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biggest-stupidhead · 3 years

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AN: Here’s part 2 of my nurse reader and Levi request! It recently came to my attention that I was lowkey confused, I realize that you guys were asking for part 2 to my solider Levi and princess reader but I’ve been working on this one instead😂😂 So I’ll try and get to that other one soon.

ALSO 139 SPOILERS

Part 1

Summary: Levi’s dreams are coming true

Word Count: 4.6K

Warnings: mentions of scarring, blood, struggling to walk, kissing, angst

_______

The first few weeks were rough, he struggled to do the most mundane tasks, his fingers shook as he gripped a pen, his breathing was labored when he climbed stairs. He hated every second of it, he knew that this was part of being injured and recovering, but still, he felt weak and exposed. He also knew that it was unlikely that he would ever be the same as he was before his accident, this didn’t bother him too much. However, the thought of you only knew him as a frail wounded soldier rubbed him the wrong way.

He used this as motivation to better his condition, with the knowledge that he would not function the same as before. He quickly found out that holding a pen in his right hand was now much too difficult, so he began practicing with his left instead. He also realized that being in a wheelchair was not for him. He hated being pushed by anyone, mainly because Gabi once lost control and sent him rolling down a busy street. So he began to use a cane or crutch, he also found out that he tired much faster using this method. But he much preferred it to the chair.

After only three months of being discharged, Onyankopon had sniffed out an affordable space to open a modest cafe. The space also had a short set of stairs that led to a one-bedroom apartment above, which originally deterred Onyankopon from investing due to Levi’s state. But Levi had insisted that he would manage, so on a gloomy Thursday afternoon, they signed the papers and bought the place. Gabi and Flaco had been ecstatic to help decorate the space, scouring antique shops and pawn shops for the best (and cheapest) pieces of furniture.

Levi had watched the pair carry in the first table, a round wooden piece fit for two along with mismatched chairs to go along with it. At first, Levi disliked the way the furniture clashed, but he soon grew to like it. As the kids slowly carried in more each week the space began to feel homier. The kitchen in the back was teeming with tins of tea, recipes that Onyankopon swore by were tacked up on bulletin boards. Each weekend Onyankopon would bring the kids back with armloads of ingredients to test out the recipes he had been gathering while Levi had been in the hospital.

Soon they had perfected a menu, with croissants that were crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside, sticky-sweet cinnamon rolls, and lemon tarts. Levi had never been a fan of sweets, but he knew that most people were, so each weekend they slaved over the stoves and made huge messes of flour and sugar. After two months the cafe was rather put together, tables and chairs of all sorts spread about the room in an inviting pattern. A chalkboard menu that was slowly expanding was sprawled out over the main counter, which was being stocked with pastries.

Onyankopon had brought in a box full of glassware that he had found on the side of the street, Levi had sneered at him as he watched him carefully wash them.

“What are you planning to do with those?” Levi asked as Onyankopon scrubbed the dust off of the glass.

“We can use them as centerpieces. Maybe we could cut some flowers from that field?” He said as he placed the glass vases and cups on the drying rack.

“I suppose,” Levi grumbled, happy that he hadn’t planned on using them as cups.

Finally, the day came when the menu was rounded enough and the furniture polished to open the shop. Levi hated to admit his nerves, but the truth was that his stomach was in knots and his heart was hammering out of his chest as he flipped the wooden sign on the door from closed to open.

Gabi had whooped and hollered, Falco had clapped ecstatically and Onyankopon popped open a bottle of champagne. Levi had given them the slightest of smiles as the group retreated behind the counter to wait for someone to wander in. Levi sat back on a stool that Falco had thrifted for behind the counter, his cane resting against his knee as he watched the door with a steady gaze.

“Can I be in charge of the pastries?” Gabi pleaded, big brown eyes wide as she clasped her hands together. Onyankopon shot a sideways look to Levi who inhaled sharply.

“As long as you don’t spit in the food.” Levi relented and Gabi leaped into the air in her excitement before jogging back into the kitchen to take stock.

“Falco you can carry food out.” Onyankopon offered and Falco nodded a gleam of determination in his golden eyes.

“I’ll run the register and Levi you can brew the tea.” Onyankopon looked pleased with himself after assigning the roles and Levi shrugged in indifference. The minutes ticked by and the door remained shut, the wide windows let the warm morning sun seep into the room, yet it carried no joy. Or at least it didn’t summon any deep feelings from within Levi. Just when Levi was about to give up and go brew himself his own tea before calling it a day, the door opened, the bell tinkling softly.

His mouth fell open when he saw you, in your plain clothes, a pair of dark dress pants and a silk dress shirt. Your purse was slung over your shoulder and in your hands was a bright bouquet of flowers. You pushed some stray strands of hair off of your face as you stepped into the cafe.

“(Y/n)! You made it!” Falco rushed around the counter and took your hand in his to lead you to the counter. You laughed warmly and allowed the young boy to drag you across the room.

“You’re the first person to come in.” Onyankopon mused softly as he stood behind the register, hands placed firmly on the counter. Your eyes widened in surprise before another warm grin passes placidly across your features.

“I am?” You asked, leaning on the counter and throwing a playful glance at Levi who was half hiding behind Onyankopon.

“It’s true.” Gabi groaned dramatically fanning her face, she had been fidgeting anxiously in the back for the past hour eager to serve guests.

“What can I get the good nurse?” Onyankopon steered the conversation back to business as usual.

“Ah, I’d love a cup of camomile and hmm maybe one of those lemon tarts.” You hummed, leaning over to examine the pastries that had been set on display in the glass containers.

“Excellent choice, that’ll be seven pounds.” Onyankopon slid the key into the keyhole in the register and the old thing sprang open, spilling some change. He chuckled as he awkwardly collected the spare change.

“Takes a gentle hand.” He explained as you smiled at him with the money in hand. Levi sighed and reached around Onyankopon to take the money as the larger man squatted down to retrieve the stubborn coins.

“Congratulations Captain, you’ve made this place your own.” You said, slipping the money into his hands, the pads of your fingertips brushing his calloused palm.

“Thank you, nurse (L/n).” He mumbled, trying in vain to fight off the butterflies swarming in his stomach.

“You’re so very welcome.” You watched as the rag-tag bunch began to hustle around the kitchen, Levi limped to the stove and began to boil the water in the kettle, Gabi was pulling on a pair of gloves before she began to inspect the pastries, looking for the best one. Falco gestured for you to follow him to that round table at the front of the store, right by the large window. You covered your mouth to hide an affectionate grin as he pulled the chair out for you. You sat and thanked him as you made yourself comfortable.

“I’ll bring your food to you miss.” He even did a bow which was when you could no longer hide your amusement.

“Falco, too much.” Onyankopon was also laughing behind the counter as the young boy scurried back to grab your pastry, which Gabi had carefully chosen just for you. Levi was now steeping the leaves in one of the mismatched sets of china that they had collected. Once the tea was steeped to perfection he set it on the tray with the pastry and Falco carefully picked it up, using both hands.

He set the steaming plates in front of you and you thanked him once more. You felt a bit awkward as the group watched with expectant eyes as you took the first bite. Your eyes lit up, it was just the perfect mixture of sweet and sour, the breading crumbling on your tongue.

You nodded and held a thumbs up which made Gabi clap her hands and squeal. Falco laughed and shook her shoulder, a giddy gleam in his eyes. Levi bit back another smile, not eager to let you pull them from his lips so easily. A few moments after you had begun to eat, the door tinkled open again, this time it was an older couple. They ordered and sat down near you, murmuring about the decor and such. As the morning wore on, more people began to wander into the shop, families and starry-eyed couples alike. You sat at your table, a small amount of paperwork from the hospital spread across the tabletop. You worked well into the afternoon, not necessarily because you needed to but because you wanted to catch Levi and check in on him.

You got your chance when the crowd ebbed and the orders slowed. The shop was once more empty and you could see the way that Levi limped between the sink and the stove. You gathered your courage and stood from your spot, leaving your purse and papers behind. Onyankopon was helping the kids in the back as they prepped for the pastries for tomorrow.

“I’ll dry if you wash.” You offered and Levi shot you a look over his shoulder.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I’ve been taking up that table all day, let me earn my keep.” You teased, carefully stepping behind the counter and into the kitchen. He did not oppose as you sidled up beside him and began to towel dry the dishes he had already scrubbed clean. You worked like this for a few minutes in silence, the sound of dishes and sloshing of water filling the air between you.

“You seem to have healed well.” You commented as you accepted another clean plate.

“Hm.” He hummed, eyes trained on his task. You noted that he no longer wore bandages on his hand where his fingers had once been.

“How’s your knee?” You asked and he bristled a bit.

“....it’s fine.” He said after a slight pause.

“I can look at it if you’d like.” You offered and he inhaled slowly before releasing his breath in one long exhale.

“I’m fine.”

“Then let me look at your fingers, if you are doing dishes it’s likely to get infected.” You were a tad embarrassed to admit that you simply wanted to feel his skin against yours once more. But luckily Levi felt the same. He paused his work and grabbed a towel to dry his hands off before slowly extending them to you. You accepted them and ran your fingers over the callouses that decorated his palms before pulling his hand closer to your face to get a good look at the nubs where his fingers once were.

Just as you had thought, they were fully healed with puckering pink flesh from where stitches had once been.

“They look well, you should be fine, just...be mindful of how much time you spend washing the dishes.” You hummed, turning his hand over in yours to examine the back of it, old and new scars littered the expanse of his hands and up to his forearm.

“Okay.” His words were breathy and a bit choked. You snuck a glance up at his face and smiled sheepishly at him as you released his hand, which fell slowly back to his side. His cheeks were a soft pink, hints of a blush from the heat of your touch alone.

“I would suggest looking into some gloves.” You advised and he rolled his eyes.

“How am I supposed to wear gloves without my fingers?” He asked, holding his hand up as if to emphasize the loss.

“You seem to have adapted well, I’m sure you can figure something out.” You assured him with a nudge to his side before you fell back into the easy rhythm of drying the dishes.

____

You fell into a routine, stopping by when the cafe first opened to grab a cup of tea before your shift. Then you would go off to work and return later that afternoon to help Levi clean up. One rainy day you came in an hour later than usual, your scrubs soaked as you had forgotten an umbrella. Onyankopon and the kids had left earlier that week to go get the other cadets from Paradis, leaving Levi to tend to the shop alone.

As you entered you flipped the sign to closed and then wrung your sopping wet hair. Levi stood behind the counter, watching you with his one steel eye.

“What took you so long?” He asked before turning to do the dishes. You scoffed and looked back out at the window, the rain was pelting down mercilessly against the glass. But you said nothing, having learned long ago that arguing with him was pointless.

“What have you got for me?” You asked instead wanting to throw yourself into the work he had for you. He put you to work in the kitchen, taking stock and sweeping the floors until you thought that you would collapse. It wasn’t that the work that was taxing, but the work on top of the hours you had already clocked in on your feet at the hospital.

When he was pleased with your cleaning he waved you off with a dismissive flick of his wrist. Your clothes were still wet, as you watched him thumb through his earnings of the day in the register. You now knew a fraction of what he had put those cadets through all those years ago.

“Levi?” You tested, his name falling sweetly from your lips. He turned slowly, pausing his counting to give you his full attention.

“What is it?” He asked, placing the change back into the register.

“How would you like to get some dinner?” You offered with a shy smile. His eyes widened and he whipped around to shut the register.

“Only if you’re buying.”

____

So now you sat across the table from him, your leg bouncing anxiously under the table inside the warm tavern. He seemed much less anxious, hands folded in front of him and his gaze void of any particular emotion.

“So...you come here often?” You tried to start the conversation, for the first time finding it difficult.

“No actually, I despise these places.” He answered literally and you nearly blanched, worried that you may have upset him or offended him in some way by bringing him here.

“What? We don’t have to stay then we can-” You were reaching for your purse but he held up a hand to stop you.

“It’s fine.” He assured you and you relaxed back into your seat.

“Why do you hate these places?” You asked out of curiosity.

“Not a fan of drunk men and shitty tavern food.” He shrugged indifferently. If he had been feeling braver he would have told you that it reminded him of his childhood and his mean drunk uncle.

“Ah, I see.” Your shoulders slumped and you cleared your throat to fill the silence.

“I don’t usually come to bars often either. Can’t trust me around beer.” You joked but Levi arched a thin brow.

“Why’s that?”

“Oh, my dad was a drunk and they say that it runs in the family. So I’ll never touch the stuff.” You shrugged and Levi was caught off guard with your honesty. He only hummed in response. Not long after that, the food arrived and the two of you ate in near silence, the sounds of forks scraping plates and wine sloshing in glasses. You paid for dinner and the two of you slowly made your way back down the street, which was slick with rainwater. You eyed Levi’s arm a bit longingly, wanting to feel his warmth pressed against you. You rubbed your biceps in an attempt to get the message across but he seemed clueless still. So you sighed and decided to take yet another risk, in one swift motion you slid your arm through his and he went rigid. His steps faltered and you looked over at him with a smirk curling at the corner of your lips.

“Is...this alright?” you asked and he nodded tensely before resuming his pace. You were grateful that his apartment was so close to the tavern, as it began to pour once more. But of course, you could not run because you feared that he would injure himself, so the two of you simply picked up your pace. Levi held the door for you and the two of you stumbled into the dark cafe, the tables and chairs looked almost like skeletons as you weaved your way through them to the back set of stairs.

“You can stay if you’d like.” he offered, a glimmer of uncertainty flashing over his features, clearly he was treading just as lightly as you were.

“I’d like that very much.” You grinned and the two of you climbed the stairs to his small apartment. The floorplan was open, the kitchen and living room were all in one space. The furniture was also mismatched here, he set about lighting candles even though you knew that the building had electricity. You wondered if it was a force of habit, all of his years on that island with no electricity, or if it was an attempt to set the mood. You said nothing all the same as the candles set the room aglow in warm light.

“It’s nice,” you commented and Levi hummed in agreement.

“It’s no barracks.” He said as he shook the match, a small trail of smoke curling up from his fingertips.

“Do you miss the military?” You asked as you slipped out of your shoes. He paused, a thoughtful look passing over his face as he pondered your question.

“At times, there are things that I miss. But no, I wouldn’t go back.” he shook his head, damp locks of raven hair falling in curtains over his brow.

“I can imagine.” You agreed as he slipped out of his coat and hung it on the coat rack, you did the same and he gestured for you to follow him to his room.

“I have some dry clothes you can borrow.” He said as he sifted through his drawers, pulling out a simple cotton shirt and a pair of loose-fitting pants. He held them out to you and you accepted them with a smile. You noted that the clothes were larger than the ones that he pulled out and you wondered who they belonged to.

“Whose clothes are these?” you asked out of curiosity and a pained look crossed his face. But you wondered if you had imagined it because of how quickly his features reset into his stoic mien.

“An old friend.” That was all he said before leaving you to change. You pulled the clothes on slowly and carefully knowing that these are likely one of the last things he had that belonged to his friend. Once you were done you stepped out of the room to find Levi already changed and boiling a kettle over his small stove. The shirt hung loosely off of your frame and you pulled the collar up gently as you crossed the room to stand by his side.

“Whatcha making?” You asked softly as he shot you a brief glance over his shoulder.

“Tea.” He said bluntly as he reached up into the cabinets and pulled out two mugs. You hummed and moved to take a seat at the modest table that was pressed against the back of his couch.

“Sounds good.” You said as you slipped into the seat, watching as he moved around his space. You noted the way his cane carried the majority of his weight, the way his fingers trembled as he poured the water to steep the tea leaves. You moved to get up and help him, but decided against it, reminding yourself that he was independent and could do these tasks on his own. Sure enough Levi finished the tea and carried the two cups over to you and placed them gently down on the table.

You thanked him quietly and blew a puff of air over the surface of the green tea, sending ripples through the liquid. He watched you with unreadable features, hands crossed on the table and his cane resting against his thigh.

“Tell me of your home.” You asked, daring a look over the rim of your cup. He inhaled and a far away look crossed his face as he thought of an appropriate response.

“As I knew it or as it is now?” He mumbled as he brought his own cup to his lips.

“Whichever you prefer.”

“Hm.” He hummed as he let the hot liquid sit in his mouth hoping to buy himself more time.

“Either way it was shitty.” He said after a few moments of silence. You set your cup down and gave him your full attention.

“We never had much, and I can’t say that it was a happy life.” He said, sneaking a glance at you to guage your reaction.

“I figured as much.” You commented and he shrugged.

“There isn’t much left of the landscape after the rumbling, but that’s everywhere now.” He grumbled, beginning to lose himself in his own memories.

“There used to be open fields and massive trees inside of the walls but…” He winced, flashes of blood and gnashing titan teeth, campfires, the heavy breathing of horses, explosions of thunder spears followed by the tangy metallic scent of blood.

“Levi?” Your voice was soft and filled with concern, he snapped out of his reverie, his fists clenched around his cup.

“Sorry.” He choked out, his tongue feeling fat and his mouth dry.

“It’s alright, I shouldn’t have asked.” You waved your hands and quickly took a sip of your tea.

“No, it’s not your fault.” He dismissed you, trying to calm the racing of his heart.

“I’m sure that you’re tired, I’ll see myself out.” You began to scramble, reaching for your things and pushing a stray strand of hair from your face. Levi wasn’t sure why, but he felt an urgent need to reach out and grab you. Before he could dismiss the sense, his hand had already shot out and caught your wrist.

You looked back at him with wide eyes, not moving a muscle. He stayed still as well, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your arm. If he was hurting you, you showed no sign.

“Don’t….it’s storming.” He said stupidly, as he stood keeping a hold on your wrist. Once he was on his feet he took a step towards you and his hand slipped down to intertwine his fingers with your own.

“O-Okay.” You squeezed his fingers and he returned the gesture, eyes blank although they darted between your eyes and lips every few seconds. You took a step closer so that the tips of your feet touched his, your breaths mingling together. Finally his eyes settled on your lips and you unconsciously licked them as you wondered what he would taste like. Green tea no doubt, just as bitter and tangy as his personality seemed to be.

You let out a shaky breath as he reached out, the back of his hand brushing that pesky piece of hair off of your cheek. He hesitated but gently grasped your face in his calloused palm, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You carefully broke free of his grasp on your hand so you could smooth down the fabric of his shirt above his heart.

He swallowed thickly before lifting his chin, eyes trained on your lips. You tilted your head and met him the rest of the way, your lips slotting together perfectly. His other hand came to rest on the other side of your face, and you whimpered. You opened your mouth wider, your tongue slipping past his lips to taste him. He did taste like green tea after all, bitter and overwhelming. You couldn’t get enough, your hands slipping up the column of his throat to find the shaven underside of his hair.

To your surprise he pulled away with a grunt, grey eyes wide and surprised. You looked back just as shocked but then you smiled. He blinked at you for a moment before pulling away completely and turning his back to you and running a hand through his locks.

“I’m sorry, that was inappropriate of me.” He apologized and you shook your head.

“I actually quite liked it. You aren’t my patient anymore Levi.” He remained silent, his back turned to you in shame.

“You’re not even a Captian anymore, you’re just a man.” You assured him and he turned to look at you now, eyes filled with a certain grief you couldn’t quite place.

“Is that how you see me then?” His voice was flat and you couldn’t tell if he was offended or pleased with the response.

“No, I see you as a good man, who has been hurt one too many times. Someone who needs a….companion.” You settled and he finally faced you once more.

“I shouldn’t have done that to you.” He grunted, steadying himself on the table.

“It’s okay Levi, I-I like you.” You felt like you were tripping over yourself to assure him that he was not crossing any lines.

“....” He remained silent, those sad grey eyes trained on your face as your chest heaved, panic quickly raising.

“I promise you I’m fine. I’ve actually been wanting to kiss you for some time now.” You sheepishly admitted, rubbing the side of your arm.

“I know.” He groaned his hands coming to hide his eyes and you felt even more distressed, you should’ve known better.

“Look, Levi I want to be with you, and if you want the same then we can be. You don’t have to-”

“Damn it (Y/n) I want to, but I don’t” He let out another frustrated grunt before his fist came down hard on the table, the cups rattling loudly at the disturbance.

“I don’t want you to be chained to someone like me.” He admitted, eyes averted.

“You don’t have to feel that way, I’m choosing you.”

“Promise?” His eyes finally met yours and you nodded curtly, a look of determination and confidence plastered to your face.

“Promise.” You assured him, sitting back down at the table to show that you weren’t going anywhere.

“And if you bother me too much then I’ll leave.” You teased, but he seemed to take it literally, sinking back into his own seat and nodding in understanding.

“That’s good.” He sighed, shoulders sagging in relief.

“I really should go home, think about this and we’ll talk tomorrow.” You stood, leaning over the table to peck a kiss to his lips. He nodded and watched with tired eyes as you left his apartment.

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andreafmn · 3 years

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Running In Circles - Chapter 3

Word Count: 1,854

Characters: Female Reader Rossi Character, Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, Jennifer “JJ”Jareau, Emily Prentiss, Penelope Garcia

Story Description: (Y/N) Rossi is following in her father’s footsteps by joining the BAU team as a profiler. The girl genius knew almost everything but she could have never predicted falling for Aaron Hotchner, her boss and her father’s friend. in their world mutual feelings are not enough to push them together. Will all the adversities and obstacles they face pull them together or push them apart forever?

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Criminal Minds, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Jeff Davis and CBS Network. The only thing I own is Arden Rossi, any upcoming characters, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ story line.

Chapter: 3/?

