hurried out to knock on the door, bouquet in hand.

“Kid, chill out.” Plagg whispered from his pocket. Adrien vibrated with nerves. Ugh, he was taking this too far wasn’t he? The flowers were too much. He’d almost made up his mind to toss them away when there was a click and the door swung open.

Tom Dupain towered over him with a brilliant smile. Adrien stood caught in its beam. Well, now he knew where Marinette got her room-lighting grin from.

“Adrien! So nice to see you. Marinette’s just getting ready, she’ll be out in a minute. Are those flowers? Oh, Sabine, come and see what the Agreste boy got our Marinette!”

Adrien felt his face flush as Mrs. Cheng poked her head out and ‘awwww’ed.

“So, what time do you expect to be back?” Tom asked cheerfully.

“Er, we were going to have lunch, so three?”

Marinette appeared around her father with rolling eyes and a cute white blouse, with black patterns to match the signatures on her cast. Her pink skirt fluttered around her legs as she stepped out onto the street.

“Papa, I already told you when I’ll be back.”

“I was just checking!” The giant man defended. Marinette turned her gaze to Adrien and froze, freckled cheeks darkening in a blush. Adrien gulped and mustered all his Chat Noir suaveness (it may have actually been dorkiness but he didn’t care right now) to bow and hold out the bouquet with a cheeky smile.

“For Milady.”

Tom and Sabine cooed. Marinette hesitantly took the flowers. Electricity zinged through Adrien’s arm when their hands touched. Marinette coughed and squeaked out, “You look really good Adrien.”

“I was just about to say the same thing.”

The two teens may have stood there all day, blushing, if Tom hadn’t plucked the flowers from Marinette’s grasp with an, “I’ll put these in water.” The movement startled them out of their state and Marinette shyly lifted one arm. Adrien looped his elbow through it and led her to the limousine.

“So.” Marinette said as Adrien opened up the door. “Do I get to know what we’ll be doing today?”

“Not yet. It’s a surprise.” Adrien climbed in after her and nodded to the Gorilla in the mirror. His trusty bodyguard nodded back and pulled out onto the street with a rumble, the car quickly slotting into traffic. Marinette hummed and cracked open her purse to hear Tikki’s whisper.

“Plagg told me about it, Marinette. You’ll love it.”

“Plagg!” Adrien objected, scandalized. Plagg snickered from his pocket. “How could you?”

“Top ten anime betrayals.” Marinette giggled. Adrien fixed a glare at the lump in his jacket.

“Well, if the stinky sock in the room is just going to spoil it, I’ll tell you our first destination for today. We’re going to find Andre and get special ice cream.”

Marinette clapped excitedly, and the sight of her face was more than enough to make Adrien smile again. “Do you have the clue?”

“Ready and waiting.” Adrien presented his phone’s screen, which held the first clue that would eventually lead to the whereabouts of Paris’s renound ice-cream vender. Well, Adrien could have just checked social media for spoilers – but half the fun of it was figuring out the mystery! “And I came prepared.”

Marinette sent him a questioning look. Adrien grinned and pulled out the black jacket, hat and sunglasses he’d placed there earlier.

“It’s a disguise.” He explained, slipping on the sunglasses. “So we don’t get mobbed.” Adrien struck a pose. “How to I look?”

“Like a huge dork.” Marinette said affectionately.

“But I’m your dork.”

“Next time, please let me choose your disguise. I love you, Adrien, but you are terrible at disguises.”

She loves me. Adrien flushed to the tips of his ears. Marinette didn’t seem to have realized what she said, because she was still laughing and poking out her tongue adorably. Adrien put on his best Chat Noir smirk.

“Oh, so there’ll be a next time?”

“Of course there will be, you dumb cat! Now, let’s see that clue.” Marinette leaned over to look at his phone screen. Adrien held it away from her teasingly.

“Well, if you’re gonna be like that, maybe I don’t want to share.”

Marinette’s hand went up, and too late did Adrien realise she wasn’t reaching for the phone. Her hand landed in his hair and scratched teasingly right behind his ear – a dirty move, she knew that was his weak spot! Adrien couldn’t stop the purr from escaping his chest. He leaned into the contact, rumbling. Marinette cackled and snatched the phone from his distracted hands.

“Hey! No fair!”

Adrien pouted, until she leaned over to place her head on his shoulder. She was too cute to not forgive! Adrien caved and read the clue with her. He hummed in thought.

“The park, maybe?”

“Maybe. Or near a shopping centre? It’s kind of ambiguous.”

“Then I guess we’ll just have to go exploring.”

[fifielady]

Bourbon Choco and a Jealous Not-Boyfriend

Rating: T

Ship/s: USUK

Day 1 of @usukweek || Mistake | Canonverse

Note/s: I reaally hope this hit the prompts well-- Have fun reading, you guys!

At least the taste of bourbon on his tongue was comforting.

Canada sighed at his brother's sour attitude. "All I'm saying is that you don't have to look at it if you don't like it. The chocolates aren't even yours so you don't even have a say on mauling them."

"Easy for you to say. You weren't there when some girls blocked the hallway just to give your almost-boyfriend some chocolates. I swear, one of them had this pleased look on her face when she gave hers to Arthur." America turned to scowl at the offending confectionery sitting innocently on the meeting table. Ugh, Arthur didn't even try to hide the chocolates unlike how when America gave him a ship sculpted from dark chocolate, England's favorite flavor, on that year’s Valentines' Day. "I bet it's all melting and totally gross when he opens it."

"With the way you're glaring at it like the desert sun, I'm sure it will. And, stop sulking will you? Other nations are starting to arrive at this meeting you're hosting." Matthew lightly smacked his brother's head, moved his brooding stare in the opposite direction of the chocolates, and pulled him down to sit beside him. America tsk-ed and opened his briefcase to sort out his documents, giving dirty side-glances to Arthur who was bickering with Francis.

America wasn't sulking. He wasn't sulking about England getting three boxes of chocolate from a few people they passed at all. Nope. Nuh-uh. Not. Even. A. Bit. However, America really wished he could fling those very probably delicious sweets out the window in the rooftop of the building. Victorious cackling erupted beside him and he can't help but give England a look expressing his disapproval when he deliberately bragged about his prizes directly on the indignant face of France.

"Bah! That is injustice! Injustice, I say! Why would they even spare those renowned bourbon chocolates for someone like you? You never liked bourbon in even the littlest bit, much less bourbon-flavored chocolates." Francis exclaimed, all the while dramatically pointing a finger to England's direction. America silently agrees though he'd wonder more why anyone would even dare to give England expensive chocolates when he was around. That's just in bad taste.

"Shut up. It would be rude to refuse these after the trouble those girls had just to even find a shop that hasn't run out of these 'limited edition' chocolates." England caressed the packaged gifts as he said this with a wry smile, almost crooning to the box. Beside him, America mock-gagged and vehemently gestured at the appalling look of happiness on England's face to his brother. Canada only rolled his eyes and continued to read his papers, much to America's annoyance of being ignored while he rants about the struggles of his love life.

France harrumphed and looked down at England with disdain. "Ah, of course, I seldom forget how much of a complete gentleman you are to accept such gifts filled with devotion from someone other than your beau-- in front of him, no less! Just look at him, filled with too much melancholy to even give you attention."

Exactly! Even France gets it, you stubborn grandpa! America crossed his arms on the table and hid his face. Why can't England be more perceptive at times like this?! America screamed in frustration on the sleeves of his suit jacket. It was muffled, though, and only Canada heard him. He felt the reassuring pat of his brother on his upper back as he continued to mull over his 'petty' problem.

Yeah, America knows he and England had an 'almost-relationship' label and it wasn't really 'official' official but it was still a relationship! They eat their lunches together most of the time, had dates, visit each other's houses for months at a time. They sleep in the same bed and everything is so frustratingly wonderfully domestic, he might as well slip a ring on each of their fingers and no one will notice except him, and he and England still wouldn't have a definite description of their relationship! ...Well, maybe it was both their fault for still not saying those very-much-should-be-said three words (It's been a century, dammit! When will England finally get off his high horse and confess to him!).

His seat neighbors on his other side were still fighting. Somehow, the conversation went from the chocolates to a completely different subject and both were now insulting one another so loudly people from the other floors could hear them arguing about tablecloths. Was this how Canada felt whenever he visits him and begs him to play the newest horror game he brought with him?  America shook his head. Nah, his brother must've been over-exaggerating.

America started to ignore their conversation until France said something that was maybe too out of line because the slighted man released his very much unimpressive curses (spending too much time with England made America immune and impassive to his sailor's tongue) to redeem his ass and proceeded to pull on France's most-likely designer tie. "--Care to repeat that, you snail-eating no-good-amphibian?!"

Argh! He slammed both of his hands on the meeting table and got everyone's attention. "Okay, everyone, we've got a lot covering today so we should really begin this meeting!" America nodded to Germany to begin his routine of reminding everyone that maiming another nation is strictly not allowed, even if someone used the distributed plastic folders again. And so, the conference began and America continued his silent battle of heatedly glowering at the displeasing display of chocolates that were now placed England's lap. His lap!

After the hours of squabbling and inactive criticism whenever anyone presented, it was finally time for their first break. America watches in his peripheral vision as he yawned, stretching his arms and hearing his spine crack as a ploy to observe his not-really-but-it's-serious-lover check his watch and muttering something about going to the 'loo'. England removed the chocolate boxes from his lap and stood up, placing them on top of his documents as he trudged his way to relieve himself.

America peered at his left-side neighbor, "Psst!" Canada groaned and looked pointedly at him, raising an eyebrow when America tilted his head to the boxes and boxes of chocolate. America looked around the room and noticed the other nations left and only the brothers were left in the meeting room. "Let's eat it."

"... What."

The American already reached for the topmost box and began to unravel the ribbon and tapes. "You gotta eat all these with me. C'mon, Matt, help me out once in a while, okay?"

"Wha--No! Alfred, you do realize Arthur will only get mad--"

"Fuck, look at this man. Hearts? They're giving him heart-shaped chocolates? Screw it, I was planning on eating these but these will look better outside the window." He raised up the appalling thing to Canada's face. "Look at it, it's so damn tacky, ugh."

His brother only scrunched up his nose, irritation rising, "It smells like one of your bourbons-- And put it back. Those aren't yours, and don't waste them!" He shoved the box back to America who was still scrutinizing the chocolates. Suddenly, America's eyes went wide.

"Wait, really?" He took a whiff. And another. "Oh, hey, it does smell like genuine American Bourbon," and just as quick as he held his positive interest on the confectioneries, America deadpanned, "I'm not even gonna let Arthur even see these boxes again."

"God, Alfred! I know you're jealous and all but you've got to stop--"

It was too late, America had begun swallowing down the little pieces of heart-shaped chocolates, never stopping even when a few dropped down onto the carpeted floor of the room. America doesn't care if England yells at him for touching and eating something that wasn't meant for him. He won't even blink if the other would ban him from the bed. In America's eyes, it was England's fault, to begin with. Who deliberately ignores and rejects affectionate cuddling from their not-really-but-actually-lover when they haven't even seen each other personally for three months!

