#a bookshop there had all the books on display

[tiny-huts]

The fact of the matter is that R.A. Salvatore is a Masshole and so am I so I have been haunted for a week now by the image of every single person from Menzoberranzan having a heavy Boston accent

[wineauntie]

LUKE HUGHES IN LOVE WITH YOU — headcanons (l. hughes x bookworm!reader)

note: I actually adore these types of Headcanons, so enjoy and maybe there’ll be more soon <3

warnings: CONTAINS NSFW CONTENT, MDNI, fem!reader, use of y/n, nicknames like; pretty girl, sweet girl and baby, oral (fem! and male!receiving), p in v, fingering, PRAISE GALORE! reader loves to read books, brief mention of bad past relationships.

Luke knew that he loved you on your third date.

He had taken you to a bookshop and promised you he would buy whatever books your heart desired.

You’d lit up but refused to pick out any books, not wanting him to spend money on you. You were more than content to just wander around the shop, talking to him and browsing.

Luke was having none of it.

He followed you around the entire shop, watching your eyes and body language, secretly scooping up any books that your gaze lingered on.

He just wanted to spoil you a bit.

When you’d finally turned around from your browsing, only to find Luke, half-struggling, behind you with a stack of twenty-five books, your heart had fluttered.

Luke knew from that moment on that he wanted to see that face of pure joy and wonder every single day, for as long as he lived.

He refrained from telling you how he felt at that moment, not wanting to scare you at how intensely he felt about you.

Unbeknownst to him, you felt the exact same.

Watching as Luke carried any and all books you’d briefly eyed, animatedly talking away, indulging your book obsession caused your smile to widen and your heart to swell.

Your last partner hadn’t been supportive regarding your bookish obsession. They’d often mocked your habits and despite playing their harsh words off as a joke, it still cut deep.

Luke was the complete opposite.

Each day he would ask what book you were feeling like on that particular day and listened with such care as you’d explain accordingly.

“Which book are you today, hm?”

“I’m feeling a lot like Frankenstein…just because I’m really in the mood to create something. Cupcakes…maybe?”

He would often let you curl up on his lap, letting you read as he watched some sort of sport on the television. His hand would caress your hair and his eyes would flicker down towards you every few minutes, whilst you would lean further into him.

Cuddling with Luke is your kryptonite.

He gets so clingy especially when he comes home from a string of away games.

He will literally find a way to cuddle you no matter where you are.

The two of you could be out at a bar and this man will quite literally wrap both his arms around you and bury his head in the nape of your neck until it’s time to leave.

Jack likes to tease the two of you about it, but with one small glare from you with a silent warning to shush, he keeps quiet.

You like cuddling him too.

Luke is tall, so there’s so much of him that you can wrap around and cuddle deeply.

Luke loves cuddling while napping with you resting on top of him.

He would pull you straight down, locking his arms around your back as you nestled your face into the warmth of his neck.

He claims that you're his own “personal weighted blanket”.

He also loves to lie on top of you, wriggling his way under your hoodie so he’s completely shrouded by you and your perfume. He’s like a baby with a constant need for skin-to-skin contact.

The two of you are always intertwined one way or another, whether that being by held hands or woven legs and Luke loves it. He loves being as close to you as possible.

We’ve already established that Luke Hughes likes to spoil you, but my god, this man pulls out all the stops almost naturally.

He will bring you flowers weekly, sometimes even bi-weekly. You adore them and will always display them despite how little room you have for them.

When he’s away longer than usual, he will order those flowers in advance with little notes signed by him. They’ll usually read;

“Missing you today, sweet girl, love you — Luke”

Or…

“What book are you today, pretty girl? – L x”

You get butterflies in your stomach every time your doorbell rings and the florist drops more flowers off. (Luke is now practically on a friend basis with the local florist from how often he orders and picks up flowers from there).

Luke will treat you to little gifts varying from a book from a different state to a charm for the bracelet he bought you for your first anniversary.

The bracelet is your most prized possession– don’t tell your gilded edge copy of Pride and Prejudice!

The bracelet started out with two charms; a stack of books and an “L”. Throughout the year you collected more charms and so had Luke.

You’d found a pair of skates and a hockey stick in honour of Luke, a cute little bow, and a small cup of coffee whilst Luke had gifted you a crescent moon, a tiny gem the colour of your eyes and your favourite– a tiny heart with keyhole and a missing key.

A missing key that Luke wore on a silver chain around his neck 24/7. I mean he never takes it off, not even in the shower or in bed.

(He’d make you hold the key charm in your mouth as he fucks you)

With that lovely segue, let’s get into the naughty side of things.

Luke is such a caring lover. He will always make you come at least twice before he even thinks of coming himself, worshipping you in the way that you deserve.

He is so handsy all of the time. His hands will be everywhere…on your waist, brushing hair out of your face, placing them just underneath the waistband of your pants, around your neck– his body pushing against yours needly.

He loves how small your hands and throat look in comparison to his longer hands. He likes to place his hand on your throat in such a particular way to feel every time your pulse jumps.

Luke fucks like a man deprived.

He loves to eat you out and watch as you writhe against the feeling of his tongue. He also adores the feeling of your fingers tugging on his curls.

“Gotta stay still, sweet girl, I don’t want to have to stop.”

He could spend hours getting incredibly pussy-drunk and sending you into complete overstimulation.

He is so reassuring and loving, no matter how (consensually) rough he gets in bed.

“You taste so good, pretty girl, want to spend my life between your pretty thighs.”

You are enraptured by how long his fingers are, especially, when he uses them to send you spiralling into orgasm after orgasm whilst his other hand gently squeezes your neck.

His fingers are magic. At least, you think so. They reach every spot your own fingers can barely scrape.

I 100% believe that if you ever read a book with smut, Luke would make you read out the steamy scenes as he fucks you.

Either that or he’ll sit you on his lap, with your legs draped over his spread ones, as he languidly fingers you.

he’ll notice you struggling to read between gasps of pleasure and will place the book carefully to the side, knowing you hate throwing books around.

“You think the men in those books could ever make you squirm like I do?”

You love sucking Luke’s dick– a frank truth, but a truth nonetheless.

You loved being able to help him relax as he carefully bunches your hair into a makeshift ponytail, guiding you down on him, all while allowing you to move at your own pace.

Your hands would often brace themselves on his thighs as you lowered your mouth down onto him, trying to take every inch he offered.

“There you go, baby, look at you taking my dick down your throat, y’look so pretty like this.”

On days when you wanted to help him completely de-stress, you let him fuck your throat and oh, how you loved being at his mercy.

He’d thrust in long, hard strokes, his head tilted backwards with one hand in your hair and the other stroking your jaw (because no matter how intense he got, your care was his biggest priority).

For such an incredibly sweet guy, he has a DIRTY mouth.

“Look at you squirming, all wet and needy under me…so desperate.”

“You want to come?…oh you poor thing, you’re dripping, maybe I’ll consider it if you beg me to let you.”

“Atta girl, love watching you take me so deep. You look so pretty all spread for me…”

He loves watching you ride him, more so because he can play with your tits easily.

This man is such a tits guy, it’s unreal.

He will pinch them, suck them, generally mess around with them and leave so many hickeys across them, that at one stage you had to scold him for not giving your poor skin a chance to recover.

He loves the sounds you make when he thrusts into you, especially when you're close to coming–It’s practically music to his ears.

“Sound so pretty f’me…hold it baby, wait for me.”

Most people get embarrassed over being vocal in bed, but Luke embraces it.

His grunts and groans into your ear cause your back to arch. You love knowing he is gaining as much pleasure as he gives you.

Your nails aren’t too long, but they rake across Luke’s back so often that the skin of his back is, more often than not, raised in red lines.

He gets so much shit for it in the locker rooms, but he just blushes and shrugs off all the teasing whistles knowing that he loves how you cling to him.

He loves it when you leave hickeys on him. Especially when they can be half-concealed such as the space just above his pulse point on his neck.

He also adores given hickeys, as seen above, he will leave them anywhere, at any time. He has no care about whether or not they’ll be hidden– the hickeys mark you as his, no one else’s, all his and he adores it. You secretly do too.

Aftercare with Luke is almost as intoxicating as actually having sex with him.

Your well-being will forever and always be his number one priority so you best know this man showers you in praise, and just general care to ensure you feel thoroughly loved.

He will always get you to go to the toilet and bathe or shower with him afterwards, and if you’re too tired to move, he will carry you to the toilet before gently washing you with a cloth.

Luke will always dress you in his clothes after sex. You love it because of how comforting it is to be surrounded by him and he loves it because seeing you in his clothes makes his heart swell with pride.

The two of you will typically cuddle or nap (or both) after having sex for a longer period.

He will always wake up before you though and order food, so that when you wake up the two of you can eat without worrying about cooking.

Anyways, all in all, you and Luke are so irrevocably in love with each other. You are practically the embodiment of sunshine to him- warm, comforting, welcoming and an utter necessity.

He’s just so glad that he gets exists in the same solar system as you so that he can watch you and treasure you as the universe intended.

I got carried away with this but words cannot fathom how in love I am with Luke Hughes. Also, if you want to see more of these types of Headcanons, let me know <3

[averageanonymous]

Summary: Something happened in 1941 in Aziraphale's bookshop. Something they blame on alcohol and adrenaline. Something they make an unspoken agreement to never talk about again.

Note: This isn't smut 😅 Just a little baby spice.

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

It's dark, and it's late, and they're both a little drunk and shot through with adrenaline.

Well, what can you expect after an evening that started with blowing Nazis to Hell, swung round to performing a lethal magic trick in a crowded theater without a single miraculous intervention, and culminated in the closest call they've yet had with their... whatever this thing between them is.

So, yeah, you could say they've had a night. So if he makes a mistake, well, it's not like that's such a surprise, is it?

At least, that's what Crowley tells himself...

When he wanders after Aziraphale (who said something about tracking down a book with some really fascinating passages regarding blah blah blah... Crowley had, admittedly, lost track of what the angel was saying, too distracted by the way the candlelight caught in his hair and the way his lips smiled around the words he spoke) into the dark shelves at the back of the store...

When he realizes, standing behind Aziraphale as he searches a shelf, that his heart is inexplicably racing in his chest...

When Aziraphale turns around abruptly with an exclamation of triumph and a book in hand, and Crowley doesn't step back, doesn't move away, even though that puts them barely a foot apart...

When he takes the book, his fingers brushing against the angel's, sending a shock up his arm, and places it back down on the shelf...

When he leans in, so close now to his angel that their breath is caught between them, the heat rising from Aziraphale’s skin warming his own. The only thing between their lips is a question.

Crowley waits.

He holds his breath.

And for a moment, just a moment, reality beckons to him.

Then Aziraphale’s lips touch his own, and anything remotely resembling reality or consequences or a single moment beyond this one, single, solitary moment, is lost to him.

He takes Aziraphale’s face in his hands, runs his fingers up into his hair, soft against his skin. Crowley presses into Aziraphale until the angel's back is against the shelf. Then presses closer until there's no space between them at all. Aziraphale tastes like wine and starlight, and Crowley thinks that if ecstasy tastes like anything, it tastes like Aziraphale’s kiss.

"Crowley..." Aziraphale gasps between one breath and the next. His voice is rough. Crowley wishes he would say his name again, again and again, the sound of it like music, like a prayer. Crowley presses his forehead to Aziraphale’s, breathing hard.

Aziraphale puts a hand on his chest.

Then... then something changes.

"Crowley, we can't... I can't..." Aziraphale’s voice is soft, but urgent, desperate. Crowley looks up at the sudden change. Their gazes lock, blue on gold. Aziraphale’s eyes, reflecting candlelight and shadow, run through a dozen emotions, each on display for only a heartbeat.

"I- I need..." he starts, stops. Then, one emotion rises to the top. Aziraphale glances towards the shuttered windows and then back to Crowley. All at once, he looks afraid.

"Angel-" Crowley tries, running a thumb soothingly over his cheek, thinking to reassure him, but Aziraphale shakes his head once, firmly.

"They almost caught you tonight," Aziraphale’s voice is tight, "Because you were helping me with a magic act, of all the frivolous things." He closes his eyes, his brow knitting like he's in pain. "If they found out-" His voice cuts off abruptly as though he physically can't follow the thought through. He presses his hand more firmly against Crowley's chest. Pushes him away.

"I need you to go," Aziraphale says.

Crowley hesitates, then steps back. "Sure," he finally agrees, though his heart feels like it's just been torn straight from his chest, "Right then... I'll just show myself out."

Aziraphale nods. The space between them, nonexistent moments ago, now yawns like a chasm.

So Crowley turns. Heads back to the more well-lit front of the shop. He grabs his coat and glasses. And he tells himself that it was just the alcohol. Just the adrenaline. Just a mistake.

He leaves the shop.

He walks away.

He tries to forget.

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

Thanks for reading! I'm keeping my fingers crossed for 1941 Part III in S3 🤞

[1andrys]

invisible string | ethan landry

“all along there was an invisible string tying you to me.”

non gf! ethan x reader

𓏲࣪⋆| warnings: none :)

𓏲࣪⋆| summary: Ethan was a bookshop employee in hopes to gain some cash as a broke college student, it wasn’t the best job but here he was. The only thing keeping him a little motivated was the cute bookshop regular roaming around the store every thursday and friday. As a hopeless romantic, he thought it was fate. (ib: invisible string by taylor swift)

𓏲࣪⋆| a/n: this is my first one on this acc, i hope ygs enjoy. if you are interest in more please add yourself to the taglist

“THAT will be 15.48,” Ethan’s voice spoke as he clicked on the old cash register that should be repaired soon for any other inconveniences in the small bookshop called “Bookmarked.” Ethan always thought the name was corny but here he was, wearing the ugly brown apron over his green knitted sweater and jeans with the name tag in his crappy handwriting. It was just as corny as the name. As a college student, it wasn’t easy to just be stable and independent, so Ethan was working at the bookshop for some cash. At least he ended up getting some employee discount for books.

“I thought there was a 50% discount,” The customer chirped and eyed Ethan while they looked at the stack of books in the check out.

Ethan sighed, this was the third time this afternoon that somebody tried correcting him, “There is, but only if it’s the books with a green sticker.” He explained as he pointed to the poster with the symbols and words saying, GET 50% OFF ON SELECTED BOOKS (LOOK FOR THE GREEN STICKER.)

It ultimately led to an annoyed customer paying full price for the books, unsatisfied. Ethan let out a groan before he went back to the shelves and fix the new arrivals stack. The fresh smell of books infiltrated his senses while he scooted into the thick wooden shelves. He liked color coordinating the books to his satisfaction. One by one, he placed the new books into the shelf. Finally. He looked behind him at the cart full of books he needed to reorganize because people loved to misplace books. Instead, his eyes widened to see one of the bookstore regulars looking through the cart of books, the same pretty face he liked to see walk in every Thursday and Friday. Your face.

He couldn’t help but stand in place and admire the way your eyes moved to read the back of books as a preview. Eventually, those same eyes locked onto his, you gave him a gentle smile. “Hey, I was wondering where the new arrivals were.”

An awkward silence filled the air, Ethan was zoning out and then snapped out of it, his pale cheeks forming a shade of pink, “Oh right! Yeah yeah, they’re right here.” He stepped to the side and showed the display of the shelf. He had this stupid grin that he couldn’t wipe, he took note of the nice sweater you had on. “I like your sweater.”

You seemed pretty busy and just gave him a nod, “Thanks.” You noticed the same grin the bookstore employee had, your instincts couldn’t help but blush at his words. It wasn’t anything that happened everyday. This was your favorite book store for a reason.

In the fall, you began studying at Blackmore University and discovered the variety of shops near the campus. You came across the dimly lit, cozy book shop in August and have been shopping at “Bookmarked” ever since. Time would go by and you’d notice the cute bookstore employee, the same one with the curly brown hair and big brown eyes. He almost stuck out like a sore thumb in the shop due to his height, he always looked quiet so you always refrained from speaking to him. But it was like there was something always leading you to talk to him.

You walked past him to check out the new arrivals, and you felt the employee’s eyes on you, you spun around and held up a book, “Do you have any recommendations?”

“Not really,” Ethan mumbled in embarrassment. He tried to come up with something niche to pique your interest, but failed to do so.

You gave him a subtle smile, “Well you’re one hell of an employee.” You immediately regretted it, damn, you couldn’t flirt for shit. You almost prayed he wouldn’t take offense.

“Oh,” Ethan cleared his throat out of embarrassment, “Well, I guess I could suggest you this,” He picked up a book right above your head that sent you into a flustered state. It was “Betting On You,” a romance book.

“Cheesy,” Was all you could say. You ended up taking the book, Ethan followed you back to the register to ring up your book without saying a word.

“That will be, 6.53,” Ethan said when he looked over at you and your wallet. Sometimes he despised how awkward he was when it came to girls, he wish it came easy like his best friend Chad, a smooth talker.

Your eyes met Ethan’s and your eyebrows furrowed, “Wait a minute, why is it cheaper? Isn’t the book around 14 bucks?”

“Erm, we’re having a sale.”

“And I thought it was only for selected books,” You pointed behind him at the poster with the same words, GET 50% OFF ON SELECTED BOOKS (LOOK FOR THE GREEN STICKER.) “There’s no green sticker.”

“Right..” Ethan was a little flushed, he was just trying to make a kind gesture, but you guessed it was a form of flirting, “Well, I noticed you were a regular employee so, it wouldn’t hurt giving a discount.”

“Right..” You trailed off, almost mocking his words. “I appreciate it.”

—————————————————————————

WEEKS went by since that last interaction and Ethan was in the clouds, he couldn’t help but remember the way you spoke to him and joked with him. Was it flirting? Ethan wouldn’t know. Thursdays and Fridays were the same, your presence was always a welcome to him and he was always so relieved to see you. It would be some light conversations and recommendations, maybe you did like him. Maybe it was fate. He was always one for some corny romance and maybe this was his chance.

If only things were good for him.

It was a normal Thursday night, he was almost counting down for you to come by for your regular visit, only to find out you came way later than usual. 7 pm. Not only that, but you had a guy following you around the bookshop as you spoke to him. Ethan couldn’t help but assume the worst, a boyfriend. Jealously bubbled in Ethan as he stood by the register and watched you with the guy who was tall, blonde, and very good looking.

You roamed around the bookstore with your date, who you just met a week ago and agreed to a small date. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the best, snarky comments here and there about your literature choices.

“I mean who in the world would read this shit?” Your date spoke to you as you roamed around the romance section, “Have you not read actual good literature? Like American Psycho or something?”

A frown formed on your face once your date said that. Of course, he would judge your sense of taste. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you just wanted this to be over. After a while, your date and you went up to the register, you couldn’t help but give Ethan a small wave as he rang up the books from your date. Ethan just smiled back, covering his heartbreak. Of course you dated a good looking guy, who apparently didn’t have a great taste in books.

“That will be 17.80” Ethan muttered as your date paid him the money. Ethan noticed the disinterest in your face as you watched your date grab his books and walk out with you. You looked back to see Ethan with a weak smile, you felt bad.

A small feeling lingered in your heart, this date was a bad idea and now the cute employee felt like he lost his chance. As you and your date exited the bookstore into the cold air, you stopped your date. “You know what? I think let’s just call it a night, I have a few things to care of,” you explained before your date handed you a book and you just parted ways.

You rushed inside the bookstore, that same cute employee was no longer at the register. You skimmed through the bookstore for him until you saw him fixing bookshelves.

“Hey,” You said with a nervous smile as you approached him.

Ethan’s eyes shifted to meet yours and a confused expression was plastered on his face, “Hello. Quite a date huh?”

“Not really, is there any way I can exchange this book for some store credit?” You asked him with a small smile as you held up the book in your hands.

His brown eyes concentrated on the book, bringing a small laugh to his mouth, “Seriously? Diary of An Oxygen Thief?”

“I know! That’s the biggest red flag,” You shook your head as Ethan waved his hand around for you to follow him. Obediently, you followed him back to the register.

“Here, just give me the book and pick something else out,” Ethan said as you handed him the book which he put to the side. For some reason, this conversation was easier for him to talk in. Maybe there was a chance. Luckily, you went ahead and grabbed a book you really wanted. The Secret History. You came back to see Ethan waiting for you. “Good choice. You know, sometimes we should like talk about books.”