A/N: This is a short one. Just fully domestic fluff and it makes me very happy, but letting ya’ll know this happiness will be kinda short lived. If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

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Chapter 3

“Okay, buddy, let’s see.” I looked at the instructions in my hands from the fort kit I had purchased. It seemed simple enough and something Jack would enjoy inmmensly. “Let’s do this.”

“Yeah!” Jack exclaimed. Hotch laughed from the kitchen, insisting he had to at least cook some dinner. In the oven were the batch of brownies I had put in 10 minutes ago. It took about 30 minutes to finish the fort and the look on Jack’s face was priceless. Then he spent 10 minutes perusing my movie collection until he finally landed on Toy Story, once again.

“Well, dinner’s ready,” Hotch announced, bringing a tray with three plates of spaghetti to the fort.

“Daddy, daddy! Look at the fort!” Jack jumped up and down. It was a simple square base, big enough for three people and a triangle top. We covered it with thin sheets and hung wire twinkle lights on the top. Jack had run to my linen closet and gotten a thick comforter to lay on the floor, as well as most of the pillow that laid on my couch. He also arranged a couple of his plush toys in there to keep us company, as he put it.

“I see it, buddy. It looks great!” Hotch smiled brightly. “Now, what do we say?”

“Thank you, (Y/N)!”

“No problem, little man,” I smiled. “How about you invite your dad inside so we can eat some spaghetti?”

“Yes! Come on, dad!”

Hotch sat down next to me and passed a plate to Jack and me, putting a napkin on his son’s collar. The small kid smiled at his dad and dug into his plate without another thought, the sound of the movie filling in the background.

“You know,” I mused. “It was pretty bold of you to cook spaghetti for an Italian.”

“Right,” he chuckled. “Well, I hope it’s good.”

I smiled and took a bite of the noodles. Hotch stared expectantly to see if he passed the Italian test. I chewed slowly, dragging the process along, until finally giving him a thumbs up. Hotch sighed and smiled before digging into his own plate.

After finishing the pasta, I took the three plates to the kitchen and served three plates of brownie with ice cream for me and the Hotchner duo. When those plates were empty, Jack laid his head on my lap and his feet on his dad’s and watched the movie. An hour and a half later, the blonde boy was softly snoring and peacefully sleeping.

“Looks like the little man ran out of juice,” I said as I ran my hand through his soft hair. “I think we should take him up to the guest room.”

Hotch softly placed his hand under Jack’s arms and carried him up the stairs to the first door on the right, careful not to wake the tired child. I pulled the sheets away and Hotch laid the kid on the bed. I left the room to let Hotch change Jack into his pajamas and went downstairs to clean up and pack away the fort for Jack to take home.

“Thank you, (Y/N),” I jumped at the sound of Hotch’s voice and he laughed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay, and don’t mention it.” I sat down next to him on the island. “Whatever you need, seriously, I’m here.”

He smiled and engulfed me in a hug; time slowed down. For a moment, just for a moment, it was only us. There was no hurting, no unspoken emotions, nothing. I breathed in his scent and took in the warmth coming from the closeness of his body to mine. He relaxed into me and let himself be human for a change.

All good things come to an end.

“Well, it’s getting late,” I said breaking the hug and clearing my throat. “Um, there’s towels in the guest bedroom closet and extra blankets just in case it gets too cold during the night.”

“Great, I’ll see you in the morning, then. Good night, (y/n).”

“Good night, Hotch.” I smiled and waited for his figure to disappear in the stairs before opening the doors leading to my backyard. I breathed in deeply and tried to easy my heartbeat.

“What are you doing, (Y/N)?” I whispered to myself.

I spent the night tossing and turning, trying my best to not think that the man I liked was sleeping just a hallway away. Before I knew it, the sun was peeking in through my bedroom window, announcing that I had wasted a whole night of sleep inside my head.

So, I got up and went downstairs to work on breakfast. Eggs, bacon, pancakes, toast, the works. I put a pot of coffee to brew and took out some toppings for the pancakes. As I was finishing with the bacon, I heard tiny feet running down the staircase.

“Morning, (Y/N)!” Jack exclaimed, hugging my waist since it was as high as he could reach.

“Hey, little man,” I said ruffling his hair. “Wanna help me set the table?”

He nodded and grabbed the forks I was holding, placing them rapidly next to the three plates that were already on the round table.

“Jack, where’s dad?” I questioned.

“He’s still sleeping.” He shrugged.

“I have an idea, little man. How about we wake him up with some silly string?”

“What’s silly string?” My mouth dropped. I headed to the hallway closet and took out two cans of silly string.

“This, buddy, is silly string,” I presented the can. “You press the button here down and string comes out.”

“Like this?” Jack asked as a string of green plastic was expelled from the can. He shrieked gleefully and his excitement grew as he saw the grin on my face.

“Just like that, bud. Let’s go wake up dad.”

He nodded excitedly and we walked up the stairs quietly. Once we reached the door, I turned the doorknob slowly and instructed Jack to go jump on the bed to surprise his dad. He smiled at me and when the door was completely open, he ran up to the bed and jumped.

When Hotch’s eyes shot open, Jack and I pressed the cans and shot silly string all over Hotch.

“Good morning, daddy!” Jack screamed as he flung the can around. Definitely a mess I’d have to clean later but very worth it at the moment.

“Morning, Jack!” The older man said as he brought his kid down tickling him slightly. “Is it safe to assume this was your idea, (Y/N)?”

“Yes, sir. It is,” I responded between laughs. “We have a very strict protocol in this household when it comes to wake up calls.”

“That’s a very effective wake up call.” Hotch smiled.

“Well, now that we’re all up, we can eat some breakfast,” I said. “There’s some chocolate chip pancakes for you, little man.”

“Yes!” He excitedly left the room and ran downstairs.

“And there’s coffee, too.” I smiled and Hotch got up to join us downstairs.

“(Y/N), thank you.” Hotch said as he stood on the doorstep ready to go home. “This is exactly what Jack and I needed, and I have no idea how I’ll ever be able to make it up to you.”

“Hotch, there’s absolutely no need.” I laid a hand on his arm, giving it a squeeze for reassurance. “I meant it when I said I’d always be here for you both. Whatever it is you need.”

Hotch smiled and left with an ‘I’ll see you at work’, and a Jack frantically waving from the backseat.

And that’s how our sleepovers started. Most of the times we had days off Hotch would come over and we’d build a fort with Jack and watch movies or played games. On hot days, we’d play around in the pool. Sometimes with the squad, but more often than not, just the three of us. If ever he needed it, I would take care of Jack so he could have a day to himself. These nights were happening so often, I transformed one of the guest rooms into a room for Jack. Hotch started leaving some of Jack’s clothes and toys. My house started becoming a second home for the Hotchner boys.

Slowly we grew closer and closer as friends, even if I wanted more. His friendship was too important for me to lose what we already had.

Back at work, it was business as usual. The team was none the wiser, but they could see that our relationship had gotten closer. JJ would always give me a smirk when she saw us hugging in his office, Derek would wiggle his eyebrows at me, and Penelope would silently squeal and flail her arms whenever she saw us in proximity.

Today was no different. Reid, Emily, Derek, and I were in the briefing room each stirring their wanted sugars and creams into the coffees I had brought in the morning. Reid quickly examining the box of donuts I had also brought along to pick the best one.

“Come on, baby girl,” Derek chuckled. “What’s going on between you and the boss man?”

“Well, Derek, if you must know,” I played along. The trio closed in as I pretended to look around for any eavesdropping ears. “Absolutely nothing. We’re just friends.”

“Come on, (Y/N),” Emily responded annoyed. “There has to be something. Friends don’t look at each other the way you both do.”

“My dearest Emily, I’m serious. I’ve just tried to be there for him in these very difficult times.” I sipped my coffee. “And I very much enjoy Jack’s company.”

“You know,” Spencer chimed in. “Oxytocin and dopamine, which are often referred to as the love hormones, affect pupil size. The brain gets a surge of these chemicals when you’re sexually or romantically attracted to someone. This boost of hormones causes pupils to dilate. So, really, if we wanted to know if something was happening all we have to do is pay attention to their eyes.”

“Thank you, Spence.” I laughed. “Now I’m gonna have to use sunglasses everywhere.”

“So that means there is something to look out for!” Emily chirped.

“No,” I cleared my throat. “It means that I don’t want to be stared at all the time by profilers, thank you very much.”

“Whatever you say, (Y/N), whatever you say.” Emily laughed.

After that, playful side eyes and nudges were implemented to our daily routine. They’d smirk whenever Hotch praised me and stared whenever he was even remotely close to me. At first it was funny, but it made me extremely nervous to think that Hotch could catch on. Although, it had been a couple of months with this behavior and thankfully, the unit chief had yet to figure it out, as oblivious to our teammates’ behavior as he was to my feelings for him.

Our friendship continued to flourish and strengthen as I pushed my feelings down in an effort to forget about them. It did not do me any good but, if this was the only way to keep him close, I would endure it.

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Tag: @ssamorganhotchner

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mintseesaw · 4 years

Text

Mad Passion | 2

Pairing: namjoon x reader Genre: arranged marriage au, smut, angst, fluff Word count: 14k Warnings: jealousy, possessiveness, graphic sexual content, unprotected sex Summary: As you become emotionally invested with your marriage, you have grown accustomed to being Namjoon’s wife. Not until you realize you barely have an idea what it is really like to be his wife. *unedited

Part I | sequel

The midnight moon illuminates vibrantly on the clear, dark blue-ish sky— a clear view from the sky high cocktail bar and lounge, of which is about to approach its peak hours, serving exclusively to the hotel guests.

The four and a half thousand square foot space is indeed a perfect place to unwind minus the bustling crowd and unnecessary loud music. Among the tables neatly scattered in the open air terrace, the two men occupied the miniscule pavilion situated on the right corner of the sky high rooftop, the farthest possible spot from the little crowd growing as the night progresses.

Seokjin and Namjoon are currently on a business trip. Namjoon rarely joins him on his international-scale meetings one as he isn’t an expert of the global market of fisheries like Jin himself. This time, however, it was Namjoon who initiated the trip to meet a good number of businessmen to secure a majority vote on the retail corporation he had invested in several months ago. He was new to this particular field, which was why Jin was here with him.

Jin was with him all through the course of said meetings. As Namjoon’s schedule abroad concluded today, it was safe to say the result of these meetings posed a good sign. Namjoon will soon take over another company. Of course, Jin wouldn’t let the night pass without them celebrating. He could’ve invited the rest of the group if they came along on the trip. So it was only the two of them who are celebrating, as Jin insists to call it. Namjoon could have turned it down, and calling his wife appeals to him more, but he really needs a proper drink even if Jin under the influence of alcohol means having to endure his annoying ass for an hour or two. “Your wife doesn’t have any idea on all of this, does she?” Jin nonchalantly asks, the alcohol cleansing his palate refreshingly from the numerous glasses he had. They had been in the pavilion for over an hour or two, he’s not certain.

Namjoon gave him a stern look, almost feigning innocence on the question his friend suddenly threw at him. “Know what?” There it was, the annoying side of Jin. Jin smirks, shaking his head. He could read his friend like the back of his hand. Amongst the group, he knows Namjoon the longest. Even with the passive expression he always wears, Jin could easily see through him.

“She doesn’t know? You’re screwed, Kim.” By now, both have already had a decent amount of alcohol in their system. The younger one, however, doesn’t appear as fuzzy as the older one. “She doesn’t need to know about my business affiliations. It would not matter what she would think of it.” He remarks, before emptying the liquor in his glass. His reply only made Jin snorted. “I bet you don’t.” He muses before continuing, “No doubt, it would be a pleasure to meet the woman who stole your heart. Hoseok told me a lot of things about you and her. I’d like to confirm it myself. After all, it’s been months since you secretly changed your marital status.” Also, he ought to know why Namjoon seems to talk too little about his wife, as if he was avoiding the subject itself. Namjoon’s eyebrow shots up. “Confirm what, exactly?” “How smitten you are to the woman.” Namjoon leans his back on the couch, “Shut it, Hyung.” He shrugs, eliciting too little expression that only fuels Jin’s amusement further. Crossing his leg to the other, he continues to nag his friend. “I thought I’d never see the day, my friend. Have I not mentioned how surprised we were learning about your marriage in a newspaper?”

“You did, you couldn’t seem to move on from it, can you?”

“How can I? You didn’t even us at your wedding!”

“I already told you why.”

“Well, you have to give the girl a proper wedding. That is… if you already bear feelings for her.”

“There’s no need for that.”

“Did you ask her? Girls like those romantic shit.” Jin concludes, his own experience being his reference.

“The marriage is a part of the deal, Hyung.” He says in an indifferent tone, a pretense he had mastered through the years of his experience in the industry. Jin already knew the story behind his marriage, but the rare chance of pissing his friend off tempts him as always.

“If you don’t love the girl, you can easily get a divorce once you have secured the position. With the influence you have over the Korean government, there’s no way you can’t be granted a simple request.” Jin continues to press, enjoying the look of irritation growing on Namjoon’s face. Namjoon chose to keep quiet, distracting himself with pouring alcohol in his glass.

“What do you think the princess would feel if her castle has already been claimed by her King long before her father steps down on his throne?” Jin queries in a teasing manner.

“You forgot to mention she had long abandoned her throne. She already lost the title when she left.” Namjoon was quick to answer back.

Jin smirks, “Touché.” Namjoon purses his lips, letting the air be filled with silence. At the mere mention of the lost princess that is his wife, his mind wanders off. It’s been almost a week since he last saw his wife. He misses her that no amount of alcohol could suffice. Although he consistently calls you every day, it was not enough to make peace with his mind. How should he converse with you to prolong the conversation? He loves hearing you talk endlessly, regardless of what it is about. The conversations feel restricted. Whether it was because of his intimidating self or you’re merely not interested to talk to him—he has yet to know why.

What is certain, though, is he will finally come home tomorrow.

Mingyu quietly turns the ignition on the moment you climb inside the passenger’s side. Silence has awkwardly ruled between the two of you since two weeks ago especially when you don’t initiate a conversation, yourself. His actions are always calculated alongside the formality in his voice whenever you attempt to have a casual conversation with him.

And you figured, he might have been instructed not to entertain your friendly gestures, much less converse with you.

You find his awkward but formal disposition adorably hilarious, which sometimes make you laugh out loud, that in return, earns you questioning look from him.

Since his post as personal security detail two weeks ago, Mingyu always lingers on your whereabouts. The role he plays is obviously a college student, casually eating on a table far away from your usual spot, or pretending to read books in the library when you’re studying so he could unnoticeably guard you around. The pretense alone is a dangerous task, you presume, because he is an eye catcher and he has to stay low-profile not to gets busted.

You don’t even know how they can roam around the vicinity of the campus without alerting the security department. When you say ‘they’, you’re generally referring to the team of agents responsible for your well-being. After the incident involving your friend and one of them weeks ago, they have visually disappeared. But you were not that dense to believe they’re literally gone. For all you care, they are just scattered everywhere, pretending to be whoever they are. Namjoon is too smart to have the same men follow you around. If he intentionally wants to make you think he has removed an entire team in your care, he would strategically have new faces to do the job. As if Mingyu’s presence will make you believe that he’s the only person that guards you.

Until now, you couldn’t believe your husband selected Mingyu as your shadow amongst the couple of hundreds working under his security agency. Knowing he’s territorial when it comes to the male acquaintances you have, it makes you there’s an underlying reason for it. Perhaps, is it trap to test your loyalty? But the probability of it being true is too low, because why would your loyalty matter to him in the first place?

When Namjoon married you several months ago, not only has your life changed, but your feelings too. You used to dislike the thought of being forced into a marriage with him, with someone you barely know, with someone who has so many similarities with your father.

It wasn’t just a simple attraction that you have developed towards him, nor was the socio-economic status he has. There is not even extraordinarily admirable about his personality that could justify your feelings—that unavoidably blossomed through time.

He was not the typical guy, of course. Men his age are probably enjoying the time of their lives, partying and all that stuff or perhaps, struggling to even get a decent job that would financially support themselves. He was not the romantic type of guy. Sweet talks, knows how to make you feel giddy, charms his way to your heart— he is far from that. Strange, how he still unknowingly earns more brownie points the longer you live with him, despite the uncertainty.

The awkward tension between you two have improved after months of having formal and painfully monotonous interactions. Perhaps, the rare intimacy has helped you open up to him more casually.

Despite that, you couldn’t rest your mind with the fact that your relationship with him lacks emotional commitment.

While he has the money and power at such a young age, you have nothing but student loans and your father’s last name. While he sees to your every need, it was never really established what you two are aside from the arrangement of your marriage. Unfortunately, it was just that. There may be papers which legally conclude your matrimony as husband and wife, but there’s no certainty of mutual, requited feelings. Every single day that comes and goes around, you couldn’t stop yourself from wishing that the marriage had been alternatively a result of a conventional, romantic affair. Part of you wishes he could, at least, learn to reciprocate your feelings for him.

He asked you on a date before, the first and only one so far. It turned out as expected— a little awkward because he basically rented the restaurant leaving you two alone in the spacious, luxurious place which meant having to endure silence while he enjoys his food as you try to think of things that you could talk to him about. It was, nevertheless, sweet because you have not predicted he would be thoughtful enough to know the food that you like, having it served as the main course.

Since the date, Namjoon never really spoke about it or anything that may hint another one. You’re ashamed to even admit that you’re eager to know what he feels for you, now.

Has it changed?

It didn't take long before you arrive at the apartment.

Without waiting for your guard, you went straight to the bedroom, the same one you share with him. Despite his absence for six days, the scent of his signature perfume still lingers in the vicinity.

Heaving a sigh, you huff on the mattress, allowing your muscles to relax, and allow your mind to wander into nothingness.

Earlier, you magically crammed mind-draining essays due today as well as made progress on your provisions for your upcoming midterms. The mere thought of it all makes you want to take a nap before proceeding with your papers, again.

After a moment of silence, you decided to have a long, warm bath instead. It’s been ages since the last time you had one since you have a waiting husband in mind whenever you’re using the bathroom even though he has several spares in his penthouse.

You did just that. And about half an hour, the comforting and relaxing warmth seeping through every part of your body, and the peppermint scented diffuser further lets your mind float elsewhere. Before you know it, you have lurked farther into the depth of your endless thoughts, slowly leading you where darkness and dreamland meet. You woke startled by an endless sound of a familiar tone ringing. And as your eyes strained by the blinding light, you mindlessly search for the source. You couldn’t seem to find where it was coming from, although you know it was your phone. The mere sound of it tells it was not in the bathroom. Where did you place it, anyway?

Still dazed with the traces of your unsolicited nap, you carefully but swiftly climb out of the tub, grabbing the towel on top of the counter to quickly dry your body. You found it on top of the bedside table. The eerie silence inside the room made the sound echo all throughout, that you feel your ears bleed as it continuously rings.

Your thumb slides on the screen after you took a brief glance at the caller.

Your abandoned, dripping hair sticks irritatingly on your nape, soaking your towel as you forget to put on a robe.

“You’re not answering my calls.” Namjoon greets, his voice unrecognizably low.

What time is it there, again? You wonder. “Sorry, I dozed off in the tub.” You replied too quickly, words jumble in your mind as they stumble out of your mouth. Listening to the words seems wrong when you have come to understand what you said.

“You what?” He asks, sounding puzzled. A trace of concern laces in his voice more than anything, although you were too flushed to take the hint. “Uhh... Yeah, I fell asleep. Sorry about that...” You sheepishly falter. As you wait for his reply, you hear some shuffling instead on the other line.

Your mind still is blank as white while struggling to come up with a better reply.

“I heard that, but you fell asleep? In the tub? That’s not safe.” He probably just woke up. Perhaps, that must be why his voice is extra low, though he calls you every night and it sounded quite normal in his previous calls. “Right, I’m fine though. It’s not like I would drown or something.” You try to joke.

The silence lingers for a few seconds, before you hear him speak on the other line. “You should have rested instead of taking a bath.” He lightly scolds over the phone.

A chuckle bubbles past your throat, nodding in agreement. That was your initial plan. “I will...eventually.”

“Busy?”

This time, you hear people talking in the background. He’s in his hotel room, right?

“Just about. I had a long day, spent most of my free time in the library. I presumed, Mingyu already told you that, right?”

At the mention of his name, you didn’t see the way Namjoon’s eyebrows rose, as something weak but ugly feeling stirs inside him. “Hanbin communicates with him.”

Your mouth fell into an ‘o’, nodding as if he could see you. “Oh, right. He’s fine, right? I mean you approved of him as my guard?”

“Yes. Why do you ask? I trust that you’ll tell me if he ever acts inappropriately and I’ll make sure—“

“No, no, he’s okay, I mean… uh, he’s actually really formal.” You stammer, slowly growing flustered at the way you have spoken about Mingyu. The subject itself doesn’t really interest you, it’s just that you don’t want him to be dragged into Namjoon’s territorial issues especially when he’s not around.

Not only is Mingyu a taller version of Namjoon’s physique, he is also as attractive as your husband, which didn’t matter to you as Namjoon pretty much owns your heart, that you didn’t choose to.

“Good. I’m also expecting you to behave while I’m gone.” He warns playfully.

You scoff, returning the playfulness of his tone. “When have I not?”

“Of course. You’re a good girl for me, yeah?” He casually prods although the impact of his words seem to have struck you somewhere.

You bit your lip, started pacing back and forth with the towel as the only cover in your body. What would he feel if you tell him that?