America felt his eyes warm and tore open another box, while still chewing the chocolate in his mouth, against the insistent 'No!'s and 'Al, stop!'s of his brother. Not even Canada tried to understand his woes.

At least the taste of bourbon on his tongue was comforting.

-----

Arthur expected something like the loud chattering of people in a room, a few shouts here and there, and maybe America goaded enough to finally confess to him. And maybe a little bit of broken furniture out of passion. But he didn't expect America trying to squeeze the immortality out of him while looking down with such an adoring expression with those blue eyes of his when he opened the doors to the conference room.

"Aaart, Aarthuuur, Sweetheart," America was nuzzling him like a child does when given their favorite toy. "My sweetheart, darlin', you're heeeeere! I dun'... I wanna, wanna kish-- mwah!" He planted a wet one on England's cheeks, beginning to flush pink to the openly drunk affection from America and from his embarrassment. Giggling much like a child, America proceeded to hug him by the waist and slurred his words on the other's expensive vest. He was leaning against England with such an adorable look on his face. Hmm, this wasn't unwelcome at all.

It wasn't often that America got drunk. From eating alcohol-laced chocolates, at that.

"You should have brought the bourbon chocolates with you," Canada reminded him quite heatedly. "You know how he is when you receive romantic gestures from other people...!"

"Yes, it was my mistake to leave behind sweets where Alfred is sure to find them," England smiled oddly, already dragging America and himself out of the room, he paused but didn't look back, "I'll be sure to properly escort him to the hotel."

He never said when and to which hotel though.

[bcbdrums]

Rainy cuddles for @gothicthundra. 

FFn link --> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13652934/1/Equilibrium

More Drakgo fic because OF COURSE.  This thing took unexpected turns...cuz I wanted to write one thing, and the characters said nope you writing this other thing.  Ah well.

This is also for Prompt #4 at @drakgoprompts which...hasn’t been posted yet.  But I know what it is.  I’m still gonna do Prompt #3!  This just happened first.

-----------------

The hurricane raged outside the lair with a vehemence that Drakken was unused to. Just before the power went out, he'd seen on TV that it had been upgraded to Category 5. As he shined his flashlight ahead of him, he walked with atypical slowness and caution. Suddenly he was very aware of just how...frightening...his lair really was.

The thought gave him a swell of pride, but it wasn't enough to shake the unease he felt. Hearing only his footsteps echoing through the halls and their adjoining caverns when he was used to a constant hum of electricity and the buzz of fluorescent lights was very unnerving.

As he rounded the corner toward the den, he was surprised to see a glow indicating the fireplace was already alight. When he stepped into the room he peered around, finding it empty but for the cracks and pops of the coals.

"Shego?" he whispered.

"Boo!"

"GAAHHH!"

Drakken almost hit her in the face with the flashlight as she grabbed his shoulders from behind. He lurched forward and spun around at the same time, his arm swinging wildly, but Shego ducked as she cackled at him.

"Don't sneak up on me like that, Shego!"

"Whoa, why so jumpy?"

Thunder suddenly cracked, echoing down through the chimney. Shego looked toward the fireplace as Drakken cowered in place, clutching the flashlight to his chest.

Shego's gaze drifted back to him and her smirk returned. "Heheh. Need a trip to the little mad scientist's room, Dr. D.?"

A growl built inside Drakken's chest. "Nngh, zip it!"

She chuckled and stepped past him, patting his shoulder as she did so. Drakken turned and watched as she picked up a magazine from the end table and flopped into her usual chair, turning her back to the fireplace so she could read.

After a long moment of staring, Drakken turned off his flashlight and stalked to his desk. There was just enough firelight that maybe, he could work on some details of his latest weapon design.

Another crack of thunder sounded down the chimney. Drakken jumped again, but only knocked the flashlight off the desk. Shego lowered her magazine and frowned at him.

"Are you gonna do this all night?" she asked.

Drakken looked at her and merely blinked, too many thoughts racing through his head to process an answer. What happened if they ran out of firewood? What if the hurricane damaged the lair and they had to evacuate? How could they evacuate, given their current circumstances?

"Y'ello, Dr. D.? You still with me?"

Drakken started again and focused in on her, but words still wouldn't quite reach his lips... What if during their evacuation, the hover-car crashed into the ocean? What about the henchmen? There weren't enough vehicles for all of them.

Thunder boomed again.

"Ugh, if you're gonna be like this all night, I'm sleeping in my own room."

That snapped Drakken back into the present. He slowly sat down behind his desk and continued staring at Shego as she squinted through the firelight at her magazine.

He kept messing things up. First, he hadn't been attentive or affectionate enough and she'd thought he wasn't really that interested after all. Then, he'd been too affectionate and she found it strange and claustrophobic. He couldn't seem to find the balance.

He sighed. He picked up the flashlight and rose from the desk as he clicked it back on. It wasn't worth it to be abused by Shego while being terrified that they might die and he could do nothing to protect all of them.

He should just go to bed... If he died, he would rather it be in his sleep as opposed to waiting up for it to come. He started briskly toward the door.

"Drakken!"

He halted and cautiously glanced over his shoulder. Shego tossed her magazine to the floor.

"Come here."

His hand tightened on the flashlight as he slowly stepped towards her. He couldn't tell what her intentions were by the hard look on her face. It wasn't anger, or mocking...but there certainly wasn't anything kind about it.

He stopped two feet from the chair and watched her nervously as she stared up at him. After a moment she sighed and looked down with a scowl. She stood up and gestured harshly to the chair.

"Here. Sit."

Drakken hesitated. "...What for?"

"Because as much fun as I could have with it, I really don't want you sitting on my lap all night. You're kinda heavy."

Thunder boomed again and Drakken jumped before practically falling into the chair. Shego rolled her eyes and sat down half on his lap, and half on the remaining available cushion in the large chair. Drakken stared at her in surprise as she settled in, curling her legs up across his lap and putting her arms around him, the blank yet hard look back on her face.

She looked up at him and raised her brow.

"I thought you were mad at me?" Drakken asked as his hands cautiously settled on her shoulder and on her hip, the flashlight forgotten on the floor.

"I am," she said.

Drakken's face fell, his brow twisted in confusion.

"But...then why—?"

"Because otherwise this will probably go on for days. It's bad enough to have you ignoring me or smothering me. The last thing I need is you worrying I'm not interested anymore just because you're afraid of a little storm."

Drakken's eyes narrowed. "It's a Category 5 hurricane, Shego."

"We've been through hurricanes before."

"None this big or strong!" he protested. "Have you ever heard thunder like that before?"

At that moment, as if proving his point, a massive clap of thunder echoed down the chimney. Drakken grabbed Shego close to his chest as he stared at the fireplace.

The flames were being whipped by the wind that entered from above, and he noticed for the first time that the stone inside the fireplace was darkened where rainwater was dripping inside. As he listened to the whistle of wind, he saw as a smattering of raindrops were thrown against the inside of the fireplace. He also realized the fire was lower than it had been just a few minutes ago.

"The rain is getting inside," he said fearfully.

Shego pulled out of his tight grasp and turned to study the fire. Her eyes narrowed in calculation.

"Shego...if the lair is destroyed, I...I can't get you out."

She turned her intense gaze back to to his face and studied him.

"What?"

"We'll be trapped here."

"We have the hover-cars, and the boats."

"We can't use them in a hurricane! And if the lair is too badly damaged we'll be exposed to the elements. The cold, and the rain..."

Drakken was picturing it all in his mind—he, Shego, and the henchmen clinging to rocky ruins for survival as lightning flashed and waves rose higher and higher around them.

"Dr. D."

Drakken refocused as Shego took his face in her hands.

"The lair isn't going to be destroyed."

"But what if it is? I won't be able to...won't be able to..." He stopped and swallowed down nervously on his next words, knowing she wouldn't like them.

"Won't be able to what?" she asked, her expression slightly less annoyed as the sound of driving rain became loud even through the thick stone walls of the lair. How could she not be even a little bit concerned?

"...Protect you," he said quietly.

Shego's brow rose. "Is that what this is about?"

There was another clap of thunder accompanied by a horrible, loud cracking sound. This time even Shego was startled, and her hands fell to Drakken's shoulders and gripped them tightly as he clung to her.

The firelight began flickering more intensely, and they both looked to see rain falling through the chimney and dousing the flames. Drakken's mind raced in fear again at the sheer impossibility of what he was seeing.

Shego suddenly stood and left his embrace, crossing the short distance to the fireplace and attempting to look up the flue.

"I think the wind destroyed part of the chimney. Or maybe lightning."

Drakken stood and moved to look with her, but he couldn't get as close to the fire due to the heat. But with the way rain was falling down onto the flames, it was a logical conclusion.

Suddenly there was a sound of running feet, and they both turned to see the entire cadre of henchmen rushing down the hall and stopping short at the entrance to the den, some of them comically crashing into the backs of others. They never entered their boss's more private areas of the lair without permission.

"What?" Drakken asked warily.

"The lower level is flooded," Jameson said breathlessly, gesturing back down the hall with his flashlight. Drakken noted the rather damp appearance of some of his henchmen, especially the ones out of uniform.

"How flooded?"

"About six inches across the entire floor and rising fast. We uh...we're gonna need a place to sleep."

Drakken bit down on a curse and glanced at Shego as he considered for a moment. "You can all use the living room. Did the spare blankets survive?"

"We got them!" two others chimed in, holding up large stacks of the folded blue articles.

"Good..." Drakken said, worrying again about the destruction of the lair.

"Post a watch," Shego said, stepping up next to Drakken. "If the water level gets too high we'll need to know about it."

The henchmen all nodded their agreement and left with anxious mutterings over their residence and personal belongings.

Drakken crossed back to Shego's chair, setting his hand on its high back as he sighed. The lair had never flooded before. If they survived, it would need extensive repairs, and the henchmen would need a new temporary residence...if they all survived. If the hurricane moved fast enough, it was possible, but the last news broadcast he'd seen before the power outage suggested it was moving slowly.

"Doc?"

He jumped slightly at the feel of Shego's hand on his shoulder. He turned to see that her annoyance had faded, and her eyes were compassionate.

"We're gonna be fine."

Drakken felt his nerves beginning to calm at the soft, reassuring look in her eyes. And then the fire went out.

He was suddenly aware that the sound of rain had become a roar overhead. Clearly the chimney had been damaged in some capacity, and rain was falling freely into the fireplace, cooling the hot coals.

Drakken's heart pounded. Did he want to die stumbling around in the dark in a futile attempt to save everyone, or die in his bed, falling asleep to the deceptive lure of the rain?

"Drakken?"

A green glow illuminated the space between them and lit up her face in ominous shadow, despite the soft look she still wore.

"I'll go turn the generator on. Then we can figure out where to put the henchmen for a few days until the storm has passed."

"Do you have a death wish? The generator is on the lower level!" he protested.

Shego pursed her lips. He recognized that she wanted to be annoyed, but her patience was atypically winning the day.

"I want you to stop freaking out," she said calmly, though he knew agitation was just beneath the surface.

Drakken swallowed anxiously and shook his head. "You can't go down there."

He watched her fight the urge to roll her eyes.

"Fine... You wanna just go to bed, then?"