You noticed how nervous he looked like, his fingernails tapping on the wooden table and his eyes drifting away from yours.

“Over coffee?” You added on, giving him a small grin. You knew what he was doing and he was doing it in the most nervous way possible. Sure, your date might have been a pretty bad decision, but it led to something better.

All Ethan could do was nod with a wide smile, his heart was jumping in excitement. Finally, in his mind, all he could think about was fate, an invisible string that was probably tying to the two of you. Maybe it was destiny in his head. And he couldn’t help but wait for that date he was going to have with you.

[corrodedcoffins-blog]

Out Of Your Comfort Zone

masterlist

note: the original ask said fantasy but i dont read fantasy at all, so i went with a silly little romance novel i loved, which i think still displays that opposite thing the anon wanted. so i hope this is okay!!

warnings: my writing while i'm high (rambling that can be disguised as descriptive writing)

word count: 1.2 k

♡ summary: During a bookstore date Y/n's taste in books gets Spencer out of his comfort zone.

♡ Spencer Reid x fem!reader

request ✓

Finally, Spencer had a weekend off, where there was no chance of a case coming in at the last minute. And it’s not like Y/n hated Spencer’s job, she knew he did a lot of good. But it was hard sometimes when they would go a few weeks without sleeping next to each other.

It was the perfect morning to their perfect day, they had just come from a local art exhibit pop-up/farmers market. It reminded Y/n of Notting Hill, of course from the movie but also from when she lived in London while studying abroad. But now the couple was off to the local bookstore, they had looked at the farmers market, but they were all travel books, the irony was not lost.

Them both loving books was what got them to the second date, their first being filled with a debate about ‘modern classics’ and what classifies them. A topic they both clearly had a lot of opinions on as it took up the whole date that they hadn’t asked all the first date questions, so they needed the second date.

Them both loving books was what got them to the second date, their first being filled with a debate about ‘modern classics’ and what classifies them. A topic they both clearly had a lot of opinions on as it took up the whole date that they hadn’t asked all the first date questions, so they needed the second date.

And though their taste in books were quite opposite, there was a small overlap that was home to Little Women, Pride and Prejudice, The Bell Jar, and many others. But that was Spencer’s main area, classics, Y/n only read the feminist classics.

So when they went to the bookshop, the two would split up until Spencer finished looking in his favourite sections, since he could read so much faster than the girl it took her about three times as long to look through the fiction section.

Spencer was making his way to her now, stopping to read the backs of a couple books that interested him, even picking one up to buy. He walked past the isles of the fiction and romance sections, finally coming to a halt at the ‘J’s where Y/n was now. She didn’t even register his presence, too wrapped up in reading the summary of the blue and yellow book in her hand.

Spencer didn’t want to startle the girl, so he walked past her, her eyes rising from the book in hand to look at who she thought was a random person just browsing the store like her, eyes lighting up when she sees it’s Spencer.

“Honey, what’d you find?” She questions, Spencer assumes it was a rhetorical question since she didn’t give him enough time before she cuts in grabbing the second book from the stack in his arms, “I was gonna suggest this one to you! A subscriber said it was really good!”

Y/n was a booktuber, when she told Spencer that he obviously had no idea what that was, but a simple explanation later and he was caught up. And after a year of dating, she finally mentioned him in a video when she was talking about ‘Normal People’ . It was one of the books they argued could be considered a modern classic on their first date. And she mentioned his taste in books and now her followers left recommendations for him in her

comments, mostly on instagram when she posted him from time to time.

“Yeah. I was really impressed with another book by this author, her description of the caste system in India and the impact it has mentally was so moving.” “I remember you reading that. I’m not good at reading those types of books, but I love when you tell me all about them.” Her soft words brought red to Spencer’s checks while he hid his hands around her waist.

Recovering from the girl’s flirting, even after a year he still reacted the same to her words, his head rose from the spot in her neck to look at the book she had been looking at when he found her.

“What did you find?” “Oh, I saw a girl say it was a good book in her review and I want to do a video on age gap books since so many people ask.” Pacing the books over to him when he signalled his hand forward for it, turning it over to read the front, ‘Part of Your Word’ by Abby Jimenez in large letters was written across the front. It wasn’t a fairly large book, it could take him maybe five minutes.

Y/n was now turned to read more titles, stopping at any that caught her eye. All the while, Spencer was stood of to the side reading. It had actually only taken the man four minutes when he checked his watch. Proud of himself, he looks up to see that his girlfriend was apparently watching him, for how long, he didn’t know.

With a smile on his face, he asks, “What?” “Spencer. Did you just read my book? Before I even bought it?” She replied with a hand going to her hip and a jokey tone. “Well, first of all, you aren’t buying it bec-” “Why was it bad?”

Y/n often spoke before thinking, causing her to cut off people, Spencer was used to it he thought it was cute and she always made it her mission to not interrupt when he was really passionate about a topic.

“Because, I’m buying.” “Hon, no you bought last time.” “I don’t mind.” “I do.”

Spencer moved on from this conversation, they both know how it will end. Spencer will in fact pay, Y/n will say he didn’t have to, Spencer would say he doesn’t mind, she’ll say she does mind, and they repeat it when they pay for lunch after the bookshop.

“But I did read it.” “Don’t spoil, but what did you think?” She had watched a couple booktok reviews on it so she knew it was a little spicy, something she knew Spencer didn’t read a lot of, if ever.

“I think it was good. I liked how they talked about family relationships and verbal abuse in relationships, I think it was done well and it brought a lot more sense of realism. And I liked the leads, I relate to Daniel more than I thought, his dedication to making things work.. I won’t spoil it for you but- um yeah. And I liked the setting.”

His words sent a loving smile to rest on the girl’s face, she loved nothing more than to hear Spencer talk. His voice was deep yet not at the same time, and his mannerisms were adorable to her. And hearing him actually read and enjoy a book from the romance section that was written in the last few decades, was a big step for him. He didn’t even know about Twilight when they met.

“I’m glad you like it.” She said, truthfully, “I’ll be sure to mention that in my video.” “You don’t have to.” “You just don’t want Penny to see the video and by extension Derek.”

Their conversation continued while they waited in line, holding each other's hand while Y/n looks up to speak. They were interrupted when it was then their turn, Spencer paying like he said he would, and again at lunch, much to the girl’s disapproval.

“You don’t have to pay.” “I don’t mind.” “I do.”

[kimberleyjean]

Aziraphale's Illustrated Bible

There are a lot of interesting items stored within Aziraphale's bookshop and one I find fascinating is the bible (or bibles) that are typically on the stand next to his desk and which they use for the Job flashback/memory sequence. Here's what these books look like in episode 2 - the blue detailed folio, the beige folio held by Aziraphale, and this same beige folio when opened to Job:

You might not have noticed yet, but there are several other images shown in this book in the second season! Often the book is out of focus and far from the camera, but some sleuths on reddit were able to identify the particular images being shown.

Let's take a look at those images and where they occur in the show. All of these images are famous illustrations by Harold Copping:

1. "Joseph knows his brethren" - Book of Genesis, Old Testament

This image is on display in episode 1 and looks like this on camera. To spot it, I used the little telltale shadow that is created on the ground:

The story of Joseph may be more familiar to you as "Joseph and the Technicolour Dreamcoat". I've certainly had to brush up on my bible knowledge myself, so please, if you know more than I do and I've gone wrong anywhere let me know. Joseph is rejected by his family and they believe him dead. He then gets promoted to a high-up position in Egypt. The image depicted is when Joseph is reunited with his estranged brothers and they don't recognise him at first (something which happens a lot in season 2!). However, Joseph recognises them and he pretends to be a stranger to them at first. Eventually, he clears the room and says to them "I am Joseph! Is my father still living?". I'm sure there is more to unpack in this story but I'll leave that for someone with better biblical knowledge.

2. "Jacob's vow" - Book of Genesis, Old Testament

This image appears in episode 2:

In the episode, it first appears in the background looking like this:

According to comments on the reddit post, this image could refer to "Jacob’s vow in Bethel, that’s when he promised to worship God if God took care of him, and it was the day after his famous dream about a ladder in heaven. It is generally a symbol of the link between heaven and Earth." Here is a quote from the exact passage: "Genesis 28:20 Then Jacob made a vow, saying, “If God will be with me, and keep me in this way that I am going, and give me bread to eat and clothing to put on, so that I come back to my father's house in peace, then the lord shall be my God. And this stone which I have set as a pillar will be God's house, and of all that you give me, I will surely give a tenth to you." We see a lot of emphasis on food giving this season. The Eccles cakes get offered to Maggie then handed to Crowley. Gabriel offers up lots of little snacks at the ball. The Metatron gifts Aziraphale the coffee. At the ball, we see people being given new clothes as well - is that what this could be referencing? Why do you think these particular images have been chosen?

3. "The Brazen Serpent" - Book of Numbers, Old Testament

What do we think of when we hear "serpent"? Anything snake-like refers to Crowley in this show, so that's where my mind immediately goes.

This appears in episode 3 looking like this (partially occluded):

The story is that God had sent fiery serpents to attack the Israelites for making complaints about God and Moses (no asking questions, no complaints? What kind of organisation is this? They really need to unionise). However, God seems to then have a change of heart and commanded Moses to erect a snake upon a pole, referred to as "Nehushtan", so that anyone bitten by the snakes can just look at this pole and they will survive.

We get some pretty wacky stories about God's fickleness in Good Omens, especially in the S2 Job flashbacks. Is this a reflection of that theme, perhaps.

4. "By the rivers of Babylon" - Book of Psalms, Old Testament

If you don't have a Christian background, you may be more familiar with the song than the story itself. From the wikipedia article: "The song is based on the Biblical Psalm 137:1-4, a hymn expressing the lamentations of the Jewish people in exile following the Babylonian conquest of Jerusalem in 586 BC".

It appears in episode 5 and looks like this:

One Redditor has explained it as such: "The rivers of Babylon symbolize deep grief and longing for freedom by people exiled from their homeland and doomed to live in captivity."

5. Closed Book(s)

The book also appears closed at times. Let's take a look at the scene where Aziraphale retrieves the book for the Job flashback. We see him getting out the beige folio and putting it onto the stand but over the top of an almost identical book. The only difference is that the Job one has blue detailing and the other is a plain/beige cover (seen here in this third image with Crowley, episode 6).

So what is this other book? Well, looking online, it appears that Harold Copping's illustrated bibles could come in sets of two - one for the Old Testament, and one for the New Testament. All the illustrations we see in S2 are from the Old Testament, so why would the New Testament also be there? When explaining this to someone they mentioned that Aziraphale has a lot of misprinted bibles in his collection. So could they instead be two different versions of the same text - one with misprints and one without? I'd be keen to hear your thoughts.

6. Bonus Season 1 Appearance!

In Season One, we also see a Harold Copping illustration - Adam and Eve after the Fall.

The book is in the same place inside the bookshop, as show in episode 1 (26:21) and episode 2 (51:40).

Beyond supporting the themes of Good Omens these books are useful in another way too - finding discontinuities! If you are interested in the discontinuities of Good Omens S2, then please check out this post:

[loomiskemp]

Retired Avengers Bucky and Steve embrace a quieter life, running their own bookstore. When a sorrowful woman seeking solace from an abusive past enters their shop on a rainy fall day, their mystical cat, Alpine, takes an unexpected interest in her. Bucky, with his ability to read auras, senses her hidden pain. Determined to bring her joy, he persuades Steve to join him in uplifting her spirits, leading to the blossoming of a healing connection that transcends the pages of their own love story.

Rated Mature: sexual themes: double penetration (anal/vaginal) dirty talk/lactation kink) fingering, oral, tit fucking. Mentions of abusive ex/stalker

Rain falls from above. The heavy drops hit roughly against your yellow raincoat, the cold starts to seep in, the concrete wet underneath your black boots. You seek shelter but you can barely see what’s around you. Your mind swirls, it feels clouded with unsaid emotions. You feel lonely, sad, happy, angry– You feel everything all at once. It tires you, makes you not want to leave bed for days. The only moments you have relief is when you pinch the inside of your elbow, the pain providing moments of bliss before blood starts to gush from the sensitive skin.

A year. It’s been a year since you’ve gathered the strength to leave your abusive boyfriend. His name was James. He called you names, got drunk, hit you when he felt like it. You never had a say. He didn’t take the break up well, his obsession with you growing into something evil and sinister. You could always feel his eyes. Even now when the rain hides you, you feel him. You appealed for a restraining order but the court hearing was taking longer than you expected. He was always there, when you left the house, when you were in the supermarket. James didn’t say anything. He just stared, sending an unsettling feeling to the pits of your stomach. You started to go outside less and less, and when you looked out the window you could see him.

Surprisingly enough you weren’t there this morning when you peered down your window. Maybe he didn’t want to get wet, maybe he was bored and gave up. Whatever it was you were happy, you couldn’t run outside fast enough.

The rain continues to pour, looking up you allow the cold drops to hit your face. You giggle as they slide down your neck, going all the way down to your breasts and wetting your bra. The fog clears a bit, allowing you to be drawn away from your thoughts thanks to a faint orange light. It’s warm so you decide to walk towards it, a cozy looking bookshop comes into view, the books in the display are a bit dusty, but you think that it adds to the vibe of the small shop.

When you enter you hear the sound of a small bell right above you.

~~~

It wasn’t a hard decision to make when Bucky asked Steve if he wanted to open up a bookshop. Steve didn’t have it in him to keep the battle going and it sounded like the perfect retirement. Finding the book hadn’t been hard, they knew a bunch of people who were happy to donate and soon the bookstore was open for business. Steve and Bucky found themselves spending more time here than there home. They enjoyed the ambiance, the chocolatey smell of old books, the coziness of the dim lighting of their bookstore.

They were behind the counter when they heard the bell ring. Neither of them looked up, finding that most customers enjoyed being alone during their hunt for the perfect book that called out to them. Soft, wet steps echoed.

With a soft sigh, Steve pushes up his thick framed glasses up the bridge of his nose and hugs Bucky tighter. Sitting behind the counter, Bucky shifts further up Steve’s lap,

his pencil sketching thoughtfully onto the paper. Steve’s lips find the curve of Bucky’s cheek, his mouth moving gently as he watches what his partner was drawing. Right now it seems to be a drawing of the bookshelves that stands across from them.

“You’re running out of inspiration,” Steve mutters into Bucky’s skin. “Book are my inspiration,”

“I’m hurt,”

Steve smiles lazily, Bucky scoffs at his faux offense.

“And what would you prefer my inspiration to be?”

“Me, obviously,”

“You are my inspiration but I can’t exactly have you in the nude in the middle of out bookstore,”

“What do I always have to be in the nude for you to find inspiration?” Steve adds. “Don’t you think I look cute in my sweater?”

“You do. But what can I say, I enjoy studying your naked form,”

The two giggle, Steve nuzzling Bucky’s cheek as the other adds shading to one of the books. Bucky realizes quickly that their laughter attracts the curious look of their customer, you smile and look back to the book you’re holding. Bucky recognizes the book; Conversations with Friends by Sally Rooney. He decides to leave you alone and continues to focus on his sketch despite Steve's distracting words. This goes on for about five minutes, their white cat Alpine jumps on top of the counter, pulling them both away from their conversation.

She meows and jumps down, walking towards the customer. Their eyes follow Alpine, her tail curling playfully as she follows you further into the bookstore. The two exchange brief glances, both of them confused about their pet’s behavior. Bucky stands up and decides to go after the feline.

Bucky walks between the narrow bookcases, he sees you sitting with Alpine purring on your lap. You have a book open in front of you, open to your watchful gaze. Just as he’s about to walk closer he stops. You’re still unaware of his presence and he takes this opportunity to study you. Despite your smiling face, he sees your aura, broken and fearful. Bucky isn’t a fan of this ability of his, it feels invasive. Frowning, he walks up to you, pointing to Alpine.

“If she’s bothering you I can take her?”

For a moment you look up to him confused, then you look down to Alpine and smile, effectionaly petting the white cat’s head.

“No, not all. She seems to enjoy the picture of the animals on the pages,”

Raising an eyebrow, Bucky looks down to see what she’s reading. A soft, reminiscing, chuckle falls from his lips when he sees that it’s Winnie the Pooh.

“My mom used to read that to me and my sister all the time,” he explains. “It’s one of my favorites,”

“Yeah? I’m enjoying it so far. It's the perfect children’s book isn’t it? It’s a bit foolish but reading stuff like this always leaves me feeling happy,”

“That’s not silly at all,” he answers, his smile soft as he thoughtfully observes her aura. “I re-read it whenever I can. It makes me happy too,”

“Glad that I’m not alone,”

Alpine purrs and stretches across your lap, you giggle, your fingers finding that special spot right below her chin.

“I guess I’ll leave you to it, sorry for bothering you,”

“Please, you didn’t bother me at all,”

He nods and heads back to where Steve is. Steve lifts a brow at him, his eyes silently asking what happened. Bucky isn’t sure how to answer him, he’s felt something, and

After leaving you he felt emotional. Steve reaches out and holds his hand, gently squeezing. When he looks back at his partner, Bucky sees that Steve might already know what’s on his mind, even before he does.

“She’s soaked from the rain,” Bucky says.

Steve answers with a smile.

“Then let’s dry her up.”

~~~

You found it odd at first, the way the two book owners circled around you like affectionate hawks. You learned that the first man who approached you was Bucky, and the other man, with glasses with a few grays scattered in his hair, was Steve. For some reason they were acting rather affectionately towards you. Steve sat next to you and petted Alpine’s head while Bucky brought you all some tea. He also sat down soon after. Despite their older age, you noted that they were quite handsome.

Heat licks the bottom of your spine when Steve’s fingers accidentally touch your thigh while petting Alpine, the cat purrs happily.

“So anything specific you’re looking for?” Steve asks.

You name a couple of books, some of your favorite authors for reference, they briefly exchange glances, which prompts you to raise an eyebrow.

“Something wrong?”

“No no,” Bucky chuckles, playfully raising both hands in mock surrender. “We’re just surprised, not many people know of those titles and names. We have the same tastes in books as you it seems,”

“We can show you similar books to those you just listed,” Steve offers, placing his mug back on the coffee table. The sound of soothing rain fills the bookstore. “If you want to,”

“Sure that sounds delightful,” before you pick up Alpine, the white cat jumps and disappears between the bookshelves, you giggle. “I guess she wants to join us too,”

The three of you get up, following the wise cat. Bucky’s knuckles brush against yours and your breath stutters.

“Usually she’s not so fond of customers,” he says, his voice low. Steve’s presence is strong and tall, walking right in front of you two. “You must be special,”

You snort, it’s an unattractive sound so you quickly cover your mouth. “I doubt I’m anything special,” you say from beneath your hand. “In fact I think I might be bad luck,”

“We don’t believe in bad luck,” Steve chimes in, his voice melodic. The air is stifling, it’s darker around you now, the light not reaching this far back. Deep down you want to reach out and touch Steve’s back, feel the warmth of his body to find comfort in it. “But even if we did believe in it, we would never call such a pretty thing like yourself as bad luck,”

A shuddered breath escapes your lips, prompting Bucky to hold your hand. Surprised, you turn to him and he only smiles, squeezing gently.

“You don’t need to be afraid, this part is always dark but the most amazing books are hidden here like gems in a cave,”

Finally Alpine comes into view, she’s standing at the end of a dark brown bookshelf. The three of you walk towards it, Steve’s finger immediately finding what he was looking for. He shows you the book, explaining briefly what it's about and hands it to you. Then Bucky brings you his favorite book, it’s the first of a series. They keep piling book after book onto your arms, the weight gradually getting heavier and heavier. The dust makes you sneeze, and Alpine keeps on walking between Steve and Bucky’s legs. She stands at the end of your feet and meows at you, you’re not sure what the adorable feline is trying to say. You wish you could understand her.

“I think that’s all for now,” Bucky says, almost triumphantly, with his hands on his hips.

Steve looks at you amused, both his eyebrows raised, “You need help with those, sweetheart?”

“Uhh…maybe?”

Bucky mumbles an oh shit as he walks to you with long strides and scoops the pile off of your hands. You feel much lighter. The three of you walk back to the front of the shop with Alpine following. She jumps on top of the counter as Steve carefully places the books into a tote bag. Bucky stands right next to you, your shoulders brushing against one another. You feel warm and fuzzy, a smile tugs at your lips.