You decided to change the subject, “Hey, listen… uh… I heard your birthday is approaching.” You begin, recalling the conversation you had with the housekeeper. This would be your first time spending his birthday with him.

“Uhuh...�� He trails, silently telling you to keep going.

“Do you have plans for it?” You nervously ask, biting your nail in agitation as you kept going around the vicinity of the room.

Being a part of the elite social class means birthdays are extravagantly celebrated. You had them when you were young. Yet, Namjoon has not mentioned to you about his birthday plans, if he has any.

“Plans?” He echoes with a curious tone.

“I mean parties and stuff.” You immediately clarified back.

“Angel, I don't celebrate birthdays.” He says in a casual tone as if he was just telling you a random piece of information.

Taken aback by his response, you repeated what he said in a form of question. “You don’t?” Namjoon has not sensed the change of tone in your voice.

“I don’t. I have to go, baby. I will call you again. Hmm?” He didn’t even wait for your reply, ending the call right away.

He doesn’t celebrate his birthday?

Namjoon, who obviously has all the resources in the world to organize the most luxurious social events, happens to have disinterests celebrating his birthday?

You mean, you have too little enthusiasm toward social gatherings but that doesn’t mean you don’t celebrate your birthday. Even when you barely have enough savings to pay for your bills, you couldn’t let your birthday pass without treating yourself or spending the day with your friends.

It sounds weird, at the same time, lonely to hear that he disregards such an occasion enough to make your heart tug painfully. He must have had a horrible childhood, you thought. Or perhaps, he’s merely not fond of any kind of celebration. It shouldn’t be a big of a deal, right?

Slight dismay washes through you at the abruptness of the call.

What is it about him being away that bothers you? Is it his safety, your safety or...his mere absence?

For the nth time since Namjoon left for his business trip, you had slept through your alarm which only meant you were late again in your first class.

The day progresses rather slowly. When it feels like you’ve spent ages sitting inside the lecture theatre, barely listening to half the professor was saying turns out to be just a couple of minutes whenever you check the time on your phone.

After what felt like a day, your break comes rolling around. Bearing the effect of sleep deprivation, your walk towards the dining hall was unusually sluggish. Fortunately, Jihyo was already on the table of your usual spot waiting when you arrived.

Your shadow has yet to make his presence known which seems odd as he always tail you far behind, at the same time, intentionally allowing you to spot him wherever he is.

With his height, you could easily see the top of his head through the crowd, only that you didn’t need to look around because he’s in front of you and Jihyo, slightly wide-eyed with Jackson on his left, the former seemingly forced to be here.

Your eyebrows narrow in confusion. Though your friends knew you’re being guarded by him, they never really showed intention to befriend him.

“What’s going on Wang? Mingyu-ssi?” Jihyo seems amused at the mere sight, holding back her laughter as she notices the discomfort written in the poor handsome boy’s face. Your bodyguard surprisingly fits well in his all black casual attire like as if he is sporting a bad boy college student vibe. You couldn’t even point anything suspiciously odd with the way he casually holds himself as if he has his own world, not minding others’ business.

Jackson plops on the vacant seat across Jihyo’s and drags Mingyu on the seat next to him. He obligingly follows suit.

“He seems nicer and harmless than the other ones, Y/N. Had to befriend him before he makes me his next target.” Mingyu gazes at him with his sharp gaze that strangely reminds you of your husband’s stare.

“I can perfectly hear you.” He formally says to your friend, which presumably meant alternative to warning him.

Jackson paid no mind on the harmless threat, giving Mingyu a friendly smack on the back instead. “I know, bud. I’m not the enemy here, is what I’m trying to tell you.” He quips, which made Jihyo chuckle in return. Mingyu peers in your direction, then goes back to Jackson’s and Jihyo’s in utter confusion.

He probably has no idea what transpired before.

“You didn’t know?” Jackson attempts to confirm with a question.

“What?” Mingyu immediately asks back.

His act of ignorance isn’t believable enough for you. On his first day as your guard, you were stunned at how proficient he seemed to be on his pretense for someone who barely knows his way around the campus as if he’s been here before.

Shaking the thought away, you chose to butt in, “Don’t give him ideas.”

Jackson’s eyes slightly widen in realization. “You’re right. Anyways, I’m officially inviting you to eat lunch with us everyday. Is it a yes or a yes?”

Mingyu stares at him, dumbfoundedly.

“Shut up, Wang.” Jihyo laughs and then turns her head to meet Mingyu’s curious eyes. “Ignore him, but you’re always welcome to sit with us, just in case you’re allowed to— you know, eat with us.”

You only nodded in agreement.

If he ever considers it, he never showed any sign that he did as he ate silently the whole time while he listened to the three of you converse endlessly.

Like the past few days, the home feels different and strange without the towering owner lurking around the spacious vicinity like the king, himself. Namjoon never really confirmed when he will be back. He had not brought it up again after he once mentioned that the trip would take him a week. Perhaps, longer? It’s been a week. You don't know how long you’d manage without seeing him. His absence, as you first thought, would be a sense of breather for you for the first time since the marriage happened. But as days rolled around, you only hope for the week to end so you could see him again.

The longer you ponder over the thought of missing him, the harder it is to ignore the ache on the pit of your stomach, and desire pooling between your legs. The temperature on your body feels strangely higher considering it’s not yet summer and the room is fully air conditioned like the rest of the apartment. Your hair was pulled up in a bun, clothes thrown haphazardly on the cold, bathroom floor as you skimmed inside naked without bothering to close the door.

You let the shower run as you gradually get used to the feel of the water on your skin, your body shudders ever so lightly as you step under the running water, cautious enough not to get your hair soaked in the process. Shortly after, your shoulders slug as the water finally cools down your body, your insides almost relaxing.

You drew a long sigh, eyes closing, loving the therapeutic sensation of water as it soaks your body.

It wasn’t until you felt strong arms encircling your waist from behind that the heat spirals back into your body, especially in your lower region.

Their clothed body molding perfectly against your naked back as they pull your body impossibly closed. It was too sudden, and you were probably too lost in your own thoughts that you failed to hear any strange sounds, footsteps even. A shriek of surprise went past your throat, harshly squirming in reflex. You're too shocked to process who it is until he made a hush sound, calming you down. His lips found your naked shoulder, further making himself known through his gestures. “It’s me.” The familiar voice whispers next to your ear. Your violent movements instantly halted, but the shock still is evident through erratic beating of your heart. “Joon?” you softly call, trying to peer behind to have a proper look on him. In a teasing manner, he kisses your other shoulder, ruining your intent while your body is kept locked on his arms. By now, his clothes are already soaked against your back as wet as your hair as the running water continues to shower you both. And just as his lips found your nape, his hand cups one of breasts, softly squeezing the mound, his fingers gently pinching the pink nub. Your hand mindlessly flew to the hand on your waist that is keeping your body close to his, gripping it tight enough that your knuckles are turning white. Your eyelids fell shut at the sudden sensation, biting your lip to suppress any sound from your throat. His hand didn’t stop the gentle tormenting on your breast, his warm, sinful mouth now assaulting the skin on your neck, sucking it until the spot turns purple. The mere contact is enough to make you dizzy in need, intensely lighting your long overdue desire. And then the sensation stops all at once, his hand gone and his nose nuzzling your now-soaked hair. “J-Joon...” you softly beg. He didn’t answer, yet you could hear his ragged breathing, his crotch pressing hotly on your back. “Please,” you impatiently murmur. “Hmm...” Hums Namjoon, feeling his lips on your temple. “Please let me see you,” Your voice almost breaks. It’s been a week since you last saw him, his absence certainly overwhelmed you achingly.

His lack of response drives you into frustration. Then he swiftly spins you around, his hand on your hip pushes you further until your back is pressed flat on the cold tiled wall. Palms planted on either side of your face, entrapping you.

Your mouth left agape at the sight of him. His soaked white dress shirt, clinging to his torso like a second skin, further accentuating his lean body, his dripping wet slacks evidently showing the bulge of his arousal. Your mouth instantly waters at the sight, suddenly wanting to feel it under your touch, have your mouth and tongue taste him.

But you were too nervous to initiate a move. He continues to torment you under his wanton gaze, as if challenging you to protest against his captive. His eyes then roamed over the length of your body, feasting the view beneath his lashes, “Beautiful.” His fingers caught your chin, tilting it so he could look into your eyes.

His mouth draws nearer, until it lands on the wet skin of your cheek. He mumbles against your skin, “You have no idea how much I missed seeing your pretty face. Did you miss me, sweetheart?” Your eyes closing shut, nodding. “Yes,” You manage to say, while finding the strength to rub your palms sensually on his forearms that would hopefully coax him to initiate a move. He only hums in return, to your dismay. The running water from the shower head has stopped. Namjoon probably turned it off although it was too late as his whole body is already dripping with water.

His mouth is so close to yours, teasingly hovering over the corner of your mouth. When you ever so lightly tilt your head to the side, your lips caught his supple ones. Your delicate fingers found his cheeks, deepening the kiss. A groan vibrates on his chest, the weeks worth of abstinence has not been too kind for him, and he would undoubtedly break you if he suddenly loses the control he’s been nurturing instead of his desire.

Your actions, however, are doing so little for your own good. To your dismay, he was reacting too little, maintaining a minimal response. “Joon, please...” You mumble in between kisses.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” “I-I... I want you.” You moan, your voice almost failing you from the overwhelming heat of your desire.

The burning ache on his abdomen only intensifies at the mere sound of your begging. “You have me.” He says back in a soft voice, nuzzling your cheek while keeping a safe distance between your bodies. When your hand dares touch his crotch, a low growl rumbles on his chest, swiftly catching your hand on his, restraining your very intention. Tears pool in your eyes in desperation. And as much as you want him to fuck you senseless right this second, the desire to taste him was too intense and stronger to just set the thought aside. “Let me touch you... Joon, please...” His breathes quicken, refusing to entertain your offer. But it didn’t mean his desire is not spiraling wildly, his member twitching painfully the more your pleas feed his ears. His head momentarily threw back, and you use it as an opportunity to shuffle on your knees, your hands quickly found his crotch. Taken aback by your bold eagerness, he hisses harshly as your delicate fingers found his bulge. His intent to drag you back on your feet vanishes as he took in the sight of his naked goddess— blazing eyes returning his stare while hovering over his sensitive arousal. “Fuck, sweetheart.” He curses when you impatiently palms him while your other hand trembles as it attempts to unbuckle his belt. Helplessly murmuring, “Help me...” when you couldn’t seem to do it on your own. At your helpless plea, Namjoon quickly came to rescue your little dilemma. No more than a second, his large hand swiftly unbuckles his belt, your hand greedily undid his buttons, and tug his boxers enough to release his hard member. A gasp falls on your lips, taken aback at the sudden jolt of his thick cock against his stomach before your eyes. Surprise at the size of it, your insides clenches achingly, wondering how it had fit inside you before. But realizing why his entrance burns your insides despite your wetness, his huge cock filling you would extremely stretch your walls to fit himself.

You have seen it so briefly before on your first night together, but you haven’t had the time to admire it as Namjoon took you so urgently.

Your mouth waters at the sight of a glistening pink head, your cold, delicate fingers coming in contact with his slick member to wrap themselves around his thickness.

The subtle touch of your fingers felt too good. If it’s possible, his brown eyes only grew darker, that they are almost black now. Your mind is in shambles as both of your hands gently pump their way up and down his length.

His hips stutter at your ministration. As Namjoon falls into a state of euphoria, his head is thrown back, palms glued on the wall behind you to prevent his strength from crumbling. Drawing your lips near, your tongue did an experimental lick at the glistening pink head. The harsh intake of breath you heard from him coax you further, swiping the underside of his length with your tongue before slowly taking him in your mouth. ”Fuck!” He growls so sexily at the feel of your warm mouth. You felt his cock twitched, hips bucking at your warm, inviting mouth. Then you suddenly felt your bun loosens, followed by the pull of your hair as his fingers thread into your soaked hair.

“That’s it, pretty slut.” He breathlessly praises. He draws back before filling your mouth full again. His sensitive tip touching your throat has you moaning rather erotically which only turns him on further.

He is huge, and despite willingly taking him down to your throat, the length of his cock couldn’t possibly fit all inside your mouth. Your eyes closing for a moment, suppressing the urge to choke.

“Such a good little slut for me, aren’t you sweetheart?”

Namjoon’s grip on your hair tightens, manipulating the pace to his desired speed. You didn’t care, because his pleasure matters to you more at this point.

When he glides his cock back inside, you hollow your cheeks just in time, tight enough to have him nearly gasping his next breath.

You let him fuck your mouth slowly, until he picks up a pace. Assaulting your mouth with the intrusion while mixture of your saliva and his arousal continues to leak out of your mouth.

The sounds of pleasure you hear from him only intensifies your own arousal, your stomach heating up each time your core achingly clenches.

The darkness in his eyes and the way curses recklessly stumble out of his beautiful mouth while you suck him raw takes your breath away. You’ve never seen him this vulnerably clouded in pleasure. And you’d willingly let him fuck you again this way if it means having to witness him this helpless while he chases the feel of your mouth. Your eyes never left his as you peer up from your knees. The more you listen to his pleasure, the harder you want to take him in.

When you felt it twitch again, you deliberately took him deeper until you’re nearly choking.

Namjoon has had his fair share of women— all of whom are experienced, knew their way to pleasure him. But the goddess beneath him—his sweet angel, the woman of his dreams and dirty fantasies unknowingly had him at his mercy.

The addicting warmth and suction of your mouth pulling him further into the depth of bliss. “No, angel—” He rasps in between rapid breaths, wanting to prolong the fire until he gets to fill his favorite addicting hole, so tight, he could already taste the feeling.

You whimper, “No…” You wanted it so much. The thought of him cumming undone inside your mouth is a dirty fantasy you suddenly wish to fulfill right now.

“We’ll save it up for when I’m inside your tight pussy.“ He breathes, pulling you up and bracing you against the wall. Your thighs wobble from your previous position.

His eager mouth captured yours, harshly sucking your bottom lip, teasing it as his teeth gently pierces through your bruised lip.

He could taste himself in you as his tongue thoroughly laps the inside of your mouth. Until he moves down to your jaw, his tongue tracing his tracks down to your neck onto your already purple skin while his fingers found the pink bud of your breast. It was what made you react so sexily, moaning helplessly, burying your fingers in his hair tightly as his teeth punctures the skin then laps the area soothingly.

Your body continues to heat up in his ministrations despite the cold atmosphere in the bathroom, certain that your arousal now visibly pools out of your core to your thighs.

Your fingers hastily unbutton his dress shirt, impatient to reveal his bare torso for your eyes to feast on. But just about you had undone the last button, he crouches, robbing you of the chance to admire his body. His mouth encloses on your hard pink bud, his tongue teasingly encircling on the crown of your breast as his other hand works simultaneously, squeezing your mound inside his palm.

The sensitivity of your breasts adding up to the sensation of his mouth and hand is too much, panting as you struggle to catch your breath. Until his head lowers farther down, tracing his way down with his open mouth kisses.

Namjoon swiftly pulled your thighs apart, hooking your thigh over his shoulder to see all of you.

The mere sight of your sex could already tell how turn on you are, but it wasn’t enough for him. His fingers part your folds, dipping his thumb to feel your arousal. “Ah, you’re dripping, baby. Is this for me, hmm?”

His head lowers more, mouth hovering your pubic bone, teasingly planting sloppy kisses there.

The rapid intakes of your breath did not go unnoticed by Namjoon. A devious grin spreads on his lips as his thumb starts assaulting your clit enough to have your legs trembling from bliss. The reaction he seeks from you were generously poured out of your mouth.

“Yes god. Joon please—” Your hips jerking, needing more friction than what he’s giving. He was quick to restrain your movements, pushing your hips flat against the cold wall. Your whines of frustration soon echoes inside the bathroom.

Namjoon draws his mouth nearer, his nose erotically nuzzling your front sex that you could already feel his warm breath, “You smell exquisitely alluring, angel.”

Your anticipation shortly turns into desperation, continuously sobbing his name. Your heavenly pleas were enough to give you what you want, Namjoon willingly rewarded his tongue on your clit, licking your nub so good your eyes clenched from the sudden spark of sensation.

“So sweet…” he mumbles appreciatively, before sucking the sensitive nub in his warm mouth. The act alone has you panting in pleasure.

“Ahhh! Joon—fuck!” Your fingers quickly found his hair, your grip tightening the harder he sucks and laps your clit. You were drowning in need, darkness fills your vision as they remained shut, focusing on the sensation brought by his mouth’s ministrations. You could feel yourself leaking, and made it easier for him to slide his fingers inside your aching core, rubbing and curling them until you're visibly writhing. Cries of pleasure continue to pour out of your mouth.

“Ah! Joon! Oh god!”

Your beautiful sounds alone could bring him to hilt, his cock painfully growing harder, merely listening to you as his mouth and fingers drive you oblivion.

The painful tug of your fingers on his scalp as they tighten their grasp on his hair signals your forthcoming orgasm.

“That’s it, cum for me, little slut.” He mumbles against your sex, the vibration of his mouth against your core sending you further in the brink, as the knot of pleasure building up in your stomach snaps. You cry out, his name the only thing you can articulate of, as you climax deliciously against his mouth. Hips grinding to ride out your orgasm.

Namjoon greedily lap every bit of your sweet juices, while his thumb strums your clit to prolong your orgasm. He didn’t stop, not even when he hears you whining from overstimulation. He only withdrew his mouth on your core when you finally met his gaze, coming back from your high.

Your fingers raking his wet locks out his face as it keeps the span of his forehead hidden, wanting to see all of his pretty face.

Namjoon stood, his knees skillfully bracing you flat from the wall. He yanks his soaking, white top off his body, discarding it there before doing the same thing to his slacks proceeded by his boxers, revealing his perfectly honeyed skin body. This is the first and only time you had seen him completely naked right before your eyes.

The two of you sharing an expansive closet lets you have a glimpse of his naked torso once in a while, sometimes him adorning a pair of boxers while he selects his working attire for the day. But those times were always short lived, you shying away from staring for too long than casual glances.

From the intimate instances you had with him, you never had the opportunity to appreciate his nudity. Your eyes glint with pure admiration, seeing all of him now in front of you. Your tongue dazedly darted out to wet your lips, feasting purely on his body.

Namjoon yet again found your lips, his tongue unsolicitedly invading your mouth, fighting for the dominance which you willingly gave up. He took your responsiveness as an opportunity to pull your body in his embrace, your legs following on their accord as they automatically weave themselves around his hips over his back, your hands finding purchase on his nape. His very arousal pressing on your stomach has you moaning against his greedy mouth.

Namjoon gracefully carried you all the way out towards the bedroom, completely dazed in his kisses.

He didn’t let go of your lips all the way out, not until he dumps your wet body on the mattress. Namjoon kneels on the foot of the bed, hands grasping on your hips to flip you over.

“On your knees, sweetheart.” He commands.

A sound of what he initially recognizes as a moan tears out of you. He plants a small kiss to your hip, before he hears you object, “No!”

“What—“

“I want to see you,” You whimper, pulling his face closer, fishing for a kiss.

A smirk slowly made its way on his face, eyes darkening at the sight of you helpless in his mercy.

“You want to see me while I fuck you, is that it?” He trails, pulling your thighs apart, crawling his way between your thighs.

His nose nuzzles yours teasingly, hovering over your mouth.

Heaving a sigh in contentment, you nod. “I miss you...”

“Do you, now? Or... you only want to be fucked hard?” He murmurs, mouth ajar as it tormentingly touches your lips.

Your forehead creases in a frown, “That’s not true.”

“I’ve never seen you this needy before, Y/N. Tell me, what do you want me to do?” His fingers brushing wet locks away from your beautiful face.

“Please, fuck me...”

He nods, gently bucking his hips to slide his length on your slit. “Is this enough for you, sweetheart?” You whine helplessly.

“Joon, please… just fuck me!” Plea pours out of your mouth in complete devastation. His warmth doing nothing but fuel the ache in your core as it clenches in wanton need of friction.

You beg more and more, the longer he teases you. Namjoon lowers his head further in the crook of your neck, his teeth and tongue alternately grazing and soothing the sensitive skin. The sensation feel achingly erotic, until he not so gently bit your skin, enough to leave a mark. The mere distraction made you almost forget his tip on your entrance, until he thrusts so hard your eyes closed from the undesired pain, stretching you far too much.

“Joon—“ Your moan stifles, crying out at the painful intrusion. Tears brim in your eyes as his length stretches you fully, your slick wetness welcomes him in a swift but burning entrance. He captured your lips, somehow distracting you from the unavoidable ache of your union.

You almost didn’t want him to move from the burning ache of your walls around him. He rocks ever so gently, eliciting a sound of pleasure from you. The burning ache didn’t subside, but as he prolonged the small pace he started, you became used to the pain, chasing the tiny pleasure that comes with each thrust he gives.

The sounds you continuously emit signals him to keep going, until he picks up a pace. Soon after, sparks of euphoric bliss came shooting within your core, numbing the pain.

Your lustful gasps and his grunts were in unison as you both get used to the delicious friction of your intimate union.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” You deliriously moan when he suddenly pushes your thigh up on his shoulder, allowing his cock to plunge farther into your warm, tight depths until you’re writhing, your sounds were music to his ears further pulling him deeper in euphoria.

The feeling of your tight walls gripping around his cock is such a sweet, addicting sensation. The deeper he hammers into your core, the closer he gets to chase down the delicious spark of his pleasure. The new angle allowed him to discover the places untouched, thus finding your sweet spot, that has you rolling your eyes in the back of your end. Toes curling as sparks violently shoot through your core, intensifying the knot that holds your desire.