Drakken remembered her annoyed words from before about sleeping in her own room and weighed them against all of her unusually generous actions since. But his fear still won out.

"We could just...sit here, for awhile?" he suggested. He would rather be with her through the crisis than alone in his bed. Especially if they were going to die.

She lifted a single, knowing eyebrow. Since when was she able to read him so well? He quickly sat down in her chair.

"Come on," he said, trying to smile as he opened his arms to her.

Shego did finally roll her eyes as she settled back into his lap, cuddling closer than she had before. She kept her hand lit so they could see each other, and Drakken realized then looking into her eyes that he had nothing and everything to say to her.

"What?" Shego asked, her expression quirking into a slight grimace.

The words 'I love you' were on his lips, but he held them back. He was concerned she wouldn't take him seriously given the situation. And he didn't want to risk annoying her further.

"If...the lair is destroyed, where would you like to live?" he said instead.

Her brow rose and she looked thoughtful, yet...distant. He let his breath out silently, though his relief was faint. She was becoming increasingly more difficulty to read.

He supposed he had expected things to change more quickly after they had gotten together. But he hadn't exactly made any proposals...of the permanent or temporary nature. And she slept in her own room as often as she came to his.

That factor was a large source of his confusion. It was a question every night: would she come to bed with him, or go to her own room? He had assumed that after they became intimate she would just stay with him all the time. But after returning from the lab one night to find his bed empty...and then getting a tongue-lashing for waking her up when asking why she was in her own bed, he realized...he had presumed too much.

That night was when she'd aloofly revealed that she thought he wasn't that interested. His desperate response of being overly attentive in the following days hadn't made things better, and she'd told him pretty quickly that she didn't want him at her elbow every second of every day, either. When that conversation had turned into an argument and he'd asked just what she wanted from him, she'd made him promise to 'just act normal.' Whatever on earth that meant. He had no idea.

The result had been distance between them. For the most part, she acted toward him as she always had. Except for the times she decided she wanted him in bed. And her sudden seeming compassion that evening concerning his hurricane fears. Even if she had scared him earlier.

The emotional see-saw was more distressing than the hurricane.

"Well, you have plenty of lairs already..."

'You.' She'd not said 'we,' but 'you'...

"What if...we get someplace new? Where would you like it to be?" he asked, a sudden desperation coming over him.

Shego blinked at him twice in the dim green light, and then she looked away.

"I dunno..." she said with an off-handed shrug.

Drakken tried to swallow down the lump that was coming to his throat. Was she trying to put him off? He wanted to press about the lair, but he was afraid of where the conversation might lead. He looked at the way her eyes fairly glowed in the light of her...glow. And how distant and almost sad she suddenly looked.

"Shego...?"

She looked back at him in question.

"If you could do anything right now...what would it be?"

She blinked in surprise and stared at him. Outside, the rain continued pouring and filling the room with a strange cascading echo. The smell of damp ash and soot reached Drakken's nose as he waited.

Shego took a breath, and then held her hand higher and extended her fingers.

"Paint my nails. That's what I was going to do when the power went out."

Drakken sighed silently through his nose. Was she just putting him off, or was it a sign that she was losing interest as he feared? He wished he could read her more easily...

"Why, Doc?"

He focused back in as a smirk began to spread across her face.

"Have something else in mind? We could go...'cuddle'...in your bed, instead."

Drakken's face flushed. "Well, ah..."

"The moat lights will be out... We've never done it without any light. Could be dangerous," Shego continued, leaning in closer to his face.

Drakken felt his heart beat harder at her suggestion. The idea was tempting...

"This is nice too," he said, sliding his arms further around her and smiling warmly. Shego blushed and her eyes darted away into the darkness. Drakken's brow rose.

Were her advances...an attempt to avoid a more serious conversation? The more he was worrying about it all...the more determined he found himself becoming. He needed to know exactly what their relationship was. And with the power outage and the hurricane trapping them, he may never get a better chance. Or...another chance. She had no excuse not to talk with him, at least. However—

"It could be nicer..." Shego said in a murmur, letting her glow go out and plunging them into darkness. A moment later, her lips were on his neck just beneath his jaw.

Drakken's breath caught. He leaned his head back against the chair and found his thoughts starting to evaporate into the darkness, still alive with the sound of rain. It occurred to him suddenly that the thunder had stopped, but that thought too was yanked away from him by the feeling of his lover's lips on his neck.

"Wait..." he said huskily, remembering his purpose. He lurched out of her kiss, perhaps too abruptly.

Shego's hand lit up the space again. Her expression was seductive. He blinked, his train of thought vanishing again... And then he shook his head and brought his hands to her shoulders as he sat forward.

"Shego... Do you want to be with me?"

Shego's sultry smirk vanished in an instant. She blinked rapidly in her confusion, and then she swallowed once. The smirk began to return, though it was less confident.

"I would think that's obvious..." she said, leaning forward to kiss his his lips. He held up his hand between them to stop her. Her brow rose, and she leaned back in annoyance. "Well sheesh, I can just go to bed," she said, starting to stand.

Drakken grabbed her shoulders firmly and kept her in place.

"Rrngh, let go!"

"No, Shego... First...I'm ignoring you. Then, I'm crowding you. Now...you're mad at me one minute, and you're all over me the next."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're delusional," she said flatly.

"You're— But you— ...Nghh, you're confusing me!"

A tense silence hung between them, broken only by the driving rain. Without the fire the room had quickly become chilled, and despite the argument he had started Drakken was grateful for her warmth in his lap.

Shego finally sighed and broke eye contact, an almost melancholy falling over her expression. "You need to pay more attention, Doc."

"That's why I'm asking," he said, finding his voice suddenly shaky.

"I thought you were worried about the hurricane," she said, trying to stand up again. Drakken pulled her back down hard and she fell into his chest. She frowned, but he put his arms around her and held her tightly.

"Why won't you choose somewhere for a new lair?" Drakken heard leave his lips. He mentally scowled at himself. Why couldn't he just spit it out?

"You have lots of lairs! You pick one."

"I want you to choose one!"

"Ugh, fine. Timeshare. Done."

"No, a new lair! Someplace you'd like."

"Why?" she asked with a slight grimace.

Drakken hesitated, and then swallowed his nerves. "Because I want someplace that's ours!"

Shego's brow rose. "...What do you mean?"

Drakken took a deep breath and plunged forward. "You keep calling the lair 'mine.' I think of them all as ours but...if you don't, we'll get a new one that really is ours."

Shego's lips parted and she seemed, for once, to be searching for something to say.

"...No need to get all sappy just because we sleep together, Doc," was what she finally came up with, dismissing his words with an eye-roll.

Drakken pursed his lips, and then impulsively leaned forward and kissed her soundly. She gave a hum of surprise, but kissed him back with equal passion for several seconds until he pulled away.

"No, it's time we talked about this," he insisted. "You can't just put me on this...emotional see-saw and leave me there alone."

Shego raised an eyebrow. "A see-saw only works with two people."

"You know what I— No, that's the problem! You keep changing your mind about us. You won't tell me what you want."

Shego glanced away, her eyes immediately becoming troubled. Drakken studied her, his mind racing and trying to get one step ahead of her. Everything had been fine when they first got together, until his unwitting lack of attention to her. Clearly he was still making mistakes, or else he would know exactly where they stood. And she wouldn't go back to her room so often...

He leaned forward and kissed her again, this time more softly. She met his lips hungrily and her glow went out a split second before her arms circled around him and up his back, her fingers pressing into his tense trapezius muscles. He couldn't help but meet her passion, and it was only the pounding of the rain that brought him back to the present in the close darkness.

"Shego... I love you."

She didn't answer.

"T-turn the light back on," he fairly gasped as he tried to catch his breath from the kiss.

A moment of silence passed, and he wondered if she wasn't going to comply. But then the familiar glow from her hand illuminated their faces in green again.

"I love you, Shego." Why did she look so nervous? They had said it before.

"I know," was her answer a moment later, her eyes not quite focusing on his.

Drakken's heart leapt to his throat. Had her feelings changed...? Had he made so many mistakes that she had decided not to bother with him? And just make their relationship something...temporary?

"Shego..." His heart was pounding. "Do you still love me?"

Her eyes, fairly glowing in the light of her power, centered in on his. She looked slightly annoyed.

"Yes."

"Then...what's wrong?"

As she stared back at him in silence and seeming confusion his anxiety rose evermore. The seconds were passing too slowly and too quickly all at once, and he almost immediately ran out of patience.

"I'm sorry I don't know how to do any of this. I've never been in a relationship before. Please, Shego...whatever I did wrong this time, I didn't do it on purpose. Just tell me and...I'll fix it. If you...if you can be patient with me, I promise I'll fix it." He paused to swallow nervously as her eyes were now examining his face, thoughtful, and a bit cautious. "Maybe a...a new lair can be a fresh start. And you can tell me all the things I should and shouldn't be doing, and—"

Shego's free hand suddenly covered his mouth. He looked into her eyes.

"Dr. D.... Did you ever consider...you're the one leaving me on an emotional see-saw?"

Drakken's brow rose. Had he...?

He thought back and tried to consider everything from her perspective. His habits hadn't changed in terms of his work in the lab...which she interpreted as him not being interested. Or...did she think he was only interested in one thing? And then, she could have viewed his smothering affections as fake overcompensation. And since he didn't know what her request of 'just be normal' meant, he had been tiptoeing around her for days...and had probably been anything but normal.

He took a deep breath through his nose as he realized...she may in fact be as clueless as he was. What made him assume she knew how to do relationships either? He cleared his throat, and her hand slowly lowered from where it covered his mouth.

"Shego... I want you to choose a place for...our new lair. And...if that one gets destroyed, you can choose the next one. And the one after that. Because...I can work almost anywhere, but I know you have particular tastes and...I want you to be happy."

Shego stared at him, studying him again as if searching for an ulterior meaning to his words. Finally, she sighed and her gaze fell.

"See-saw, Doc..." Her voice was slightly shaky, which surprised him.

Drakken very nearly said that she could be more up front with her feelings too, but...it wasn't the time to assign blame. He wanted her. And if she wasn't sure of that, as he now suspected, he'd make her sure. And they could go from there.

"Shego..." He let one arm go from his tight hold on her and brought it forward to hold her hand. "I want you with me forever."

Her lips parted...but then came together as her brow furrowed slightly.

"And...?"

Drakken swallowed and glanced away nervously. He knew what he wanted to say... What he needed to say. And it seemed that before the words were even spoken, she knew they were coming... Maybe it was what had been missing all along. Or at least...it was a start.

"Shego..." He swallowed again. Her gloved fingers tightened on his, and the thundering of the rain outside was eclipsed by his heart pounding in his ears. "I want you to marry me. That is...will you? Marry me?"

He had only a moment to see her smile before the glowing green light went out and she flung her arms around his neck, holding him tightly.

Drakken choked slightly, but she didn't loosen her grip. He felt as if light and heat were racing through his veins as he returned her hug. He heard and felt her sigh, her frame shaking slightly in his embrace, but the sound was one of pure happiness.

"Is that a yes?" he finally asked quietly.

She slowly pulled out of the hug and her hand ignited again. There was a smirk on her lips, but delight in her eyes.