“What do I owe you?” you ask, pulling out your wallet.

“Don’t be silly,” Bucky clicks his tongue, pacing a hand on top of your wallet and making you lower it back down. “We’re lending you these. We want you to read them,”

“Well, if the young lady wants to pay…”

Bucky warns, “Steve…”

“Maybe perhaps she can let us take her out for dinner,”

You blink hazily at that, slightly dazed, slightly confused. Bucky smiles from ear to ear, nodding eagerly.

“A date?” you ask, mouth feeling like it belongs to a stranger. “With both of you?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers, his blue eyes moving across your body. “Unless that’s a problem?”

“Nope not at all,” you grin, taking the tote bag. The rain had stopped. “How about at seven?”

“It’s a date,” Bucky says, waving you off.

You feel happy for the first time in months, sadly, when you arrive home you feel the familiar hateful silhouette of James. Fear replacing the positive emotion, you quickly move inside your apartment and hug the books that had been given to you.

Tears wet your cheeks.

~~~

You still don’t know how you ended up with two dazzling men in your bedroom. Well, you did know how but it still was surprising. Your bedroom, you still can’t believe it. The connection between the three of you had been instant, and after both of them taking you out for dinner, well, you couldn’t help but invite them to your place. Deep down you hoped that if James was out there, stalking you as always, he sees you with both of them. You want him to know that you’ve moved on, and in the best way possible.

The two were quick to strip you and lay you upon the bed. Bucky took his place between your quivering thighs, burying his tongue deep in your cunt while Steve occupied himself by kissing you silly. He sucked your tongue into his mouth, teeth gently nibbling on your flesh as he licked the inside of your mouth. Everything was happening so fast. Pleasure rushing up and down your body. Bucky groans as he tastes you, the curve of his nose moving along your clit, making you slicker than you can ever remember. Steve moves away from your lips momentarily, his cock in his fist as he looks down to Bucky. You can briefly see the fire in his eyes.

“Make her nice and wet for us,” he groans, capturing the bead of leaking precum with the swipe of his fingers. “She is going to need it all if she is going to take us both, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Bucky hums as a response, fingers suddenly making their way through your folds and sliding inside of you. Steve chuckles when your lips part with a gasp, his gaze falls back to you, thumb pulling down your bottom lip as his smile shifts into something darker. Your pulse quickens at the look. He comes closer to you, stroking himself languidly, he lays the tip of his cock between your lips.

“Care for a taste?”

Your tongue swipes at the slit, his salty taste coating your tongue, your eyes flutter closed, back arching and pushing more of yourself into Bucky’s sinful mouth. You nod, a moan rattling your throat.

“Good girl,” he rasps, pushing his cock between your wet lips. “You need to get me wet too if you are going to take it all,”

Fuck. The thought of them both filling you up made you gush around Bucky’s fingers. He chuckles, scissoring his fingers, he draws your aching clit into his mouth and sucks hard. The feeling is like electricity, surging through you and making you immobile. His tongue swirls around the sensitive nub and before you can relish more into the feeling, his tongue leaves you, forcing a whine out of your chest. Steve’s fingers squeeze your chin, the sting of it urging you to look up at him.

“Don’t forget about me,”

Your eyes go wide as he pushes the rest of himself into your throat. The head touches the back of your throat, you want to gag, your nostrils flare and your throat tightens around him. Steve’s head falls back, the veins curling around his neck popping. His jaw tense and in that moment he looks so powerful, so strong, your head spins, pussy clenching tight around Bucky’s thick fingers.

“I think she likes the taste of you,” he mutters, head dipping lower between your legs. “And I can’t really blame her, however, she tastes even better,”

“I bet she does,” Steve murmurs, he slowly rolls his hips, balls laying heavy on your chin. But, his eyes are glued to Bucky. “Give me a taste,”

Your eyes roll back, goosebumps bursting across your skin. The amount of filth these two men possess will be the death of you. Bucky grins into your skin, teeth grazing against your inner thigh, you clench around him, a shudder clawing up your spine.

“She liked that too,” he drawls. Bucky curls his fingers on more time before pulling out and offering your taste to Steve, who in return licks eagerly around the other man’s fingers. He closes his eyes, moaning at the taste, then his eyes flicker down to you. “Delicious.”

You want to say ‘oh god’ but end up moaning around his cock instead. Bucky grins, gripping the other’s chin, he yanks his head towards him and captures his lips in a heated kiss. Steve’s eyes flutters closed, licking into Bucky’s mouth, he chases the taste of you. His cock throbs on your tongue, precum leaking from the tip. You swallow eagerly, in return he parts from Bucky with a groan, mouthing the underside of the other man’s chin as he pushes him back between your quivering thighs.

“Don’t stop,” he commands Bucky, but his eyes are locked on you. “I want to fuck her as soon as possible,”

Before Bucky goes back down, a brief worry clouds over his face, his gaze meets yours. “You have lube, sweet thing?”

Steve stops and you look up at him confused, blinking heavily as your mind clears up for a brief moment. When realization hits, Steve pulls out, however, he lays his cock on top of your lips; it feels heavy, wet and warm.

“I do,” you speak, voice hoarse as your lips graze against his cock. “It’s in my drawer,”

You think you raise your hand to point, but instead your arm still lays on the bed, only your finger gesturing towards the forgotten bag. Bucky follows, and after a second, he’s right back between your legs, mouth ghosting over your core and tongue swirling around your other hole.

You yelp at the feeling, involuntarily pulling away. Bucky’s strong arms snakes around your thighs, nails digging into your flesh, his tongue moves back to your clit and gives it a tentative lick.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, voice stern. Meanwhile Steve begins to stroke himself while observing you, the slick sounds echoing in your ears. You feel so bare before them, and it isn’t just because you’re naked. These two truly see you for who you are.

You shake your head, “No, I want to continue…just– I never–”

“It is alright, baby girl,” Steve says, hovering above you. His thumb plays with your lip. “You tell us when you want to stop and we will. Understood?”

When you are in the midst of nodding, he clicks his tongue with annoyance. “Words,”

“I understand,”

This time when Bucky licks you, you don’t flinch away. Instead you let out a wanton moan, hands cupping your own tits as he spreads your legs wider. You peer down, seeing the way he crowns between your legs. Noticing your gaze, he purses his lips and spits. Making a show of it. You let out a soft hiss, head falling back, you look up to Steve. A whine parts his own lips, his strokes becoming faster, harder as he watches Bucky. You had your suspicions that something more was going on between these two, but now you were certain of it, which in return makes you feel blessed that they are allowing you to be a part of it.

Bucky, completely unaware of you both ogling him, pushes his tongue into the tight muscle. You melt at the feeling, thumb swirling around your pebbled nipples. Soon, his fingers replace his tongue, you’re tighter down there. He groans at the way you clench around him, and while he pumps his fingers in and out of you, his mouth returns to your dripping cunt, cleaning the remains with his tongue.

“Fuck,” Steve gasps, “You look good down there, baby boy,”

Bucky moans into you, the vibrations sensing tingles up your body. With a moment of desperation, you grab Steve’s wrist, stilling his movements. He looks down at you, worried, but that emotion soon fades when he sees the lust swirling in your eyes.

“Want you,” you choke out. “Want you both, now– Please–”

You sound so desperate, so needy, but you’re too far gone to actually give a crap. Steve and Bucky exchange glances. You feel them having a wordless conversation, something only the closest of people can do.

You hate the way jealousy flares in your gut.

Steve lays down, pulling you on top of him, your chests flush against one another as Bucky gets behind you. His heavy cock rests between your cheeks, he ruts against you like an animal in heat, rubbing the precum into your already sweaty skin. Steve nibbles your chin, smiling.

“You ready for us, beautiful?”

“Yes,” you breathe out and whimper when you feel Bucky’s nails raking across your back. They’re teasing you.

“You sure you can take us both darling? We aren’t exactly…small, if you know what I mean,”

You’re on the verge of tears, your cunt throbbing painfully. Your heart sinks into your chest.

“Please– Please give me your cocks,” you beg, figuring this is what they want. “I need you both to fuck me or else I’m going to go insane,”

“Shit,” Steve gasps, cock nudging your entrance. “Such a filthy mouth for such a pretty thing,”

“She’s something, indeed,” Bucky continues, he lays a soft kiss between your shoulder blades. “Since you asked so kindly, we might as well give you what you want. Or we wouldn’t really be gentlemen now, would we?”

You want to say that nothing they’re currently doing would be considered “gentlemanly” but you swallow your pride and bury your face into the crook of Steve’s neck, inhaling his musky scent.

“Please,” you say again, whispering into his skin.

His fingers painfully digs into your hips, you imagine that he probably meant for this gesture to be soothing, but instead it screams nothing other than the need to possess you, which you’re happy for him to do.

It starts off slow. Steve slides into you easily, and it sounds like the air is being knocked out of his lungs.

“So wet for us,” he murmurs, peeling you out of his neck and pressing his lips against yours. He continues to speak between breaths. “How are you this wet already? Did his tongue feel that good, baby?”

“It did,”

Bucky growls at that, his own cock throbbing painfully as pours a generous amount of lube both on you and himself. He begins to fill you inch by inch. You can feel every curve, every vein of his cock. Parting away from Steve, you nuzzle the side of his face, sucking in a deep breath while Bucky goes in deeper and deeper.

When he has fully buried himself into you, his pelvis flushed against the curve of your ass, Steve’s eyes roll back, cock twitching deep inside your cunt. The three of you pant heavily, you feel so full, so satisfied. You can stay like this forever and have no idea how you’ll part from the two men later on.

“Can you feel me?” Bucky asks Steve, slightly pulling back his hips and pushing forward again. “She’s so tight,”

“I can,” Steve hisses, his chest trembling.

“Are you alright, little one? Does it hurt?”

“A-A bit but I’m okay,” you lick the salt off of his neck. “You guys can move now,”

For a moment you swear that you’re burning from the inside out. You have no idea how they manage it, but the way they thrust is like a tortuous dance. You’re brought to the edge on multiple occasions, and pulled away from it again and again. The two men play with each other through you, both of them a slave for another and you’re in the middle of it all, being pulled to one edge from another. Bucky’s movements are calculated, his pacing slow, yet hard. With each grind of his hips, he makes sure that both you and Steve feel his fat cock piercing through you. Meanwhile Steve is more feral, much like an animal, he fucks into you nice and hard, not really caring anything other then yours and Bucky’s pleasure. It’s freeing. You know no matter how they play with you, you’re going to be taken care of.

Bucky’s lips trail down your back, squeezing your ass while Steve pushes you up and devours your tits. He draws a stiff nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling and teeth nipping at the sensitive nip. You scream out both of their names, your eyes squeezed shut as they use you. Your world is spinning, the pleasure mind-numbing and putting pressure on your neck.

“Where do you want us to cum, baby?”

Bucky groans, cock throbbing. “I-Inside–” you say without thinking. “Please– I wanna feel you both,”

Steve’s hand sneaks in between your sweaty, writhing bodies. His fingers rub at your clit, his thrusts becoming even more uncoordinated and desperate from before.

“You first,” he chokes out. “Cum for us,”

You have no idea when you became so eager to comply with his commands, but you do. You bite into his shoulder, a bright white light flashing behind your eyelids as you gush around them. Bucky stops completely while Steve continues to rams his hips up into yours. The man behind you makes an almost painful sound.

“Steve,” this is the first time you’ve heard Bucky whimpering out his name. “I need to cum, I want to cum– she’s squeezing me so tight– Fuck, tell me,”

Before you can understand what’s happening, Steve pushes both himself and you up from the bed. He crashes his lips into Bucky’s, the other moans into his mouth, between kisses you hear Steve muttering out a “cum” but you’re not sure. Hips staggering and stuttering as he spills into you. You feel it. Your head falls back onto Bucky’s shoulder, a moan ripping from your throat as the sensation of his cum pushes you into the brink of another orgasm.

Steve’s eyes roll back at the way you squeeze him, his balls and stomach tight from holding himself back. He can feel Bucky spilling into you. The way you squeeze around him is intoxicating, you moan his name, begging him for more. He’s not one to deny his lovers.

It takes him two more thrusts– After that he’s cumming in thick ropes. Filling your pretty pussy up as you cum a second time. He hears Bucky muttering a string of curse words, his cock still buried deep in your ass. As he pulls out, cum dribbles out from the corners of his softening cock. It takes him everything not to flip you back down onto the mattress and clean you up with his tongue, but he knows by the way you look at him that you might be dancing too close to the edge. Bucky follows suit, slowly pulling out and gently slapping your ass before heading to the bathroom.

“Fuck, Steve,” you say, voice laced with sleep as you both fall back down to the mattress. “That was amazing, I–”

“Shhh,” he says, rubbing your nape. “Don’t think about anything now, Bucky’s gonna clean you up now, then we can sleep,”

You nod, eyes fluttering closed.

“And we can talk in the morning,” Steve continues, smiling up to Bucky when he sees him returning with towels. Bucky smiles back, as he gets back on the bed. “You sleep now, sweetheart,”

“Okay,” you murmur.

If this is a dream, you don’t ever want to wake up from it.

~~~

It’s been a month since the three of you had found each other. You’re stacking books while your gaze peers outside, it’s a foggy day with not many people outside, except for the familiar shadow of your stalker. Placing the book down, you don’t realize your fingers are in the middle of two books, when you slam it down it hurts and you bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood.

“Hey, are you alright? What’s happening?”

It’s Bucky, it’s always him. He’d told you about his odd ability to read aura’s, you were becoming quite good in hiding your emotions even from him but it seemed like today wasn’t the day. Bucky reaches where you are, softly picking up your hand, he brings your fingers to his lips and kisses them.

“Sorry just got distracted,”

Steve follows, he looks outside, which makes you sweat.

“Who is it?” Bucky asks.

“No sure,” Steve mutters, sliding his glasses up, his gaze flickering to meet yours. “You’re not telling us something. I noticed it you know, how you nervously look around whenever we’re out, or when we’re at your apartment, or even here,”

Bucky protectively pulls you closer to him, his eyebrows are raised with surprise. Apparently Steve had kept that observation to himself.

“Is that true?” Bucky breathes. “Is there someone following you?”

“It’s nothing serious,” you try to ease them both, but by the way they’re looking at you, you know it would be impossible to distract them. You sigh, nostrils flaring. “It’s my ex…James. He hasn’t left me alone since we broke up,”

“Have you told the cops?” Steve steps between you and the display glass.

“I have, there’s a court hearing in place, I asked for a restraining order. It’s likely that I’ll get it but it seems to be taking longer than I initially anticipated,”

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” you feel Bucky’s lips tracing the column of your neck, you press into him.

“I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t want to mess this up,”

“You could never mess this up and you should better to hide such a big thing away from us,”

The next thing you feel is Steve’s lips pressing against yours; It’s rough, possessive, angry. A feeling you’ve never felt from him before. Bucky’s a rock behind you, his own hands traveling across your body, squeezing and pinching every patch of skin. Steve licks the inside of your mouth and you let out a moan. Your body burns for them. The fog is thick outside, no one to enter the cozy shop, the two men pull you towards the back, where there’s a small rug and lay you down.

When Steve’s inside you it’s a beautiful feeling. It’s warm, safe and pleasurable. He fucks himself into you with long, languid thrusts while Bucky devours the rest of your body with his mouth. You feel his tongue on your breasts, neck, mouth, even ears. He takes the opportunity to play with you as Steve takes out his frustration of not knowing the dire situation you were in. He’s angry at himself. It’s not enough that he makes you come once, he needs to feel your cunt pulsing around him again and again. Bucky helps, his fingers moving around your clit with expertise. Slick runs down your thighs and soaks the carpet. The scent of books mixes with the musk of your many orgasms.

Steve comes soon after, his seed warm deep inside you. Pulling out, he replaces his cock with tongue. He pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you, you feel yourself crying, throat hoarse from crying out both of their names. Bucky licks the tear streaks, and moves to push Steve away. The flames of feeling powerless still raking across his skin, Steve comes up to kiss you. His lips are tender, tasting of you and himself.

Bucky, hard and aching, doesn’t say a word as he cleans the both of you up. The three of you hold each other, it’s impossible to understand which limb belongs to who.

You’ve never felt emotion like this before. In that moment you understand that you belong to them.