“I’m— oh yes, right there!” you gasp, “Fuck!” Your fingers tightly thread on his hair, mouth greedily seeking his attention.

“So fucking tight, sweetheart. You feel so good around me.” Namjoon growls in between sloppy kisses against your mouth.

“So good… Joon, please... don't stop!” You sob, getting lost at your pleasure as you desperately chase the end.

Namjoon rolled his hips incredibly faster, ramming through you endlessly making you shudder from the intense sensation.

You could feel it, so close.

The violent pushes and pulls of his hips didn’t stop, rapid plunges in and out of your depths until the pleasure came rushing from the pit of your stomach.

“Joon!” You moan, the knot finally twisting, waves of euphoria shattering through your trembling body.

Namjoon’s hips stutter, savoring the feel of your clenching walls around, nearing his high. “Angel—fuck!” A long, carnal sound vibrates on his chest, as he picks up his speed while your insides tremor at the intensity of your orgasm, ferociously thrusting his cock so fast as he chases his own climax, and shooting his liquid generously inside you. His mouth attacks your breast to counter his sounds of pleasure.

Your whimpers echo in the room, the post-orgasmic bliss mixes with the stinging sensation brought about by the love bites he generously marked on your skin slowly pulls you back from oblivion, while you listen to your pants and his rapid breathing.

When he finally comes back to his senses, his tired eyes briefly surveys your length. Your body remains still as your eyes are closed shut, chest rapidly rising and falling. Assuming you dozed off, he carefully untangles his limbs off of you to clean you up before tucking you in.

As he climbs off the mattress, your hand manages to grip his arm in time. “No, don’t go.” He hears you breathlessly whimper.

You look spent— satiated even. He could clearly see your eyes as they struggle to open still. He retreats back on the mattress, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He reassures you in a soothing tone. A sigh went past your lips in relief. You gave him a subtle nod, trusting his words.

“I miss you,” You croak, you were just so tired, and sleepy. But you can’t seem to move on from missing him too much for the past few days.

He could see it in your eyes, the vulnerable side of you in the aftermath of the lovemaking.

“I know, baby.” He whispers close to your ear as he strokes your hair in a comforting manner.

His touch, so gentle in contrast to how he rammed you to the hilt minutes ago. It was as if he was cooing you to sleep. Few moments later, your consciousness slowly shrinks, finally succumbing to darkness.

The next moment your eyes open, the first thing they search around is him. His side of the bed is empty. And the moment you dared to move, you instantly felt the ache in your muscles and the numb feeling in between your thighs. Then your eyes noticed a shirt, which you have on. Just by the size of it, you knew it was Namjoon’s but you don't ever remember putting it on before you fell asleep.

How long have you been sleeping?

It was dark in the room, the dim lights supporting just enough so you could see your way through the room.

“Joon?” You call out, looking around the room. There’s no sign of him— until your ear caught a distinct clinking of glass, your gaze instantly landed on the very subject you were seeking for.

At the sound of you calling his name, his head snaps, instantly meeting your gaze as you struggle your way towards the corner of massive room.

He wore a pair of plaid pj pants and a plain white shirt similar to the material that covers your body now. His messy hair tells you that he had pushed back his locks more than once. His isn’t this long before, and you wonder how many regular haircuts he had abandoned to have it this long. With how endearing he looks with his hair, you made a mental note to have your way to stop him from cutting it any time soon.

When you shifted your gaze away as you near the stone coffee table, you saw there on top, a glass container of expensive alcohol, a liquor glass and an ashtray which made you turn your eyes back at him. You didn’t notice the stick in between his fingers right away.

“Angel,” he greets in a curious tone, surprised to see you awake.

“You’re not asleep.” You say, your stare following his fingers as he inhales a long draw through the stick before crushing its end against the ashtray. Smoke coming out of his mouth and nose as he exhales.

His hand caught yours, coaxing you to sit on his lap. His fingers brushing away your hair out of your face. “You okay?” His surprisingly gentle tone laces in concern.

You only nodded in reply, willingly obliging onto his embrace. Your thighs curling on his lap as his arms instantly pull you on his chest, preventing you from falling off.

The lingering smell of cigarette and alcohol from his breath mixed with his natural scent wafted through your nostrils as you find yourself burying your face on the crook of his neck. You didn’t know it could smell this intoxicating on him. As if your core is not literally burning enough from the intimacy earlier, you could feel yourself slowly leaking, core clenching painfully at the thought of his thick length inside you.

His hand rests on your back, the other on your thigh, the warmth in his body enveloping you from the cold.

You tilt your head to the side, “I didn’t know you smoke.” You say in dazed of your growing desire.

“Hmm, does it bother you?”

You didn’t answer. But let yourself drink in his exquisite smell.

You felt his palm soothingly rub your back, “You should rest, I’ve worn you out.” You cheeks heating up on his mere words.

Your lips pressing tiny kisses there, on the skin of his neck.

He stills, recognizing the intention of your sweet gestures. “Sweetheart—“

“Please, make love to me Joon.”

He sighs, “I was not gentle with you, sweetheart, it’s too soon for you.”

His shirt crumples beneath your fingers, “I want you.”

The way you beg him to take you made him forget how he was striving to control himself to fuck you again and again, until his needs are temporarily sated.

He was not gentle and the aftermath of the intimacy surely left traces of pain from how tight your core is. It was the reason why he’s now several glasses in from liquor, distracting himself because it’s too soon to satisfy the urge have his addicting vice.

With your plea, his restraint vanishes so quickly, giving you what you had begged for.

He took you there on the couch.

You were clinging onto him, urging for him to fuck you harder. Your sweet moans, your stinging bite marks on his shoulders, and your warm, tight core choking his cock brought him to the hilt. Cumming in the depth of your insides raw and hard. The thought of you bearing his child briefly feeds his mind as his liquid mixed with your juices gushes out of your core.

The alcohol, being the source of his early distraction, fail to restraint him to fuck you, again. For the third time of the night, you willingly gave yourself in to his carnal needs. Despite the evident ache in your muscles all throughout your body, his touch, his kisses and the pleasure he made you feel were enough to coax you.

The next morning, you unquestionably feel horrible. You could feel your head throb, and the slight attempt of moving made you whimper in pain. The burning sensation in your core is difficult not to miss as much as the ache in your body.

Namjoon is nowhere in sight and as much as you want to come search for him, the blinding light seeping from the floor to ceiling glass wall made it such a heavy task to do so.

What time is it?

You inwardly groan at the thought of missing your classes. You have done it a lot of times before that you literally couldn’t afford to miss some more.

Feeling the exhaustion from your body, you dozed off some more and only stirred awake when you felt something on your face.

With your eyes closed, you know it was no other than your husband. His hand moves from your face to your hair, gently stroking and raking your locks away from your face.

When the afternoon break came approaching, he paid a short visit to the room to check you in. He didn’t come to his office today, shifting his appointments through digital meetings in his study.

He’s been watching you for a few minutes now. Worry creeps into him, the intimate activities must have drained your energy empty. He mentally reminds himself to be gentle to you next time.

“Hey,” Namjoon suddenly hears you greet. His gaze lifted toward your eyes.

A smile slowly spreads on his lips.

“Good afternoon, sweetheart.”

He laughs when you groan, shutting your eyes closed in distraught as you realized it is indeed late.

Frowning, “I missed my classes.”

“You did. Your friend called this morning, I answered the call and told her you’re unwell.”

“Jihyo?“

“Yes. Perhaps, you’ve rested enough?” You nodded.

Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the only time you missed most of your classes just because you were too tired to get up in the morning.

He didn’t falter the following days. Taking you one way or another. You even thought he would finally be sated with his needs after several days. You’re wrong. Because the more you allow him to touch you, the more he wants to take you shamelessly just about anywhere he can make his advances. “Joon, we’re in the kitchen.” You manage to say as his hand slides inside your sweatpants one Sunday evening. You‘re heating up a pasta that was abandoned several hours ago, starving from fulfilling your other needs. Miyoung must have kept the food in the fridge when she realized the two of you have no intention to eat the supposed lunch. Namjoon tags along, watching you prep the food in the microwave until he decides touching you seems like a better idea. His fingers almost there, where they were earlier on the bed, and if you weren't too hungry and spent, you would probably let him do you here. Your hand grips his arm tight, restraining whatever intention he has. “No one is here.” He insists, lips assaulting the skin on your exposed shoulder. The bulge of his crotch pressing on your back, feeling the evidence of his growing arousal.

A mere slave to his touch, you appeal, “Joon, can we eat first? I’m hungry,” when you feel his other hand sneaks under your shirt. His movements gradually took a pause, sighing in defeat. He kisses your temple before letting you eat in peace.

“Listen, can I talk about something?” Mingyu gave you a brief glance, although he seems to have his focus fixed in front as he drives you back home. “Of course, Mrs. Kim.” He says politely. Your face scrunches up. “I told you to call me Y/N.” That was on his first day, you instructed him to address you by your name when Hanbin introduced you to Mingyu as ‘Mrs. Kim’. Mingyu nods without returning your gaze, “I could, but I’m not sure the boss would be thrilled to hear I’m on a first name basis with his wife.” He could be right. But you choose not to voice it out. Shrugging, “I’m sure he would not mind.” “You don’t want the boss to get mad.” He states as a matter of fact, then adds, “What do you want to talk about, anyways?” You shifted in your seat, slightly angling your body towards him. “So, do you guys know what time Namjoon usually comes home?” He didn’t speak right away, eyes narrow hearing your question.

“Hanbin does not tell me that sort of information, unless it’s necessary. My job is to guard you, anyway. Why do you ask?” There was something in his demeanor that changed, or was it your mind playing tricks on you? “I... Uhm...” You fumble through the right words that could explain your plan, but all you had come up with is a simple reassurance of his participation. “Can I trust you though? You know... not to tell him?” He clears his throat and shuffles on his right earpiece. Your eyes caught it. Is someone speaking on him through it? “I’m not sure, we don’t keep a secret to the boss.” He responds, shortly. Part of his job requires him to disclose your activities and anything related to your safety. Entertaining your antics might put him in serious trouble. Your eyebrows rose. “Ever?” You ask, testing the water. His cooperation would really help you out.

His forehead creases, sizing up your words whether it’s a trap or just some white lies far from a threat to his job. “Are you questioning my loyalty, Mrs. Kim?” The thing is, as the conversation prolongs, it would be difficult for him to avoid trouble, he thought as he fails to understand your purpose.

“No. Just... it’s a different kind of secret.” Your voice falters. If you want to keep a secret, why should you drag him with it? “A secret is a secret. It would cost me my job, you know.”

Your eyes roll as if you don’t know that. He’s not even letting you talk before deciding on his own. You wouldn’t even bother telling him if you don’t need his support to pull off your plan, how will you buy stuff without him tipping it all off to Namjoon’s right hand man. Speaking of which, perhaps, you shall consider tagging Hanbin along in your plan. Heaving an exaggerated, you convince him further, “It's not something bad, will you hear me out? You won’t be in trouble if you keep it a secret. Just promise me you won’t tell him?”

He didn’t look at you, nor made an effort to acknowledge it. “Hear me out first?” You try again when he seems doubtful. His focus was clearly on the road as he shows clear disinterest to listen to you.

“Fine then...” You surrender, crossing your arms.

Silence filled the air inside the car all throughout the journey home, with you frequently shooting childish glares in his direction the entire time. When Mingyu expertly maneuvers the car on the garage, you quickly climb off the car fully intending to ignore him just so you could stir guilt in him because you couldn’t directly admit you need his help.

Unexpectedly, Mingyu catches up with you and suddenly offers, “We can talk tomorrow. On your break.” Then he sprinted toward the flight of stairs instead of usually taking the lift before you could even process his words.

He changed his mind that fast?

Out of curiosity, you did try to talk to him again during that night but you couldn’t get a hold of him. And going to the basement where the team camps in could raise suspicion so you waited until tomorrow.

The following day, you notice an unfamiliar guy adorning a similar all black uniform. It does not bother you though since your husband owns a whole agency. However, Mingyu didn’t show up and was replaced by a new one. Although questions start stirring up in your mind, you never really voiced out your concerns to anyone.

When you got home that night, you attempted to wring out an answer from Namjoon. You didn’t need to find him because the moment you returned from uni, he was at the foyer with Hanbin, backs facing your direction. By the mere looks of it, he was sort of giving commands to his right hand man, something you couldn’t properly hear what it is about.

“Hi.” You finally speak, catching both of their attention. Namjoon made a gesture in his hand, dismissing Hanbin while you approached his tall figure.

As Hanbin passes by you, he sends a polite nod to your direction as a greeting, before disappearing from one of the doorways.

With a few steps forward, Namjoon met you half-way, eyeing you up and down. “Sweetheart,” He murmurs while swiftly reaching for your hand, to pull you in for a kiss.

It wasn’t even just a peck. His lips have instantly dominated yours, making sure he sucked and licked your lips enough to have you catching your breath when he drew back. Your cheeks instantly flame at the sudden ministration. You couldn’t even keep an eye contact with him, too embarrassed with how quickly your body reacted to his lips. Unlike you, Namjoon still wear a passive expression, not even a single affected by the kiss. Of course, he did more than just a kiss to you before. Keeping a safe distance from him, you took a step back. “You replaced Mingyu?” You begin inquiring. Out of all the things you can ask, it has to be the very reason for his anger. He didn’t seem one bit pleased to hear you mention your bodyguard’s name instead of asking how his day had gone like your usual opening question during dinner. “I did, should it matter?” He answers with another question. Nervous by the intensity of his stare, you shrug, “I was just wondering why he’s not around.”

It’s true. If Mingyu didn’t promise the talk today, you wouldn’t be this curious. “He’s back in the headquarters.” Namjoon briefly provides.

But the information was too short to rest your mind in peace. Why did he suddenly removed him as your guard? “Oh, okay.“ Something tells you, it’s not all of that. Mingyu’s absence, for all you care, could be anything work-related or personal as long as the boss is concerned. You‘re already aware that Namjoon does not take jealousy too lightly, and somehow you’ve presumed Mingyu will inevitably be victimized under Namjoon’s territorial behavior. The problem is, you couldn’t seem to think of any instance that would make your husband jealous. Unless... Namjoon knows something else you’re not aware of. “Will he come back here?” You ask further, nervously fidgeting your bracelet while surveying his expression. His eyebrows knitted for whatever reason, significant or not. “No.” “Why not?” Namjoon cocks his head to the side, his now pitch black eyes strangely spoke with raw emotions you couldn’t tell what exactly is. “Tell me one good reason why he should be here...” He suggests with a nonchalant tone. Unknown to you, his patience is shrinking as he lowers his head to eye you with his tense stare. You didn’t understand what it is for, but you couldn’t help your body as it faintly shudder under his stare. “I’m just curious—”

“How many secrets of yours have you told the boy, Y/N?” Your heart momentarily stops at the mention of your name. Because he rarely calls you by name.

Is he referring to the conversation you had with him yesterday? “W-What... do you mean?” The cold temperature couldn’t even cease the rising tension between you two. “You perfectly understand what I mean.” He answers right away, locking his gaze to you. Making sure you could see the way his eyes flicker with fire. Mingyu told him?

You fumble with words, confused at Namjoon’s anger towards you. “How...w-what...what did he tell you?” “What do you think?” Namjoon returns the question back. And it confuses you more now for how your inquiry has turned into a confrontation, especially that the unnecessary anger is directed at you. You should have not beat around the bush and just directly told him you wanted to surprise Namjoon.

Now, Namjoon thinks you’re actually keeping something serious from him. Did Mingyu really snitch on you? You quietly ponder over, as you recall what happened inside the car. Mingyu was barely participating in the conversation, and the way he responded to you... it was formal, and uncooperative like the usual. The fact that Namjoon knows about it is already a giveaway that Mingyu actually tell-taled. Unless... the earpiece— “If he told you about it, then you would know he didn’t even let me talk, unless he told you something else...“ You trailed. The longer you think of it, the more convinced you are that Namjoon knows something more, just from the look he bears... “We can talk tomorrow. On your break.” Mingyu’s words echo in your mind, once again. And as your brain slowly processes the information, it gradually makes sense to you…

The way he was talking to you in the car made you believe he didn’t want to participate in whatever ploy you have, but he quickly changed his mind once both of you were out of the car. It was not his two-way earpiece. But the car-- Namjoon saw the horror slowly creeping into your face. “You heard, didn’t you...” You breathed. Namjoon heard it clearly, fully comprehending the words you just uttered.

“Something must be in that car, isn’t it?” You press, further.

He is well-aware that you’re not stupid, and you’ll eventually find it out. He just didn’t imagine it to be revealed this way. Nonetheless, his lips only pursed as he remains calm and collected, no trace of remorse or guilt visible on his face.

His expression tells you he was not bothered by the fact that you found out. You didn’t know how the fire in your eyes is effortlessly piercing his heart. The kind he does not want to see in your eyes. You scoff, “What else—Is my phone bugged?” You suddenly prod, tilting your head up so you could fully observe him through your lashes. His face, however, maintains a straight face. You waited for his answer, silently wishing he would debunk your assumption. The lack of response only made you confirm it. Fury quickly courses within you, “Why?” Your hands rub your face in utter disbelief. “You have me tailed everywhere by your men, is that not enough?” You spat, resentment slowly clouding your mind,

”You have my freedom under your mercy, now my privacy? What else do you want from me?”

“It’s for your safety—”

You laugh humorlessly, harshly brushing the stubborn tears on your cheeks. “Tell me, is everything in your apartment bugged? The bedroom? The closet? The bathroom—” “Hush sweetheart, your body is mine and only for my eyes to see.” He was quick to come to your side, catching your arms. You didn’t like the proximity. It makes you weak.

“I’m not your fucking toy! You can’t do this to me!” “Calm down, baby. I love my woman submissive.” He says in a soothing tone. His words as softly as they were spoken hurt you deeply, fueling your ire even more.

You didn’t know how you found the strength to slap him. Your hand trembles, stinging from pain after it meets his skin.

“Find another woman, then!” His face barely turned from the impact, proceeding to address your anger.

“Calm down.” He attempts to console, but it only did the opposite to your ego. You trash your arms out, hating the way he still has the upperhand despite the table being turned upside down. Your strength could never compare to his as you struggle to push him. “You are my woman. Need I remind you that?” Harshly shaking your head, “No! Don’t touch me!” His grip loosens on your arms, and you took it as your chance to sprint off towards the stairs, not wanting to repeat what happened in his office before.

You locked yourself in the bathroom, somehow trusting that this is the only place kept hidden from any prying eyes. Tears uncontrollably flow through your cheeks, face buried on your hands as you helplessly listen at the loud thumping of your heart. If you didn’t pull back, chances are he would have his way to take your weakness in his advantage. The strong surge of emotions you feel cannot even compare to his physical strength.

You’re confused, hurt and disgusted all at once. You didn’t expect how messed up this whole marriage thing could get, realizing you actually know so little of him, of what he does in a living. To think that you have learned to trust him because of the stupid affection you have been nurturing for months, makes your insides twist in fury. Perhaps, it was a spur of the moment thought that you regarded as a wise decision, as anger overpowers your senses. You didn’t understand how it transpired, accordingly. When you quickly packed up a few things put the bag underneath the bed while waiting for the night to progress, Namjoon didn’t come to the bedroom. You thought it helped you leave smoothly.

Little did you know, Namjoon was watching the scene unfold through the numerous cameras simultaneously viewing before his eyes on the screen of his laptop. It was taking all of his willpower to stop you and lock you in his bedroom until your anger subsides, but something tells him it would not do good to cool down your anger.

Funny how the situation unexpectedly turns upside down as he recalls being gutted with anger. Not liking how you so easily open up to others than him. He couldn’t deny the ugly feeling traversing within him when he listened to your interaction with the boy.

As the night rolls around, the burning sensation of the alcohol in his throat becomes addicting, taking more until the ache in his chest numbs.

Jackson’s apartment was the only place you could reach at this hour. Considering Jihyo is staying in the college dorm, you wouldn’t be able to get inside the building for it was already past two in the morning. His place was not even considered a hideout. But at that point, you don't even care if Namjoon comes along breaking down Jackson’s doorway to force you back at home. You only needed a safe place away to think at the moment because you couldn’t bare to see him, yet. And you’re well aware of the effect he has on you. He can quickly cloud your judgement over his will through his mere touch. That’s how bad you’ve fallen for him.

Few days of distancing should enough for you to sort your feelings, if he doesn’t come collecting you himself.

“You okay?” Jackson croaks, seeing you trembling a little. Minutes prior, he was ready to beat the shit out of the person who was smashing his doorbell like a madman. Never would he think it was you of all people.

“He didn’t... hurt you, did he?” He hesitatingly asks, seeing the traces of tears staining your cheeks. Shaking your head, “No. We just had a fight.” “He doesn’t know, right? That you’re here?” You gave Jackson a knowing look, “He probably does by now.” Jackson offered his bed on the first night, but you turned his offer down. You took the couch instead, somehow preparing yourself for the imminent devastation of the storm. Fortunately for you, no one tried to break their way into Jackson’s apartment that night, relieved that everything is still in place or it’ll surely make you guilty for dragging your friends to your problems with Namjoon.

That following morning, you transferred into Jihyo’s dorm, deciding it would be best for Jackson’s safety. Six days insufferably passed. However, it felt longer than that. Staying away had not concluded the fight you had with Namjoon. There was also no sign of Namjoon or his men lurking around the college or the dorm in the past few days. And it bothered you more than it should have given you peace. The thought alone made you realized, you were more affected by your action as you were deeply tormented by the thoughts of him and the possibility that he doesn’t want you, anymore.