"Do you...really mean it?" she asked, glancing away shyly for a moment and chuckling. Her hand on his neck began playing with his hair.

Drakken took a breath. For a moment he was lost in her eyes, in the hope and the joy she was suddenly displaying openly—such a contrast to her guarded, sarcastic persona.

Were those words really all that had been missing?

"I love you," he said as he leaned toward her. "And I want you forever."

His face was but a breath from hers as he spoke. She barely gave him a chance to finish before her lips were on his, and all his worries faded instantly at the tenderness of her touch. The green ambience vanished and Shego's hand found his cheek, cupping it gently as he leaned back into the chair and pulled her tightly against him.

For all the weeks they'd been together, and all the kisses and deeper intimacies they'd shared, this kiss was different. It was a kiss of reckless abandon, as finally they each knew without a doubt. What they had together was far more than lust. They had a promise of forever. And it sent Drakken's blood racing.

His hands pressed into her shoulders as he kissed her back, and when his tongue slid deftly against hers a lusty hum sounded from within her throat. Compelled, he pulled his lips from hers and fastened them to her throat in the small space between her jaw and her suit collar. One of his hands wove into her hair, and she gasped at the sudden, seductive touch.

"Oh, Drakken..." she sighed. She sank against him, almost limp in his arms. But then she pulled away slightly and Drakken's lips left her throat as her hand illuminated the darkness again. He stared at her large, smiling eyes in the space between them as their chests heaved. "I love you," she said, her cheeks coloring. Her gaze dropped shyly for a moment before she put her arms around him again and murmured into his ear in the resulting darkness. "And I want to be your wife."

Drakken was overcome, in more ways than one. His trembling fingers gripped her arms tightly as he placed a careless kiss on her cheek.

"Bed?" he asked quickly, breathlessly.

"Mmh... This is nice too," she countered, echoing his words from before. She curled into his chest and rested her forehead against his cheek. "But soon."

He leaned his head against hers, focusing on the softness of her hair as he tried to catch his breath. The rain still pouring outside and chill in the air helped his racing blood settle, but the flame in his heart he knew would only grow. They had found their equilibrium.

As much as he hoped the moment would last forever...he also hoped 'soon' really meant soon.

[letsperaltiago]

We’ll sweep out the ashes in the morning |CHAPTER 6|

Even in the middle of New York's freezing month of February, a scandalous familiar fire is ignited within Jake and Amy when they run into each other after years apart. Luckily there's nothing wrong with being caught up in a fire that has to die out soon, right?

Read here or on AO3 - CHAPTER MASTERLIST HERE

In the form of dawn, reenacting the moon’s casting of light from a few hours earlier, the sun rose to its designated time to penetrate the thin material of her bedroom’s curtains drowning said room in a soft, drowsy light. A soft, drowsy light which happened to be strong enough to wake him up or at the very least cause his eyes to stir while rest of his body had a hard time following the cues coming from his barely conscious brain. Though it wasn’t a lot, he was nonetheless aware of a few facts: his surroundings were not the ones of his apartment, the morning’s arrival was upon him, there was softly curved body lying next to him and lastly he was aware of the warmth the body radiated curled up into his chest like it belonged there.

His eyes managed to fight against the heavy tiredness restning in every limb of his body and open to help him finally fully understand the scene he was currently taking part in.

Time: the clock on the nightstand in his immediate field of vision told him the horrid fact that it was just barely 6AM.

Location: delicate colors, decorations of all kinds and last but not least a perfect neatness reminded him of a certain someone’s apartment.

With who: warmth pressed against his chest immediately drew his sight to the right spot, where he got to take in the purest sight he’d been met by in a long time; also better known as Amy Santiago fast asleep on her right side fully doubled up in his arms like it was somehow the most natural thing in the world. Behind her, spread out on her floral pillow, unruly waves of hair dispersed wildly and with no regards to defined patterns as if it were a field of dark wild flowers.

Of course all he wanted to do was touch and explore the tangles, pick these flowers growing from her. But, just like picking and taking home flowers meant to thrive in the wild, that would be selfish of him. Plus it’d also mean he’d have to draw her from her peaceful rest - something he for nothing in this world wanted. Therefor, instead, he settled on admiring, staring at and taking in every little detail of her; everything from the intense fullness of her lashes to the way her skin tasted, sweet like he’d always imagined, when he tranquilly allowed himself to lean down and peck the side of her face that wasn’t hidden against the mattress.

The peck was light yet the longer kind even though he tried to be careful. She’d wake up when she was ready to; not because he had this strange feeling of missing her even though she was right there in his arms, as close as they’d ever been. He drew back to allow himself another good look at her, mainly to admire but also to make sure she was still peacefully asleep.There he was also met by the feeling of tiny bursts of happiness revolting like a chain reaction in his chest and stomach: this was what he’d been looking to feel for so long however not knowing until she came along.

Movement in his arms instantly drew him out of his thoughts only to be met by something so much better than the previous daydream. Indeed, it was the beautiful reality that was Amy Santiago unconsciously shuffling, burying herself further into his chest, and his arms automatically tightened around her even though there was almost to no more space between them to give to her. Then, after sliding his hands to the lower part of her back, his fingers would start forming small drawings of affection. This went on for God even knows how long. Him showering her with silent admiration and even softer kisses to any exposed skin that might be exposed whilst she slumbered peacefully in the love cot formed by his arms and chest. At some point her fingers gradually, more and more purposefully, started stroking him back making the skin covering his collarbones tingle beneath the touch, but even then she still seemed asleep and so he let her be, enjoying feeling of being alive and present in this silent moment with her.

It was only hours later that, or so the clock told him, he could sense her stirring washing away the nagging feeling of missing her. She’d move a bit then lie still like nothing had happened, this repeated a few times, before her head finally tilted just enough for him to see her look at him and, damn, who would’ve thought a pair of drowsy, golden brown eyes could make Jake’s heart do a billion summersaults? Certainly not him but it very much did.

For a moment, when his eyes were met hers where they were perfectly placed right where late morning sun highlighted them perfectly, she said nothing. Instead she simply craned her head further to angle a peck to the underside of his chin, light as a butterfly, before repeating the action, placing one more and one more, progressively moving down his chin, neck, jaw and lastly neck. The world around them was silent and all he could hear was the delicate sound resulting from her lips detaching from his warm, dewy skin. Finally, paired with a heavy exhalation, the last peck stamped his sternum.

Jake had never felt so alive. He was sure of it.

“Morning,” he yawned into her hair before adoringly placing a kiss to the same spot.

As a reaction to the affectionate touch, one so untried yet a feeling she already felt appealed to grow addicted to even though she knew addictions were often a dangerous matter, Amy instantly felt blood rush to her cheeks adding to her skin a warm pink tint. This shade of ting being similar to, Jake briefly remembered, a color he’d noticed in the sky on multiple early mornings where he’d been making his way home from working the night. Perhaps he didn’t exactly love morning but he remembered loving the glow and soothing color palette of a Brooklyn dawn.

“Hey,” she smiled utterly overwhelmed by the instant urge to bury her face back into the safety of his chest but instead, having to somewhat strain herself,  settled on keeping her head tilted back as to keep her gaze fixed on his - no backing out this time, she’s made up her mind. Circling around whatever their predicament was, still very much undefined, would be further waste of precious time they’d already missed out on. And she could’ve sworn to herself that, solely based on the way Jake’s eyes shone just a bit brighter when his eyes traced her entity, they were meant to be something greater than just what ifs and could’ve beens. What exactly she, or anyone else for that matter, couldn’t tell but she was sure of one thing: Jake Peralta was a chance she was willing to take.

“How are you feeling?” He languidly brushed a strand of hair away from her face and back into a safe hold behind her ear which had Amy swearing to herself she could feel tingling where he’d just brushed her skin. The night’s remains made themselves present through a slight hoarseness to his voice but, looking past this fact, Amy had never heard him speak with such softness before. Sure, they’d had moments; ones where they felt things they couldn’t speak up about though there was definitely something there; ones of admiration and maybe just a bit more; ones of growing henpecked emotions. Although this? This was something else. This was every single atom in his body channeling the vulnerability that was his infatuation for her right into the open space between them as well as her.

“I’m… good,” because ‘Better than ever before because you’re here with me’ maybe was a bit soon in their given situation.

“Good?” he popped his eyebrows humorously creating a very ‘Jake’ contrast to his still drowsy eyes and that was one of the many things that drew her to him: he was not just anyone but rather someone who had a certain something about him, a way of doing things, that no one else could quite imitate.

“Just good? That’s a shame.”

It took seconds, barely, for Amy to pick up on the teasing ring to his voice which laced up with the tiredness would’ve been very well camouflaged, if it wasn’t for the simple fact that she apparently had cracked the code to his way of being a long time ago - even with all these years in between.

“You don’t deserve me stroking your ego too hard when you come running here in the middle of the night, waking me up and whatnot.”

Two could play that game. The thick sarcasm in her voice was definitely weighing heavily as she spoke - all of this paired with a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders? Jake had without a doubt been challenged to a duel.

“Oh, is that so?” his tiredness held nothing against a smile when he could be nothing but very entertained by this frisky side of Amy Santiago.

“Yeah,” even encircled by his arms Amy managed to fully arch her back in a stretch only to top it off with a performatory yawn  “I actually still feel kind of tired so I’m just going to go back to sleep…” she trailed off as she turned over to lie on her opposite shoulder facing away from Jake. Her shuffling out of his arms definitely crossed a certain line within him, a line he until that very moment was was yet to know he truthfully possessed but quickly came to realise he shamelessly did when it resulted in what could be classified as a growl escaping him.

“Oh, don’t-“ he shuffled after her only to latch onto and pull her back first into safe return to his arms. “Don’t play me like that, Santiago,” surprisingly there was no hesitance to the way he then pressede his lips to her ear where spoke directly into it, earning him a full-blown laugh, and it at no point came across, to either of them, as odd or staggering.

“You're stuck here with me now,” he joked while nibbling possessively at the ear along with the area surrounding, loving but somehow also not able to believe it.

“Ugh, really?” her laugh had quieted down and she now spoke with a breathy groan.  

That breathy voice was soon cut of though when suddenly, somehow, earning Amy’s confusion, Jake managed to spin her around in his arms as to place them face to face; nose to nose; staring directly into each other’s eyes with such intensity that goosebumps spread all across her body.

“Really,” his voice switched back to soft, very soft, yet also stern and so sincere Amy would’ve believed anything he said in that moment. “If you wanna be?”

Although it was metaphorically when she felt like she was swallowing her previous pride and cockiness, Amy did swallow, what felt like, quite loudly in reaction to the exceedingly intense position they were all at once in as dust particles tumbled around the sunlit space around them.

There was not exactly a way of pointing out what had shifted within her but something had, and she had such strong urge to to act on it. Maybe it was the way he’d grabbed her waist, forcing her back into his arms and then somehow also into a certain headspace, where it really finally hit her that this moment was not a fever dream but instead very much real and would have real life consequences - consequences of which the fallout she was ultimately in charge of.

Noses were still pressed up against one another, the tip of his to the bridge of hers, when the animalistic part of her brain won an internal battle, one she wasn’t completely aware of until then, and drove her to grab his face and pull him into a searing, heavy kiss.