And they belong to you.

~~~

“Fuck, what happened to you two?”

It’s late. It’s so late that Bucky shouldn’t even be up. Especially since he has to open up the shop first thing in the morning, but of course sleep eludes him entirely and he ends up scrolling through a magazine about greek sculpture “the archaic period”. He has no idea when he got it. He probably brought it in from the bookstore for further inspection. Supposedly you and Steve were supposed to be back hours ago, only leaving for a brief grocery shopping. Sleep slowly comes crawling back at about the fifth page of his magazine, that is until the apartment door busts open. He jumps, then relaxes when he sees that it’s only you and Steve– But panic comes rushing back with full force when he notices your heavy breathing and Steve’s blood soaked white button-up shirt, his glasses fogged up with the heat inside.

Bucky throws the magazine onto the coffee table, making a straight line to you and Steve. Before he can wrap an arm around you to help you up, he’s stopped by you raising a hand. He raises an eyebrow to that, eyes flickering to Steve who looks exhausted.

“It’s nothing serious,” Steve says, his lips slightly curling up which makes Bucky believe him. “We just ran into her ex and I had a little…chat with him,”

“Ran into her ex? Wait, you mean James?” Bucky shakes his head, eyes scrunching close while he tries to understand. “Can one of you speak clearly, what happened?”

“He was stalking me as always…” you swallow, clearly still shaken up from the experience. “I wanted to leave but Steve…He got angry,”

You voice out finally, Bucky notes the way you sound defeated. Worry coils around him, squeezing him tight and emptying his lungs of air. He ushers them both to the couch, still not touching you since it seemed like you didn’t want that. From your aura he has a mild understanding of what you’re feeling, you seem scared, worried, but also happy. Bucky disappears into the kitchen figuring that both of you needed water.

When he comes back with two fresh glasses of H2O, your head is pressed snugly on top of Steve’s shoulder. Skin glistening with a sheer coat of sweat. The way you’re still breathing heavily worries him. Your brows knit together, you almost look like you’re in pain. Steve’s staring at the coffee table, his lips moving slightly as he reads the title of the magazine, then he hears Bucky making his way towards them and his eyes flicker to meet his.

“How’s the magazine?”

“I don’t think that’s where your focus should be,” he grumbles sitting next to you. Bucky places one glass in front of Steve and presses the rim of the other to your lips. You shiver and shake your head. “Come on, you need to drink something– What happened to her?”

The question is directed at Steve.

“We got into a fight. I think she was expecting me to get hurt because I’m old and gray,” he chuckles, slightly shaking you. “But I proved her wrong, didn’t I honey?”

“Yeah,” you finally crack a smile. “I guess James won’t be following me for a while. Finally…”

Bucky can’t help but still feel worried. He’s glad that Steve thought that moron a lesson, but still, he could’ve gotten hurt. His gaze drops to Steve’s lap, who infuriatingly notices his sudden emotional withdrawal. Steve swiftly leans over and touches Bucky’s chin lightly with his knuckles, pulling his gaze up.

“I’m okay, don’t worry. You know it takes a lot more to knock me out,”

Bucky feels his cheeks heating up, a dust of pink coloring his skin. Your hand finds its way to his thigh, squeezing gently.

“I’m sorry, It’s all my fault,” you whisper.

Suddenly your chest heaves, Bucky can’t help but watch the movement like a hawk. Your shirt is dirty, the hem of it ripped and tattered, but he also notices two small wet patches right above where your nipples are supposed to be. His eyebrows raise, disappearing under his curls. Steve’s thumb moves across Bucky’s jawline, drawing his attention back to him.

“Is she lactating?” Bucky asks and Steve follows his gaze, seeing the wet patches for the first time. “How’s that even possible?”

“What?” you look down your shirt, cheeks warm as you see that he was right. “I’m not pregnant, I don’t think at least, maybe it’s because of the meds I’m taking?”

Bucky blinks before answering, he’s deadpanned, mouth dry as a desert.

“Medicine can do that?”

Steve blinks, “Should we take her to the hospital?”

“No, no it’s probably fine.” you shake your head. “Let’s just rest for a bit,”

Bucky’s lips round up into an okay. His eyes flicker back to the stains, they’re bigger now. It feels like puzzle pieces coming together as he realizes what those wet spots are. He hears the blood rush in his ears, cock twitching with interest. For a brief moment he feels guilt for being turned by something so odd. You huff out an embarrassed sigh, looking at Steve before turning your gaze back to Bucky, your eyes softening immediately.

“Don’t worry I’m fine. It’s just– It kinda…hurts,” your teeth gnaw your bottom lip raw, it takes him everything not to lean and give it a soothing lick. “It’s like the week before my period. My nipples get all stiff and sore, but this is like… ten times worse,”

“Maybe we should…massage them?” Steve offers, that usually did help during your pms. “But it’s up to you, baby,”

Seeing how flustered you are, Bucky reaches out, thumbing your bottom lip away from your sharp teeth and lovingly stroking the soft muscle. Your eyelids flutter for him beautifully, a blissful sigh escaping your lips.

“W-We should,” you inhale a shaky breath, Bucky smiles. “Sucking m-might help and well, massaging,”

“Alright then,” Steve mutters. He leans into your personal space, lips tracing the column of your neck as he continues to speak. “We should do what makes you feel best,”

Bucky’s ashamed of how quickly he becomes hard. Uncomfortable, he shifts in his seat. He’s wearing sweatpants, so there isn’t much he can do to hide it. Mind racing, he covers his mouth with his hand, scratching his cheek, an unconscious thing he did just because. Steve’s eyes sparkle at his reaction, his blue eyes a shade darker when his gaze rakes across Bucky’s broad frame, seeing the bulge hiding underneath the thin layer of fabric.

“We don’t have to do it,” you say, oblivious to Bucky’s situation. “I don’t want to cause you guys any trouble,”

“You’re not causing trouble, on the contrary, we would love to help,”

Bucky closes his eyes. He feels strained by the purr of Steve’s voice, his neck clenching and unclenching as he tries to not focus on your leaking nipples. Without thinking he licks the inside of his palm, imagining it was your sweet tasting milk instead– He still can’t believe it.

He’s rudely brought back from his day dreaming when Steve cups Bucky’s aching erection, gently squeezing his cock from above his sweatpants. Bucky makes a choked out sound, hand falling as his eyes flutter open.

“Let’s help our little lady out,” Steve smiles.

“Let’s,”

“Guys, please…”

The desperation in your voice causes both men to turn to you, both of them looking at you worried. Your head falls back and you lift your shirt up with trembling hands.

Bucky’s mouth waters at the sight; your breasts are swollen, nipples erect and leaking. He knows that your breasts tend to get bigger about a week before your period but never this much. Your lips part with a groan, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. You’re looking down at your nips, something between pain and arousal written across your face.

“Just do it– Please,”

It takes only a second. A second for them to pick up their jaws from the floor and attach themselves to your aching nips. Bucky feels Steve’s cheekbones against his cheek while darting his tongue out to draw a nipple into his mouth. A moan mixed with a sigh leaves your lips. His nose is completely buried into the soft flesh, sucking with fervor. Bucky’s eyes flutter closed, a groan trembling within his chest as the sweet milk coats his tongue. The taste tingles his taste buds awake. It tastes like cantaloupe juice. His cock painfully hard in the confinements of his sweats. He feels your fingers scratching against his scalp, tugging him closer. Without even thinking he thrusts his hips, a spike of pleasure ringing up his spine with the almost to-non friction.

“Fuck–” Steve’s voice comes from right next to Bucky’s ear. He sounds very similar to when Bucky fucks into him, a slurp follows. “You taste so good?”

“Really?” you breathe out.

Bucky looks up with his lips still wrapped around your pebbled nipple, he gives it a hard suck, purposefully moaning loud around the flesh. He notices the way your back curves, pushing more of yourself into their mouths. You close your eyes, chest heaving as the two of them sucks on your tits.

“Yes, baby– Tastes amazing,” Bucky slurs. “Does it feel better?”

You nod shakily, nails scratching both his and Steve’s scalp. “More,” you choke out. “Squeeze them,”

Bucky’s eyes flicker to Steve. The other man pulls his mouth back, lips parting from you momentarily and Bucky sees your nipple glistening with spit. Steve massages your breast, beads of milk show up at the tip, leaking down the curve of the plump flesh. Bucky feels something feral awakening inside of him as Steve leans and catches the drop with the tip of his pink tongue, licking a stripe up to your nipple, he sucks again.

Eyes nearly rolling back, Bucky cups himself from over the fabric. He’s pretty sure if he looks down he’ll see a wet patch of his own. He rounds his mouth, licking your nipple back between his lips. His hand comes around the roundness of your tit and starts to massage it as well, his heart hammering in his chest as more milk squirts into his mouth.

Your whimpers and moans and pleas are driving him mad. He can’t help the way his hand sneaks under the waistband of his sweatpants, can’t help it when he begins to fist himself, sucking you harder and pressing the flat of his tongue against your leaking nipple.

He’s minutes to making a mess in his sweat before Steve stops him, curling his thick fingers around his wrist.

Bucky whines, hips stuttering forward, he doesn’t stop licking you, the taste of you soothing his nerves. You tug on his soft curls, another whine escapes his throat but he obliges, letting go of your swollen nip and looking up to you with a shameful gaze.

“Sorry,” he rasps. “Didn’t mean to get carried away,”

His heart flutters when you smile down at him, you seem better now, your breathing even and tits looking smaller.

“You misunderstand, baby boy,” Steve’s soft voice urges him to look at him instead, confusion written in his eyes. “I just thought of something even better,”

You cut in before he can finish.

“Bucky,” you say softly, his gaze snapping up to meet yours. For a moment he forgot all about his fingers wrapped around his cock. “Would you like to fuck my tits?”

“God– Yes baby girl, I would fucking love that,”

Normally, being the voice of reason, Bucky would urge everyone to head to the bedroom where there’s a perfectly comfortable bed to lay in– but not now, not today. All clothing is cast aside. All his reason is swallowed deep down by his lust. He straddles your chest as Steve acts as a pillow underneath your head, which sprinkles Bucky with a bit of relief. At least you won’t be entirely uncomfortable. He swallows thick as his pulsing cock rests between your swollen breasts, you’re still leaking, wet streaks glistening all the way to your lower abdomen. Steve slowly curls his fingers around your throat, slightly tilting your head up so you would face him. Bucky wets his lips when you part your lips, tongue out, Steve leans in to kiss you. A drop of precum heavily falls to your chest, his cock twitching.

You moan into the kiss, eyes dropping to meet Bucky’s. Steve’s fingers dance across the frame of your jaw, hooking his thumb into the side of your mouth.

“What are you waiting for?” Steve smiles, despite what his tone might suggest, he’s smiling. “Don’t keep her waiting, Buck,”

“Yeah yeah–” As if waking up from a trance Bucky blinks. “This…won’t hurt will it?”

“No Bucky– Please–”

He can’t deny you for long.

Bucky pushes your tits together, the width of his cock disappearing between the pillowy mounds. He experimentally thrusts forward– The pleasure he feels is sudden, like needles sticking into his skin and awakening him. He hisses between clenched teeth, he’s somewhat aware that Steve’s fucking your mouth with his fingers, eliciting sweet muffled groans from you but he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from your bosom. He pushes his thumbs into your nipples, more fluid bursting from the sensitive nubs as he rolls his hips a second time, then a third, then a forth–

He knows he’s not going to last. His balls are already tight, the tip of his cock crowning between your tits and touching your chin, a string of precum stretching each time he pulls back his hips. Whining, you pull away from Steve’s fingers and tilt your head down. He feels light headed as you poke out your tongue, sucking on the tip of his cock every time he slams his hips forward.

“You two look so good,” Steve groans, reaching out and squeezing your tits. “Fuck– you ‘bout to cum Bucky?”

“Y-Yeah,” his chest heaves, hips stuttering. “Wanna cum all over her perfect tits–”

You moan when the head of his cock touches your tongue, eyes rolling back. A smug smirk stretching cat-like across his face, Bucky speeds up. His cock is throbbing constantly now, the pressure of sliding between your breasts starting to get the better of it. However, he doesn’t expect Steve to reach forward, pushing his hand between your bodies and cupping his balls. He rolls them between his fingers, grinning as Bucky’s lips part wide with a wanton moan. Beads of sweat slid down his tail bone, his breath choked out. His balls tighten within Steve’s grip and thick ropes of cum shoots from the tip, making a mess of your chest and face. Bucky’s head falls back, whimpering and moaning while continuing to rock his hips. It doesn’t stop. He feels like a teenager at the way he cums endlessly, cock twitching and throbbing.

When he’s finally done he looks down at you, chest rattling with hitched breaths. You look completely dazed, moaning around Steve’s fingers once again as he feeds you his cum. Bucky nearly gets hard again, his gut swirling with arousal. He leans down, cupping both your breasts and kneading them as he presses his lips against yours. His tongue swirls around Steve’s fingers, licks the inside of your mouth, groaning into it when he tastes himself. Bucky breaks the kiss when he feels the wetness growing between his palms, sliding down your body he closes his lips around your nipple again, drinking as if he hasn’t had water for five thousand years. His cock slowly hardening again with your moans gradually becoming louder.

Steve sighs, fingers pushing back Bukcy’s hair, “We should probably talk about what might have caused this tomorrow morning,”

The morning you’re feeling a bit off, your PMS in full force as you stir uncomfortably on top of the bed. Steve pulls you close, the warmth of his hands right above your stomach, stroking lovingly.

“Good morning,” he slurs. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” you groan, Bucky kisses your clavicle and you shudder. “I think I’m going to get my period soon,”

“Care package time,” Bucky says, lips moving against your skin.

“It’s your turn Buck,”

“I know, I know,” he yawns, stretching before getting out of bed. “See you guys in a bit,”

It doesn’t take Steve long for him to start touching you after Bucky leaves, the door closing with a gentle thud. His hands travel down your warm body. Steve hums as he swirls his fingers around your clit before dipping inside you, feeling the last of his release from last night still coating you.

“Still wet,” he murmurs, crooking his finger forward, dragging a sigh from you. You can already feel a familiar tug pulling in your core, his touch firm as he slips a second finger in, scissoring you open with care. His lips find your cheek, a messy kiss pressed to it, barely a distraction from the rhythmic movement of his fingers.

“Steve,” you mewl, trying and failing to keep your voice below a whisper.

Patient as always, he shushes you sweetly, his other arm shifting beneath you until his large hand is cupping your jaw, tilting your face back and allowing him to kiss you fully on the lips. It’s the perfection distraction, the whine you release when his fingers pull out of you stolen by the heavy sweep of his tongue in your mouth.

The taste of stale morning breath has never been better as you continue to kiss, a lazy press of lips and tongues, low groans traded back and forth as Steve pulls your top leg back and over his hip, giving him room to slip his hard length inside you. It’s not a perfect fit from this angle, but it’s enough to have you arching into him, arousal dripping out and around his thick cock.

His movements are small, barely there thrusts of his hips that still send stars bursting behind your eyelids. It’s more than slow, legs tangled and hands grasping, sheets kicked away, allowing the sunlight to find your bare skin.

Normally, he takes his time with you, ensuring you feel every snap of his hips, each dig of his fingers, pounding into you with a ferocious stamina. He tugs and twists and wrings every ounce of pleasure from you, until the only word left inside your heart is his name. He lets his mouth run away from him, drunk off the feeling of fucking you, every dirty thought he’s ever had groaned into your ear.

But in the morning, he moves gingerly, the sunrise tempering his thrusts and stealing his voice. He pulls you close, and moves inside you, a gentle grind of his hips that fan the flames of your pleasure, but somehow keeping you on the very edge of languid.

You move together softly, little gasps and hushed moans breathed into each other as you cling helplessly to the moment. The end is looming close, both of you still feeling the effects of last night tingling at the edge of your arousal. And before you know it, your release is blooming, liquid heat seeping down your spine and pulling your muscles taut. Steve isn’t far behind, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, his cock twitching inside you as he fills you up with his cum.

You do not, cannot move, your heart ragged and stuttering inside your chest. Steve eases you through it, hands tracing the curves of your breasts, lips soothing at the mark his teeth surely left behind. It’s minutes later when he finally speaks, voice still low, though not with sleep.

“I leave you alone for two second–”

Bucky might sound like he's scolding you two but he’s smiling. Steve affectionately kisses the back of your shoulder, his cock softening inside of you. His fingers draw slow circles around your stomach.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Bucky sits back down on the bed, but instead of handing you your usual period care package, he hands you a pregnancy test.

“Just a feeling,” he mumbles softly.

You smile and take it, knowing that whatever happens, they have you. Now and forever.

[cardansriddle]

You're so dark - (tom riddle x fem!reader) (modern au)

Summary: A mysterious stranger in a bookshop takes a sudden interest in you when he notices your peculiar taste in literature.

Warnings: not proofread bc i'm a bitch like that.

A/N: inspired by arctic monkeys' song "you're so dark" because I'm obsessed with it and I had to incorporate it into my writing somehow.

༻♛༺

The bell chimed distinctly in the dimly lit library, announcing the arrival of a yet new customer. You kept your head hung low, eyes fleeting over the words inked on the pages of the book with brows furrowed in concentration.

It was only when you heard the thump of shoes against the wooden floor did you raise your gaze from the page, only to be met with the sight of a man who looked like he walked straight out of a dark fantasy book. You assumed he would be the anti-hero, with his chiselled features, and dark hair. His face was unfairly handsome, and the self-assured yet stoic expression on his face only proved your theory further. Definitely a villain.

“How may I help you?” You asked after a brief moment of silence, marking the spot where you had left off and carefully setting your book aside to help out the customer.

His dark eyes flickered down to the book, fleeted over the cover before it locked with your own leather jacket clad form. 

He was about to say what he had come after; you could tell he knew what he wanted, but then in a split second, he seemed to change his mind, and he cocked his head to the side, stare still on you.

“What would you recommend?” He asked, and the deep rumble of his voice sent a shiver straight down your spine. He gestured to the book you had just put down. “How about that one?”

You rose an inquisitive brow. “Not many people are fond of Lovecraft’s works. Too dark for their particular tastes.”

The stranger did not seem bothered by your answer, if anything, he was spurred on to continue. “What if I want to read dark literature?”

He watched as your eyes roved over him, lingering for a second too long on the perfect frown of his lips, before you tore your gaze away. “Perhaps you may want to try Edgar Allan Poe.” You suggested. “Dark and poetic.”

“And that is what you like? Dark and poetic?” The stranger asked again, and you felt his stare burn through your whole being as the implication of his question ran deeper than simple literature. He was watching you, in that intense manner of his, and it was enough to ignite fire in your entire being.

You bit your lower lip, before slowly looking up at him. “I think everything dark is naturally poetic.”

Something flashed in his eyes, and you could sense that he was strangely pleased with your reply. A raven cawed from somewhere outside, and a chill ran down your spine at the sudden tension that seemed to hang around the two of you.

“Then Allan Poe it is.” He decided with a subtle smirk tugging at his lips. 

You nodded and began making your way between the shelves to find the book you presumed the stranger would enjoy from the author’s works. You felt him following your trail but did not notice how his eyes had become glued to the tattoo on full display thanks to your shirt that exposed some of your back. The black ink engraved on your skin in the form of a murder of crows sent a sense of thrill through his veins, and with every new thing he discovered about you, he was becoming more and more hooked. 

Rising on your toes, you reached towards the upper shelf to grab the book you presumed the stranger would enjoy, and as the pads of your fingers barely grazed the spine of the object, you suddenly felt warm as a body pressed against your back to retrieve the book with ease.

Your lungs stuttered, struggling to find air to breathe while his chest brushed your back, and then you felt his hand grabbing a firm hold of your waist.

Tom usually withheld himself from such urges, but if there was one thing he knew, it was that he wanted you bad. It was as if all rational thoughts had been drowned by the need to have you. He wanted you down on all fours as he made you scream his name into the night, and he wanted his teeth to be marking your throat with bruises that would stay on you like a tattoo. 

You turned around in his hold to face him and the sight of his form half shrouded in shadows and the other half illuminated by the winter sun seeping through the windows was enough to send your mind reeling. You caught his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. As if on instinct, your own dropped to his mouth, and it did not go unnoticed by the stranger.

You did not know who moved first, you did not care, because one second you were staring at one another, and the next his lips were moulded against yours. His hand on your waist circled to your back to hold you tighter against his body, while the other grasped your hair. It was messy, desperate, and urgent— the way he kissed you as if he was a man starved. But you were just as eager, with your back pressed against the bookshelf and your hands running over any part of him you could find as you allowed yourself to get ensnared in his trap.

When you finally pulled away to catch much needed air, you were both panting. His dark eyes roved over you once more before he stepped closer, entirely blocking the sunlight from your view.

"I'm Tom Riddle." He said with his gravelly voice.

And when you gave him your name, it felt as if you willingly handed your soul to the devil instead.

༻♛༺

taglist: @faerienotfound   @orangepact77  @on-ya  @a-mj-a  @darkmoviesquotespizza  @444s0ul  @amarisout  @daechgustinad  @lillywise-the-dancingclown69  @eceamaizmirbosislermuduru  @narwhal-swimmingintheocean  @turnip-milk @kammsinn @ratsys @linosluna @lizzieolseniskinda

let me know if you wish to be added/removed from my taglist!

[embracing-the-ineffable]

The Ineffable Detective Agency presents: the origins of the white bust in the bookshop (a really lovely theory, you should read it!)

While trying to identify some of the art pieces used in Good Omens, we did some searching and came upon this gem:

Head of Benevento:

The statue in the bookshop looks like someone made a very close but inexact copy of the head of Benevento:

European art schools used copies of Greek and Roman sculpture to train their art students. So this COULD be one of those pieces. Or it could be a student copy; part of atelier training was to reproduce "master copies".

We know Aziraphale likes to learn human things from humans - he's taken lessons in dance, French, prestidigitation, and probably drawing. Did Aziraphale attend an atelier and receive formal artistic training that allowed him to do that drawing of Gabriel?

Could he have made the statue he now displays in his bookshop? Or was it gifted to him by a teacher, similar to the way he has a signed copy of the book from the magician who trained him, Prof. Hoffman himself?

But… who is it? We know people like to theorize the "floating white head" symbolizes the way the Metatron might be watching, but the actual statue doesn't look at all like him. So, is it just some random copy, or someone who has or will feature more in the story - just like that book from Prof. Hoffman had some significance?

Wait! Look closer!

Our theory: around the same time that he was learning French, Aziraphale went to a Parisian atelier to formally study art. While there, he did the requisite student master copy of a Hellenistic bust that we know was known in France at the time, and disguised a portrait of Crowley in it. And then he proudly displayed it in his bookshop, in a very prominent/central position, to watch over everything.

Need a little more convincing? Look at these, which were filmed to give us the same angles:

And here's the final proof - the first two images are overlays; the last one is the actual statue for comparison:

From a production standpoint, we know the huge Gabriel statue was an expensive custom order from Italy. Was this smaller Crowley statue also part of that order?

Let us know what you think!

Featuring contributions by @thebluestgreen, @postsforposting, and @embracing-the-ineffable at the Ineffable Detective Agency

See more of our posts plus a collection of Clues and metas from all over the fandom, here.

[i-only-ever-asked-questions]

Aziraphale's bibles

Have you ever noticed how many bibles Aziraphale has just lying about? So. Many. Bibles. Oodles of bibles! In S1 we only saw two, one on top of the desk that he used for checking the number of the beast in Revelations; and the other one on the desk surface, right behind his angel mug when he sat to read The Book (not that book, the other book, the one with the true prophecies).

In S2, we see no less than five bibles on his desk alone and more around the bookshop.

The first one is on the left, right under the little "For the Young: Hymns for Church and Home, with Forms of Services" book, which incidentally opens to: "So shall no wicked thing draw near, To do us harm or cause us fear." (This angel has no shame).

Then there are three more in the desk's middle compartments. One, with a green cover, is on the left slot, right above the tray with pens (this one is a New Testament only). The other two, both with black covers, are right behind the mug, where the RadioTimes watermark is. They look identical but they could be two volumes of the same edition or two different editions. We can probably assume one of these is supposed to be the one from S1. The desk in S1 didn't have compartments, it had drawers so there were no books in that area.

The last one is the on on top of the desk, on the right. This would be the same he used in S1 (although the bible itself is different)

On his right side, sometimes he has an easel where he displays a large book. This is not a bible itself, but an illustrated book of biblical motifs. Sometimes it is closed and sometimes it is open. He normally has it on the Adam and Eve page (cheeky!) but in Ep 2 he opened it to the Book of Job page instead.

There is yet another one in the shelf that Gabriel Jim is organizing

And there is one more in the first backroom (the one with the computer where he talks with Gabriel and Sandalphon). It is on a little table by the door of the private backroom (the one where he confers with Crowley in)

But there is a set of bibles that are even more important to him than any of the other ones. Although the show never mentioned it, the book tells us that in addition to his passion for prophecy books, he also loves and collects misprinted bibles*:

"And he had a complete set of the Infamous Bibles, individually named from errors in typesetting. These Bibles included the Unrighteous Bible, so called from a printer’s error which caused it to proclaim, in I Corinthians, “Know ye not that the unrighteous shall inherit the Kingdom of God?”; and the Wicked Bible, printed by Barker and Lucas in 1632, in which the word not was omitted from the seventh commandment, making it “Thou shalt commit Adultery.” There were the Discharge Bible, the Treacle Bible, the Standing Fishes Bible, the Charing Cross Bible and the rest. Aziraphale had them all. Even the very rarest, a Bible published in 1651 by the London publishing firm of Bilton and Scaggs."

This collection of bibles is hiding in plain sight and readily on hand. Just ask Jim!

The rest are right there on Aziraphale's desk. The tags are hard to read but I found, from right to left, The Treacle Bible, The Discharge Bible, The Unrighteous Bible, then three that I couldn't decipher, the Standing Fishes Bible and The Charing Cross Bible. One of those three is supposed to be the Buggre All This Bible, but none of the tags seemed to fit.

*All the bibles mentioned are real except for the Charing Cross Bible and the Buggre Alle This Bible which in the GO world was printed by Bilton and Scaggs, the publishing company that also printed The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. I have a whole post about Bilton and Scaggs if interested. Now, looking back to S1, as part of his restoring the world, Adam replaced Aziraphale's misprinted bibles with Just William books. Let that sink in... Adam moved Aziraphale's bibles from their righteous place. No wonder Crowley realized it right away. These are Aziraphale's bibles for Go- for Sat- for Somebody's sake!

Fortunately by S2 everything was back to normal.

[ebongawk]

pls show us how eddie would ask chrissy to marry him ❤️❤️❤️

The ring was burning a hole in his pocket.

The ring had, in fact, been burning a hole in his pocket for, like three goddamn months now. Because he'd been kinda-sorta-basically flying by the seat of his pants this entire relationship, up to and including his potential proposal, and three years of accidentally tripping and stumbling into all of the right messes with Chrissy made him think he could just buy the goddamn thing and wait for the most opportune moment.

The ring itself was an unanticipated surprise. Eddie had been shopping for a new-to-him amp, and buying those off the belt was a mistake he'd never make again. Rewiring older models with newer technology was basically Henderson's forte, though, so every time he and Chrissy popped back into Hawkins to visit Wayne during their long stints on the road, Eddie had a couple projects that Dustin's eager little mitts made grabby hands at.

(If Eddie found another tech kid on the road, he was pretty sure Dustin would spit and hiss and claw the newbie's eyes out so he would never be able to touch Eddie's projects again. He fucking loved that little shit. Had no clue what he was gonna do when the kid went off to MIT in a few months.)

So, yeah. While Eddie had walked into that pawn shop with a singlemindedness, he'd still perused the aisles like a perfectly respectable patron.

And the ring had been right there. Grinning up at him from the display case a winking in the overhead lights when it caught his eye.

Chrissy was literally right up the street, struggling over which books she wanted to trade in at the used bookshop so she could read some new material. That was the worst part about being on the road – they never got to keep anything. Like, sure, yeah, they had some shit stored at Wayne's, but they couldn't pop into Indiana whenever Chrissy needed to drop off her books so they could fit new shit in the van.

If they could, Chrissy would have a veritable library by now. He'd told himself a year ago that, as soon as they hit a label, Corroded Coffin's first purchase would be Chrissy Cunningham's dream house so she could have shelves of books. The guys were all in begrudging agreement.

"Hey, uh," he'd said, grabbing the attention of the shopkeeper and pointing at the ring. "What's that?"

About six months ago, he and Chrissy had been walking a mall in search of a birthday present for Wayne when a jewelry store grabbed her attention. Eddie had kinda expected her to beeline for the engagement rings – and maybe that was his own underlying fantasy, honestly – but she hadn't. She'd gravitated toward birthstones, pointing out his and hers and Jeff's and Gareth's and Grant's and Wayne's, gushing about which looked best together in her opinion.

"That's a, uh, ring," the cashier said, looking down at the thing. "With, y'know, stones and shit."

"Very fuckin' descriptive, man, thanks," Eddie responded. "How much?"

"For you, kid? Twenty bucks."

"I'll give you fifteen for it and thirty for the amp."

"Deal."

He didn't even get a box. The guy had been 'fresh out', allegedly, so he'd given Eddie a little drawstring bag for it.

Which was fine. Easier to hide. He just had to remember to transfer it around his three pairs of jeans while they were doing laundry.

"Look, that's your birthstone," Chrissy had said that day at the mall. "A garnet. And mine's right there! Aquamarine!" She'd sighed. "If I had been born a day earlier, I would have been an amethyst. But our stones look pretty together, don't they?"

They did, in his humble opinion. And wouldn't you fucking know it, Eddie had found a garnet ring inlaid with two aquamarines on either side at a thrift store in fucking Norton, Kansas when they'd stopped at a motel for a couple days to rest before a show in Kansas City. He'd even had it assessed at a jeweler in Saint Paul a week later just to be sure.

The thing was legit. The jeweler had polished it and everything. From there, it was just actually proposing.

But, as the weeks wore on, Eddie had to wonder if his decision to wait for the right moment might've been a fucking mistake. What was the perfect moment? What if it'd already come and gone and he didn't even know it? What if it never happened and Chrissy got upset and left him before he had a chance? Did she even want to get married? They were still young, and, outside of her shitty high school relationship (that predated her amazing high school relationship with him, thanks so much), Chrissy had never really dated around. What if he popped the question and she laughed in his face?

(She wouldn't. He knew she wouldn't. But, shit, what if, y'know?)

So, yeah. That fucking ring had been sitting in his pocket for, like, ninety-seven days, whispering platitudes and anxieties in equal measure. Building him up and tearing him down at every opportunity, like it found joy in watching him rise higher and fall farther.

Or maybe that was his own stupid brain.

They'd been booked on a mini-tour to open for another band that was just a few steps beyond Corroded Coffin. The money was kinda shit, but last night, at their show in Reno, a few people had been wearing the merch they'd sold weeks prior at a show in Vegas, and that had made Eddie feel like a goddamn superstar. He'd played his fucking heart out, and Chrissy said they sold out at the merch booth before the headliner even took the stage.

He'd even been asked for autographs. What the fuck?

Afterward, he and Chrissy were squeezed together into their motel room's bathtub. It was entirely too small for the both of them, but Chrissy sat between his bent knees, letting the hot water and scented bubbles relax them after what felt like a ridiculously long night. As though he could ever really relax with Chrissy's naked body all wet and pressed against his.

Her head was on his chest, listening to the slow thudding of his heart as the radio played almost imperceptibly in the background. Chrissy had gone so far as to light a few candles, and on the floor next to them was an open bottle of wine they were taking turns sipping.

It had to be somewhere around two in the morning, and Chrissy was probably exhausted. But she knew Eddie was always off-the-walls after a show, so corralling him into a shared bath was to help him wind down.

"You did amazing tonight," she said, her fingertips tapping against his shin where her hand rested. "All of you guys, but you especially. You were electric up there."

"Did you even look at the other guys?"

"Of course! It's hard not to, but I always look at you the most. Promise."

"Pretty sure you're legally required to say that, as I'm the one who makes you co––"

"Eddie."

Laughing, Eddie pressed his lips to her crown. "Thank you, sweetness."

"I'm serious. Like, I think that was the show, you know?"

He knew what she meant. Their discovery show. The one where some talent scout was hiding out in the crowd because he'd heard Corroded Coffin's name making the rounds. The one where they'd be getting a phone call first thing in the morning asking to meet at an agency.

Their we finally fucking made it show.

"Unlikely," Eddie said, wet fingers brushing a few strands of loose hair back over her ear. "But I appreciate the vote of confidence."

Chrissy said nothing for a moment. Then, using some expert maneuvers won over years in dance and cheer, she pivoted, working her lithe little body until she was comfortably situated in his lap. Eddie's arms automatically wrapped around her, sinking lower into the water so she didn't go sliding off his slickened skin and into the faucet.

"You guys are amazing," she said without a hint of irony coloring her tone. Wet hands cupping his jaw, she nudged her nose against his. "You have a contagious stage presence and you play incredibly. There's no way you aren't going to make it. Got it?"

"Yeah?" Eddie asked, eyes on her lips. "You gonna be my little cheerleader the whole way?"

"I've been with you this far, haven't I?" she shot back, wearing that gorgeous grin he loved so much. "I'm not going anywhere, Eddie. You're stuck with me."

"Hey," Eddie said, affronted. "That's my line. Who's stuck with who?"

Wiggling her hips in his lap (which was... yeah, doing things), Chrissy smiled. "I think you're the one who's literally stuck here, love."

Tucking his thumb against her chin, Eddie just chuckled, drawing her in for a kiss that tasted of promise. Of this future she was certain would come to fruition, where they stood hand-in-hand as recognition fell upon the band. Because Chrissy had sacrificed so much for him, for all of them, and Eddie would be damned if he didn't have opportunity to return the favor.

Oh shit, he realized as she chased his lips for another kiss. This is it. This is the fucking moment.

And his pants are on the other side of the goddamn room.

Shit. Shit. Okay. He could make this work.

"Hey, uh." He smiled when she kissed him again, the wet skin of her squirming in his lap again as she made a little huff of disapproval. "Wait, wait, sweetness, hang on."

Chrissy blinked at him. One hundred percent caught off guard because Eddie had never turned down her advances before. (How could he? He had an actual goddess sitting naked in his lap. Who was he to tell her no when she wanted to, y'know, get closer?)

"Did I, um. Did I overstep?"

"No, fuck no, just, uh––" Grabbing Chrissy's long-handled loofa off the tub rim, Eddie set a firm hand on Chrissy's thigh, anchoring both of them as he leaned as far out of the tub as he could to drag his jeans toward them. Sloshing water out of the side and making Chrissy yelp his name as she grabbed his shoulders to hang on.

The handle slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor with one pant leg right there. Eddie leaned further out, stretching his fingertips as Chrissy squealed. He heard the water splashing, but that just seemed a small price to pay.

Whooping in excitement, he managed to get a small piece of denim between his middle and ring fingers, yanking the jeans across the floor and digging around in the pockets for that fucking bag.

"Eddie! They're gonna get all wet!"

"They'll dry," he responded, finally finding the stupid ring bag in his back pocket. He dropped the jeans uncaringly into the puddle he'd created, resettling Chrissy against him and tangling his hands in her hair as he kissed her question of what he was doing off her lips.

"You know I love you, right?" he asked, a little breathless from the combination of half-crawling out of the tub and the spark from their kiss. Chrissy, wide-eyed and confused, giggled a little when she nodded. "Like, more than anything?"

"Yes, Eddie, I know."

"And I wanna spend, y'know, the rest of my goddamn life with you. You know that, too?"

Chrissy blinked, her smile fading with parted lips as realization seemed to dawn new horizons across her face.

"I-I mean, yeah," she said after he waited a second for her answer. "Eddie, what––"

"I, uh, picked this up a while ago," he admitted, brandishing the tiny bag. "Been waiting for, like, the perfect moment, I guess. But, I dunno. Kinda realized that, maybe all our moments are perfect, y'know?"

He opened the bag, tilting it so the ring fell into his opposite palm. Her eyes widened, jaw falling slack as she gasped.

"I just want to make more moments with you, Chrissy," Eddie said earnestly. "Before and after a quick trip to the altar, I mean."

"Oh, my God," she breathed, trembling fingertip reaching out and gently stroking the gold band. "Are you–– Are you serious?"

"You are the one thing in my life I am one-hundred-percent serious about, sweetness," Eddie replied, softly brushing a thumb against her cheek. She glanced at him, so briefly he almost missed it, but she couldn't take her eyes off the ring. "Marry me?"

"Okay," she said, voice still breathless. Blinking, she shook her head as though she were falling out of a trance, her eyes instantly filling with tears that spilled over her cheeks, mixing with the water of their bath. "I mean, yes, yes, of course, Eddie, oh, my God!"

Throwing her arms around him, Eddie heard more water as it splashed over the side of the tub. It made him laugh, burying his face in her hair and holding her close as she cried into his neck.

"I love you," she sobbed, pulling back and letting him open his fist so she could take the ring. "Oh, my God, and it's our birthstones!" The realization made her cry harder, and Eddie had to help her get the ring on her finger. "You remembered!"

"Of course I did," he chuckled, his own eyes wet with the amount of love he felt for this girl. "I remember everything you say to me."

"We both know that's not true."

"Okay, well, I make an effort, at least!"

She laughed through her sobs, pulling him in and kissing him soundly. Crying, laughing harder, then crying some more between desperately locked lips. Completely soaking his jeans next to the tub, but Eddie couldn't care less.

He had his fiancée in his lap.

"I love you," she gasped between kisses. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"Love you, too, little wife," Eddie grinned. "So much."

Yeah. Perfect fucking moment.

[wolfpants]

Tucked between a greasy spoon caf and an empty retail space with boarded-up windows, Chariot Books makes absolutely no secret of the fact it’s a gay bookshop. It’s small, but mighty; Sirius and his business partner Fabian have only had it for a couple of years, and before then, their business had run out of both their flats, a mail order service that kept Sirius’s home stuffed full of boxes and paperwork. A clandestine but well-oiled machine, Harry always thought. Sirius took great pride in it too, always seemed to be working, always seemed to be taking delivery of a new title or import from San Francisco or somewhere else Harry has never been to.

Harry still remembers the day they opened, this tiny shop with its floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, wire rotating stands full of paperbacks, posters and notices tacked to the walls wherever there’s space, advertising everything from poetry readings to weekly interest group meetings to helpline and crisis information.

A riot of colour. A riot of community.

Back then, Harry had been fresh out of secondary school in the suburbs, wandering aimlessly toward UCL and a psychology degree he’s still not entirely sure he wants, two years down the line.

He’d gotten the train to London with his dad. A multipurpose visit: to catch up with his godfather, his dad’s oldest friend, and to visit the halls of residence for university because his dad wanted to sus them out before committing.

Nothing like my place at Cambridge, he’d said with an approving, delighted laugh as they looked around the common room together with its vending machines full of pop and crisps and sweets, and the groups of casually dressed kids listening to American pop music on a portable record player set up on one of the plastic dining tables. And later that night, before they went back home to Surrey, the launch party for the shop: Harry staring up at the pink triangle on the sign above the door and feeling a huge sense of pride and admiration for his favourite relative in the world, who had finally made it all happen, after all those years.

--

Today I got to visit one of my favourite bookshops in the world - Gay's The Word - the shop Chariot Books in Pages of You is based. It's a gem of a place, rich with history, with an amazing stock of LGBTQ literature, erotica, and nonfiction. I spent an enormous amount of time researching its history for this fic, my first ever Drarry fic. I haven't been back since before I even conceived that fic, so getting to browse the shelves today was amazing for me! So joyous to see places like this stand the test of time and display their legacy so proudly.

[whynotjohnlock]

Hello! If it’s no trouble to ask could you write a platonic fic or headcanons for good omens?

Like where it’s Aziraphale x Crowley x teen!reader

Maybe something like how would it be to have them as parental figures/parents?

Anyways I hope you have a good rest of your evening!!

(and if you don’t mind could you add something in there about how they’d react if the reader ever came out to them? If not I totally understand!!)

A/N: I love the idea of Aziraphale and Crowley as parents! You didn't really specify what the reader was coming out as, so I made them non-binary, as that's what is most relatable to me!

In the beginning of the story the child is a girl, and they eventually figure out that they aren't a girl at all and tells our favorite angel and demon couple.

P.S (O/N) means old name and (Y/N) means Your current name

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

Crowely had never been more angry in his entire life as when he first met (Y/N). Rage burned in his demonic blood and his mellow yellow eyes flickerd into a poisonous red. The only thing stopping him from calling thunder from the sky and creating mass destruction was those little innocent eyes he had met on that sorrowful day.

-Flashback-

Aziraphale had just started to reorganize the book shop, as he did every decade when the papers and memoirs and novels got mixed up beyond the ability to find them. Crowley knew Aziraphale. Without words, without any indication, he knew that the angel would get tired and would want some pastries to snack on before noon. They had been friends for eons together and words were not necessary to convey thought between the pair. Crowley went out to get some pastries because he liked to see the angel's face become soft and happy. The demon loved the way his angel's eyes seemed to cut through any darkness or pain he held.

Just the thought of Aziraphale seemed to brighten his day and a small unnoticeable smile formed on Crowley's face. Mentally he had scolded himself for being a lovesick aardvark and finally got the strength to leave the couch and swagger walk™ out of his flat's door.

A happy juant to his other beloved parked right next to the bookshop and a nice drive latter he arrived to a newly opened bakery.

The bakery itself was rather dull, and he hadn't even cared enough to remember it's name. The whole experience was rather annoying as the shopkeeper kept talking to him when he wanted to order. He stood there for what felt like ages- which considering his age was 6000+ was quite the achievement- bored and annoyed. Couldn't the shopkeeper see he was completely uninterested in conversation? While the shopkeeper was busy ranting on about the economy, the window clicked open on noticed by everyone but him.

From his periphery and under his designer black shades, a small girl that caught his attention as he watched them sneak in through the window soundlessly.

The child silently went up to one of the display racks with croissants and started stuffing them into a little brown worn out backpack to eat later. Whoever this child was, it was clear to Crowley that they would have to be very brave or very desperate or possibly both the rob a bakery in broad daylight.

Still, the shopkeepers were not the wiser as the little gremlin continued to steal their day supply bread and it appeared they would be able to escape unnoticed.