Your anger towards him couldn’t tame your feelings for him. Maybe you have underestimated it as a mere attraction—infatuation, even.

That night, Namjoon showed up in the dorm’s doorsteps, to which you had already expected since the first night. But you’re still left surprised, nonetheless.

Your heart painfully tugs, as your chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. “What are you doing here?” Indeed, it was unfair. While you wallow in despair for days, he seems not one bit affected by the situation.

“You will go home,” He calmly orders, his eyes briefly scanning you over.

As ever, he didn’t fail to make your heart thump crazily from the mere sight of him. While you look worse—missing a lot of sleep from trying to balance your studies and your issues with him, he looks stunningly gorgeous, powerful, and unfitting to be in a place like this. “No, I‘m staying.” You insist. “I’m not asking for you permission.” He corrects you in a formal tone, before walking past your figure. “Namjoon—wait! Where are you going?” You panicked, tailing behind him as he immediately finds Jihyo’s room where he scans around the small space. This is barely a room to stay in, he silently thought. “Pack your clothes. I’ll give you five minutes before we go. Unless, you want to leave without them—” You didn’t let him finish, cutting him of mid-sentence. “No, I'm not coming with you.” You compel, determined to follow what you had planned in your mind.

The look on his face is all too familiar, the one that tells you he won’t take no for an answer. “Do not test my patience, sweetheart.”

“Namjoon, stop.” You begin, visibly in distress by the sudden shift of the situation. You are aware he always has the upperhand.

“I want to stay here. Can’t you at least give me that after what you’ve done?” You implore. As much as you miss him, you couldn’t afford to see him yet, or it could break you. “I already gave you space, that’s enough for you.” Shaking your head, “I didn’t ask you to. I left.” You say. His height does not intimidate you anymore, but the way he holds himself now, he seems different. As if he was deliberately trying to make you succumb to him.

“Sweetheart, I had all the means to stop your ploy if I wanted to. I didn’t, because I figured you would need it.” Declares Namjoon, drawing himself closer to where you stood.

You took a step back. “What if I don't want to?” You challenge.

He lowers his head, allowing you to have a glimpse of his dark eyes, silently warning you. “You don't have a choice, sweetheart.”

You let him win, again. Because you were left with no option. You couldn’t think of anything else that you could do to oppose him without compromising anyone, especially your friends. Nothing you could do but to give in for now.

Namjoon already disappeared from somewhere when you entered the living room, leaving you all alone until you hear footsteps nearing towards your direction.

You turn to see who it was.

“What are you doing here?” You warily ask, utterly surprised to see him. How many more surprises do you need yo deal with today? By how ugly the events have turned out, you won’t expect to see him again, or anywhere near the penthouse. He gave you a nod as a form of greeting, before answering, “Working. What else do you think I’m here for?” “For Namjoon?” “Of course, he’s my boss. But he gave me a specific instruction to guard the queen.”

You only gave him a look, although with the obvious height difference, you had to tilt your head up to do so.

Your visible annoyance quickly amuses him. After what happened, he really has the nerve to smirk right in front of you?

“I’m sorry Mrs. Kim, but you look horrible today. You alright?” He shamelessly nags to which earns him scowl from you. “That’s nice of you to say.” You retort, “I’ve been missing a lot of sleep, thank you very much.” He laughs as if nothing really happened.

It’s not his fault, anyway. You don’t blame him for what happened. However, the urge to ask him why he’s back here almost slips past your lips. Only that you remember someone could potentially be eavesdropping to which you didn’t need unnecessary suspicions from Namjoon, anymore.

The conversation was short lived when Miyoung called you in, gesturing for you to come with her in the kitchen, not expecting to see Namjoon sitting in one of the stools in the island counter where food is sumptuously served.

Your footsteps stagger, half-considering to leave the kitchen. However, Namjoon patiently waits for your next move, as if silently ordering you to take a seat.

Heaving a sigh, you did just that, not wanting to stir an argument with him.

Once you sat down across from his seat, he starts placing various food from the empty plate in front of you, until it is almost full that you’re not sure if you can eat all of it.

“Stop... I can’t finish all of that.”

Namjoon pauses, peering at you in disbelief. “You can, it’s your favorite.”

You didn’t like the way he was acting up like he didn’t cause the problem in the first place. You hated how the impact of his action didn’t seem to affect him a single bit.

“I’m still angry,” You couldn’t help but to say.

His serious stare tells you he has no time for a confrontation, but so are you.

“I know, you can be angry for as long as you want. But please, angel, eat the food so I could have the peace. You haven’t been using your cards for your meals, did you intentionally do that to make me worry?”

You scoffed, his indifference to your issue only frustrates you even more. “Why would you think I’ll use your money while I’m gone?”

“You don’t have the means to live independently.”

“That’s not the point here, Joon.”

“It is, when you were not looking out for yourself. You haven’t been coping well… you look a few pounds lighter.” He said in a firm persistence to prove your inability to live well without using his resources.

So what if you were miserable? You couldn’t really force yourself to eat if you didn’t have the appetite to consume food. Either it was because of your distress over the fight or food simply didn’t appeal to you.

Speaking of, you barely touched the food in front of you. You’re not even hungry anyway.

“Shut up—“

Namjoon was quick to cut you off, dismayed by the lack of light in your eyes, you almost look like you’re about to pass out. “Why is it so easy for you to disregard yourself for your pride? If you have been taking care of yourself well I would have given you longer time to mourn in that little cubicle room you call a place.” Namjoon says in a clearly disappointing tone.

The fact that you lost a few pounds in a matter of days bothered him. It took so much of him to let you wallow in despair, he knew that disrespecting your privacy is not right and he understands how it left you scarred with the horrid feeling of betrayal. The same reason why he let you on peacefully for days, until he couldn’t handle it no more.

The short glimpse of you while he had you followed only did more damage to his heart than the peace he was aiming for. A single look from you and he already knew the fight took its toll on you deeper than what he had expected. Your physical state was the last straw to make up his mind to take you back, unwilling or not.

“My pride? You think it’s because of my pride? You think I’m mad because you outsmarted me with your stalking shenanigans?” You echo his words, finally losing the will to touch the food.

“What else is there to be angry about, I told you, it’s for your safety.” He counters back. His mind was spiraling wildly, uncertain how to handle this situation in a way it wouldn’t upset you more.

Namjoon was used to having the control in every situation, a single look from him and no other human being would dare speak further. He used to not care whether he could tear anyone apart with his mere words or sharp glares. He tried it with you and the impact only came shooting back at him, there in the depths of his heart, which no one had been able to inflict him with such raw powerful emotions, enough to make him bend helplessly on his knees.

“That’s the problem! You didn’t even tell me! I was kept in the dark all this time! And now what? You suddenly care about me when you didn’t even consider what I would feel when you gave everyone else something to snoop in about right under my nose?” You accuse, finding the strength to hit him with your words. A moment ago, you felt too empty to even bother a conversation with him. As the remnants of disgusting feeling stirs within you, you now want nothing but to lash out every bit of your anger towards him.

However, Namjoon didn’t want the confrontation this soon when he just had you back home. Though he would not avoid it, he believes now is not the time to talk it over.

“We can talk after you eat, sweetheart—“

“No, we will talk now!”

His gaze pierces straight through your eyes. Although his eyes almost reflected defeat, the aura he carries is so powerful. No one would ever dare scream or say no at him, unless, they don’t value much of their life.

You really are something. Someone who can never compare to him, someone whom he can easily crush in a snap of his fingers— but you’re not just some woman out there. You are his woman, the only one who has bewitched him—not only claiming his heart but also owning his dark soul. If you only knew the effect you have on him...

Silence fills the cold air, shortly. As you look away, not liking the effect he has on you, he quietly seeks for your eyes. He could always see through you—the emotions your eyes transparently reflect. He failed to see any of it when you turned your head away.

He sighs, before breaking the cold silence. “No one can access your phone, you don’t have to worry about it. It is for when… something happens, I could track your location and your digital activities.” Namjoon briefly explains.

There are things that should be left unsaid for your sake. His company has long strayed away from the black market since his father died. But the industry he belongs to will always bear ugly truths in order to sustain the reputation of his company. What he did, to put it into the simplest terms he could articulate of, protection does not only mean hiring people to be your human shields. In this digital age where perpetrators can utilize technology to harm their target, something has to be sacrificed to protect an individual alongside. In your case, it was your freedom, privacy and much more you have yet to realize. He didn’t want you to run away every time you learn something about him or the kind of business he has.

He could not tell you anything else.

“Liar! You’re only saying that to validate your action.” You say in an accusing tone. You got up from your chair, increasing the distance from him as the ambience gets suffocating.

“I’m not justifying what I did whether it’s wrong or not. I would do it again if it means to protect you. When have I not shown you I didn’t care?”

He didn’t mean no harm to disrespect your privacy, but that’s just a part of many things you would have to deal with when you’re married to him. Danger has come along with his name long before he was born.

As he steps closer, you quickly step away. Your head lowering, avoiding his eyes. “W-What are you… saying, you shouldn’t have kept it from me, in the first place. You don’t have to pretend you care. You’re only protecting me because I’m your responsibility.”

His forehead creases, “You are my wife. That makes you my responsibility, isn’t that the same thing for caring, sweetheart?” His hands extend forward to coax you closer.

You shook your head, “No.”

You couldn’t deny that he’s been attending to your needs, being more than just a guardian, crossing the line beyond the role of a mere provider. He became someone you have come accustomed as a husband despite the lack of emotional commitment from him, a friend under the guise of a husband. Even if you wanted more from him, who are you to demand such thing? The mere thought of your unrequited feelings towards him painfully tugs your heart.

Namjoon caught the raw emotions swimming from eyes. To what are those for?

“Have I not shown you enough? With my actions, with my kisses... when we make love—“

“Shut up, you d-don’t know what you’re t-talking about.” You stammer, turning your back at him as you feel your eyes welled up.

“Then tell me how you feel, I can only take so much when it comes to you. I’ve never felt so helpless when I see you suffer, when you cry. Baby, I was so lost when you left. Tell me what I should do.”

“Stop… you’re confusing me with your words.” You croak, as you struggle to process his words.

The sound of his steps nearing made you still. Your eyes clenched shut, and as the tears stain your cheeks, you quickly wipe them away. Namjoon is so close, you literally could feel the heat of his body.

“I’m not good at expressing my feelings. But I thought I made my intentions very clear. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you baby, please let me hold you.” Namjoon drew himself nearer, until your bodies are touching. When you made no effort to distance yourself farther, he cautiously encircled his arms around your waist.

You remain still as he pulls you even further in his embrace, nuzzling your hair from behind. You hate yourself for giving in too soon, the moment he has you locked in his arms, your anger quickly melts away. The warmth from his body felt too comforting as it slowly envelops your body, reminding you one again how much it tore you apart when you left. The ache in your chest, somehow, subsiding. You didn’t want him to let you go from his hold.

His nose traces an invisible path on the side of your head, loving the alluring scent of your hair. Softly murmuring just above your ear, “I have loved you since the day I saw you taking orders in that coffee shop. While you made me this crazy for you like no one else has ever done, you’re willing to leave everything. It was that easy for you to walk away and leave me, just like when you left your home for your freedom—“

The hard thumping of your heart is so loud as you cut him. He could probably hear it from the close proximity of your bodies.

“No, that’s not true! I didn’t leave you,” you pause, shaking your head violently to give emphasis on your point. Your heart aches, as your chest felt suddenly constricted hearing his confession. The information felt foreign in your ears, as if you were hallucinating. Is it true? Did he really know you way before you met him?

“I needed some time to think for myself. But I wouldn’t leave. I could never… I’ll always come back. I would come back to you.” Tears instantaneously flow in your cheeks.

Namjoon spoke no more, as he squeezed your body in his arms, burying his face on the crook of your neck. Savoring this moment.

You in his arms.

You barely had a glimpse of what kind of his life he has, and have no knowledge of half the ugly things he had done. The deeper he falls for you, the more he willingly succumbing himself to your mercy, as if surrendering a dagger for you to destroy him through his weakness.

He silently wishes from the gods above that you would never walk away from his life again, when pieces of him slowly unravels to you through the course of time.

“Namjoon,” you whisper, seeking the attention you unknowingly have.

“Don’t leave me again, Y/N. I can take your anger, scream at me, hurt me— anything. I can take so much from you, as long as you’re right in my sight, the way I can protect you. I’ll give you as much as time alone.”

“Joon,”

“Promise me—”

“Namjoon!” You plead loudly, tugging his arm to gain the attention you want.

He takes a deep breath, confused at the tone of your voice. “Hmm?”

“I love you, too.” You murmur so suddenly.

He stills, hearing the words he had heard you say in his dreams. This time, he was awake with you in his embrace and he was uncertain if he actually heard the words right.

“Angel—”

“I love you so much.” You repeated, with a longing voice, this time you turned to face him. The look in his face tells you all of it. Shock was written all over his face, as if your confession was something he was not expecting in his wildest dream. Between the two of you, his confession of love for you is the most unpredictable thing you heard from him.

You tiptoed, reaching for his lips. He quickly met you halfway through, greedily capturing your mouth. His tongue went past your parted lips to dominate the kiss. You sigh against his mouth, missing the rich taste of his lips.

Nothing else matters now but his embrace.

Note: Hope you all enjoyed this one sjajahahagj

This turned out a bit longer than what I had initially written only because I kind of included something to introduce characters/details that are part of my upcoming series.

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no-whump-on-main · 4 years

Text

Vampire Whump 2

After FOREVER and a half I finished this!! It actually only took two days to write but editing was a BITCH lol. anyways here is 5,000 words of creepy vampire man and cliffhangers

CWs for: Creepy/intimate whumper, pet whump, dehumanization, stripping in a nonsexual sense, self-thoughts and descriptions of body size that could be triggering for those with EDs

Annalise does not often find her Master in what could be described as a good mood. Most often, he is indifferent, if not annoyed with her for minor infractions, such as leaving her porridge untouched or reopening wounds he spent his own time carefully cleaning and closing. Today, however, when Annalise awakens to the sound of his footsteps padding down the stairs, she is shocked to discover cues that make him seem happy. He does not slam the door to her cell when he closes it behind him, and he does not reprimand her for sleeping so much or lacking alertness when he speaks to her. His body language, by all means, is cheerful.

She does, however, notice something strange from her usual position of sitting in the far left corner of the cell with her knees tucked to her chest; he is carrying another item along with his usual oil lamp. It is a long piece of folded white silk. She wonders what the purpose of the fabric is, but remains silent, as she has not been told to speak. She does not speak often, as permission is rarely granted; after all, things like her have no need to speak. They are simply there to accept what is dealt to them and serve.

Master speaks to her, which is not unusual, but his genuinely kind tone of voice is. She snaps to attention, immediately disregarding her wandering thoughts to pay him her utmost regard.

“Come here, darling,” he commands her, pointing to the ground in front of his feet. She immediately crawls to him before kneeling righteously with her back turned to him, assuming he is going to feed. She has slept and woke at least five times since the last time he ate; it was time.

Instead of the anticipated sharp sting in her neck, she is met with a hard slap to the cheek from behind. The girl flinches and squeezes her dull blue eyes shut, but does not otherwise react. She wonders what she has done wrong.

“Other way. Turn around.” His voice is still as kind as it was before, showing no harshness. He has not done this to harm her, only to correct her behavior.

Ah, she had followed Master’s instructions improperly. Dimly, she wonders how she was meant to know he wanted her turned toward him without being told so, as she was always expected to face away from him since she did not deserve to gaze upon him.

The simple explanation is that she is just a stupid girl. She should have known, and the stinging in her cheek is a simple reminder of this.

Obediently, she turns around, now kneeling and facing Master with her eyes averted downward. She knows she is not permitted to make eye contact with him under any circumstance, so to avoid the issue altogether, she keeps her gaze locked down whenever she faces him.

“Good girl. Close your eyes and look forward.”

Her heart skips as she is called a good girl, overjoyed to be called what she craved to be most in the world. Master’s instructions are strange, but she follows them faithfully, letting her eyelids fall shut before lifting her chin up from her chest to look ahead. She feels Master’s hands draw closer to her face, and for a moment, she braces herself to be struck again, but instead of pain, she feels the soft texture of silk brushing against her face, settling over her eyes as Master securely ties the ends together behind her head. She now realizes what the purpose of the strange fabric was; to be a blindfold.

Annalise hasn’t been blindfolded in a very long time, and it makes her nervous. The last time Master drowned out her vision with a thick piece of cloth, he had muzzled her in succession then thrown her into her cage, leaving her alone in the basement to shiver without his guidance. She was given no opportunity to earn herself mercy with obedience; there was only cold metal and humiliation for days on end. She wonders if she is going to go back in the cage, and feels cool dread settle in her stomach at the thought. Master reserves the cage for when her behavior is truly atrocious, and she cannot remember acting out severely in any recent time. Behaving like this unknowingly is her greatest fear; after all, how could she fix her mistakes and prove herself worthy if she didn’t know what she did wrong?

Her fear is thankfully relieved at least somewhat as Master bends over and scoops her up from the ground. One of his arms is supporting her torso from behind, while the other is tucked under her knees. She gasps quietly as they rise, shocked not only to be held, but lifted. Master had said nothing about a reward, and if he were going to punish her, he would drag her off rather than delicately lift her from the ground.

As the vampire steps out of the cell and heads for the stairs, again being delicate with the door, he speaks softly to the confused girl huddled in his arms. “You may ask two questions if you’d like, Annalise.”

Annalise’s head perks up, gleeful for the opportunity to speak as well as to clear some of her bewilderment with the situation. Master is being very generous, allowing her two questions. She pauses for a moment, wanting to make her questions worthwhile; she doesn’t want to waste her opportunity, after all. After pondering for a moment, her first question is the most obvious thing to ask, with her nerves of the unknown.

“Where are we going?” She asks, her voice cracked and brittle from lack of use. The vampire quietly notes to himself that he’d have to fix that before his guests arrived. It sounded ugly.

“Upstairs,” He softly answers, offering no further explanation. Just upstairs. Not what room they would go to, or what they would do upstairs, or why he had now, after nearly two years, decided to take her up beyond the confines of the basement for the first time.

As if to confirm what he told her, he begins to ascend the steps, each second another moment closer to finally having his muse upstairs.

This will change things, and he knows it. He may be calloused, but he knows that once he brings her into his home, he won’t want to leave her in the inky blackness of the basement again. He sees the way she shivers, how her bones sit so very close to her skin, and part of him thinks that with her perfect, practiced, and soon to be tested obedience, she deserves at the very least to be a housepet. Of course, he won’t let his emotions control his actions, and she must remain positively perfect as she is now to earn her place, but with her hard work, he does not doubt she could rise to the occasion.

Annalise’s heart skips a beat as her Master ponders what is to become of the state of her existence. Upstairs?

She has no memories of the main level of her Master’s home, but she does know that it exists, and she believes that it is a grand place, much more spacious and welcoming than the cold abyss downstairs. She is overjoyed at the news, yet even more curious than she is ecstatic. Before she can stop herself, she blurts out her second question, poorly worded from her haste.

“Why?”

Master stops in his tracks as Annalise realizes her mistake. She begins to correct herself but quickly remembers that she has not been given open speech, only two questions, so she goes silent.

“That is not a question, darling. I’ll be gracious and let you try again, but do not repeat that error. Understood?”

Annalise quickly nods and states her question again. This time, it is properly worded. “Why are we going upstairs, Master?”

The vampire begins to ascend again, and he can feel Annalise become less tense. He decides to be generous with his explanation.

“We are going upstairs because I have decided it is time to introduce you to my peers, and I have planned somewhat of a dinner party, if you will, accordingly. We will discuss my expectations for your behavior through this once I get you ready.”

Master falls quiet after that, leaving Annalise to stew in her shock. She hears another door open and can now feel Master walking along flat ground. She notices it is much warmer upstairs, delighting her greatly. She has not stopped shivering, but her usual quakes have become gentle flutters with the change in temperature.

She is finally set down after Master walks through two more doors. She doesn’t know where he has taken her, but the scent is different in the room they settle in. The house smelled of aged cedar and iron before they went through the last door, but this room smells like myrrh and frankincense. It is rich and deep, radiating through all of the room’s air.

Annalise wonders how she knows the names of these smells. She cannot remember being taught them.

The surface she sits upon now is hard and close to the source of the scents. She feels small droplets of water soak into the back of her nightgown as she settles with her hands folded in her lap. She understands after she feels the water; she is in a bathtub, in Master’s bathroom. The rich smells have to be that of his soaps and colognes. She thinks they must be very expensive given how strongly fragrant they are.

She is still very confused on why she has been deemed worthy of coming upstairs, but she does not question Master’s decisions. He is wise. He knows what is best for her. He knows what she deserves.

Master does not let her sit in the tub and ponder for long. His instructions come soon after she is set down.

“Remove your clothes, dear.”

Annalise obeys without question but wonders what the purpose of the command is. Master has never required her to do such a thing before, and as she feels cool bathroom air hit her now exposed body, she wishes he hadn’t. She shudders, but remains silent and still, simply waiting for Master to instruct her further, or to do something himself.

He then does something strange. He walks in front of her, makes something clink in the bottom of the tub by her feet, and turns a creaky handle.