The air around them exploded with an energy made of temporarily forgotten, although always returning, yearning for the other’s uttermost closeness and it was only a matter of seconds, milliseconds, before Jake could neither more or less but give in to their bodies’ demands conducting him to crowd himself on top of his newfound muse who gladly accepted her new designated spot beneath him.  Meanwhile their lips almost never lost contact, busy with relishing and only briefly parting in need of respiration, exchanging gnaws and tugs. The limiting themselves to pecks from earlier was very much forgotten and out the window.

Slender hands gripped his biceps intuitively provoking a flex under her touch. Continuing up his arms and shoulders before taking on his sides she made sure to take it all in: his every muscle, the way the skin shaped around his ribs, small beauty spots who’d up until now had been a mystery to her and more importantly the way his flesh and skin seemed to be her perfect handful no matter where she grabbede him; as if he was meant to be touched and adored by her. Only her.

Her touch continued its travel all the way down his ribcage, both sides covered by a hand each, until she reached his lower flanks prompting her hands to centre and meet on the lowest part of his spine.

From there on and all the way up to his neck, delicately with the full surface area of her palm and inevitably inflaming the desire taking over him, Amy traced every joint of his spinal column, internally counting each and every one of them.  

Upon reaching its final destination, which from the very beginning had been the thick curls on top of his head: somewhere she’d always dreamed of grabbing, fist full, and tug onto like it was a matter of life and death.

They’ve reached the point of no return. This time there would be no interruptions, no panicking and no running away. The heat between them gradually increased.  Sloppy, but good, kisses accompanied by just as sloppy, but oh so satisfying, breaths, moans and whimpers filled the air. The situation was taking them where they’d wanted to be for so long, the closest they could ever physically be. It quickly but carefully took them where their yearning souls and craving vessels soon were clad in nothing sweaty sheets and each other’s skin, moans and declarations in the form of lustful whimpers.

Their bodies, although many parts still complete strangers to each other, fit and moved in perfect harmony. They were insatiable and this could only be stilled by each other by reaching the final climax.

Following this, in the late hours of their morning, Amy’s entire body was now freshly tattooed by red love marks created by his teeth and grasping fingers, meanwhile Jake, especially his back, displayed clear trails of where her nails had held onto him, matching the purple imprints of possession on his neck. Jake would’ve kept adding to the collection forming on her skin, continuously placing licks and bites to her skin even after slowly coming down from their climax, if she hadn’t pushed him onto his back and hovered over him creating the most beautiful scene before him.

There was something about a dewy-skinne, naked and unruly-haired Amy Santiago looking down at you with an ‘i got you’-look in her eyes that simply couldn’t be anything but the best thing he’d ever witnessed with his own two eyes.

“We can’t lie here all day,” she smirked knowing very well that she, and he neither, would really mind staying in bed all day to repeat the act till they ran out of hours.

“We could,” he reached up to grab her face and pull her down into a lingering kiss; a kiss which she just barely managede to get back under control and interrupt before she could get lost in the rush of it all once more.

“Yes, maybe, but let's get up, okay? I’ll make us some coffee,” she smiled sweetly, returning to the sweet innocent persona she was known for and, of course, Jake Peralta couldn’t deny her anything at all even if he wished to.

In the lukewarm air of the forenoon which had grown while they were caught up in bed, Jake, who now stood in her kitchen, alongside the brewing coffeepot, had a surreal almost overwhelming feeling of more to come mulling inside of him. No way he would’ve believed them if someone had told him just months ago that he’d be caught up in the perfect epiphany that was witnessing Amy Santiago clad in (only) his trademark flannel, and apparently she could do pretty much anything, like stand on her tippy toes in order to reach two mugs from upper shelf in her overhead cupboard, like she was currently doing, and it was enough to have Jake pinching himself. Simply standing by, watching, instead of trapping her against the kitchen counter to do anything he wanted to her was beyond average self-control and Jake knew it.

“Here you go,” she poured them both a cup before handing him his.

“Thanks,” the steam coming from the warm liquid hit his face making it impossible for him to know if it was the coffee or her effect on him (maybe a bit of both) working its magic on him.

She leaned back against the kitchen counter throwing him a shy look over the top of her mug, eyes clearly smiling enough for him to know she was shyly biting her lips behind it. They stood in a comfortable silence for a bit although it was no secret to either of them that there were things to be talked about. Someone had to and so after about two silent sips Jake did it: he took the leap.

“So…”

Immediately letting him know that he (of course and always) had her undivided attention by cocking her eyebrows gently, she miserably failed to conceal the fact that she’d hoped he would. She must’ve realised this since her blush blew up significantly, and God, he just wanted to kiss her again and preferably never stop.

“How are you feeling, like, about… this?”

Another silence followed behind the sound of his voice and Amy taking a quick sip but then also breaking into a shy smile. Although she definitely felt a strong sensation of giddiness, happiness and incoming calm in the midst of the deep sea of confusion, how could she tell him what she believed in, them, without overwhelming him and taking the nature of reality for granted? She felt so many things that it was still incredibly hard to tell it all apart. Already scaring him off, so early on, would be such a shame. Yes, she knew he had been the one to show up on her doorstep in the middle of the night; he had been the one to leave Sophia for her… Then why was she still doubting her instincts?

“I feel… good.”

She couldn’t deny the very clear fact that, from the way butterflies went crazy in her stomach, she loved the way his smile grew wider as a reaction to her answer.

“That’s good…” his nod was eager but Amy could also tell he was nervous, restlessly biting his lip when not knowing how to shape and share whatever was on his mind. On the other hand, he had nothing to worry about because neither did she - it wasn’t like any of them had ever been, or even imagined being, in a similar situation. A situation that all at once was very easy but then also very complicated. Furthermore, even though this specific square in the big puzzle they were currently trying to place was complicated enough on its own, Amy couldn’t help but feel specially curious about one other thing.

Athough, she guessed, it didn’t really concern her…

Or it did but then again not really.

The confusion and uncertainty about how much she should question the matter roared in her mind suddenly escaping her off the cuff.

“How did Sophia take it?”

A bucket of ice cold water being poured over the ambience was an appropriate, if not understated, way of describing the following seconds. Jake was no longer smiling like he’d been before but instead looked like a person whose dream scenario, by the flick of a shift, had suddenly turned into a nightmare would look. Just as fast as he Amy came to understand that what she’d previously been enjoying was the calm bliss to be found in the eye of the hurricane, and was now, after stepping onto unsafe grounds, caught and about to be lurched into the hurricane itself.

“Take what exactly?”

The look on his face wasn’t quite oblivious, after all, they were both very much aware of their tricky situation, but Jake still looked somewhat… puzzled. As if he’d honestly and absolutely not, under no circumstances or in any other parallel universe, expected this specific topic: Sophia Perez.

What did he mean by what exactly? Yes, she had messede up too, but it was him who’d bailed on his future wife on their wedding day, and not her, after all. But apparently there now seemed to be more to the story than what he’d told her yesterday, she just hadn’t thought to ask having been all caught up in Jake confessing his feelings to her and all the chaos.

The heavy feeling in her gut, a gut that was almost always right, she’d come to learn a long time ago, along with her heart picking up speed now racing with anxiety, underlined the fact that things were definitely not going where she’d hoped just moments ago. Why on earth did she have to explain to Jake that him leaving his almost-wife for Amy herself was bound to raise questions and an aftermath to resolve?

“What do you mean ‘what exactly?’? You sure haven’t forgotten that you basically left Sophia at the altar to come see me just yesterday, right?” A nervous chuckle was thrown in in a desperate attempt to save the prevailing turn the situation had so suddenly taken.

A pregnant silence immediately killed off said attempt.

“I- uh,” it didn’t go by unnoticed how Jake put down his mug as if to brace himself for impact as he half-stammered. “I never actually told her the uhm- reason behind my decision.  I just told her I couldn’t marry her, then ran back to the hotel I was staying at for the wedding, packed my things before dumping them at Charles’. Then Charles of course had to pry so I told him everything, and then, after taking some time to wrap my head around the whole thing, I came here to see you.”

Amy had managed to bury it, given that she trusted Jake, but had deep down feared the storm after the quiet, the war after the peace and this was it: he hadn’t told Sophia about them. For all she knew Sophia could be God knows where in Manhattan’s concrete jungle thinking that Jake just wasn’t ready get married to her rather than not wanting to get married to her - there was a world of difference between the two and it all came pouring down on Amy in that very moment.

Eyes briefly closed in despair she tried to figure out her next move: had she completely misread the situation and even worse misread Jake? Jake that she, looking past their years of falling out, thought she knew so well? Had she gotten so caught up in the rush of feelings upon seeing him that she’d failed to take into consideration the true colors of the situation? The questions all flooded her brain with the force of a tsunami.

“You didn’t-“ her breath hitched and eyes closed once more, somewhat giving herself room to put herself back together, before jumping in head first. “You didn’t tell her about us?”

And although Jake did look awfully regretful upon hearing her question him like this, truthfully representing the good heart Amy deep down knew he had, there could be no other way. She needed the truth even if it wasn’t what she’d hoped for.

“Ames, listen,” he took a deep breath.

“Back then I though I could brush past it. You and I weren’t talking after that nigh at Shaw’s and I, idiotically, thought I could fix myself by still marrying her. I-“

“No, Jake,” she interrupted looking sternly into his eyes, allowing him to see a shade of dark brown he’d never seen in her eyes before.

Feeling trapped in the kitchen she brushede past him in search for safer distancing in the wider space of her paired living/dining room. “I don’t mean back then.”

It dawned upon her just how much worse the problem actually was. She had now actually been the other woman not once but twice - the second time being just this morning and going all the way. “I mean: you didn’t tell her why you were not able to marry her?”

In the rush of the moment where Jake had looked his dressed in white and, he had to admit, beautiful fiancé that no, he was so sorry but he couldn’t marry her, it hadn’t occurred to him to actually explain Sophia why. To him the explanation had been clear: Amy.

Though he’d completely brushed past the fact that Sophia had no good explanation to this, completely unaware of Amy’s newfound presence in his life, and could now, possibly, be thinking that he just needed time or space.

Sophia didn’t even know her future husband had met up with Amy all those months ago, let alone that he had feelings for her that caused him to call off the wedding.

“I wasn’t thinking clearly, Amy,” he wasn’t trying to excuse it per se but he was feeling hopeless and this felt like grasping onto whatever small explanatory bits he happened to have left. He never had any intentions of hurting Amy, of course not, he wanted to be with her!

But now he saw things from her perspective: a perspective where she was caught in the role of the secret ‘other woman’, who he couldn’t commit fully to for a list of reasons, one of them being the fact that his relationship with Sophia technically, explicitly wasn’t over.

“Oh, so you weren’t thinking clearly when you interrupted your own wedding and then decided to come here?” Amy’s words were pure venom at this point as she paced back and forth between the dining table and the couch.

“That’s not what I meant,” he defended himself following her path from earlier out of the kitchen.

“I meant that I didn’t exactly have a script or a clear explanation ready, when I told Sophia. I just… even with Sophia standing right in front of me, all ready and dressed in white, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and so… I just snapped: I told her and got the hell out of there.”