Then the floor creaked, and all eyes turn to the little girl furious and angry. "Thief! Thief! Somebody get her!" The man running the register shouted. In surprise the girl dropped her bag of food and make a run for it.

Crowley always had a soft spot for kids and it was no surprise really to anyone who had actually known him like Aziraphale, that he miracled a chair in the way of the shopkeeper so he 'accidentally' tripped and little girl could getaway.

Falling down in pain the angry man shouts "Ugh, I hate that girl! it's the third time this week! If she does that again I'll call the police to take her away!"

All respect gone for the man working the desk, Crowley decides to order three sandwiches instead of the usual two. Once the food is in his hands, he sets off to find the crafty little thief.

It only really takes 5 minutes for Crowley to find thief girl walking streets alone. "Hey kiddo, you lost?"

The girl looks up at him and surprise and then fear like a broken animal, and from her lips tumble a simple "No mister."

His heart aches, and to appear less threatening he gets down on one knee. "Hey it's all right kiddo I'm not going to hurt you. I even brought you some food."

Crowley gives the tiny human one of the sandwiches to prove he's not a threat. The girl blinks at him and then blinks again and then devours the sandwich like it's the first food she's had in weeks.

Actually, looking at her now it might be. This is the first time Crowley's been able to really observe her and from what he can see it's almost certain she's in a rough situation- which reminds him he hasn't even asked her name yet. "What's your name kiddo?"

The girl blinks once more. "(O/N)"

He hesitates. He doesn't want hell to find out he helped a small defenseless child and certainly doesn't want hastor to use the girl to get him. He looks down at the poor innocent girl who has already finished the sandwich and is eating crumbs off the floor. "I'll walk you home, just show me where you live."

(O/N) nods simply, before taking his hand and walking Eastward for a couple of blocks. She stops at the intersection between two houses. 'Maybe she needs to go in the back door?' Crowley thinks to himself. Alas, despite working for hell, his gut wasn't quite prepared for the twisting sensation when he sees (O/N) gesture to a pile of cardboard boxes.

"This is my super cool box fort!" She says truly proud of her creation and happy, as if this was an okay way of living. "Let me give you the tour!" All Crowley can do is nod dumbly as she excitedly explains her home.

"This is where I sleep! Oh, and this is where I look at the stars through my telescope." Her 'telescope' is a clear glass bottle attached to a thrown out tripod stand. "And this is where-"

Crowley is heartbroken and can't take anymore. He cuts the girl off in a gentle sad tone, "where are your parents kiddo?"

"My parents? Umm, mummy and daddy dropped me off and said they'd be back in an soon."

"When was that kiddo?" Crowley's voice breaks into fragments.

"Um, when they were painting that house red I think. Don't worry though! I'm sure they'll be back soon Mister, just like they promised!"

Crowley knew this side of town well because it was on the way to Aziraphale's house, and recalled they had painted that particular house red a year ago.

A year ago.

What in God's name had this child been through? From the size of a little girl she couldn't have been more than five or six years old.

The little girls face made him hurt so so much because she truly believed that her parents would come back to her even after a year of not being there for her. 365 days of fighting for herself alone just for the basic necessities to grow up; and some how she still had hope they were good people. It hurt that much more in that she reminded him of himself as an angel, naive and hopeful of God and the great plan she had for the universe. Her face held the same smile that Aziraphale had when he believed that Angels were good people. And by Satan and God did it hurt.

His pain fueled his rage and bitterness. Anger at the people who it forsaken the child. Bitterness for the world. Hatred for God and her holier than thou standard. His jaw clenched and fingers turned white from clenching so hard into his fist. Why had she forsaken him? Was he not good enough? Was it because he asked too many questions? God's prophet, Jesus had said time and time again that questioning was part of faith, so that really didn't make sense. The more he thought, the more none of the answers made any sense at all.

The only thing that seemed to make sense was the fact and desire and need to take (O/N) home and keep her safe. He decided he would do what no one else had done for him; he would be there, and he would protect her. He would take her home and answer all the questions she had without ever getting annoyed or angry.

No one deserves to be in trouble just for asking questions. 'It won't happen, not on my watch' he vowed.

He did not swear to God. He did not swear to Satan. Crowley sweard to the only thing that mattered to him, Aziraphale, that he would find a way to convince this little girl to go to his angel's bookshop with him and protect them from all harm.

And he did.

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

*Flash forward*

His little girl grew up so fast. She wasn't little anymore. Heck, (Y/N) even a girl anymore.

It god was amazing when they came out. He was so fucking proud that his little thief was brave enough to question there own identity and gender through an incredible mental journey to find the words to represent who they where and had always been. He definitely was not crying when (Y/N) came out, even though Aziraphale had hallucinated and kept insisting that that's what happened.

They had grown into a fiercely independent young adult who had just finished education was pursuing the career of their dreams.

"Are you alright, dear?" An angel snapped him out of his thoughts, and he could have sworn his demonic heart stopped for a second.

"I'm alright, angel. I was just thinking about our little thief."

Aziraphale becomes a mother hen™ "Crowley! How meany times have I told you that they are so much more than a scoundrel who steals money in the night!"

"Angel, (Y/N) likes the nickname, and told me they like it several times!"

"Our starlight deserves a better name!"

Aziraphale had grown to love his starlight as much as he loved his wiley old serpent, with all of himself, truly, madly, and deeply. He read to (Y/N) every night, creating worlds and universes of words for his starlight to laugh and enjoy.

He took them to all his favorite restaurants, for sushi for brioche for crepes and even oysters to taste and try. Only the best for his starlight!

Both angel and demon become extremely serious and angry with one another for a few heartbeats.

Then, they burst out laughing together, unable to continue this silly argument any longer. Crowley falls over on the couch tackling his angel down with him.

They just lie there together completely unable to do anything but keep laughing together in pure unchecked joy.

Aziraphale and Crowley eventually get there giggles out, and hold one another in silence.

Aziraphale whispers softly into Crowley's ear: "I love you, my dear."

Crowley gives a half smirk half smile, "i fORgIvE yOu!"

"You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Nope!"

"Well, I suppose it's well deserved, but I want you to know that I really do love you more than books and oysters and crepes. I love you more than I can say with words."

"I know, angel. And I really do forgive you for whatever that word mess was. Can we go back to cuddleing?"

"Of course dear."

Crowley and Aziraphale had never felt more at peace with the world than they did with you since you entered their life. They where truly free from hell and heaven to be with one another happy.

They were truely free to be as they always wanted to be;

An Ineffable family.

[lewmagoo]

little lambs and big, bad cowboys | rhett abbott

description: in which you find yourself entirely at his mercy

warnings: STRICTLY 18+, consensual non-consent, corruption kink, kind of predator/prey, fingering, unprotected piv sex, choking, overstimulation, daddy kink, light bondage, squirting, size kink, creampie, subspace, aftercare bc it's important, i think that's everything lol

pairing: rhett abbott x wife!reader (fem pronouns used)

notes: this was so much fun to write. i haven't written much cnc so bear with me here. if you can't handle this sort of thing, don't feel obligated to read! be considerate of your own limits and well-being first and foremost

Your hands were trembling. 

The energy thrumming through you had you on edge, buzzing with excitement. You kept glancing at the clock, counting down the minutes until closing time. 

When the clock struck 5, you would close your quaint little bookshop and eagerly await your husband’s arrival. Except, he was not your husband in this scenario. No, he was simply Rhett Abbott to you, a man whom you’d only encountered a few times.

Together, you had planned out the entire situation. He would walk into your shop right at closing time, under the pretense of finding a specific book. Innocent enough, but what would follow was far from innocent. In fact, it was utterly filthy, and just the thought of it made you clench your thighs together beneath the flowy sundress you wore.

It was his favorite dress of yours, which was specifically why you’d donned it that day. The hem brushed loosely against your mid-thigh, and the neckline plunged only just so, enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of your chest. Modest enough that no one else would really bat an eye, but Rhett would be drawn to it like a fly to honey.

It was ironic, really. In this scenario, you were behaving like the one he’d lured into his sticky, sweet trap, when in reality, it was you who had him wrapped around your finger, to the point where he would willingly try something like this.

You had discussed it in depth before this moment. It was not something you took lightly. You needed Rhett to be on the same page as you, and you took the time to set up very clear boundaries. You could stop at any time. All that needed to be uttered was a single safe word from either of you and the scene would be over instantaneously. 

Rhett’s willingness to participate in this stemmed from his deep trust in you, and yours in him. You both knew you would never do anything to hurt the other, at least not without explicit consent. That was why it was so easy for him to agree to this. He’d never do such a thing with anyone else. Only you, because you made him feel comfortable enough to express his desires and kinks without fear of judgment. 

He made you feel the same, which was why you’d brought it up to him in the first place. And that brought you to the present moment, where you excitedly awaited his arrival through the front door. Your eyes continuously flickered to the clock on the wall, ticking away. Had time started passing slower than normal? It sure felt like it. 

You busied yourself with monotonous tasks. Wiping down the counter. Clearing out the cash register for the night. Tidying up the book display shelves. And finally, at 5:01 p.m., Rhett Abbott walked through the door of your bookshop.

You caught his gaze, and he offered you one of those crooked smiles of his that made you weak in the knees. Out of respect, he took his hat off of his head. “Evenin’, miss. Just need to pick up a book.”

“I-I’m afraid we’re closed, Mister Abbott,” you stammered, already slipping into the part of the timid church mouse you’d pledged to play. 

“Oh I ain’t gon’ be more than a few minutes, I promise. I would’ve come earlier but I was busy.”

“Okay. Just please make it quick, I really should be getting home soon.”

He raised a brow, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Why? Your daddy have you on a curfew?”

“Something like that,” came your whisper.

He gave a single nod, and turned to peruse down the aisles. But you didn’t miss the way he turned and locked the door as he did. It made your heart flip in your chest, and your breath catch in your throat. 

While he searched for whatever book he was looking for, you made your way back to the counter, clasping your hands together when you realized how much they shook. You felt silly, being as giddy as a schoolgirl, but you couldn’t help it. That was the effect Rhett had on you. Always had been.

A few moments later, he appeared at the counter, and his presence made you jump, because you hadn’t even heard him come up. 

“Oh!” You exclaimed. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No ma’am, I didn’t.”

“Do you know the title or author? I could always look it up for you.”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I’m lookin’ for the Encyclopedia of Knots and Ropework.”

Of course he was. Even outside of this roleplay, it was a fitting book for him to be interested in. He was always trying to improve his rope techniques, not only because it was useful for day-to-day, but also because it was useful in the confines of your bedroom.

He held your gaze, his eyes intense and sharp. Had they gotten even bluer, somehow? You didn’t miss how those same eyes shamelessly flickered down to glance at your chest. They widened slightly when he realized what necklace you were wearing. Delicate gold, words small enough that one might not realize what they said unless they looked closely. Daddy’s Girl.

Rhett had gotten it for you as a joke, because you called him daddy within your dynamic. But it had quickly become a turn-on for both of you whenever you wore it. Like now, for instance. He swallowed as his eyes shifted back up to yours. You didn’t miss the bob of his Adam’s apple as he did so.

“Actually, I think I have that book in the back,” you managed to speak up. You were warm with need for him already and you’d barely even begun. “If you’ll just wait right here.”

You turned on your heel, stepping into the back storage room to search for his requested book. Although you’d instructed him to wait outside the room, he followed you anyway, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you. 

You knew he was there, so you purposely moved so your dress rode up, exposing your bare ass beneath it. Rhett gritted his teath at the sight, unable to tear his eyes away. When you bent down again, he caught a glimpse of your pussy, and he couldn’t bite back the groan that rumbled in his chest.

You gasped, whirling around. “M-Mister Abbott, you shouldn’t be back here,” you squeaked.

He smirked, the blue of his eyes darker now. “Sorry, I got impatient. But I couldn’t help but admire how pretty you look. All sweet an’ innocent, like a little lamb.”

“Oh…th-thank you?”

Rhett stepped forward, boots heavy on the floor. “Mm,” he hummed. Another step closer. Instinctively, you stepped back, but he kept coming, until your back hit one of the bookshelves. 

You gasped, eyes widening as you reached back and touched the cool wood. “Mister Abbott, sir, what are you doing?” But you knew full well what he was doing.

“Admirin’ you up close.” He reached a hand up, running his fingers over the cool metal of your necklace. “This little necklace says you’re daddy’s girl. That what you are? You his innocent little girl?”

You shuddered as he nudged a thigh between your legs. “Yes sir.”

“Huh,” he remarked, hand moving to play with the strap of your dress. “It’d be a shame if someone were to come along and ruin his pretty little girl. There’s a lot of bad men out there, y’know.” And I’m one of them.

“I-I don’t think—”

“Shh,” he shushed, pushing his jean-clad thigh further against you. You could feel the rough denim against your cunt. Surely your pooling desire would soak through the fabric. 

The hand that had been playing with your necklace wandered down, skilled fingers toying with the little bow at the neckline of your dress. You watched, chest heaving slightly as he pulled the tie, and the top part of your dress came down, revealing your breasts. 

You whimpered, but quickly remembered you were meant to remain in character, so you lifted your arm to cover your chest. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” you whispered. 

A positively Cheshire grin spread across his face, and you felt very much like a poor, innocent mouse in the clutches of a cat who liked to play with his food before devouring it. “Why not? Nobody’s going to walk in. I locked the front door. So we can do anythin’ you want, sugar.”

Warm fingers brushed over hardening nipples, and you took in a breath, head falling back against the shelf behind you. “N-no one’s ever touched me there before,” came your whimpered confession. 

Rhett made a sound deep in his throat, and he began to lightly pinch and tug at those buds. In the meantime, your hips involuntarily moved against his thigh. He could feel your arousal soaking through, and he growled. 

He was going to corrupt you, this sweet, unassuming lamb that trembled under his touch. 

“I can touch you other places, too,” he lulled, his face so close to yours your noses brushed. A large hand fell from your chest, soon resting over your stomach. Then, he trailed further down, until his fingers curled around the hem of your dress and he lifted it up to reveal your nakedness underneath.

You let out a gasp of surprise and pulled the fabric from his hands. “Mister Abbott!” You scolded.

“Just one little peek, darlin’. It won’t hurt anything.” 

But when he lifted your dress again, you were emboldened, and again, you snatched it out of his grasp. He raised a brow at that, and you jutted your chin out in defiance. 

“Stupid girl.” Then, he took both of your arms in his hold and forced you to turn, your back pressed to his chest as he wrestled you down across the desk beside you. You put up a bit of a fight, but certainly not enough to hurt him or slow him down in any way. He handled you in a great feat of strength, and it sent a jolt of desire through you.

Once he had you pressed into the oak, he yanked your dress up to expose your bare ass. You tried to wriggle out of his hold, but he pressed his weight into you with a grunt. “Hold fuckin’ still.”

“But sir, I-”

Then, he reached around, clamping his hand over your mouth. “Shut your mouth ‘fore I shut it for you.”

Once he was satisfied with your silence, he stepped back, hands gripping your ass so he could fully admire your glistening pussy. His fingers parted your folds, and he hummed, enjoying the view. “S’ pretty. Nobody’s ever touched you like this before, have they?”

“N-no sir. You shouldn’t be touching me there, either.”

Suddenly, he slotted his middle finger into you, and you gasped. Moments later, he added his ring finger to the mix, long digits easily locating that spot inside you that made stars glimmer behind your eyelids. 

You lost yourself for a moment, moaning lowly at the feeling. He knew exactly how to move those fingers to draw the most salacious sounds from you. 

But you remembered you were supposed to be in character. So you reacted like the damsel in distress you were playing. “Mister Abbott, please. This isn’t right. If my daddy finds out about this, he’ll—”

“He’ll what, sweetheart? He’ll beat me to death?” He leaned in close, mouth brushing against the shell of your ear. “You ain’t escaping me, lamb. ‘M gonna have my way with you whether you like it or not.”

His words sent you clenching around his fingers, and he hummed in satisfaction, wicked smile tugging at his mouth. “You like the thought of that, don’t ya? The big, bad cowboy takin’ what he wants?”

“No sir!” You cried. But you did. You loved the idea. Loved that Rhett had agreed to do this with you. 

“The way your pussy’s squeezin’ my fingers tells me otherwise.” He fucked those same fingers into you harder, faster. The sound of your growing wetness was obscene, and it went straight to his cock. 

When you squirmed again, he pressed his weight into you, inhibiting you from moving, from escaping. The fact that you couldn’t see what he was doing behind you made it all the more erotic. You didn’t know what to expect and it sent a thrill through you. 

But he paused for a moment, and suddenly, a warm, gentle hand was pressed against your spine. “Color?” He asked, in a tone that could only be described as your Rhett. 

“Green,” you sighed. His fingers were still inside you and you were in heaven. 

A soft kiss to your shoulder blade, and then it was back to business. Those fingers inside you curled upwards, and you whined, shivering. It was pathetic, really, the way you were literally dripping around those thick digits.

All too soon, he slipped them out of you, and all at once, those same fingers were tapping at your lips. “Clean up your mess,” he gritted.

“No,” you refused, turning your head away. 

He grunted, hauling you up and turning you around. With his clean hand, he gripped your jaw. “I said, clean up your fuckin’ mess, girl.” You let him wrench your jaw open, and he shoved his glistening fingers past your lips, allowing you to taste yourself. 

Once he was satisfied, he removed his fingers from your mouth, proceeding to smear the mix of your cum and spit all over your lips. The gesture almost made you come right then and there. 

Then he kissed you, hand holding the back of your neck, blunt fingernails digging into your skin. When you parted, he spoke again. “Lay down on the desk.”

You almost obeyed immediately, but a positively delicious thought came to mind. Without warning, you dropped your weight quickly, and it surprised him enough to loosen his grasp on you as you went down. As soon as he did, you scrambled to your feet and rushed out of the room. 

Rhett grunted in surprise, and his heavy footfalls could be heard behind you. But you were faster than he was, and you ran up and down a few aisles of bookshelves until you stopped in the middle of one, dead silent as you listened for him. But suddenly, the surrounding area was dead silent, save for your rushed breathing.

It gave you pause. Had he stopped following you? 

Just as you thought you were safe, the creaking of a floorboard got your attention, and you whirled around, just in time to see your cowboy stalking toward you. 

You tried to slip away, but he already had you, hand shooting out to catch you. He was much, much stronger, thanks to upper body strength that was unmatched. Blame it on riding all those bulls and hauling heavy bales of hay. 

“No!” You cried as he wrestled you down to the hardwood. You struggled in his hold and he let out a growl. 

The clink of his belt buckle drew your attention, and he quickly pulled it from its loops, binding your wrists together behind your back. “Woulda brought my fuckin’ rope if I knew you were gon’ try to get away.” He cinched the belt and made sure it would hold. But a moment later, his tone softened. “That ain’t too tight, is it?”

You shook your head. “No, it’s just right.”

So, back into character he slipped. 

You heard the telltale sign of him unzipping his jeans, shoving the rough denim down his thighs. Work roughened fingers were at your slick opening again, and when they brushed over your clit, you jumped. 

“Feels good, huh?”

“No.” Yes. 

“Keep lyin’ to me, girl. I’ll have you creaming all over my cock soon enough.”

You couldn’t help but moan at his words, pushing your ass up toward him. Behind you, he shoved his jeans down far enough to free his hardness, stroking it firmly in his hand before he shoved your legs apart and pulled your hips back. 

“I don’t know if it’ll e’en fit inside you. Wonder if you’ll be able to take the whole thing.”

The plush, pink head was dragged through your dripping wetness, and you whined at the feeling of it catching on your entrance but never quite slipping inside. 

Feebly, you continued your facade, though you were moments away from throwing in the towel and begging your husband to fuck you. “W-we can’t,” you whimpered. “Please, Mister Abbott.”

He lowered himself so his mouth was against your ear again. He seemed so big, hulking above you, and it made you feel helpless in the most thrilling way imaginable. “What? Did’ya really think you were gonna save yourself for someone special? Soon as I fuck you, this pussy belongs to me. You’ll be ruined for any other man.”

“Don’t.” But please, do.

Again, the head of his cock slid over you. You were so wet it was almost embarrassing, and Rhett admired the way you glistened. He could clearly see that this was turning you on to no end. He was in the same boat. He hadn’t realized just how much he would get off on this, but he was enjoying every minute of it. It felt so forbidden, so naughty. And it was thrilling. 

He knew he couldn’t handle teasing you any longer. So, without warning, he pushed his hips forward and filled you in one thrust. The sudden intrusion surprised you, and you cried out, jolting against the floor. 

He was so fucking big, and from this angle, he somehow felt even bigger. His cock was thick, so the stretch was almost uncomfortable, but it felt so good all at once. However, you knew how much he loved making you feel small, so you decided to get him going. 

“I-it barely fits. S’too big,” you squeaked. 

He groaned deep within his chest, jaw going slack. “And you’re gon’ lay there and take every inch of me, lamb.”