Then she feels warmth. Warm water is pouring over her feet. It reaches out and starts to lap at her legs, then steadily continues to move forward and rise, all the way up until it reaches her chest. She realizes then that she is taking a bath-that is why she was told to strip. This is what Master meant when he said he needed to make her presentable.

Of course, she knew that people usually bathed when they were in bathtubs, but she never could have expected Master would deem her worthy of this luxury. She had originally thought that he just needed somewhere to put her down. It seems completely irrational for her to deserve something like this, yet here she is.

If this is a reward, it is Annalise’s new favorite. This is the first warm bath she can remember, and she is basking in it. She has been bathed before, of course, it has been far too long for her to have gone without a bath at all, but all of the baths she can remember up to this point were miserable experiences. They all went the same way; Master would come down with a bucket of ice water and dump it over her, usually while she was in the cage, with no warning, or even commands, then leave. He just let her shiver alone in silence until the air dried her off.

She shudders. She does not like these memories.

The sound of the water pouring heavily down into the porcelain tub is loud, loud enough that she wouldn’t be able to hear Master over it if he were trying to speak to her. Luckily, when it does stop, once the water is approaching the top of the deep tub, Master does not reprimand her for not listening, so he must not have tried to speak at all.

He walks back over to her side, now, and pours something that smells sweet into the bathwater. She can’t place the exact scent, but it seems floral.

“You may speak freely if you please. This includes questions.”

His voice is loud and booming, echoing in Annalise’s ears. Speak freely? She has not heard Master say that in a very, very long time. The last time she can remember is when he’d put her in the cage, and wanted to hear her every thought and plea.

She doesn’t remember how long ago that was.

Master is being so very kind today. Though she does not understand his kindness, she will not be ungrateful. Her first free words are those of thanks, and her voice shakes with how quickly she is stumbling over her words as she leans back in the bath.

“Thank..T-Thank you, Master! Thank you master for b-believing I am worthy of being t-taken into your h-home and for the warm bath, it-it’s wonderful, oh-”

“Silence, Annalise.”

The girl’s mouth falls shut.

“You do not ramble. You will not waste my time with rambling. Say what you need to in an efficient and eloquent manner.”

The girl swallows a lump in her throat and nods.

“Good girl. Now, what were you saying?”

“Thank you,” she replies softly, now. She is scared. Of being punished, or even just losing the privilege.

“You are very welcome,” Master tells her. He falls quiet. He’s waiting for her to speak.

The bathroom is quiet for a moment before Annalise realizes this and speaks again.

“Why am I blindfolded?” She asks.

She hopes Master will not take her question as her doubting his authority. She trusts that he knows best; she just wonders why this is best.

“You’ve been in the dark for a long time, darling. Sudden light now will hurt your eyes. We’ll introduce it slowly.”

The explanation makes sense, and Annalise nods. She wonders how she’s going to get used to the light slowly-light is light, isn’t it? Maybe he would use candles, lighting just one at a time. That could work, couldn’t it?

The girl desperately wants to just fall silent and enjoy the fragrant warmth enveloping her, but she figures it would be rude to ignore Master when he had so graciously let her speak openly. She doesn’t know when the privilege will be revoked, so she should use it while she still can. The problem is that she finds she does not know what to say or ask. She has been silent for so long that she does not know what to say now, and she frowns until she finally resigns and tells Master, “...I don’t have anything else to say, Sir.”

The vampire doesn’t seem to mind, letting her quietly relax back in the bathwater for a few minutes to soak. He decides to take this time to rifle through a medicine cabinet above the sink. He still needs something for her voice; he can’t have her sounding like a croaking toad in front of his friends. He scans many bottles until finally deciding on a simple jar of honey. Most of the medicines he has are far out of date, and he won’t risk getting her sick. She’s weaker when she’s ill, making it much more dangerous for her to be fed on. And with tonight’s plans, he needs her healthy.

He takes the honey and a tablespoon for serving then brings it back to Annalise. Crouching over the side of the tub, he instructs her to open her mouth, before he feeds her the contents of the spoon. The girl seems surprised by the sweet liquid but doesn’t make any comments about it, and the vampire leaves her in peace for the remainder of the time that he has determined she needs to soak in the floral clarifying solution for.

Once several minutes have passed, he begins to clean the girl. He does not inform her of what he’s doing, but simply soaks a sponge and silently lifts each of her limbs one by one, thoroughly cleansing them each individually before letting them fall back into the water. Her back and torso are next; they have suffered the worst of the abuse, and are both caked in filth and dried blood, requiring the vampire to soak and scrub them more diligently to fully clean them.

It is a long process, but once he is satisfied that her body is clean, he moves on to her hair. It’s a long, matted mess, but the vampire seems determined to detangle it, not wanting to chop one bit off of the beautiful curls hidden underneath the mats. He takes good care of his things, after all; cutting things off of his possessions would be wildly inappropriate. Unless, of course, they had earned that treatment. Annalise had not.

The vampire finally breaks the silence and speaks to Annalise, not wanting to startle the relaxed girl by suddenly dunking her underwater with no warning.

“Hold your breath for me, dear. I’m going to wet your hair,” he warns her smoothly.

Annalise nods and braces herself to go beneath the surface of the water. She’d nearly drifted off while Master scrubbed her clean, and even now remains in a state of such relaxed bliss that she might as well be sleeping, hardly present with the world.

She isn’t held under for any longer than a few seconds, just long enough to saturate her tangled hair and wash a bit of the dirt on her face away. Master soon leans her back up and she inhales deeply, her eyes still closed under the soaked blindfold as water drips from her hair. She hears master pick up another bottle, this one smelling distinctly of roses as he pours some out into his hands, then applies it to her hair. It must be shampoo, with the clean feeling it leaves as Master massages it into her scalp. She feels her spine tingle as his fingers rub her head and she sighs happily. She has been weary for so long; this comfort, though it is unfamiliar, is incredible.

She is lost in her thoughts as Master rinses the shampoo from her hair, then begins to slather what has to be a whole bottle of conditioner onto the giant mats and tangles. He then spends so much time brushing through it, tiny section by tiny section, that the water goes cold by the time he’s done. Annalise can’t see it, but there’s a discarded pile of her hair that had been ripped out in the process by the vampire’s feet.

Just as she begins to grow weary of the long bath, the vampire finishes brushing out her hair and washes the excess conditioner from her hair, then unplugs the drain by her toes. The water’s level starts to slowly fall until it has all drained away. Annalise is bewildered by the feeling of her wet hair sticking to her back; she had no clue it was so very long. Before it was brushed out, the huge knots had kept it from scraping anywhere past the middle of her back, but now, she feels the ends brush down by her hips.

She’s starting to shiver from the cool air surrounding her wet body, but Master soon saves her from the cold by wrapping her in a fluffy towel. He reaches into the tub and picks her up again after making sure the towel was secure, then walks off with her, but does not take her far. They only go through one door, and hardly travel any steps after it, before she is set down on a plush surface. Her hands instinctively fold in her lap. The ground beneath her is soft, fuzzy, even, like her blanket, and she realizes with delight that she has been set down on Master’s bed. She knows she is only going to sit here momentarily, but it is so very soft and nice, she wishes she could stay.

Master’s footsteps start to recede away, then Annalise hears the sound of a match striking. He must be lighting candles. Was Master going to take off the blindfold now? She hoped so. She didn’t like things being so dark. Her eyes had adapted to see just enough down in the basement, but now, with the fabric and Master’s order to keep her eyes closed, everything is pitch black. It is frightening. She does not like it.

Her hopes, for once, come true; Master returns to her, and with gentle hands, unties the wet silk and lets it fall into her lap. Even after the blindfold comes off, her eyes are still closed. Master had never said to open them after he told her to close them in her cell.

“Open your eyes, Annalise,” she hears his voice boom, and she immediately obeys. Her gaze is respectfully focused down at the ground. All she can see are her own legs, the edge of the bed, and the dark hardwood floor below her. The room is very dim; there are small bursts of light coming from the candles visible in the corner of her eye, but they are so few that her eyes do not hurt even a bit. Master was careful with it. He is kind.

“Do they hurt, at all? Uncomfortable, even?”

Annalise shakes her head. She notes that the soft blanket she sits on is blue. It’s hard to see the color, but she’s able to make out that it’s a very dark blue. She likes the color.

“Good,” he hums. He seems happy. That makes Annalise happy.

Annalise watches Master step away. He walks out of her field of vision, just for a moment, then returns. There’s a bundle of deep red fabric hung over his arm when he returns. It’s just as shiny as the material of the blindfold had been.

“I went out and bought you a dress, just for tonight. What do you say, Annalise? You may speak. And chin up, dear, I want you to see it.”

Annalise raises her head. She’s no longer looking at the ground, but straight ahead. She can’t see Master’s head, but she sees the gown he’s holding out in front of her. It’s simple, but she finds it beautiful. The dress is bright red and very long, the bottom brushing against the floor. It looks loose and flowy; there are several layers of stitched tulle atop a silk base, with long poet sleeves made of the tulle.

It’s gorgeous. Annalise is shocked into silence for a moment before she remembers Master's order and hurries to comply.

“Thank you, Master. It-It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

She wants to say more, to break down in thanks for the entire opportunity of being allowed upstairs in the first place, but she remembers his rule against rambling and quiets herself. From what she can see of his body language, Master seems pleased by her reaction.

“You’re very welcome. Get it on, then. I’ll help you zip the back.

Annalise carefully reaches out to take the dress, but Master pulls back and points to a set of undergarments set directly behind her. She delicately removes the towel from herself and slips them on, first, then reaches out again to take the dress from him. He lets her take it this time. His hands brush hers as they close around the fabric, and her heart flutters. She wishes he would hold her. He hasn’t in a long time, and she misses it.

She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to shake the thought from her mind. There isn’t time for distraction now. She’d been given an order. Carefully, Annalise slips the gown over her head. The fabric feels luxurious, expensive against her skin, and it makes her nervous. What if she damaged it? Master bought it just for her. If she ruined it, she’d be in such dire trouble.

It feels awkward and difficult to get the dress on while staying seated, but after a small struggle, her arms finally settle into the sleeves and she’s able to brush the skirt of the dress down over her legs. The dress fits her well, if not a little loose. There’s a bit of scrunched fabric still stuck beneath her, but it will settle next time Master lifts her.

“Turn around,” He tells her once she has gotten into the dress. She obeys, pulling her legs all the way up onto the bed before flipping herself around completely. As soon as she’s turned, the vampire pulls the zipper on the dress from her lower back up to the nape of her neck. He grabs her hair and runs a few strands between his fingers, humming to himself as if he were indecisive. Finally, he lets it go, seemingly deciding to leave it be. He does, however, produce a small jar full of a sweet-smelling cream from his pocket. He rakes some of the substance through her hair with his fingers before splitting it in half and setting it over her shoulders.

“Your hair looks nice down,” he hums. “Look at the curls. They’re beautiful.”

Annalise doesn’t know if that was a real command or not, but she does look anyways, just to be safe. She wouldn’t risk disobedience.

Her hair is an ashy brown. It’s quickly starting to dry and curl up. She doesn’t know what Master finds so particularly beautiful about it, it’s just hair, but she nods in agreement with his judgment. He is right, she just doesn’t know why.

“Turn back to me. We’re almost done, dear. You’re nearly ready.”

Annalise turns to face Master again, and she is soon taken back up in his arms. The vampire carries her over to a small vanity, gracefully pulling the small bench tucked beneath it out at a ninety-degree angle before setting her down on it, mindful to keep her dress in place now that it’s had the opportunity to fall into place behind her legs. He then does something peculiar; he kneels in front of her. Annalise finds it strange to see her Master kneel in front of her. Wasn’t that her job? Why would he kneel?

She says nothing on the matter, but is acutely aware of her position. Master is right in front of her; if she looked up too soon, she’d make direct eye contact. Master had once called that the greatest form of disrespect a creature like her could show. This made the position incredibly unnerving. One wrong move, and-

“Look up.”

Annalise is shocked. She remains perfectly still, but her heart is pounding. Look up? But, but that would mean-

“Are you disobeying me?” Master asks firmly after she fails to obey. She quickly shakes her head. She’s just shocked, and scared.

With no other option, the girl lifts her head. Her eyes are still tilted downward, but she’s close enough to Master that it doesn’t matter. She sees him very clearly, more clearly than she ever has since she had acted defiant and refused to avert her gaze. His jaw is sharp and his chin pointed, skin pale and lips full with long orange hair falling pin straight down his shoulders.

As soon as her chin comes up, Master begins to brush a powder all over her face. She’s not sure what exactly it is, but she knows it is some sort of makeup. Something liquidy is applied to her cheeks before master then dots something cool under her eyes.

Master is working silently, for the most part, and efficiently. He tells her to close her eyes, then brushes yet another powder over her eyelids, and coats her lashes with something thick and sticky. She doesn’t like the sensation, but she is silent. It’s much more bearable when her eyes reopen, anyways. Finally, Master smears a gloss across her lips, then tells her he’s finished. He turns the bench back to face the vanity.

The mirror catches her eye quickly. Annalise stares at herself in the reflection. Master is standing behind her, but she doesn’t see him, only herself.

The satin and tulle layers of her dress cover a tiny frame, so small even Annalise herself feels shocked despite not remembering a baseline for herself. Even under the makeup, she notices she looks exhausted. The huge bags under her eyes are only thinly veiled by concealer, and her cheeks are sunken and hollow. Her hair, though beautifully curled, looks dull.

Annalise doesn’t remember what she is supposed to look like, but it is not this. She’s sure it’s not this.

Master’s voice suddenly booms from behind her as a frown starts to form on her lips.

“You look just beautiful, don’t you, darling?”

Annalise nods, though really, she couldn’t agree any less.

“Let’s get out into the parlor, then. The guests will arrive any minute now. It took longer than I expected to bathe you.”

Master scoops her back into his arms, a very familiar action by now, and begins to walk toward the bedroom door. Before he opens it, though, he warns her, “It’s much brighter out there. Close your eyes if you must, dear.”

Annalise nods. Master was right, it’s unbearably bright, and as soon as he opens the door, she has to squeeze her eyes shut. She is curious about what the house looks like, but her curiosity is not strong enough to incline her to burn her eyes with the light over. Master chuckles, almost seeming amused by her adverse reaction.

They walk for a long time, a much longer period than it took them to get to the bathroom from the basement. Finally, though, Annalise is set down on another plush surface, though this one is much firmer than the bed, and has a hard backing. Master soon sits beside her, so close she can feel the piece of furniture they sit on dip with his weight.

“Are you ready, darling? You are permitted to speak,” He asks, his voice soothing and calm.

“I think-I think so,” Annalise murmurs. She’s beginning to open her eyes in short blinks, but the light is still so bright she can’t see much of anything.

“Good. Just remember, my love, there are expectations. You are to follow every rule you already have, and additionally, you are to do whatever my guests may ask of you unless I directly tell you otherwise. They are not your master, but they are in charge, and you follow their commands unless they are overridden by me. Disrespecting any of them or misbehaving in their presence will have severe consequences. I expect you to behave perfectly. Do not ruin any part of this night for me. Understood, dear?

Annalise nods. She isn’t cold, but she’s shaking again.

“Good. I expect you’ll have a most exciting evening, then.”

Annalise doesn’t respond. There is silence, just for a moment.

Then there is a sharp, repeated banging on the front door, just feet away from the pair. Annalise jumps at the sounf, but Master simply stands and plants a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“You’ll do great. I’m sure of it.”

He leans down to whisper into her ear. His breath is hot on her neck, raising goosebumps all over her body.

“After all, you have plenty of motivation.”

He walks off to answer the door.

tags: @quirkykayleetam @vamplolz

#whump #intimate whumper #intimate whump #whumpee #human whumpee #vampire whumper #vampire whump #whumping #pain #whump writing #OC Writing #my ocs #whump fic #im whumpin god willin'#be gentle i was too exhausted to edit this more than twice

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dontcare77ghj · 5 years

Text

Farm House

Clint x reader x Natasha

Italics means sign language

“What is this place?” Thor asked as the team moved towards the farm house.

“Safe house.” Tony said with a shrug.

“It’s home.” Clint interjected from up front. He was practically holding Natasha up as they led the group into the home. “Honey we’re home!” Clint called as he entered the living room.

Natasha and Clint had been gone for months. You knew why, and you knew long before that this would happen. The two of them could be away for months at a time, sometimes without ever hearing a word from them, but the three of you made it work.

Nightly phone calls, even if they had to be brief, video updates sent at least once a week and every two weeks you would all do a video call. It wasn’t the best situation, but you all loved each other enough to make it work.

It had been three months since you’d last seen them in person, and you missed them. You’d spent the whole morning working on some work your boss had sent you, when you’d heard it.

“Honey, we’re home!” Clint’s voice rang loudly through the house causing Lucky to scrabble to his feet.

“Dog!” You called as you rushed to a stand. You’d made it out to the living room in time to see Lucky jump on Clint.

“Agh! Get off me, you bloody mutt!” Clint scolded as he attempted to shield himself from the happy dog.

“Clinton Barton, don’t you call my baby a mutt.” You chided as you came towards your lovers. A large smile crossed your face as you were pulled into a hug from them both.

“If he wasn’t such a mutt, I wouldn’t call him that.” Clint said as you pulled back from him.

“You’re the one who found him and brought him home.” Natasha said pulling you into a tight hug.

“Are you okay?” You asked looking them both up and down. “No broken limbs, head injuries or blood staining the front porch?”

“Okay that was one time and I didn’t mean to.” Clint defended as Natasha laughed. “Gentlemen, and Tony.” Clint began, wrapping an arm around both you and Nat and turned to face the rest of his team. “This is our wife, Y/N.”

“Our?”

“Wife?”

“Yes, boys what about that is so hard to understand?” Natasha asked leaning heavily on Clint. She and Clint pulled the chain hiding their rings out from under their gear and you flashed your left hand.

“Can you even get married to more than one person?” Steve asked.

“Legally, no.” You voiced. “We did the ceremony ourselves, signed some papers we can’t ever file, but for all intents and purposes, we’re married.” You added.

“We’re sorry about dropping in one you like this.” Bruce apologized from the back of the group.

“Yeah, we would’ve called, except we had no idea you existed.” Tony said sarcastically.

“You can thank Fury for that.’ Clint said. “He helped us set this place up off the books years ago. I’ll show you guys to the spare rooms, there’s a couple bathrooms upstairs so you can shower. I’ve got some things you can borrow after.” He added motioning them to follow him up the stairs.

“What happened?” You asked pulling your wife down onto the sofa. Lucky immediately jumped onto the red heads lap making her smile.

“Tony created a robot that’s trying to destroy us all. He recruited these kids onto his side, who hate Tony, they’re enhanced. Boy’s got superspeed and the girl’s able to mess with our heads.” Natasha sighed, running her fingers through Lucky’s fur.

“What did they do to you?” You asked taking her hand in yours. “Talk to me, Tash.”

“I was back in the red room.” She admitted with a grimace. “They made me kill you and Clint.” She added.

“Oh, hon.” You cooed and pulled her into your side. “You aren’t that person anymore.”

“But what if I am?” Natasha whispered, curling into your side.

“You’re not. I didn’t know you back then, but I know you now and I know who you are. You are our wife and help save people. You saved the world, your team, me and how many times have you saved Clint’s ass?” You asked causing her to laugh into your shoulder.

“I’m going to ignore that comment, because deep down you feel bad about that.” Clint commented as he walked down the stairs. “Boys are all sorted for the moment.” He added, lifting Lucky off the couch and slid under the dog’s body, curling into Natasha’s other side.

“How long do you plan on staying for?” You asked as Clint reached over and to take one of your hands.

“A night, maybe two.” He mused. “We just need time to make a plan and this place was the most off grid.”

“Plus, we missed you.” Natasha added, kissing your cheek. “It’s been too long.”

“I know, hon.” You replied, kissing the top of her head. “I would say let’s go upstairs and celebrate your return, but unfortunately for us, we have guests.”

“They’re not going to care.” Clint whined. Natasha rolled her eyes and lightly nudged him the ribs.

“Well I care. I don’t want your team to hear us fucking.” You stated coming to a stand.

“Come on babe, please.” He begged as you helped Natasha stand.

“Clint no.” You said firmly, rolling your eyes. “I’m going to take Tasha upstairs, and you can go out back, the chooks need a feed.” You added with a smirk.

“Bye, Clint.” Natasha laughed as you pulled her up the stairs and into your bedroom. “I missed you.” She said as she sat on the bed.

“I missed you too, hon.” You responded giving her a quick kiss before moving away to grab her a change of clothing.

“You know, if you just say the word, we’d leave it all behind.” She said causing you to sigh.

“I love that you’re offering, Tash, but you and I both know, I wouldn’t do that to you. You’re doing good in the world, I mean if you’d quit all those years ago, I wouldn’t be here. You save so many people Nat, and I know you like doing it. I couldn’t be selfish enough to ask you to do that.” You said sitting yourself on her lap.

“I know. I know, I just don’t want you to feel alone. We’re gone for months at a time and we both feel bad about it.” She said burying her head into your neck. “I don’t want to screw this up.”

“You’re not.” You stated firmly pulling her head back to look at you. “Sure, we don’t get to see each other all the time, but that just makes the time we do spend together even more precious. We are fine.” You added giving her temple a kiss. “Now get changed, you need some rest. You can’t fight evil if you pass out.”

“Will you stay for a while?” She asked as she stripped off her suit.

“Of course.” The two of you laid down in the bed, you the big spoon for once, and said nothing. You just relished the fact that you were both together, safe and breathing. Natasha soon drifted off to a peaceful sleep and you laid awake, watching the rise and fall of her back.