As soon as it was out Jake realised it didn’t exactly sound as good as he had intended it to. It actually made him sound rather inconsiderate of both women’s feelings. It was an understatement to say that this fact was slowly sinking in and eating him up alive.

“… Which I am now realising was dick-move on my part-“

“God, is this really happening?” he could hear Amy mumble to herself rubbing her temples as to appease the horrifying headache the situation had brought upon her.

“Ames, I-“ he started marching over to where she’d somewhat delimited herself behind the couch.

“Stop.”

Jake Peralta wasn’t about to oppose Amy Santiago, especially given the circumstances, and froze on the spot across from her with the couch between them as a border. They looked right at each other clearly communication the large range of emotions they both felt: anger, fear, confusion and disappointment which resulted in the feeling reigning within the both of them: frustration.

It was as if every word, movement, sound and thought that had been thrown around for the past 10 minuets solidified in the air only to drop to the ground creating a non-existent sound of shattering glass. Deafening silence could be used to describe the moment as well but didn’t quite contain the amount of distress they both felt standing there staring hopelessly at each other.

Perhaps they weren’t meant to figure this out after all.

“I can’t,” her voice trembled which immediately reminded Jake of the feeling he got that one time a perp stabbed him in the arm. Except now it was times a thousand, the dagger’s target was his heart and he wasn’t hurting for himself but rather for them. Her.

“What do you mean-“ he tried.

“I know it’s far beyond too late to advert the consequences of what we’ve done, but… I can’t stay in this tangled web you, we’ve, spun ourselves. I’m not about to stand by and act like nothing, when deep down I know Sophia is completely unaware of the truth and you’re not actually… mine.”

The words burned and blessed her tongue all at once. Oh, how she wished to be his.

“I don’t want to be a secret, Jake.”

Jake had never intended for her to be; he simply hadn’t thought the procedure through. Although, he now did see how bad it had to look and therefor couldn’t blame her for reacting like she did. She was just trying to protect herself.

On the other hand he also really wished he’d let him explain: let him explain that he never intended for her to be or feel like a dark secret. Amy Santiago deserved better.

“Ames, you’re not-“

She didn’t let him finish. All hints at emotion had been drained from her leaving him to stare right into dead eyes and a blank expression.

Her defence mechanism loaded a metaphorical gun and shot his heart.

“I need you to leave.”

What was left of their doomed hope, now shot down and left to die, was left scattered on the floor surrounding them both like deep waters around an island of despair. Before him he saw the woman he actually truly wanted to be with, but he couldn’t force her to look past his mistakes, when he was the one who’d rushed the job and left it to blow up in his face - hers too, actually. There was nothing for him to do but, unwillingly, comply and respect her choice at least until he had a solid solution to offer her.

What worried him the most though was the uncertainty: was this his chance to clean up his mess or was it actually the end?

He never got an answer: before he could even begin to ask she shot him down for good.

“Please leave. Now.”

And so he walked out in silence leaving his hearts sad remains behind for her to take care of until his return.

That is if she actually wished to.

[wroteclassicaly]

Fiercely Vigilant

Michael Langdon / Reader

A/N : Requested by an anon was a jealous Michael. I made him jealous of the emotional friendship the reader has with Mr. Gallant. Hope you all like this! Feedback is welcomed! Let me know how my writing of Michael is, cause’ I’m quite nervous about it. Hope you enjoy, Anon! Keep the requests coming, folks! ;) - Kristen

Warnings : Smut, nasty language, some violence, Michael being a cruel asshole Anti-Christ. I think that about covers it. 

You have to laugh at yourself for seeking out a dictionary, of all things to read. Another reason hand in hand with your status of sizzling gray to be ridiculed for. But really, you need to extend your vocabulary on describing this place that stretched beyond basic "This is bullshit. I'm bored. I'm hungry. I'm horny." pleas of exasperation. You were all starting to get on your own nerves. Even the purples were drained on energy most evenings.

Except Coco. That woman never shuts the fuck up. Whatever is in her cube must be a higher dosage. Perhaps Meade is sneaking in tranquilizers? Sleep deprived, wiping your blurry eyes you find yourself laughing at images containing everyone in the compound combusting into trunks and tails, humps and Dumbo ears.

Jocular. This is the word you're currently stuck on, fingernail pressed tightly into worn paper.

"And then she cut my credit card off like it was my dick, which, by the way, she wanted to suck. I'm like, honey, you're not a Hemsworth brother." A deep voice butters into your absurdly caught giggles. He raises a manicured chocolate brown brow, peering first at the thesaurus in your lap, then you. "Should've known that's what you were laughing about. You're such a fucking weirdo." Gallant pouts.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." You snort with a mildly affectionate pat to his strong hand, that is resting across your ankle.

"You know I could ask you to wipe my ass instead of talking to you, right?"

Though his tone is meant to be more dignified, you know he's not serious, just being sour. You understand him though, oddly enough. Which is something most people don't here. He's not purple through and through. Coco might be Barney though, jury still has its vote out on that one. If there was a jury alive.

"I'd rather manscape you," You say tiredly, closing your words up, holding tightly to your new nightly read.

Relaxing, a sigh to accompany, Gallant's posture goes slack beneath his velvet smoking jacket, his fingers back to caressing the overworked heels of your stocking clad feet. It's rare. So fucking rare for this deep of a companionship to have formed between two more opposite people. The grays work for elites and leaders here, they do nothing but serve and take what little they are permitted. They don't have night long conversations, sneak down into the library after the fires are put out to search the library together for soft core porn or even poetry, and they don't share secrets they'd never dare tell anyone else, and they sure as hell wouldn't be caught together so casually, a gray looking as if she's an elite's queen, feet in his lap, being pampered to, when she is supposed to be kissing the radiation soaked ground for the chance to serve here, to live what life she can.

Yet here you both are, closer than Gallant's friendship with Coco, closest thing you've ever felt for another human being since years before the bombs fell. It's an unexplainable thing, you feel compelled towards Gallant's company and he to yours. Beneath all his shallow and hyper - vibrant exterior is someone in pain, angry. So you soothe him, you listen. You two be. You two are.

"Ugh, I can't believe you touch her more than a straight man would. If you wanted to touch a woman then you know you have me. This is so idiotic." Comes a slouchy whine to your left on the couch across from you two. Her dress fans around her the moment that she hits the cushions and your eyes roll, feet tensing in Gallant's lap with a tight flex as they also slide out.

His exterior is changing, fighting a gapped bridge where he's more settled, to his stuck up and snotty attitude that comes so natural to him that he breathes insults over air. You don't give him the chance to decide which persona he's taking on, for you've got your book tucked away, all too aware as you stand, knowing how much time it has taken to get you relaxed enough that your chores are way behind. A plummet frolics inside your muscles, all melted things hardening like ice, shocking, spilling sharp through your veins in spreads. Tucking away your yellow treasure into your apron, you go about fluffing pillows in chairs, checking candles, making sure things are in perfect order. Doesn't matter how clean things are, they can always be knuckle raw, fingernail bed bleeding - cleaner.

They're talking now, a secret smile cracking into the corners of your mouth at Gallant still directing his part from the conversation your way. "Wish I at least had Fifty Shades in these hands. With the right lighting and a little Christian Grey, it makes one happy man."

"Nora Roberts sounds pretty good. What I wouldn't give for a solid insta feed though, holy shit in Louboutin heels. " Coco agrees, sighing into a melancholy trail off.

"You know what I think?" Gallant has you both looking his way again. When he sees in special delight that he's got your attention, he edges on his seat before continuing, fingers tightly clasped together, licking his lips in thought. "I think Langdon has some kinky shit he brought with him around here somewhere."

"Like what?" Coco is damn near exploding now, bunching her knuckles white against the rustling fabric of her dress.

And you, your feet forget what the floor is and they sink as they still to hold you up. The mention of the man that's been combing your subconscious, your consciousness, your dreams, your fucking nightmares and your nerves, automatically hatches a slash through any calm serenity you've previously picked up. Everyone here has been obsessed or occupied with thoughts of and about this cooperative man. He claims salvation by test, paradise promised by sanctuary. While others are starved for stars, your last hopes are seeing their final hours.

There's no way someone is just going to come here, make this much of an impact, promise such things, then use hideous humiliation to gain a dangerous upper-hand without a flaming hellfire catch. It doesn't help you that in your previous life you were too scared to start drama when McDonalds messed up your order. Forget keeping your calm around Langdon, especially in your interviews. You feel stupid, guilty you even let yourself ease off knowing he's still very much present. Gallant has these looks he shares with Langdon, ones that baffle you, irritate you, worry you.

Guess he's handsome's favorite. Like you have a chance no matter what orientation Langdon is.

"Chains, leather, lots of fucking leather." Gallant damn near moans himself into the floor, snapping your reverie, your ears rearing back zone impact into their conversation.

In this moment you want to simply blend in with these people for the sake of solitude. Despite your weariness to whisper Langdon's name, let alone what you're about to say, you can't help a hot excitement prickling your flesh. "Like maybe a sex swing he hangs from like Tarzan?"

Coco looks more intrigued than you've ever seen her, Gallant is sliding his tongue over his lips more than necessary. Yep, you've succeeded in getting your naughty point across.

"Gray girl has a nasty ass mind. Gotta say that I'm impressed I wasn't the only one besides Gallant, looking at his dick. What you can see of it through that designer coat. I bet he has a studio of things back at the sanctuary. I can't wait for him to take me there." She babbles on, back resting into the plush couch, coasting on her own fantasy.

~*~

You didn't say goodnight to either elite after your little sexy pillow talk and wishes session. Gallant escorted Coco off to her room, the two of them gossiping about sex swings and fresh air, as you tried to lug your large mop bucket up the winding staircase. The heat from the candles is dizzying, your vision blotching out around your thirsting lips. You'd kill Venable for a drink of water right now but you're already behind. Thanking your newly acquired upper arm strength, you heave the heavy tin onto the landing, safely tucked away for you to start your last night time task.

By the time you've scrambled back down to pick up your propped mop, an electricity seems to charge the air, candles swaying without breeze. You know he's here before you actually know. Your body bows in his direction like a violent tornadic spin-up, your dingy boot paused cautiously on the final top step, your fingernails biting into the wood of the mop handle. Langdon is doing what he does best : observing you like a wild beast, something even predators are afraid to speak of. You don't tell yourself to calm down, you know it's ill advised and won't work with him.

"Working late tonight?" He pesters, Cheshire smirk pressing his beautiful features, though his eyes this playful mood does not reach.  

You shut off your brain that's screaming alarms at you head on fractured, blurting out whatever you come up with.

"I am, Sir. Which is my fault. I got caught up, I was -"

"Talking to Billy Idol?" He cuts you off, your jaw snapping shut.

"Billy Idol?...." You give yourself a second to leap the reference, shaking your head. So Langdon is pop cultured.

"I was talking to him, yes. And trying to finish my work. I didn't know if he or Miss Coco would require my services, so I stayed around the area."