He shunted his hips forward again, and you whined, eyes drifting shut. Feebly, you put up a bit of a struggle, trying half-heartedly to pull yourself out of his grasp. But he shoved you back in place. “Fuckin’ take it.”

“No! Get off me!”

A rough hand came up to cover your mouth, and again, he thrust into you, rough and deep. He built a steady rhythm, and it wasn’t long before you were gasping and moaning pathetically against his hand at the feeling. You weren’t sure that you even had it in you to fight against him anymore. It felt too good to pretend you didn’t like it.

Above you, he grunted deeply, and the way he fucked you was almost animalistic. He was heavy against you, overcoming your every sense. 

You could feel him. The bump of his cock against your spongey walls. The roughness of his jeans against the backs of your thighs. The softness of the flannel he wore against your back. You could smell him. That simple cologne he always wore. That heady, natural scent that could only be described as Rhett. And you could hear him. Short groans and sighs. Barely contained growls when you clenched around him. Like he was a wild animal and you were his prey.

He’d finally lowered his hand from your mouth, pressing his palm against the floor to brace himself. It allowed your wild, unbridled moans to spill forth, filling the entirety of your little bookstore. If you got any louder, surely a passerby outside would be able to hear. But neither of you cared. 

Suddenly, his hips slowed, and you felt his hands on your own. “Wanna watch your face while I have my way with you,” he rasped before he undid the belt around your hands, tossing the leather aside. He soothed your wrists with his fingers before he pulled back, leaving you empty.

You whined, but he shushed you as he turned you over onto your back. You were thrumming with the warmth of desire, so much so that it took everything in you to keep up your act as you spoke again. “Mister Abbott, p-please just let me go.” But don’t. Don’t you ever let me go.

When your hands weakly pushed at his chest, he grabbed them, pressing them above your head. His face was hard set in a scowl. He looked so angry, so dominating, and it made you shiver. But as if a switch was flipped, he softened, free hand coming up to brush over your quivering bottom lip. 

“What’s your color, chickadee?”

You hummed. “It’s green. Neon fucking green.”

He couldn’t help but grin at that. “Glad to hear.”

Then the switch was flipped again, and his entire demeanor changed. His jaw was hard-set, brow furrowed. “Don’t e’en bother trying to fight it. You know you want it,” he taunted, and you felt the heat of his cock against you again.

He slipped into you for a second time with ease, pulling your legs around his hips so he could go even deeper. He watched the place where your bodies met, enamored with the way you took all of him. It set something off within him, and he picked up the pace, jarring your entire being as he fucked you.

Then he brought his hand between your thighs, fingers rubbing against your buzzing gathering of nerve endings. Then, he released the hands he held above your head, and wrapped that hand around your throat. 

He knew the exact amount of pressure to apply. His fingertips pressed firmly against either side of your neck, slowing the blood flow and making your head spin. That’s when you lost yourself. Rhett hadn’t been expecting it to happen so soon, but he could clearly see it in the way your eyes rolled back and your body arched off the floor. 

Moments like these made you feel like you were having an out-of-body experience. It was as if you were hovering over yourself, watching the scene unfold. 

It was also a surefire way to make you come. Which, in the heat of the moment, Rhett had forgotten about. You let out a strangled cry, and suddenly you were gasping out, “c-coming! Coming! Daddy, I’m coming!”

That was it for you. Your reluctant facade was gone. The character of the innocent little lamb, as Rhett would say, was forgotten. Now you didn’t even care. You just wanted him to keep going. Wanted him to fuck you until you were incoherent. 

And as you came, your husband watched in awe. Your mouth parted in a silent scream, your eyes locked with his, and you convulsed beneath him. Your cunt tightened around him like a vice, and he let out a determined growl. He wasn’t about to fall apart this early on. 

Instead, he focused on you. As you came down from your unexpected high, he eased his hand off your throat, mindful that you would be a bit dizzy from the rush of blood. 

He’d stopped moving, instead lowering his weight to rest gently on top of you. His lips brushed against your own. “You okay, sweet thing?”

Your eyes, still glossy and unfocused, flickered up to his. “Y-yeah. That was…I didn’t mean to come that fast.” You might’ve been embarrassed, but Rhett gave you no reason to be.

He smiled. “S’okay. I ain’t finished with you yet, anyway.”

Then his lips were on yours in a dizzying kiss, and he slowly built his rhythm back as he rolled his hips into yours. You whined into his mouth, hands fumbling for purchase at his shoulders. All muscle and sinew, strong from hard labor.

He wrapped your legs around him, bringing him impossibly closer. With each press into you, you could feel the coarseness of the neatly kept hair that gathered at the base of his cock, brushing against your oversensitive clit. 

When you caught his gaze, he looked at you in amusement. “Where’d all that fight go, hm? Few minutes ago you were beggin’ me to stop. Now you’re taking it like a good girl should. Decide you like it all of a sudden?”

Yes. Yes, yes, yes. 

But you couldn’t voice an answer. Your words died in your throat each time he fucked into you. He pulled up to shove your legs up further, knees toward your chest, which gave him a better angle, hitting it impossibly deeper. 

You let out an unabashed wail at the feeling, and Rhett grunted at the feeling if your desire quite literally dripping from you, down the shaft of his cock, and further. 

The sound as he pushed into you was obscene. A filthy, wet squelch that might’ve embarrassed you if you weren’t thrumming with need. 

It only spurred your husband on. He fucked you harder, faster. His fingers applied such delicious pressure on your clit. His mouth nipped at your breasts, tugging on pert nipples. And it wasn’t long before you were catapulting into him, coming unraveled around his dick all over again. 

He watched you, amazed at just how sensitive you were. “Shit, this really got you going, huh?” He breathlessly remarked after you’d come down. 

You smiled, a little dumbly. “Mm,” you squeaked. 

Rhett took a steadying breath, willing himself to last just a little longer. “What do ya need, chickadee? You wanna keep playing? Or do you just need me?”

“N-need you, Daddy. Just you,” came your slurred response. 

He nuzzled into you, nose bumping against yours. “Yeah? Already goin’ small on me?”

But you couldn’t answer. He could tell, though. Your eyes were glassy, almost tearful, and you were pawing at him like a little kitten. So he soothed you, kissing you slowly, tongue delving into your mouth, which you sucked on gently. 

He smiled against your mouth as he broke away. “Here, suck on this instead of my tongue,” he urged, sliding his thumb into your mouth, which you happily accepted, suckling greedily. 

He picked up his pace again, sinking back into your impossibly slick cunt. He was considerably more gentle than he had been. Gone was the rough, mean cowboy who held you down and told you to take it. 

Instead, he was replaced by your tender husband, so attentive to you when you were like this. He always knew how to get you to this state. A small and pliant state of mind, where you’d do anything he asked of you, because you wanted to please him so badly. Wanted to be good for him. 

It hadn’t started out this way. Getting to this point in your dynamic has been a journey. Rhett had struggled with assuming a role of dominance. Not because it didn’t interest him, but because he was afraid. Afraid he couldn’t be what you needed. But you’d worked through those insecurities together as time passed. Now, you shared a healthy relationship and a balanced dominant and submissive dynamic. 

It made you feel safe enough to be like this with him. Vulnerable. Emotional. Raw. 

It all shifted then. There, in the middle of your little book store, sprawled out on the hardwood floor, the desperate, intense fuck melted away into lovemaking. 

Rhett stayed close to you, keeping his movements predictable so you wouldn’t spiral. The feeling of him inside you, filling you in the way that only he could, sent tears springing to your eyes. 

He kissed you again, and whispered words of encouragement. “Takin’ me so well.”

You held tightly to him, arms around his neck, keening with each push and pull of his heavy cock within you. You could feel him pulse and spasm, feel the fullness of his balls pressing into you. God, you wanted all he had to give. Wanted him to spill into you, to leave you full of his cum. 

But you couldn’t find the words to beg for it. All that came out were pathetic whimpers and incoherent babbles. He gave you his fingers to suck on again, pacifying you. 

“Gon’ give you what you want, chickadee. Promise.” He knew what you were whining for. And he was so close. Especially when you clenched around him the way you were, your sensitive walls fluttering in anticipation of another orgasm that would soon wash over you. 

The heat of eroticism surrounded you both, and it felt like the room was engulfed in flames, stoked by the intensity of your oneness. 

You let him take you, let him use your body to chase his own pleasure. And in the midst of it all, your hypersensitive body plummeted over that edge again, soaking him with your release as you wailed brokenly around his fingers, a muffled “Daddy!” bubbling from your hoarse throat. 

And Rhett couldn’t handle it any longer. Buzzing electricity crackled at the base of his spine, as if he’d just been struck by a bolt of white hot lightning. 

His jaw fell slack, and his head dropped to the crook of your shoulder. You moaned, sobbed, pleaded with him to give it all to you. And he did. 

He came with a raw, gravelly moan, hips stilling slightly as he pumped his seed into the very center of your being. You took all he had to give, your hands tangled in his dark locks as he trembled against you. 

A few more pulses of his cock within you and his rapture came to an end. His chest heaved against yours as he caught his breath, and a moment later, he lifted his head to fully look at you. 

“You okay?” He asked, voice wrecked. 

“Mhm,” was all you could muster. Tears were gathering on your lash line, and before you knew it, they were trailing down the sides of your face. 

His face softened with concern. “Oh, sweet thing.”

“‘m okay, Daddy,” you squeaked, “j-just felt really good.”

Carefully, Rhett slid out of you, leaving your aching walls empty. You made a sound of protest, but he shushed you, moving to sit with his back against the bookshelves, and helping you settle against him. 

You ended up straddling him, your face tucked into the curve of his neck, your chest pressed to his. You needed this, the intimate closeness after such an intense scenario. 

Rhett’s hand ghosted along your back, grounding you as his fingertips drew patterns. “Did so good for me,” he praised. 

But after a moment, you let out a distressed whimper. “Making a mess,” you despaired as you glanced down, realizing his cum had seeped out of you and onto his thigh. 

He shook his head, guiding your face to look at him. “It’s okay. I brought some stuff to clean up with. Let’s go get it.” He knew you couldn’t bear to be separated from him, and certainly not here, out of the comfort and familiarity of your own home. 

So he helped you stand, pausing only to yank his jeans back up, leaving the top undone. He guided you to the back room, despite the fact that you were walking on the legs of a newborn fawn. 

He helped you take a seat on a spare chair before he began rifling through a bag you hadn’t even realized he’d brought in. Soon enough, he retrieved a pack of gentle wipes. 

Moments later, your legs were parted as he tenderly wiped you clean. He could see how swollen your delicate folds were, so he was as gentle as could be. 

Once he was finished, he grabbed a folded blanket from the bag and wrapped it around your shoulders. “Gon’ get you home in a minute so I can take care of you proper,” he assured you with a squeeze to your thigh. 

You hummed sleepily, watching as he went about gathering everything. He knelt to put your shoes back on your feet, which had been lost in the scuffle, mysteriously. 

Then, he helped you stand and smoothed your dress, adjusting it so you were covered again. The entire time, you were hardly present, fading in and out of a blissful state, allowing your husband to care for you. 

He finished closing up shop for you so you wouldn’t have to worry about it, and then, he led you out to his truck, which he’d parked around back to avoid prying eyes. Sometime during your tryst, the sky had gone dark, and night had fallen. 

Once he had you situated in the passenger side, he came over to his own side, climbing in beside you. Immediately, you scooted across the bench, needing to be closer to him. 

He wrapped an arm around you and kept it there as he drove. You let your eyes drift shut, comfortable and safe, trusting that he’d get you to your distination. 

And he did. He pulled into your driveway, and eased you out of the truck’s cab, guiding you across the front of your property and into the house. 

He looked after you for the rest of the evening. Getting you ready for bed, making you a quick dinner, giving you water so you wouldn’t become dehydrated. And you let him, because it gave you such comfort to be cared for by him. 

By the time you were in bed that night, you were feeling a little more grounded, and able to speak. 

“Thank you,” you said as he climbed into bed beside you. “For taking care of me. For acting out that fantasy with me.”

Rhett’s mouth quirked into a smile, and he lifted one brawny hand to cup your cheek. “‘course. Had a lot of fun with it. More than I was expecting.”

It was your turn to smile. “Me too. I really liked feeling all helpless under you like that. Kind of embarrassing how much it turned me on.”

But he shook his head. “Nothin’ to be embarrassed about. We both enjoyed ourselves, that’s what matters.” He leaned in to kiss you, and you melted into his warmth. 

“So this means we’re definitely trying this again?” You asked as you broke apart, resting your head on his bare chest. 

“Mhm,” he eagerly hummed. “And again. And again.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

He shifted to kiss the top of your head. “I ain’t done corrupting my sweet little lamb yet.”

“Well, she’s all yours for the taking, whenever you want.”

He grinned. “I like the sound of that.”

-

tagging those who interacted with the original post:

@withahappyrefrain @sunlightmurdock @milesmillergf @emilyjustemily @emofairyprincessofarkansas @rhettabbotts @weakling-grace @3in1shampooconditionerbodywash @callsignunsung @winterrebel04 @lovely-love02 @luvrrish @chickenmcnuggeteggs @i-love-scott-mccall @devoetee @phoenixssugarbaby @thepoledancerfromreno @sweetlittlegingy @thewitch-lives @catiscool22 @dinkysthings @hangmanapologist @knoxx-seresinbradshaw @florkt @kmsryles343 @lookwhathappeeeeeens @bimbeeno @trikigirl271 @pillow-titties @mothdruid @thesluttyarchivist @cherrycola27 @idontcare-11

[collecting-stories]

Treacherous - Remus Lupin

Request: i love you taylor swift song series!! i was wondering if you could possibly write a fic for treacherous using remus lupin:)) xoxo

Summary: After being left suddenly some months earlier the reader stumbles upon Remus in an old bookshop.

A/N: I made this more as Remus being the one sort of, cautious to trust the relationship and then kind of being pulled in because I thought it made for a nice story that way.

TS Anthology Series | Harry Potter Masterlist

...I hear the sound of my own voice, asking you to stay...

"So this is where you've been hiding?" you asked, fingers running over the edge of a cling-film wrapped fudge brownie. You picked it up off the tray of baked goods and set it atop the book you had laid on the counter. A pretty hardback edition of Dracula that you probably wouldn't even crack the spine on but that you would proudly display on your bookshelf. 

You hadn't come up to Tyne upon Wear looking for Remus, obviously. You hadn't heard from him in months and weren't even entirely sure where he had landed after leaving Hogwarts and then James summer cottage. It was an accident of nature, a fluke (though you could hear Peter in the back of your head saying that it was 'fate') that you were here for holiday and that you had walked into this bookstore. 

"I've not been hiding," Remus rebuffed, taking the book and the brownie, his fingers brushing yours. "Who told you that?"

You shrugged, "no one. I just assumed, I mean, this isn't exactly close to anyone." You knew Sirius had gotten a flat in London and Lily and James were talking about Godric's Hollow. Peter was in London too but you felt like you rarely saw him these days, though more than Remus. 

"My nan's from this area," he replied, eyes never straying from the till. He'd seen you outside the window, staring a book on display, partially obscured by the sign painted on the glass. Hiding seemed like a marvelous idea, ducking down behind the counter or slipping behind a bookcase. Marvelous but impractical, probably, at the very least unprofessional. And besides, he was too slow to act. He felt like he'd frozen in place the moment you appeared, as if someone had cast a petrificus totalus spell over him. Remus just stood there and then you turned your head to the side and looked through the window and saw him and smiled. 

When you came into the shop, Remus wasn't entirely sure if the bells he could hear ringing where the ones above the door or the ones in his own head. You hadn't said anything at first, just smiled and browsed around the front of the store, very obviously for show, before plucking a book off a shelf that Remus knew you owned, putting it on the counter for him to ring up. He'd expected you to hate him the next time you saw each other. Perhaps you would yell or give him the cold shoulder or, worst of all, he'd be gone so long that you would move on without him. But here you were and you didn't look upset at all. As if he hadn't disappeared, as if you believed him when he lied and said he wasn't hiding. 

"I don't think I knew that," you looked genuinely like you were trying to remember if he had ever mentioned his nan to you or where in Britain she lived. 

"What are you, uh...what are you doing here?" He asked, moving away from the topic of his family (always a rather delicate matter as you knew) and onto something more important, at least in his mind. You were here and you must've been here for a reason and he hadn't spoken to Lily or James or Sirius or Peter in months which meant that no one could have let on that he was here. No one knew, as far as he was aware, aside from himself and he wasn't advertising the information. 

"Oh, on holiday," you replied. "I was quite influenced by Sirius...or at least that awful monstrosity of his."

"The bike?" Remus asked, eyebrow raising in suspicion, "you've not bought one, have you?"

"No, god no. But I have come into possession of a lovely little green people-carrier. It's quite lovely and I've decided to drive it up the coast to Scotland. Trouble is, I always forget about the petrol until I get going," you explained, "I'm afraid I ran out of gas. A very friendly old man in a funny looking truck picked me up though, picked up the car as well! I believe he called it a tow. How marvelous really, a tow."

"So an empty tank brought you here?" He clarified. How truly like you to forget something so vital but also how like the universe to play such terrible tricks on him as this one. To have you strand yourself on the side of a road just kilometers from him and forced to be deposited into his town. "Where are you staying?"

"A cute little B&B. My room has floral wallpaper and a little tea kettle on a hot-plate. I've not used the hot-plate though the old lady explained it to me...seems very tricky if you ask me. I'd much rather just magic the pot." 

"I don't know of any....that is, I think the town is largely muggles." Remus replied.

"I gathered. Don't worry Remus, I haven't been waving my wand about everywhere I go." You laughed. You took the bag he pushed across the counter, your book and brownie inside. "I missed you quite a lot."

Graduation had felt wildly exciting. All that talk of future plans and goals had never been overshadowed, even when inklings of sadness had crept through at the thought of not seeing your friends every single day for months at a time. You would all be close, you were sure of it. James planned the summer holiday, an almost immediate trip to a summer cottage for a small (though large at the final head count) group of friends to avoid saying anything like goodbye to each other right away. 

The summer cottage had been lovely and you and Remus had only just begun dating each other before the holiday, still shy about each other in the way that new romances are. It had felt exciting, to be away with him. You'd been friends for so long, seven years, and then you were dating and suddenly it was like everything was new and you thought it would all last forever. But then you'd woken up on the last morning at the cottage and Remus was gone and you didn't see him again. Until this very moment, in a tiny bookshop in a little seaside village of muggles. 

"I'm sorry," Remus began to say but you shook your head, stopping him from saying anything more.

"No need to be sorry," you promised. You'd experienced a vast range of emotions in the days and weeks and months post Remus' departure. Ultimately though, you knew your friend well and knew that (despite Sirius always getting the credit for being the one most prone to dramatics) Remus could be very dramatic when he chose to be. Disappearing was not as surprising as you would have liked it to be when you actually thought about it and had resolved yourself to the knowledge that should he choose to, he would show up again. He couldn't stay disappeared forever. And you were mildly thrilled to know that you were right about that, though he was found out against his will, completely by accident. "You're not as unpredictable as you might think Remus."

"I wasn't trying to be unpredictable," he reasoned, "I just-"

"I know." You cut him off, "I've had ages to think out all your reasonings and arguments and I've reenacted them all with myself. I can't imagine you could argue your case any better than I already have," you explained. "Now, what time does this little shop close?"

"Why?"

"Because I just told you that I missed you and I'm certainly not planning on walking out the door and leaving and not seeing you again Remus. In this singular case I would use Peter's reasoning and say that this," you gestured between the two of you, "is certainly fate. I'm not one to ignore fate, should think you wouldn't want to either." 

Remus sighed, shoulders relaxing as though he were giving up a fight and probably, he was. "About an hour. I need to sweep up when I'm done. And there are a few books left to put away."

"Oh well, that's much too much work love, I simply can't wait that long." You joked, looking around the shop. You and he were the only ones in there. "Shall I browse around or can I have a stool?"

"I only have the one," he replied, side eyeing the stool that was placed beside him behind the counter. He wasn't sitting on it and hadn't in the entire time you'd been there. 

"Is it a prized possession?" You joked, "or am I just not allowed behind the till?"

Remus shrugged, "you are."

You came around the side of the counter, placing your bag down and sitting on the stool beside him. You fished the brownie back out of the bag and carefully removed the cling-film, "are you allowed a snack on the clock?"

"You don't really have to wait here," Remus said, taking the brownie piece from you and popping it into his mouth. 

You watched him for a moment, suddenly well aware how many 'little things' there were about him that you had missed. Minute details like the satisfied smile he always gave away without knowing when he ate something sweet. Or the way he brushed his thumb across the tips of his fingers, ridding his hand of invisible crumbs. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He asked, realizing that you were watching him, cheeks staining a lovely pink at the attention. 

"I am committing you to memory, in case you should disappear again."

"I didn't mean to leave you...I mean," he sighed, hands clasping together as he cracked a few of his knuckles. You noted a newer looking scar on the back of his left hand. Your boy was never careful with himself when he was alone. 

"Relationships as scary for everyone Remus," you replied. You had already been through all these conversations, you wanted to remind him. You knew what he would say. "Sometimes you just have to decide it's important enough to do the scary thing."