Clint quietly came into the bedroom ten minutes later. He said nothing but smiled at the sight of you two. He laid on Natasha’s other side and faced you, the two of you laid there, neither saying anything, and just savored the comfort this position oozed.

“So, Y/N, how did you guys meet?” Steve asked as the team sat in your dining room. Looking up from the dinner you and Clint were making, you smiled.

“Oh, you know, the usual. They stopped a bullet from entering my skull.” You said with a smirk.

“I’m sorry, what?” Bruce asked looking at you with wide eyes.

“What she means is we saved her ass.” Clint interjected cockily, turning to face the man you narrowed your eyes.

“I could’ve handled it.” You stated pointing a spatula at the archer.

“You were literally about to be shot in the head, you said so yourself.” Clint said. You were about to rebut his argument when Natasha walked into the room.

“What these two are trying to say is, we met on a mission.” She said, wrapping her arms around you from behind.

“What kind of mission, if you don’t mind me asking?” Steve asked, watching the three of you with a smile.

“They found me at a HYDRA base. Assholes nabbed me off the streets and did some experimentation on me. I almost blew up their base before they decided I was more trouble than I was worth.” You said shaking your head. Natasha’s arms tightened around your waist at the mention of how you met.

“What did they do to you?” Tony asked leaning forward in his chair.

“They had some off-world piece of tech and were testing its effects on us. A handful of us made it out alive of the first test but by the end of it, only a couple of us were left standing. The experiments left us all, mutated I guess you could say.” You explained putting the spatula down on the counter.

“What happened to you?” Bruce asked causing you to smile.

“I became a human sponge.” You said placing your hand on the granite and absorbing it into your skin.

“What the fuck?” Tony yelled as your skin began to change into the same material as the counter.

“Human sponge.” Natasha answered running her hands down your smooth arms. “What part of that don’t you get Stark?”

“Do you know the limitations to this, mutation?” Bruce asked with wide eyes.

“Like I said, I’m a sponge. Anything from memories, textures and I’ve even been able to absorb the abilities of others.” You said letting your skin turn back to normal.

“But why would that make them want to kill you?” Steve asked. “Wouldn’t this be the kind of thing they want?”

“You’d think so.” You said with a laugh. “But they realized that they couldn’t control me, and what they can’t control is not something they want.”

“Probably didn’t help that you tried to burn the building down.” Clint commented with a smirk.

“They’re lucky I didn’t burn any of them.” You said starting to plate up the food. “Assholes more than deserved it.” You added, handing the plate of food to Clint who placed it on the table.

“How come these two never mentioned you before?” Tony asked as the three of you sat at the table.

“HYDRA still want me dead and I kinda like breathing.” You said as you served yourself dinner.

“Forgive me for asking, but during your time there did you ever happen upon a pair of twins?” Steve asked from his seat across from you. “The Maximoffs.”

“Are those two still around?” You asked getting nods from the team. “Jesus. Um, yeah, they were there. Kids had to have been fifteen when HYDRA dragged them in. Was it Wanda? Did she fuck with your heads?”

“Steve doesn’t like that kind of language.” Natasha said with a smirk.

“You know what, Romanoff?” Steve started but was cut off as Tony interrupted.

“The girl, yes. What do you know about her?” Tony asked.

“She’s pissed at you, Stark. Your weapons killed their parents, most of our conversations together involved her plotting your death.” You said taking a bite of the meal.

“So, not only is there a killer robot you created-“

“With Banner.”

“But also, two enhanced pissed at you.” Clint pointed out. “Feels like there’s a pattern here.”

“They are teenagers, Clint.” You said before Tony could verbally attack your husband. “Their parents weren’t murdered by Stark. They’re angry and they want someone to blame, Tony just happens to be the person they chose.”

“Thank you!” Tony said clapping his hands and leaning back in his chair.

“Well what do you suggest we do?” Bruce asked, a bit snippily. “She can make everyone see their worst nightmares and they’re both working with Ultron.”

“Like I said, they’re still young. I’m not suggesting you go easy on them, but I’m telling you their opinions can be changed, they just have to see what’s really happening.” You said looking at the doctor. “They’ve spent a little of five years being mentally and physically tortured by HYDRA. They’ve been shaped to follow orders, but they always choose what’ll get them out alive, because they are the most important thing to each other.”

“We need to get back out there.” Steve said suddenly. “We have to get back out there before Ultron starts annihilating the world.”

“When you programmed Ultron to protect the human race, that didn’t really work out did it?” Natasha asked with a smirk,

“They don’t need protecting.” Bruce said, his gaze focusing on the butterfly picture on the wall. “They need to evolve, Ultron’s going to evolve.” He realized.

“We need to leave first thing in the morning.” Steve said urgently.

“What and get our ass kicked again? Think it through, Rogers.” Tony snapped. “We need backup.”

“And where do you propose we find backup? In case you forgot SHIELD’s not an option anymore.” Steve said glaring at the billionaire.

“I’ll help.” You interjected. The team’s heads snapped towards you and Clint began to protest.

“What? No, Y/N, that’s not a smart idea.” He said and you glared at him.

“Clint, I have absorbed the skills and mutations of mutants and enhanced alike. I’ve not only absorbed both yours and Natasha’s skills, I have absorbed the skills of many other skilled fighters in all different professions. I live on this planet, and if I can help stop a crazy robot- “

“AI.” Tony said, a grunt leaving his lips as Steve elbowed him in the ribs.

“Robot, I will do whatever it godamn takes to help.” You said without paying Tony any mind.

“Nat, you wanna weigh in here?” Clint asked turning to the red head.

‘No, I think I’ll watch you dig this hole.” She said with a smirk.

“I am not digging a hole.” Clint protested.

“You kinda are.” Tony said, another elbow to the ribs shut him up.

Clinton Francis Barton, give me one good reason as to why I shouldn’t do this.

They still want you dead, okay? And it might not be just them, who knows how many people want to kill you? We can’t lose you, Y/N. I can’t lose you.

Do you trust me?

Yes.

Then trust me on this. I can do this.

“Anyone going to let us in on what’s happening?” Tony asked looking between the two of you.

“Hush, Stark. You’re ruining the moment.” Natasha said silencing the billionaire. Natasha turned back to look at you both and gave you a smile. Clint, we’ve trained her ourselves. She can do this.

Thank you, Nat. Please Clint, I can do this.

Okay. Okay, I trust you.

“Right then, it’s settled.” Natasha said clapping her hands. “We leave tomorrow.” She added as she stood up.

“Wait, who won? I already have money on this.” Tony asked looking in between the three of you.

“It’s not something you can win, Stark.” Clint sighed, you placed a kiss on his cheek as you walked over to the sink.

“You can win anything, Legolas. Now, who won?” Stark dismissed turning to look at you and Nat.

“Y/N did.” Natasha said with a smirk.

“So, does this mean you’ll be helping us, ma’am?” Steve asked looking at you.

“It’s Y/N, Steve. And yes, I’ll help with your robot problem.” You told the man.

“Great!” Tony said with a clap. “I think this is a fantastic decision by the way, thank you, Clint for folding like that.” He added, looking at the man.

“I didn’t fold Stark, I have trust in my partners. There’s a difference.” Clint denied, shaking his head.

“Sure, call it whatever you want, I call it her holding your balls.” Tony said, making Clint galre at him

“Stark remember this; out of the three of us there is one enhanced and two master spies. Keep pissing us off and shit will go down.” Natasha warned, causing Tony to shrink in his chair.

“Geez, are they always like this?” You asked, giving your head a shake. “I might have to change my mind now.”

“Nope, no take-backs.” Clint stated coming over to you. “You wanted to help, this is what you have to put up with.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” You sighed. What did you get yourself into?

What did you get yourself into?

You seemed to be having this thought a lot in the past few days. You and the Avengers had found Ultron’s new weapon of destruction, a creation he’d called Vision. Bruce and Tony had been trying to bring him to life after you’d all taken him, Steve was against it, the twins had come to your side, Thor had brought Vision to life, oh and Ultron himself had taken Nat.

Currently you, the twins, Vision and the Avengers were on the quinjet suiting up.

“We find out what Ultron’s been building, we find Romanoff.” Steve said, looking at you and Clint. “We clear the field, we keep the fight between us. Ultron thinks we’re monsters, that we’re what’s wrong with the world, this isn’t just about beating him, it’s about whether he’s right.” He added looking away.

You stood behind Clint and placed a hand on his shoulder. He was looking at the photo of your wedding day. “Are you okay?” You asked.

He lifted his head up to gaze at you and placed his hand on top of yours. “Worried, but that’s pretty standard whenever the two of you are involved.” He said with a half-smile.

“We’re going to be fine. We’re going to get Nat back and we’re all going to be fine.” You said, making him give you a real smile.

“You’re too positive for your own good, you know that right?” he stated kissing your hand.

“Y/N.” Steve stated, you both turned to face the man who looked serious. “We’re at the drop. You’ll be going in with Thor, he’ll look for Ultron’s creation, you look for Romanoff, ok?”

“You got it, Cap.” You said changing your skin into its diamond form.

“Still freaky.” Tony muttered staring at your new shiny skin.

“You’ll get used to it.” Clint said placing a kiss onto your smooth lips. “Be careful.” He warned.

“Always am, Barton.” You assured moving over to the blonde God. “Ready when you are.” You said looking at the man. Thor gave you a nod and the two of you jumped out of the plane, the two of you found Ultron’s base and using his hammer he smashed the wall.

Thor ran off in one direction and you in the other.

“Tash.” You called entering a large room. “Tash.”

“Y/N.” Natasha’s voice came from the corner of the room. You ran over to her and grabbed her hand from between the bars.

“Hey, are you you okay?” You asked looking her over quickly.

“I’m fine.” She assured. “Any chance, one of your skills includes you turning into a key?” She asked with a smile.

“I got one better.” You mentioned. You turned your skin back into its normal form and phased through the bars.

“Oh God, I hate this.” Natasha muttered as you grabbed her and walked through the bars together. “Doesn’t that feeling make you want to rip your skin off?” She asked.

“I can turn my skin into diamond layer, nothing feels weirder than that.” You said, changing back into said form.

“Where is everyone?” She asked grabbing her weapons off a table.

“Outside. Thor is somewhere around here we’re going to meet the rest of them in the city.” You told her as she got ready. “Are you ready?” You asked.

“Almost. I got one more thing to do.” She said giving you a kiss. “Alright.” She said pulling away. “Come on, we got a job to do.”

“Let’s finish this.” You agreed. The two of you made your way out of Ultron’s lair and quickly made it to where all the action was.

“Romanoff you and Y/N better not be flicking beans.” Tony said over the coms as Natasha drove the truck.

“Relax shell head, not all of us can fly.” Natasha snapped pulling the large vehicle to a stop. The two of you ran over to where everyone was, Clint rushing to stand next to you both. “What’s the drill?” She asked.

“This is the drill. Ultron gets ahold of it, we die.” Tony explained.

“Note to self. don’t let him get it, then.” You said turning away from the machinery. Everyone turned forward to watch as Ultron floated forward.

“Is that the best you can do?” Thor yelled mockingly. Ultron said nothing as his army rushed forward.

“This is the best I can do. This is exactly what I wanted. All of you, against all of me. How can you possibly hope to stop me?” He asked

“Like the old man said, together.” Tony said and that’s when it happened. Ultron’s army rushed forward, intending to tear you all apart. The sounds of electricity, Clint’s arrows, cap’s shield and the dying screams of Ultron’s robots permeated the air.

Vision, Thor and Tony rushed out to corner Ultron, as the rest of you covered their backs. You crushed, smashed and melted any robot that came into sight and soon the androids were all dead.

“We gotta move out. Even I can tell the air is getting thin. You guys get to the boats. I’ll sweep for stragglers. Be right behind you.” Steve said as you all began to plan your next move.

“What about the core?” Clint asked from your side.

“I’ll protect it.” Wanda spoke up. “It’s my job.” She added giving you a look.

“Wanda, be careful.” You said as you all left, leaving her to protect the core. You and your partners got into an abandoned car and followed the directions Tony wired to you.

“We don’t have a lot of time.” Clint said giving your wife a look. Natasha gave him a smirk and jumped out of the car.

“So, get your ass on a boat. Both of you.” She said before running off to help Banner. Clint and you moved to get onto one of the boats but stopped at the sound of a woman crying out for her son. You both scanned the area around you, and you spied a little boy to your right.

“Clint.” You yelled and turned to run towards the small child. Clint’s footsteps echoed behind you as you both sprinted towards the child. Clint snatched the child up and held him tightly as he shielded the boy.

You snapped your head to the side at the sound of gunshots and watched as the machine gun got closer. Thinking fast, you put a force field around Clint and the child and another around a still running Pietro. Bullets began to bounce off your diamond skin and clattered to the ground.

“I’m going to have to thank Polaris for that.” You breathed dropping the two force fields.

“Babe, you’re cracking.” Clint said handing the kid to Pietro. Looking down you saw the cracks appearing on your arms, where the bullets had hit you.

“I’m fine.” You assured. “See.” You added turning your skin back to normal. “I’m good.” Clint gave you one last look over before he nodded.

“Okay. Let’s go.” He said. The four of you quickly made it to one of the boats, the child was taken off Pietro’s hands and you all fell onto the seats or the ground. “We’re fine.” Clint said waving an attendant off. “It’s just been a long day.” He added.

You laid yourself down on Clint’s lap and closed your eyes as he ran his fingers through your hair.

“Thank you for the save.” Pietro said, he sat on the ground in front of you.

“Not a problem.” You said not opening your eyes. “Someone needs to keep your idiot self safe.”

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Clint murmured into your ear. “You did good out there.”

“I’m fine, Clint, just tired.” You answer lifting your head up. ‘That was fun.” You mentioned with a smile.

“Pretty standard day around here.” He said with a laugh. “Think you want to do this again?”

“Kind of actually.” You said, letting out a breath.

“Maybe you should stick around. We’d get to see each other more often.” Clint offered.

“We’d need to find someone to look after the farm.” You told him.

“We’ll find someone.” Natasha said, lifting your feet and placing them on her lap, as she sat next to you.

“You’re okay.” You breathed grabbing her hand tightly.

“’Course I am, I’m Natasha Barton-Romanoff-L/N.” She said causing Clint to groan.

“We should have thought that hyphenation through.” He groaned, shaking his head. “Way too long.”

“You’re the one who wanted to hyphenate in the first place.” You pointed out with a smile.

The three of you sat on that bench until you made it back to New York. Instead of you going back to the safe house, you joined your partners in the facility.

“Everything hurts.” Clint groaned collapsing onto the bed.

“Get up.” Nat said tapping his leg. “You smell, you need to shower.”

“Such a mean woman.” Clint grumbled. Natasha lead you into the en suite bathroom and the three of you quickly showered under the warm stream of water.

“We did good today.” Clint commented as you all laid in bed. “I’m proud of us.”

“I think we did good enough, that we should get vacation time.” Natasha said with a smile. “Think about it, we could go back to the farm house, spend our days together, with the mutt dog.”

“That sounds nice.” You hummed. “We could do movie nights, give each other massages and break out the good wine.”

“I’ll talk to Steve tomorrow.” Nat promised. The three of you drifted off after hours of talking, finally able to sleep in the same bed after months.

Nat kept her promise and talked to Steve the next day. She mentioned her and Clint would be off site for a while and to not contact them unless absolutely necessary. The good captain didn’t argue a bit.

True to your plans, you all went back to the farm house and promptly went back to bed this time with Lucky. After all the months apart this felt right. This felt safe and it felt great to have your husband and wife back.

Give me feedback. Leave a comment. Give it a like. Reblog. Buy me a KO-FI.

Coming soon;

Natasha x reader x Bucky

Sam x reader x Steve x Natasha

Clint x reader x Natasha x Bucky

Tony x reader x Natasha

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thedoctorcried · 3 years

Text

Runaway - Part Ten

~Masterlist~

Concept: Hazel Richards is a twenty-year-old woman living in London. When she meets a mysterious time-travelling alien known only as the Hunter, she’s thrust into a world of wonder she could only have imagined.

Warnings: swearing, follows S1 of Doctor Who.

The TARDIS materialised on the observation deck of some space station, and the Hunter and Hazel stepped out, leaving Adam inside for the moment.

"So, it's two hundred thousand, and it's a spaceship. No, wait a minute, space station, and er, go and try that gate over there," the Hunter instructed, pointing. "Off you go."

"Two hundred thousand?" Hazel checked.

The Hunter nodded. "Two hundred thousand."

"Right." She opened the TARDIS door and called in, "Adam? Out you come."

The boy walked out tentatively, and his jaw dropped. "Oh my God."

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it," Hazel assured him.

"Where are we?" Adam wondered, his eyes wide.

"Good question," Hazel praised, doing her best to ignore the Hunter's amused smirk. "Let's see. So, er, judging by the architecture, I'd say we're around the year two hundred thousand. If you listen..."

"Yeah," Adam nodded eagerly.

"Engines," Hazel identified. "We're on some sort of space station. Yeah, definitely a space station. It's a bit warm in here." She tied her jacket around her waist, blowing out a breath. "They could turn the heating down. Tell you what - let's try that gate. Come on!" She bounded off towards the gate in question, and Adam and the Hunter followed, one bemused, one amused.

"Here we go!" Hazel cheered as they reached a massive viewing window. "And this is... I'll let the Hunter describe it."

"The Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire. And there it is, planet Earth at it's height," the Hunter pointed. "Covered with mega-cities, five moons, population ninety six billion. The hub of a galactic domain stretching across a million planets, a million species, with mankind right in the middle." She smirked as Adam fainted behind her. "He's your boyfriend."

Hazel snorted. "Not anymore."

***

Later, the three of them were walking through a corridor of the space station as the Hunter explained. "Come on, Adam. Open your mind. You're going to like this. Fantastic period of history. The human race at its most intelligent. Culture, art, politics. This era has got fine food, good manners..."

They walked through a door at the end of the corridor and were immediately hit with the loud sounds of a bustling canteen.

"Out of the way!" one man shouted as he barged past.

"Fine cuisine?" Hazel repeated, wrinkling her nose at something called a kronkburger.

"My watch must be fine," the Hunter frowned, checking it. "No, its fine. It's weird."

"That's what comes of showing off," Hazel teased. "Your history's not as good as you thought it was."

"My history's perfect," the Hunter retorted.

Hazel shrugged, gesturing to the scene that lay before them. "Well, obviously not."

"They're all human," Adam realised. "What about the millions of planets, the millions of species? Where are they?"

"Good question," the Hunter muttered absently, before blinking. "Actually, that is a good question. Adam, my good lad, you must be starving."

"No, I'm just a bit time sick," Adam tried, but the Hunter was having none of it.

"No, you just need a bit of food." She called over to one of the food trucks. "Oi, mate! How much is a kronkburger?"

"Two credits twenty, sweetheart," the chef yelled back. "Now join the queue."

"Money," the Hunter mused. "We need money. Let's use a cashpoint." She went over to the nearest one and buzzed it with her sonic screwdriver, producing a plastic card, which she then handed to Adam. "There you go. Pocket money. Don't spend it all on sweets."

"How does it work?" Adam asked.

The Hunter shrugged. "I don't know. Go and find out. Stop nagging me. The thing is, Adam, time travel's like visiting Paris. You can't just read the guide book, you've got to throw yourself in. Eat the food, use the wrong verbs, get charged double, and end up kissing complete strangers." She frowned. "Or is that just me? Stop asking questions, just go and do it." Adam started off, and she smirked at Hazel. "Off you go, then. Your very first date," she teased.

"You're going to get a smack, you are," Hazel promised, grinning cheekily, before skipping off after Adam.

Smirking, the Hunter approached a pair of smartly dressed young women, before putting on a slightly embarrassed but polite smile. "Excuse me?" The women turned to her. "Er, this is going to sound daft, but can you tell me where I am?"

The darker-haired woman raised an eyebrow scathingly. "Floor One Three Nine. Could they write it any bigger?"

The Hunter glanced up at where it was written on the wall and bit her lip. "Yeah, but Floor One Three Nine of what?"

"Must have been a hell of a party," the brunette remarked.

"You're on Satellite Five," the blonde said in a much kinder tone.

"What's Satellite Five?" the Hunter asked, clueless.

The brunette scoffed. "Come on, how could you get on board without knowing where you are?"

The Hunter shrugged, making a face. "Look at me, I'm stupid."

"Hold on, wait a minute." The blonde narrowed her eyes. "Are you a test? Some sort of management test kind of thing?"

The ginger woman grinned, spreading her arms. "You've got me. Well done. You're too clever for me." She held up her psychic paper, which seemed to convince the two women, who both stiffened slightly.

"We were warned about this in basic training," the blonde stated warily. "All workers have to be versed in company promotion."

"Right, fire away, ask your questions," the brunette nodded, waving her hands. "If it gets me to Floor Five Hundred I'll do anything."

The Hunter raised an eyebrow. "Why, what happens on Floor Five Hundred?"

"The walls are made of gold," the brunette replied. "And you should know, Miss Management. So, this is what we do." She lead them over to a monitor mounted on the wall among dozens. "Latest news, sandstorms on the new Venus archipelago. Two hundred dead. Glasgow water riots into their third day. Space lane seventy seven closed by sunspot activity. And over on the Bad Wolf channel, the Face of Boe has just announced he's pregnant."

After a brief moment of surprise that the Face of Boe was around this early, the Hunter nodded, shrugging. "I get it. You broadcast the news."