You think you're coming out strong, halfway truthful but you believe in your words, your grip loosening slightly. That strength is shattered within moments. It's as if you can taste fire on the air, its nasty breath singing your neck. You rear back to see Langdon's polished boot kick your tin bucket to the front of the stairs and over, sending it crashing to its side, soapy water drenching your skirts and flooding the stairwell. There's a red hot heat to match your fearful shock, French kissing your disgusting embarrassment, rolling right into the sheets with your unbalanced temper.

You catch your upper lip wobbling, much to Langdon's unguarded pleasure. He sloshes his shoe to splash some water up at you, laughing, like he got what he wanted in some sick form of vengeance. You didn't think he noticed, nor cared enough to try to upset you this way. Guess that's not how things truly work with him. Your silence halts his laughter, forcing your curiosity to face him.

He's watching you watch him, but this time it's as if you're on equal footing. You're seeing through one another. He tilts his head, his hair casting brief shadows across his sharp face. He's fucking undeniably breath taking. You're trembling, he's recharging, no, he's surging on your emotions.

"Maybe you'd like to have Mr. Gallant assist you? Somehow though, I don't think he'd be pleased with this line of work, nor your presence in this state. Which is why it's difficult to understand why he puts himself in your pathway when he's walking on marble and you're the mud stained earth."

"I-" You suddenly fight for the air Langdon is invisibly holding vice, hostage max.

"Though if you promised to fill his hole with Venable's cane, then hold him after, maybe he'd indulge you."

There's a spark he recognizes with astonishment, not blocking, not surprised to get you, but for the first time powerless to bewilderment. You aren't thinking, you're feeling. Feeling your way through every damned patch of thorns, of bullshit, using your hands to battle your way. Your palm connects with a warm, muscular-bone shaped flesh, fingertips brushing slight into plump, soft lips. The echo your hit on Langdon causes is haunting, an eerie flush dusting across your skin.

You would swear on everyone's lives here that you saw nothing human in his eyes moments after he gets his bearings. Your pride is short lived, arm suddenly branded by his painful grip, hot like an iron, banishing your bones to dust, muscles twisting in being drug to his room, his office, whatever it is. Your body is seemingly everywhere at once, the room flying violently past your vision. Your legs crumble at the same time your back collides-tailbone first into the heavy double doors, locks sounding, making you itch. Langdon is tossing you by your wrist into his desk, your hip jutting into its sharp edge.

Scrambling back you decide it's fight or flight. He's already circling you, unyielding, so you need to do this. Propelling backwards behind his chair you reach for something glass, a stupid paper weight, holding it tightly. "I'll smash your fucking skull into your brains, Langdon, and I don't care what will happen to me after. It'll be worth it to see you die if you fucking touch me!"

You don't want him to meet death's door, though, you are startling to realize you've felt this way since you laid eyes on him, and that sets off a powerful lurch in your step, paperweight slipping, forgotten, rolling around his approaching feet. You let him grab you, let him seal your fate, permission all granted. If someone is going to die then it will be you, you just can't hurt him. He grips your apron strap, your book clattering in a thump, and then you're one with the cold floor below you, inches from the confines of the area rug. When he straddles you, you forget how to breathe, choking.

Bowing up, then down again, your arms fold to your sides, body holding. Langdon descends above you like an angel forged out of dark, enriching blood, whispering things like wings to his shadow, his coat black feathers you hunger to stroke. His leather clad legs have you caged in, his chest eases atop yours, his hair cascading a private curtain to enclose you in fate. His nose nudges yours, not giving in, changed, in synch with this newly slow dance tempo. You're gliding, gliding somewhere where only you two can walk on the dance floor, where the music exists solely for your ears.

This is more terrifying than you had felt before with him. Suddenly you're unsure of anything you've ever done in your entire life, questioning every waking decision. Hitting him is all you can be proud of, because it led to this. And this.... this scares you, being moved by violence towards a dangerous soul, it binds you. Langdon's ring clad finger strokes down your chin, across your jaw, up to your cheekbone to smear around dried tears of humiliation that you never knew you had cried.

He's got a red patch wound across his mouth from your imprint, an urge to lick at the skin, taste your hot hit on him tempting enough you feel your pelvis jolt off the floor, directly colliding with his.

You shiver into motions you can't control, gasping on cans of air that reach Langdon's lips. He tastes them, drawing his fingers back down the path they came, working to cup your breast through your apron and your overshirt. If you thought his presence fucked your nervous system up, then you know you're going to hell in a handbasket now. But you don't have time to question it, no. Langdon easily brings you up onto your shaky footing, holding you around your waist, fingertips skimming your breast, whilst he lets his other hand grip your tightly worn and issued twist at the top of your head, pulling until it releases your hair.

You sigh into a pregnant tremble, your head lighter, everything spinning, spinning to stillness. For an unusual amount of moments Langdon is quiet, observant in concern, defeating his voices to silence. He won't hurt you, not really. He can't.

The fact that that wasn't what actually upset him stirred his demon, spoke to his soul. You were guarded around him, shielding yourself by sheer emotion. No magics, no seduction, no wit. You didn't want him to see, but you let that idiot Gallant inside. The one that was so desperate for love Langdon was honest to Satan scared he'd try to find something with you.

Physical or not, he couldn't bare it.

"Why did you do this? I don't understand what happened," You whisper gently, seeking.

"You're an obstacle I did not expect to find here, nor do I want you. Gallant is a fucking problem. I should end you both, drive a fucking stake through your hearts as you're embracing. What a sweet little death for two insatiable romantics." And he's mocking you again, only this is tipping over into the bottom of the ocean cruel.

You scoot from his grip, appalled at what he's implying. Is the male ego that thick? Even now?

"Then you're not who you claim to be, because if you were, you'd know that Mr. Gallant would carry you over this buildings' threshold, ride off in your god forsaken carriage with you and leave us here to fry feed the cannibals." You finish, ignoring the sting in your eyes at him stating clearly what you already know.

He doesn't want you. But you shouldn't care beyond lust and competing for affections, having him when no one else does, that should be all you want. Not hurt that runs so damn deep you want to carve your heart out and demand he step on it, finish you. What's this otherworldly reason for wanting someone you don't even know, a sociopathic egomaniac - to love you? If love were to catch you, wrap itself around you like poison-why is it running so ahead of you that an abyss can't even capture its rapture, with a.... a man like this?

Langdon can read you so well again, continuing his monologue, spoken tongue to mouth, yours.

"Given the right environment, deprivation of human contact until the body cries out for something, any-fucking-thing, emotional stimulation, anyone can become more than they should, or ever knew that they could be together, Y/N." His voice is speaking to you, not down on you. And he's moving closer again, forward.

You don't know anything but this man on this earth. Who is everyone? Who the fuck are you? You just want to be in him, he in you. Together. No separation. You don't fight Langdon's touch, his forehead softly propping against yours. "I want every single part of you that you cling to, so I can shatter you, then put you back together. I want you to let me in the way you let him in."

Fucking breathe, don't forget that. No, you can't use Langdon's air. Not yet.

"I may not want you, but I need you. I shouldn't, but I ache for you. And I've eaten, but I could ravish you until there is nothing left but what I desire to be." He's crowning your chin in a gentle touch, feather-like, almost as if you can share the drumming pulse right from his fingertips through you. He too is a little more shaky, something you are too slack-jawed to comprehend.

It settles like snowfall, quiet enough for live clouds to form above your heads. Langdon guides your cold and sweaty palm to wipe off on his shirt, taking note to your nerves, not entirely objecting. He still likes you squirming. You're swung by a force so inhuman, you believe it has prayed over you in hisses, forever winding into your skin. There's no turning back, but you knew that from the moment he got here.

You're moving, like ghosts, fast paced, not quick enough. There's orange and yellow blurs pattering across your vision in fuzzy shapes, candlelight. This place is leaving you flabbergasted. It's like any other room but it's his. His sanctuary.

Your body is laid back across some sheets, stretched out like an art exhibit on the mend, striving for greatness. Langdon's coat is off, his scarf following, drifting into the chair you were unaware is here. You don't know exactly what you should do, your animalistic instincts trying to snap their violent jaws through leashes of your thinly held self-control. There's a wisp that snaps an air so warm you bite into your cheek, fisting the covers beside you, head lolling to the side, a moan vibrating throughout your entire body. You arch to it like a willing prisoner on the verge of her freedom.

What are you doing to me?  You don't voice it, all stomping surround sound guides it. You sense cosmic connection, fucking space extended, mother nature pumping your blood. You wither around like a fish on dry land, thirsting for a stream of whatever Langdon offers you. Maybe you can hear music, anything you wish.

Are you dreaming? Did you fall on those stairs? What is this?

"Don't restrain it, don't hold back, don't let the human reservations consume what your body wants. I can smell you," Langdon breathes, giving you his supply, knees pressing into his bed. "How openly ripe your heart is, how I want it bared to me, unguarded, the way Mr. Gallant takes you to try and make his pathetic existence matter."

"I'm not, I'm just," Fuck, it's like he's controlling the weather in here, executing your every attempt at a clear breath. " We talk, that is it, Sir. I'm just here to be whatever it is they deem me-"

"Bullshit!" Langdon roars, arms wildly flailing out, posture still staying perched nearer to your knees. "You're spouting a previously written verse. How dare you think you can lie to me, even now? Even after you struck me and I never slit your weak, little throat?"

His temper doesn't level quickly, not like you're used to seeing if he's irritated. The changing movement coaxes you to be bold once more, tears nearing your lash line, shame dripping past your slick thighs. "If you know I'm so weak then why are you getting off on trying to keep proving I am, Langdon? That seems below you, doesn't it? Like me, like I am to Gallant outside these walls. Hell, in them if he could have a shot at something more, a shot at you."

His brow raises, chest shapes his ribs visible beneath his black undershirt at your usage of his last name. He notices your acidic hiss as you spit out the last part of your sentence, zeroing in on him. It's clear. So you dislike your friend's adoration, yearning for him? So many complicated layers between human beings.

He wasn't aware he clouds his own knowledge. This further proves that you're unhinging him to a sway he can't fathom. A sturdy hand filters above, up, to lay beside your knee, your body still locked in place. "You envy one another in ways, then you act as if you care for each other, despite everyone here thinking you belong outside, or that you should be licking the very floors they fantasize were built for them."

"It's not that way all the time. Better than nothing, knowing him more than they do," You softly respond.

"And this is why you continue to let him in? Because his presence feels good enough to make you forget the loneliness?" Langdon questions, seemingly so very interesting now he's tilting his head, making his hair fall over his eyes. You want to object to those beautiful things being covered, but you remain mum. He's got it and he lets it click.

"We share the most degrading human emotion," says Langdon, this time dropping a knee to your right, lifting himself above you slowly.

"Is that the answer to why you're interested in me and Gallant, Sir?" You rasp, wanting to scoot away, brain warning you, everything else unraveling fast.

"Michael." Another knee that presses, bringing him atop you like your dark angel. For a moment you think he knows Gallant's first name, then it sweeps you into a magnetic design, your thighs hitting his kneecaps.

"Use my name however you see fit, Y/N. Let me break this lonesome disposition inside you. Give it all to me, not to a worthless attention seeking man. I don't care what he wants, I don't care if he doesn't pine for what's between your legs. He'll overtake you before either of you know it."