"How philosophical of you."

"No need to be mean to me," you replied, hearing the edge in his voice. 

He shook his head. Taking a box of books that was sitting behind the counter, Remus passed you and walked around the counter, out to the middle of the shop. You watched him disappear behind a bookcase, going to house some books and avoid further conversation on the topic of his leaving. You knew it was a sore subject for him (Remus was quite talented at making almost everything a sore subject for himself) but it wasn't easy for you either. He was the one who had left but you were the one who was left behind. 

"Do you love me?" You think aloud, turning in your stool to try and see Remus down an aisle. You can hear the soft rustle of books stop abruptly and then he appears, as tall as the case itself, eyes wide as he stares at you from behind the fringe that hangs in his face. He looks surprised, perhaps caught off-guard and you aren't really shocked. He'd told you plenty of times that he did, over and over for months from the week after you began dating until the early hours of the morning in James' summer cottage, hours before he left you. 

"What?"

"Do you love me?"

"Why would you ask me that?" Remus questioned, tongue darting out to lick his lips nervously. 

"Because I want to know the answer," you offered, "do you love me?"

"Of course I love you," he finally replied, frowning. 

"Well, it's hard to know Remus, you did leave after all."

"You said you weren't upset about that." He reasoned.

"No, I believe I said that I'd already given myself all your arguments. I considered that maybe you didn't love me and that was the reason. A clean break...I only considered it for a moment though, you wouldn't have left everyone like that if you didn't love just me," you explained, "so I thought about it and I decided that you did love me."

"Then why ask?"

You ignored his question, continuing your explanation instead, "you love me but you're ridiculously afraid of that."

The look he gave was particularly sour, as though he was trying to be mad but couldn't quite bring himself to stop being embarrassed at having been caught out long enough to succeed in being angry. "What's your point?"

"We've been friends since we were eleven, sitting beside each other on the train. And I've known about you since third year," you reminded him, "so what are you afraid of?"

"We all have our own lives now," Remus argued, as if that was actually a legitimate reason for leaving everyone behind, "you don't need to be burdened with-"

"You know I love you also," you said, cutting him off, "I hate when you say things like that. Burdened, as if I'm not actively choosing to sit here with you and ask that you give it another go."

"It's different out here. There is no shrieking shack. Sirius, James, Peter...they have their own lives. They can't be dropping everything whenever it's a full moon. We can't go on this way forever." 

"You may not, you said yourself that Dumbledore told you there was a potionist working on something for-"

"It wouldn't stop the transformation...if it works," Remus replied, "I just, wouldn't lose my mind. And you'll remember that Dumbledore said it would be extremely difficult to come by and even harder to make." He pointed out. 

You sighed, standing up from the stool and walking over to him, "always the pessimist. What are you afraid of?"

"I've told you," he took a step back, as if he were afraid that you might cage him in.

"Not really," you argued, "you've given me plenty of excuses though. I'm not afraid of you, Remus, and none of your friends would ever leave you alone with anything. You know that." 

"I can hardly find work. I've been here four months and missed countless days, if it did any real business I doubt they'd want me around. How can I contribute to any sort of relationship if I can't even work. Not to mention that afterward I'm," he glanced at the newer scare on his hand and you knew what he meant, he used to spend days after in the infirmary when you were at Hogwarts, "and I've a terrible temper, which I know you are aware of, and you were right before I was being mean, and I still haven't quit smoking and I have a terrible diet. Can hardly keep anything down these days, I'm always nervous. And I don't like to go out and I'm not very romantic and I have terrible insomnia-"

"I know all of these things about you Remus," you replied, cutting him off as he rambled. 

Remus sighed, setting the books in his hands down on the shelf and then, unsure of what to do with himself, reached for your hands (which you gave willingly). "I have very little control over most things in my life and I...as trifling as it sounds, I'm quite terrified of giving up control of my emotions," Remus admitted, "suppose that's what I'm afraid of after all, allowing myself to love you. God, I sound like some tragic muggle novel."

"You sound very honest, and not trifling at all," you replied, "you're allowed to be afraid Remus, but you've got to vocalize these things. Running off to a little corner of England alone isn't a very good solution. Don't punish yourself...or me for that matter."

"I know." 

"Besides," you mentioned, tugging his hands gently so that he moved closer to you, so close in fact that you had to tilt your head just slightly to look him in the eye, "you know me well enough to know I'll take supremely good care of all your parts, heart very much included."

He hummed, "good to know." He leaned ever closer, to give you a kiss and to relish in the sensation of being kissed by you, something he had not allowed himself to enjoy for months and now wondered how it was he had managed for even an hour. You were right, and he wasn't surprised by that fact at all. He had been afraid and could still feel the grip of that fear in the back of him mind, no matter how distracting (or reassuring) you managed to be. "I do love you," Remus admitted again, "very much. My leaving...it wasn't because of you, and I never meant to hurt you. I didn't...I didn't think I would."

"You didn't think I would be absolutely gutted?" 

"I suppose I was trying not to think too much about it at all," he replied, honestly. Remus wasn't nearly as daring as James could be, or Sirius for that matter, but he liked to think that in most aspects he was willing to take a risk. It was in the matter of giving himself to some that he found he struggled. If he gave too much away, what would be left of him at departure (and he was always expecting a departure). He'd given all of himself to his friendships, to James and Lily and Sirius and Peter. How could he risk anyone else being granted the ability to hurt him?

But then, you'd been more than willing to take that risk, wholly unafraid of one year or four years or ten years down the road. You weren't thinking in endings, only in right then. And right then you loved him (though probably tomorrow you would too. And in one year, four years, ten years). 

He kissed you again, because even the minutes between when he had just kissed you and right at the moment he did it again felt like it had been too long. He'd missed you terribly and he hadn't really let himself acknowledge it until he'd seen you through the window. 

"I do have to finish closing up," Remus admitted, pulling away from you. 

"Do you?"

"You can help," he replied, "stop distracting me."

"I'm not being distracting," you laughed, "if anything you're the one who's distracting." 

"How so?" He let go of you and moved back toward the box of books, beginning to sort through them. 

"How so?" You repeated the question, a tone of disbelief in your voice as you stared at him. "Well I would tell you but I doubt that you would believe me."

"Probably not," he admitted, knowing his proclivity for self-deprecation. 

You shook your head at him, looking about the small shop, "alright where's the broom then? I'll sweep up," you said, "no magic, I suppose?"

"No magic."

[yellowkitkieran]

To Have and to Heal (Part 15)

Masterlist

Read part 1 here

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Single working dad Martin Odegaard is navigating the ups and downs of parenthood all on his own, and he’s struggling. That’s not to mention football, life and... love?

Could we talk? 

When your message appears on his phone, Martin doesn't believe his eyes. At first he assumes he is dreaming; a quick pinch to his forearm and the subsequent brief burst of pain confirms he is, indeed, awake. He laughs to himself then, a giddy, overjoyed sound as he reads the message from you again and again, enough times that the words are burned into his eyelids when he closes them. 

Rearranging his schedule to pick up Atla today had been worth it. Incurring Arteta's wrath for sneaking out early? Also very, very worth the reward. Even if nothing comes of it, even if you don't have the courage or wherewithal to send him a follow up response, Martin can live with that, as long as he has some closure. 

His fingers shake as he types out a casual, cool, collected response. Of course! Now? Tomorrow? When are you thinking? 

Nailed it, honestly. Not overly eager. Simple and to the point. Leaves nothing up to interpretation. Martin is still sweating bullets regardless. 

For a few minutes, Martin simply stares at his phone until his eyes water and he is forced to blink some moisture into them. He tries not to fret when you don't immediately reply. It's late; there is a good chance you're either sleeping or prepping for your classes tomorrow. Despite his racing heart, sweating palms and pacing feet, Martin somehow convinces himself that he is perfectly calm. He's definitely not freaking out. Nope. He's fine. Toooootally fine. 

Though that fragile construct comes crashing down when Martin's phone vibrates. Whenever you have an hour or so free? After school of course. I can come to you?

Absolutely. Friday? I'll be done at six. But I'll come to you though. 

Martin immediately arranges for Kieran to take Atla overnight as a precaution. Who knows what might happen? Martin doesn't want to get his hopes up, but regardless of how things go, he knows he will be a volatile bucket of emotions and he'll need some time to process. He would rather do that on his own than have his daughter around to witness it. Good or bad, Friday will be… interesting, to say the least. 

Friday at six thirty then. That works. I'll see you then 

The expectation of hearing from you again is dashed when twenty four hours pass with nothing new. Martin's phone is far from quiet thanks to the Arsenal group chat, which thankfully keeps him busy and occupied on his day off whilst Atla is at school. Martin even arranges to pick Atla up himself, though he's disappointed to find another teacher in charge of after school care instead of you. 

Tomorrow, he tells himself. Tomorrow is my second chance. 

And Martin is completely, utterly, wholly determined to grab the opportunity with both hands and run with it. He refuses to squander his relationship with you a second time. He will say all the right things, fall over himself to make all the right promises, and follow through with each one of them. Because if Martin is being honest with himself, the last time he felt about someone like this… He married them. 

On his way into Colney the next morning, Martin passes by Atla’s favorite bookshop. It is a quaint, family owned place located on a busy corner in north London. He glances at their window displays when he is stopped at the light, as he often does. 

And Martin does a double take- the sign in the window promotes a new romance book, titled ‘Second Chances Only Come Once’, written by the author of the hit book ‘She’s the One’. 

The grin plastered on Martin’s face is indicative enough. If he had been waiting for a sign, that would be it. The sky over London is a bright, vibrant orange, streaked through with rich reds and subtle yellows. The sunrise is the exact shade of Maria’s favorite paint- Windsor Orange, a color she claimed felt like home. Each Christmas Martin would buy her a year’s supply to ensure she didn’t run out. 

“Thank you,” Martin murmurs to the sky. A light breeze ruffles his hair through the open car window, and the smile does not leave Martin’s face for the entire drive.

Kieran doesn't ask questions at training that morning- he's simply excited to spend some quality time with his goddaughter. Kieran does not question Martin’s good mood, not even when Martin convinces Arteta to go easy on the team and skip the half dozen extra drills he had scheduled and opt for an extra gym session instead. 

Martin pays very little attention whilst Kieran rattles off a long list of things he's planned to entertain Atla, including a trip to Harrods to spoil her rotten. Normally that sort of thing would irk Martin, but today the thought barely registers. 

“Uh huh, sounds great,” Martin murmurs noncommittally, “Perfect. Atla will love it.” 

“Mate, you've not heard a word I've said. You're fine with me taking her on a shopping spree? You normally yell at me for that! What happened to ‘she's got enough toys,’ eh?” Kieran makes air quotes there, referring to the dozens of times Martin has argued that point. That, at least, causes Martin to pause. 

“What? Oh- I mean sure if that's what you want to do with her I won't stop you, she'll enjoy it. Really she will-”

Kieran sets his weight down and rests his elbows on his knees. Everyone always says that blue eyes are unnerving, but Martin knows the truth- it's the unflinching, hard brown eyes that really do you in. Martin clears his throat, squirming under the pressure of Kieran's stare. “Tell me.” 

“Tell you what? There's nothing to tell.” Martin scarcely believes himself as unconvincing as his words are. Kieran simply blinks, which somehow is even more unnerving than the original stare. Martin sighs, knowing his friend will not let up until he uncovers the truth. “Alright fine- I'm talking to solskin tonight. It's not a big deal!” 

Kieran, knowing better than to pry, simply nods firmly. “Good. Maybe you'll quit moping around the grounds then. Honestly it's getting tiring, carrying this entire team on my shoulders. I cannae do it all on my own, you know.”

Martin cracks a grin, “I know mate. Hopefully after tomorrow I can take some of that pressure off you.” 

*********

Martin, Martin, Martin. For nearly forty eight full hours, the Norwegian midfielder fills every corner of your brain. You're barely able to make it through your lessons, as distracted as you are by the thought of seeing him again. In a private setting. Alone. At your house. 

Why did you agree to this again?

Friday evening, you frantically clean your already clean flat. You agonize over whether or not to leave the blanket slung over the sofa- is it too suggestive? Or is it just cosy? You wind up leaving it. You are fully aware that you are overthinking. That doesn’t stop you from rearranging the shoes in the entry three times until you’re positive they are just the right amount of messy. 

Deciding on an outfit is nearly as chaotic- with Jen's help you settle on comfort over chic, opting for your favorite pair of jeans and a loose, warm sweater. Your hair you leave in your usual style, not putting too much effort in. This is not a date, as you have to continually remind yourself. It is simply a chat, nothing more. 

Waiting is the hardest part. You sit on your sofa with a random show on for background noise, something about the history of the crown jewels. Should you have cooked? Six thirty is dinner time, ish- maybe he's expecting a meal? Oh god-

The doorbell interrupts your thoughts and you spring into action. You wipe your palms on your jeans before opening the front door, pasting a smile on your face that you pray appears genuine. Your eyes start at his feet- black and white Nike dunks, light wash jeans, and a black bomber style jacket- and end on his soft, angelic face. You quickly meet his eyes, lasting all of one second under the gentle scrutiny of his baby blues before heat floods your cheeks and you are forced to look away.

“Hey- hi Mr. Ødegaard, please come in.” 

Martin's hands slide into his pockets, thumbs hooked into his belt loops. “I'm not coming in until you drop the formality, solskin.” 

You swear your very soul responds to the nickname. It glides so easily off his tongue, as though no time has passed despite the cold shoulder you have given him. With one sentence, Martin crosses the chasm between the pair of you without a second thought, throwing you a lifeline to cling to whilst you try to wade through the sea of emotions that threatens to overwhelm your good sense. 

“Okay,” you murmur, “Okay. Please come in, Martin.” 

“Mar,” he corrects softly, tipping his head to meet your downcast eyes. “Please call me Mar.”

Only when you nod in agreement does he finally relent and enter. He bends to untie his shoes and hangs his jacket on the hook behind the door. There is a familiarity in his actions, like he has done this a hundred times instead of being able to count the number of occurrences on one hand. 

“Um, please have a seat,” you say around the bile creeping up your throat. You haven't been this nervous since your first day teaching. It feels as if one wrong move will leech away the confidence you've spent ages rebuilding; brick by brick you've had to remind yourself that you deserve this. One step at a time. 

“Thank you.” Martin makes himself comfortable on the sofa, one arm slung over the back. It strikes you then how well he fits in. Despite his undoubtedly expensive clothes, he does not seem out of place in a room filled with mostly second hand things. The cream of his shirt perfectly matches the blanket you worried over earlier. If you didn't know any better, you'd assume they were cut from the same cloth. 

You clear your throat and carefully perch on the opposite side. You smooth the wrinkles from your sweater, suddenly self conscious of your appearance. Shit, you forgot to offer him a drink! 

“Would you uh- would you like a drink? There's water, soda, uh… milk I think?” 

Martin's smile is like a physical caress, calming your nerves. Whether he realizes it or not is uncertain, “I'm alright for now, thank you solskin. You wanted to talk?”

How is he so calm right now? How are you not calm? You're the one that asked for this. You prepared, didn't you? Spent hours on the phone with Jess last night, coming up with bullet points of what needed to be said. How have you suddenly forgotten it all?

“Solskin,” Martin prompts softly. “Hey? I'm perfectly okay sitting in silence but if you have something to say, I want to make sure you're heard.”

“Stop- just stop being so charming for two minutes,” you mumble. You press two fingers to your temples and try to get your ducks in a row. You requested to speak with Martin, yes. You wanted to discuss the potential of moving forward. You wanted to tell him you still care about him. Okay. Okay. Basics first. 

You take a deep breath and straighten your spine. Cheating your body towards Martin's you begin, “I still care about you a lot. More than I should considering you're the parent of one of my students- don't do that,” you scold when Martin tips his head side to side. Martin grins, forcing you to fight to keep your mental train on the right track. “As I was saying, you're the parent to one of my students and I shouldn't even have asked to speak with you. I should've taken what happened as a sign from the universe, an easy way out but I just…”

“Can't let it end, yeah.” Martin finishes the thought on your behalf. You nod, grateful that he was able to voice it when you couldn't. 

“Right. But I also know that your daughter has to come first, and I don't want to suggest otherwise. Atla loves you and you're all she has, I know she looks up to her papa. I know she doesn't want to see you with anyone other than her mum, and maybe she's just too young to understand, which means this was all just a waste of time and ishouldn'thaveinvitedyouanyway-”

Your words rush out in one long heap, piling over each other and overlapping at the ends. Tears prick your eyes and suddenly you feel so incredibly stupid for thinking this could work in any capacity. Martin reaches for your hand but you pull it away, unable to bear the thought of him touching you, knowing you'll only crumble. 

“I want this to work Mar, I really do. But I can't ask you to choose between me and your family, it's not right. I don't want to sneak around either,” you add in haste when Martin opens his mouth. “I won't be the reason your daughter hates you. I won't tear apart your home. I just won't. I wouldn't be able to live with myself.”

Once he's positive you're finished, Martin cautiously scoots closer to you. He watches for any sign that you'll flee, and when you don't move a muscle he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you to his chest. This time you allow it, because you know you'll never have this luxury again. 

Martin's hand runs over your arm whilst he silently soothes you. Your nose is buried in his shoulder, his cologne imprinting itself in your memory. It baffles you how such a simple thing can bring you so much comfort. But slowly, like molasses dripping from a spile, you feel the coils of tension stored in your muscles unknot themselves. Slowly, you feel yourself winding down, your breath coming in even intervals instead of panicked gasps. Your hands, which had fisted themselves tight in the cotton of his shirt, unfurl to rest flat on his chest. 

“That speech was quite noble solskin, but I think you've forgotten something.”

You sniffle, determined not to cry despite the battle raging within yourself. “What did I forget Mar?” 

“That you're part of my home now,” Martin says into your hair. “If you're determined not to let anything ruin my home, you need to include yourself in that.” 

Martin is terrible at articulating how he feels. You've grown used to it; you may not have dated for long but it only took a handful of dates to realize that his trauma ran deep, and that he played his cards close to his chest. So that display of warmth, of what he truly feels inside, is rarer than a diamond. You want to nestle it against your heart and keep it protected behind your ribcage. It is worth more than any precious gem. 

Without thinking, you reach up and cradle Martin's jaw. You smile sadly when he presses his cheek into your hand, your thumb soothing a line under his eye. He's so beautiful- tender and raw and open. Vulnerable. A side you never expected him to share with you. 

“I don't want you to put me before Atla,” you say softly, mindful of how fragile he is beneath your fingertips. You have to be gentle; if you're not he may never trust anyone again. 

Martin covers your hand, fingers tight around yours. “And I don't want that either. I want you both on the same level. I-” Martin stops himself, his throat bobbing under the weight of words left unsaid. “I care about you so, so much. I just want you in my life. That’s all I want.”

“Then Alta needs to understand that I'm not replacing her mum. She needs to understand that before we even think about doing anything, Mar. You can't risk hurting the relationship you have with your daughter.”

“I know. I will. I'll get it all sorted and then it'll be fine- we can try again. Right?”

You nod then, your smile brighter this time. “Once she knows all that, we can try again.”

Martin's eyes flick to your mouth and you know you've both had the same thought. You want to kiss him, to climb into his lap and melt like chocolate on his tongue. You want to pull at his stupid chicken hair until he moans into your mouth, his sounds of delight so sickeningly sweet that your stomach will ache for days afterwards. 

But you can't kiss him. So you don't. At least you have that much control. Instead you let Martin trace your parted lips with a reverence that makes your skin tingle. He moves on to your jaw, your cheeks, your nose, your brow- as if he were a blind man putting a face to a woman who until now has been no more than a voice to him. 

“I have so much to say,” Martin says finally, “and there's not enough time to say any of it.” 

“One day soon, you'll have plenty of time to tell me anything you want.” You allow yourself the luxury of his embrace, your arms winding around his solid middle whilst his fit firmly around your shoulders. 

If you're lucky, this could be your reality. You could come home to Martin, or rather he could come home to you, and have his busy days be endcapped by love and devotion. You've always said you would never consider being a housewife, that you respect yourself far too much to allow yourself to be reduced to a servant to your significant other. But for Martin? You want him to eat a home cooked meal every night. You want to massage his shoulders when he makes an off-hand comment about being sore from training too hard. You want to put Atla to bed and then draw a warm bath for you and Martin to share. 

You want to give Martin the world because he deserves it. You would wait on him hand and foot because you know with absolute certainty that he would do the exact same thing whenever he was afforded the chance. And that sort of fairytale is exactly what you've always wanted in life. You aren't about to let it slip through your fingers.