"He's doesn't want me like that," You stutter. "You're mad because I won't fold into you like the rest?"

"You won't let anyone in but him, when I should be already inside you." Michael confirms, as if this is so obvious a rat could figure it out.

"So just your ego. To conquer. Okay then, I'm out." Your body does start to move this time, salty tears spilling, bypassing your wishes, before Michael completely wipes himself from your space. You have to blink a few times to make sure you can still see him, far away, like he can move without even walking. He's not close enough, you want to hit him, take him, taste him, give all he wants even if you're terrified. How can he mess with you like this? It must be in this air, polluting, veiling.

"We share jealousy, you and I. But together we can cure it, rid ourselves of unsatisfaction." His back is firm against the heavy wooden door, candlelight curving out every space you can see from your placing. "If you let me in, let me be the one to break those walls down and build mine around you."

"Michael, please.... Just." You choke on your stretching gasp, a fist to your throat, arm holding across your lungs. What more can you say? He wants you to stop being guarded, stop letting what little you let out with someone that isn't him. Some man that reeks power, god-like, is chewing on his lip, wetting it, unbuttoning his shirt to smooth his fingers across his glowing flesh, what he lets you see of it.

"Open your fucking legs." Michael barks out, striding quickly, meeting in front of you.

A searing heat releases your leashes, uncaring. You sink your teeth into your lip, trying to draw blood, needing to taste something soon. You throb even more than you have been, tumbling, spinning, stumbling into Michael Langdon. Doubt is trying to wave itself in there, more warnings. Michael cuts them away, peeling back his shirt without eye contact faltering, muscles in his neck moving.

"You could have anyone here. This is too easy. There's better people for you." You try one more time. Denying yourself, this is insanity at its finest.

"I don't want anyone else this way, I never really have had the use for it beyond release. These morons here, they don't count for that kind of time. I want this endeavor to be...worth it." The fabric of his shirt drops at his booted feet, his entire chest expanded to your line of sight. He's taut, not overly so. Skin slightly tanned, creamy to blend. His muscles are strong, but they're not overpowering, no, that is elsewhere.

He radiates everything your mother warned you wasn't good, but you can't let this be wrong when it feels so fucking right. You attempt for your final-failed try.

"I can't please you, you're judging me as if I'm some key you've finally gotten. I'll disappoint you, Michael, I will." You berate yourself in shameful truth, already petrified of shedding your clothing, your skin, warped against his hard body, all the while you're pussy is growing more damp, threatening more tears if it's not attended to.

He gives a sigh so loud it could be a beasts' rumble. It lets him give his body to you, pressing over you, so hot you're sharing his heartbeat, breasts straining to be freed, to feel his delicious skin that houses whatever he is. He dips, rolls his hips like a snake dancing for its helpless prey, knees working against you, pelvis thrusting in tilting circles. Your apron, your skirt goes up your body, over your knees, his leather covered legs nudging it, commanding it around your hipbones. His knuckle moves so fast that it's not until you hear fabric rip, a shining glint off his ring that vanishes between your thighs, its sharp body slicing the fabric of your stockings apart down the middle, leaving a gateway to your panties, closer to you.

He's not talking, he's performing. His ringed finger circles your navel, brushes back and forth across your abdomen, spelling, shaping, mapping the elastic of your underwear, causing you to shake away, not getting anywhere. It goes on like this for what feels like an eternity. Just him testing you, stroking, getting your body slick with perspiration that sparkles like jewels in the rooms' lighting. And when you think he's done talking for tonight, planning to take, he startles your glazed over gaze at his working fingers - that pause on you.

"I'm not judging you by your cunt," Michael unravels on a long brush with a deep breath, inhaling you at the same instance he cups you warm, firm, fingers slipping between your sticky folds, kept covered by your sopping cotton panties. "Although, if I were.... yours would be filled with my cock, womb drowning in my seed. And that's something I'm not willing to give to just anyone, Y/N."

This time you do get closer to him on your own accord, hands finding purchase by nails biting painfully into your palms, pumping to push against his chest. He hums, a genuine grin pleasuring his features. Easing, you're sharing a way into you, he's finding you, you're coming together. He's denying you now that he sees you want it, teasing you, however. You bite off painful insults, he's chuckling, swiping a finger in circles, pushing down so hard you cry out.

Michael is saying something that you try to wake up for in your swollen state. He's showing you his damp finger, commenting how your juices coated him through a layer of fabric. You're halted, stamped to his watchful eye, the pop of his finger sucking your taste off. "You want to touch me more than you want my fingers to spread you apart, don't you?"

You're whimpering, nodding yes, trying to keep a hold of being here, but you're slipping, losing yourself in him, damn near begging.

"Don't hold back. Tell me what you want and then we'll take it, Y/N, together."

"Break me down and be with me, Michael." You find yourself answering immediately, right away, throwing yourself off this precipice.

Hefty arms draw around you and they drag you close, hands working to free you of your apron, buttons ripping, scraps, meaningless clothing everywhere. You need to get back to what Adam and Eve were. Bared, nature covering them barely, concealing enough to birth their story. You and Michael. You want nothing to stand between you two.

Concept of time isn't meaning anything anymore, it's rare and stops for you. Your clothing piles beside the bed, Michael's boots thump to hardwood, your hearing swerving in and out, sensitive to each sound you hear past your roaring heartbeat churning blood through your ears. You engulf tightly, parting your legs further like he called for, heels of your feet pressing into the backs of his strongly moving knees. Your hands are shoving themselves to the button on his pants, impatient, maniacal. He can't stop to assist you, too caught in pressing his lips to your collar bone, leveling a reward to your breasts in stride.

Firm planes of muscular structure drag across your nipples that harden with temperature, the promise of temptation full-filled. You have his zipper down by the time he's taking a neglected peak into his mouth, a gasp thrust into the air from you. His hair trickles across your chest, soft and sweeping. You maneuver a scoop into each side of his leather, noting he's simply wearing thin boxer briefs that cling to him like a wet t-shirt would. It lights you like no other.

Desperation doesn't cover what possesses you in this instance, so close to having this, taking this with him. Exerting yourself to extract this specimen form his too tight for any one person - bottoms, causes you to grit your teeth to challenge. Michael sucks, kisses, prods his tongue at your nipple, paddling the pumping throb your cunt is beating into you. A willing dance partner you sway in his steps, swallowed by his shadow, his solid golden fresh skin glued to your heaving body. You want to cry wantonly that you're coming, yet Michael hasn't touched you enough for it to peak.

Then again.... he doesn't need to, he.... he just. Can. You can't explain how the wheels in your head are turning as your bodies meet over and repeat. You're spinning in suspense, hung out to float, cunt clenching around nothing, recognizing him already, as if its been made to house him. Patting yourself on the back is what you want to do, a giggle tossing over your bare shoulder, Michael's pearly whites grinning into your skin.

You've gotten his leather pants down below his ass, eager fingers measuring bravely. It's there, it's thick, silk with slick, straining deliciously that you're salivating, not shy like you'd pictured you be in all your fantasies. Drawing your nails like claws protruded, your rake them down his shoulder blades which work to hold him up, streaming his back, resting purchase on his ass, then you give it your all, both of you swirled into a gusting gasp. Your sense of smell is stronger, alive, heady to the copper you know you've set free tearing into Michael's skin. It pleases you.

This King reigns in his self-control, eyes damn near black, blowing out all that icy blue. His lips red and wet, inviting you to taste your own salty sweat off his mouth. A kiss, an offering. You launch at it, granting yourself permission to tangle your fingers into his air, wrapping around your wrists, yanking in your fist. Each movement you make glides his heavy cock through your slit, rudely scattering what is overflowing from your pussy.

He's getting huffy, you're abruptly impatient.  Michael finally frees back, lingering his look on you, fighting for his own oxygen. He's flushed, soaked, needing. And it's you whose to give it to him. You're to surrender.

It's what this whole thing was about. Letting him in.

Dropping your legs from around his lower waist, you watch him, unsteady breaths trampling your chest cavity into pathetic particles, then you slosh two fingers in voyage all across your dripping sex. Your thighs shake, knees struggle to frame this. His eyes are nearly growing impossibly black, almost hollowing him out. If it hurts then oh well, but you can't keep going on like this. You have to have him before the next second passes.

"Come here," You whisper, using your hands to separate your folds for him.

Alight, mischievous with a given gift, Michael takes his cock through your lips and gives no formal warning. Only foul, filthy, fitting, and desirable.

"You're going to let me push my cock into you now, aren't you? Fuck you until I'm emptying myself inside you, hiding." He dribbles to his knees, holding you by your thighs, keeping you shown. "Do you want me to hurt you? I can make it hurt, oh how I can make it hurt." He's dropping by your ear in a bend, lips letting you in on this choice.

"Michael just take it all, you can have it all. It's yours, it's been waiting for you," You belt out, whimpering like a frightened animal, spooking Michael into a fast thrust.

It's brutal, it stretches you beyond your means, bouncing your body up the bed. Those razor claws sink to Michael's wrists, your ass trying to meet his experimental rhythm, fast and punishing. You can hear everything full blast again, like a roaring train louder than the bombs were, the destruction, the night noises, the loneliness. Michael walks his fingers down your ankle and drags your leg over his shoulder.

You turn to press your face into the bedsheets beside you, a searing pain locking your muscles around him so hard you can feel your sticky wetness seep out from around where you're joined. He strikes a hand out and forcefully cups your chin in his hand, moving up and down in front of you, like he's gliding. Your mouth is shaped to form an O, not able to look away, pinpoint.

"I want you to look down and watch me fuck your selfish, greedy cunt." Is Michael's demand, wrought out iron to steal and every other damned thing you can think of that holds structure.

Who are you to refuse? Intrigued, ride hitched, you hang onto him, dash into his painful thrusts and moan loud enough to wake whatever is left of the world's population. You're swollen around him, your thick and creamy arousal pooling all over the sheets, noisily mashing at his cock, against his balls with each slam they make against your ass.

"That's it, Y/N. Let me in, let me deep inside. I'll never leave you."

"Michael, fuck, more, let me kiss you."

He surprises you both by answering without pause, biting into your plump lip, licking his tongue into your mouth, letting his lips workout the breaths he tries to inhale -into your shared airspace. You release his wrists, moon marks a bracelet of markings to him. He nuzzles your breast, hips slamming into the bed just as you grab his neck's nape, cradling. And then it happens faster than either of you knew you needed it to. He gives a little more into you, focused, discovering.

Piles of debris could've fallen on you both, unbeknownst to you. Michael barely grazes your clit on an upstroke that hits a slick spot you didn't know exists, sending your cunt to sheathe him tightly, your warmth milking his cock, raining down on him that he curls into you, crying out. You're overheated all too much, shivering, panting, an explosive shake clasping your pussy, pulling until you're boneless,  Michael's body lax to keep atop you. You feel like your ears are hearing static. Only white noise and Michael Langdon.

It's a deep-set fascination watching his cum spill back down your thighs, white and hot. You lick your lips, already starving for so much more. It's there, it has to be. Michael doesn't put himself away yet, instead hums looking over you, settling in front of you on his knees. He's gotten the key and this door is sealed behind you both.