"We are the news," the brunette countered. "We're the journalists. We write it, package it and sell it. Six hundred channels all coming out of Satellite Five, broadcasting everywhere."

***

"All staff are reminded that the canteen area now operates a self-cleaning table system. Thank you."

Hazel joined Adam at a table, holding a cold drink she'd bought from the nearby serving station. "Try this," she suggested. "It's called Zaphic. It's nice, it's like a, er, a Slush Puppy."

"What flavour?" Adam inquired, raising an eyebrow.

She took a sip through the straw and giggled. "It's sort of... beef?"

Adam groaned. "Oh my God. It's like everything's gone - home, family, everything."

Hazel pulled out her phone. "This helps. The Hunter gave it a bit of a top-up. Who's back home, your mum and dad?"

"Yeah."

"Phone them up," she suggested, offering him her phone.

He frowned. "But that's one hundred and ninety eight thousand years ago."

"Honestly, try it," Hazel encouraged.

He went to dial, but hesitated. "Is there a code for planet Earth?"

She rolled her eyes. "Just dial!"

Adam nodded, and got on with it. After a moment, he began. "It's er... Hi. It's me. I've sort of gone travelling. I met these people and we've gone travelling together. But, er, I'm fine, and I'll call you later. Love you. Bye." He turned back to a grinning Hazel with wide eyes. "That is so -"

He was cut off by a loud alarm, causing everyone else in the area to pack up and leave.

"Oi!" a familiar voice called, and they looked around to see the Hunter beckoning. "Over here!"

Hazel ran over, grinning, and Adam shrugged and put her phone in his pocket before following.

***

The two women led the Hunter, Hazel, and Adam into a broadcast room, where seven people were seated at an octagonal desk around a central chair. The three time travellers stood to one side behind some railings to observe.

"Now, everybody behave," the brunette instructed. "We have a management inspection." She glanced over. "How do you want it, by the book?"

"Right from scratch, thanks," the Hunter requested, flashing a polite smile.

The brunette nodded. "Okay. So, ladies, gentlemen, multi-sex, undecided or robot - my name is Cathica Santini Khadeni." She turned back to the Hunter. "That's Cathica with a C, in case you want to write to Floor Five Hundred praising me, and please do." Hazel shared a look with her friend. "Now, please fell free to ask any questions. The process of news gathering must be open, hones, and beyond bias. That's company policy."

"Actually, it's the law," the blonde woman pointed out.

Cathica bristled. "Yes, thank you, Suki. Okay, keep it calm. Don't show off for the guests. Here we go." She settled herself into the central chair. "And engage safety." The seven around the desk held their hands over the palm prints in the table in front of them. Lights started to come on around the room, and Cathica clicked her fingers, opening a portal in her forehead. "And three, two, and spike." A beam of light from the machinery above her shone down into her portal.

The Hunter moved closer, Hazel following. "Compressed information, streaming into her. Reports from every city, every country, every planet, and they all get packaged inside her head. She becomes part of the software. Her brain is the computer."

"If it all goes through her, she must be a genius," Hazel frowned. Cathica hadn't had the same kind of 'intelligent and knows it' aura the Hunter had.

"Nah, she wouldn't remember any of it," the Hunter shook her head. "There's too much. Her head'd blow up. The brain's the processor. As soon as it closes, she forgets."

Hazel nodded in understanding, turning around. "So what about all these people round the edge?"

"They've all got tiny little chips in their head connecting them to her, and they transmit six hundred channels," the Hunter explained. "Every single fact in the Empire beams out of this place. Now that's what I call power."

"You all right?" Hazel asked. The Hunter glanced at her to see her talking to Adam, who was looking a bit green. She rolled her eyes.

"I can see her brain," Adam muttered, looking repulsed.

"Do you want to get out?" Hazel offered.

"No," he said hastily, then thought about it. "No, this technology, it's amazing."

The Hunter scoffed. "This technology's wrong."

"Trouble?" Hazel asked, grinning.

The ginger woman turned her head to look at her friend, flashing a brilliant smile, eyes only for Hazel. "Oh, yeah."

Suddenly, Suki pulled her hands away the desk as if she'd had an electric shock. The other six lifted their hands and the info-beam shut down. Cathica's portal closed, and she sat up, looking annoyed. "Come off it, Suki. I wasn't even halfway. What was that for?"

"Sorry," Suki mumbled. "It must've been a glitch."

"Oh." Cathica didn't sound convinced.

"Promotion," a tannoy stated. A wall lit up with the word, making everyone turn to it.

"Come on," Cathica begged, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "This is it. Come on. Oh, God, make it me! Come on, say my name, say my name, say my name!"

"Promotion for Suki Macrae Cantrell. Please proceed to Floor Five Hundred."

"I don't believe it," Suki gasped, standing up. "Floor Five Hundred."

"How the hell did you manage that?" Cathica demanded. "I'm above you."

"I don't know," Suki shrugged, starting to smile. "I just applied on the off chance, and they've said yes!"

"That's so not fair," Cathica scowled. "I've been applying to Floor Five Hundred for three years."

"What's Floor Five Hundred?" Hazel wondered, looking confused.

The Hunter shrugged, her hands plunged deep into her trenchcoat pockets. "The walls are made of gold."

***

A few minutes, they'd followed Cathica and Suki out to the lift where the latter was saying her goodbyes. "Cathica, I'm goping to miss you." She turned to the Hunter. "Floor Five Hundred, thank you."

The Hunter smiled, shaking her head in confusion. "I didn't do anything."

"Well, you're my lucky charm," Suki shrugged.

"All right," the Hunter grinned, accepting the woman's hug. "I'll hug anyone."

"Come on," Hazel rolled her eyes a little ways away. "It's not that bad."

"What, with the head thing?" Adam raised his eyebrows, incredulous.

"Yeah, well, she's closed it now," Hazel pointed out.

"Yeah, but..." Adam sighed. "It's everything. It freaks me out. And I just need to... If I could just cool down. Sort of acclimatise."

"How do you mean?" Hazel frowned.

"Maybe i could just go and sit on the observation deck," he suggested. "Would that be all right? Soak it in, you know. Pretend I'm a citizen of the year two hundred thousand."

"Do you want me to come with you?" she offered.

"No, no, you stick with the Hunter," Adam told her. "You'd rather be with her. It's going to take a better man than me to get between you two. Anyway I'll be on the deck."

She bit her lip, making a decision and taking the chain from around her neck. "Here you go. Take the TARDIS key. You know, just in case it gets a bit much."

He snorted. "Yeah, like it's not weird in there."

"All staff are reminded that the sixteen forty break session has been shortened by ten minutes. Thank you."

Adam left, and Hazel skipped over to the Hunter and Cathica as Suki went into the lift.

"Oh my God, I've got to go," Suki exclaimed, grinning. "I can't keep them waiting. I'm sorry. Say goodbye to Steve for me. Bye!"

The lift door closed, and Cathica snorted. "Good riddance."

The Hunter narrowed her eyes. "You're talking like you'll never see her again. She's only going upstairs."

"We won't," Cathica deadpanned. "Once you go to Floor Five Hundred you never come back."

They started walking back through the cafeteria, which was now empty. "Have you ever been up there?" Hazel asked curiously.

"I can't," Cathica told her. "You need a key for the lift, and you only get a key with promotion. No one gets to Five Hundred except for the chosen few."

***

Later, she'd let them back into the broadcast room. "Look, they only give us twenty minutes maintenance. Can't you give it a rest?"

"But you've never been to another floor?" the Hunter frowned, sitting in the central chair. "Not even one floor down?"

"I went to floor sixteen when I first arrived," Cathica admitted. "That's medical. That's when I got my head done, and then I came straight here. Satellite Five, you work, eat, and sleep on the same floor. That's it, that's all." She paused. "You're not management, are you."

"At last," Hazel grinned.

"She's clever," the Hunter laughed, sharing her friend's smile.

Cathica scowled. "Yeah, well, whatever it is, don't involve me. I don't know anything."

"Don't you even ask?" the Hunter shook her head, looking up at her.

"Well, why would I?" Cathica countered.

Hazel narrowed her eyes. "You're a journalist. Why's all the crew human?"

Cathica blinked. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"There's no aliens on board," the Hunter stated, fixing her with a strong gaze. "Why?"

"I don't know," Cathica shrugged. "No real reason. They're not banned or anything."

"Then where are they?" Hazel questioned, leaning her arms on the back of the chair.

"I suppose immigration's tightened up," Cathica tried. "It's had to, what with all the threats."

The Hunter's eyes narrowed. "What threats?"

"I don't know, all of them," Cathica shrugged. "Usual stuff. And the price of space warp doubled so that kept the visitors away. Oh, and the government on Chavic Five's collapsed, so that lot stopped coming, you see. Just lots of little reasons, that's all."

"All adding up to this one great big fact, and you didn't even notice," the Hunter pointed out astutely.

Cathica sighed, rolling her eyes. "Hunter, I think if there was any kind of conspiracy, Satellite Five would have seen it. We see everything."

"I can see better," the Hunter countered. "This society's the wrong shape, even the technology."

"It's cutting edge!" Cathica protested.

"It's backwards," the Hunter deadpanned. "There's a great big door in your head. You should've chucked this out years ago."

Hazel glanced down at her. "So what do you think's going on?"

"It's not just this space station, it's the whole attitude," the Hunter told her. "It's the way people think. The great and bountiful Human Empire's stunted. Something's holding it back."

"And how would you know?" Cathica raised her eyebrows.

The Hunter rolled her eyes. "Trust me, humanity's been set back about ninety years. When did Satellite Five start broadcasting?"

"Ninety one years ago," Cathica replied, biting her lip.

Hazel laughed as the Hunter spread her arms smugly.

***

Later, they were watching as the Hunter broke into a computer cupboard.

"We are so going to get in trouble," Cathica worried. "You're not allowed to touch the mainframe. You're going to get told off."

"Haze?" the Hunter asked.

"Shut up," Hazel advised, much politer than she could have been under the circumstances.

"You can't just vandalise the place," Cathica complained. "Someone's going to notice!" She shook her head as the Hunter made something spark in the cupboard. "This is nothing to do with me. I'm going back to work."

"Go on, then," the Hunter waved, then went back to the wiring. "See you!"

Cathica made to leave, but sighed. "I can't just leave you, can I!"

"If you want to be useful, get them to turn the heating down," Hazel suggested, fanning herself. "It's boiling. What's wrong with place? Can't they do something about it?"

"I don't know," Cathica shrugged. "We keep asking. Something to do with the turbine."

"Something to do with the turbine," the Hunter scoffed.

"Well, I don't know!"

"Exactly. I give up on you, Cathica," the Hunter shook her head, then pointed at Hazel. "Now, Hazel. Look at Hazel. Hazel is asking the right kind of question."

"Oh, thank you," Hazel grinned.

"Why is it so hot?" the Hunter added.

Cathica stared at them for a moment. "One minute you're worried about the Empire and the next it's the central heating!"

The Hunter shrugged, flashing a grin. "Well, never underestimate plumbing. Plumbing's very important." She managed to produce a monitor with the schematics of the station on it. "Here we go. Satellite Five, pipes and plumbing. Look at the layout."

"This is ridiculous," Cathica scoffed. "You've got access to the computer's core. You can look at the archive, the news, the stock exchange and you're looking at pipes?"

"But there's something wrong," the Hunter pointed out.

"I suppose," Cathica sighed.

"Why, what is it?" Hazel inquired, glancing between them and the screen.

"The ventilation system," Cathica replied. "Cooling ducts, ice filters, all working flat out channelling massive heat down."

"All the way from the top," the Hunter agreed.

"Floor Five Hundred," Hazel realised.

"Something up there is generating tons and tons of heat," the Hunter nodded.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I feel like I'm missing out on a party," Hazel decided. "It's all going on upstairs. Want a trip?"

"You can't. You need a key," Cathica pointed out.

The Hunter shook her head. "Keys are just codes, and I've got the codes right here. Here we go. Override two one five point nine."

Cathica blinked as the monitor showed the code. "How come it's given you the code?"

"Someone up there likes me," the Hunter pointed upwards, shrugging.

***

"Come on," Hazel tried to persuade Cathica. "Come with us."

"No way," Cathica shook her head.

"Bye!" The Hunter waved, stepping into the lift with Hazel at her heels.

Cathica blinked. "Well, don't mention my name. When you get in trouble, just don't involve me." She walked off, and the lift doors closed.

The Hunter sighed. "That's her gone. Adam's given up. Looks like it's just you and me."

"Yeah," Hazel nodded, smiling.

"Good," the Hunter grinned, nudging her.

"Yep," she agreed, laughing.

***

The Hunter narrowed her eyes as they walked out onto Floor Five Hundred, seeing the place full of icicles. Hazel put her jacket back on, shivering. "The walls are not made of gold," the Time Lady noted, biting her lip and glancing back at Hazel. "You should go back downstairs."

Hazel raised her eyebrows at her. "Tough."

She smiled, shaking her head, and they started to walk through the ice and cobwebs. Suddenly, they came across a white-haired man and several corpses sitting at what looked very similar to the broadcast room down on One Thirty Nine.

The man clapped when he saw them. "I started without you. This is fascinating. Satellite Five contains every piece of information within the Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire. Birth certificates, shopping habits, bank statements, but you two, you don't exist. Not a trace. No birth, no job, not the slightest kiss. How can you walk through the world and not leave a single footprint?"

"Suki," Hazel gasped, seeing the woman working at one of the consoles and running over to her. "Suki! Hello? Can you hear me? Suki?" She glared at the man. "What have you done to her?"

"I think she's dead," the Hunter told her.

Hazel gestured to the console. "She's working."

The Hunter bit her lip. "They've all got chips in their head, and the chips keep going, like puppets."

"Oh! You're full of information!" the man exclaimed. "But it's only fair we get some information back, because apparently, you're no one. It's so rare not to know something. Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter," the Hunter told him, "because we're off. Nice to meet you. Come on." Before they could move, Suki had grabbed Hazel's arm, and two other corpses had taken hold of the Hunter.

"Tell me who you are," the man ordered.

The Hunter rolled her eyes at him. "Since that information's keeping us alive, I'm hardly going to say, am I."

The man shrugged. "Well, perhaps my Editor in Chief can convince you otherwise."

"And who's that?" she sighed.

"It may interest you to know that this is not the Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire," the man told them. "In fact, it's not actually human at all. It's merely a place where humans happen to live." There was an angry growling and snarling from the ceiling, and the man blanched. "Yeah. Yeah, sorry. It's a place where humans are allowed to live by kind permission of my client."

Hazel's eyes widened as she saw a giant lump hanging from the ceiling with a large, nasty-looking set of teeth. "What is that?"

The Hunter looked at the man incredulously. "You mean that thing's in charge of Satellite Five?"

"That thing, as you put it, is in charge of the human race. For almost a hundred years, mankind has been shaped and guided, his knowledge and ambition strictly controlled by its broadcast news, edited by my superior, your master, and humanity's guiding light, the mighty Jagrafess of the Holy Hadrojassic Maxarodenfoe." The man shrugged a little at the girls as they stared. "I call him Max."

***

Later, the Hunter and Hazel had been locked into hefty sets of manacles, still having to listen to the Editor as he continued on. "Create a climate of fear and it's easy to keep the borders closed. It's just a matter of emphasis. The right word in the right broadcast repeated often enough can destabilise an economy, invent an enemy, change a vote."

"So all the people on Earth are like slaves?" Hazel asked.

The Editor blinked. "Well, now, there's an interesting point. Is a slave a slave if he doesn't know he's enslaved?"

"Yes," the Hunter stated bluntly.

"Oh. I was hoping for a philosophical debate," the Editor frowned. "Is that all I'm going to get? Yes?"

"Yes," she deadpanned.

He pouted. "You're no fun."

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Let me out of these manacles, you'll find out how much fun i am."

"Oh, she's tough, isn't she?" the Editor grinned. "But, come on. Isn't it a great system? You've got to admire it, just a little bit."

"You can't hide something on this scale," Hazel pointed out. "Somebody must have noticed."

"From time to time, someone, yes," the Editor admitted, "but the computer chip system allows me to see inside their brains. I can see the smallest doubt and crush it. Then they just carry on, living the life, strutting about downstairs and all over the surface of the Earth like they're so individual, when of course, they're not. They're just cattle." He smirked. "In that respect, the Jagrafess hasn't changed a thing."

Hazel bit her lip, seeing Cathica behind his back. "What about you? You're not a Jagrafess. You're human."

He shrugged. "Yeah, well, simply being human doesn't pay very well."

"But you couldn't have done this all on your own," Hazel pointed.

"No," the Editor admitted. "I represent a consortium of banks. Money prefers a long-term investment. Also, the Jagrafess needed a little hand to install himself."

"No wonder, a creature that size," the Hunter raised her eyebrows. "What's his life span?"

"Three thousand years," the Editor was happy to answer.

"That's one hell of a metabolism generating all that heat," the Hunter blew out a breath. "That's why Satellite Five's so hot. You pump it out of the creature, channel it downstairs. Jagrafess stays cool, it stays alive. Satellite Five is one great big life support system."

"But that's why you're so dangerous," the Editor shook his head. "Knowledge is power, but you remain unknown. Who are you?" He snapped his fingers, and energy surged through the manacles, making Hazel gasp in pain.

"Leave her alone!" the Hunter growled. "I'm the Hunter, she's Hazel Norton. We're nothing, we're just wandering."

"Tell me who you are!" the Editor ordered.

"I just said!" the Time Lady protested.

"Yes, but who do you work for? Who sent you? Who knows about us? Who exactly -?" He stopped. The Jagrafess growled. "Time Lord."

"What?" the Hunter blanched, her eyes flickering up to the Jagrafess.

"Oh, yes!" the Editor cheered. "The last of the Time Lords in her travelling machine. Oh, with her little human girl from long ago."

"You don't know what you're talking about," the Hunter stated uneasily.

"Time travel," the Editor teased.

"Someone's been telling you lies," she tried.

"Young master Adam Mitchell?" the Editor asked, calling up a hologram screen showing Adam in the broadcast chair with information streaming out of his head.

"Oh my God!" Hazel exclaimed. "His head!"

"What the hell's he done?" the Hunter demanded, her eyes wide and angry. "What the hell's he gone and done? They're reading his mind. He's telling them everything."

"And through him, I know everything about you," the Editor smirked. "Every piece of information in his head is now mine. And you have infinite knowledge, Hunter. The Human Empire is tiny compared to what you've seen in your T A R D I S," he spelled it out. "TARDIS."

"Well, you'll never get your hands on it," the Hunter told him defiantly. "I'll die first."

"Die all you like," the Editor shrugged. "I don't need you. I've got the key." Onscreen, the TARDIS key rose from Adam's pocket.

"You and your bloody boyfriends," the Hunter cursed.

"I'm gay; he's not my boyfriend!" Hazel shot back.

"Today, we are the headlines," the Editor decided. "We can rewrite history. We could prevent mankind from ever developing."

"And no one's going to stop you because you've bred a human race that doesn't bother to ask questions," the Hunter spat. "Stupid little slaves, believing every lie. They'll just trot right into the slaughter house if they're told it's made of gold."

The Editor looked around as the computer shut down, the TARDIS key dropping to the floor onscreen. "What's happening?" The Jagrafess growled threateningly. "Someone's disengaged the safety. Who's that?" He called the image up on the hologram.

"It's Cathica!" Hazel cheered.

"And she's thinking," the Hunter grinned. "She's using what she knows."

"Terminate her access," the Editor ordered.

"Everything I told her about Satellite Five. The pipes, the filters, she's reversing it. Look at that!" The Hunter looked over at where the icicles were starting to melt, smiling. "It's getting hot."

"I said, terminate. Burn out her mind," the Editor ordered. Suddenly, the consoles exploded, and the dead operators collapsed.

"She's venting the heat up here," the Hunter continued, telekinetically getting her sonic screwdriver out of her pocket and using it to free Hazel from her manacles. "The Jagrafess needs to stay cool and now it's sitting on top of a volcano."

"Yes, I'm trying, sir, but I don't know how she did it," the Editor protested, looking upwards. "It's impossible. A member of staff with an idea." He took Suki's seat, shoving her corpse out of the way, while Hazel grabbed the sonic screwdriver out of the air.

"What do I do?" she asked.

"Flick the switch," the Hunter told her, before yelling up at the Jagrafess as she was released. "Oi, mate, want to bank on a certainty? Massive heat in a massive body, massive bang. See you in the headlines!"

"Actually, sir, if it's all the same to you, I think I'll resign," the Editor decided. "Bye, then!" Sui grabbed his ankle and he fell. "Let go of me!"

The Hunter and Hazel ran for the broadcast as chunks of ice fell from the ceiling. They closed Cathica's portal and helped her into the lifts, just in time to avoid being splattered with exploded Jagrafess.

***

"We're just going to go," the Hunter told Cathica amongst people bustling around on Floor One Thirty Nine. "I hate tidying up. Too many questions. You'll manage."

"You'll have to stay and explain it," Cathica pleaded. "No one's going to believe me."

"Oh, they might start believing a lot of things now," the Hunter assured her. "The human race should accelerate. All back to normal."

"What about your friend?" Cathica asked, sensing she wasn't going to win that one.

"He's not my friend," the Hunter said simply, glaring at him, before walking over to him.

"I'm all right now," he told her. "Much better. And I've got the key. Look, it's - It all worked out for the best, didn't it? You know, it's not actually my fault, because you were in charge."

Still with Cathica, Hazel bit her lip as the Hunter shoved Adam into the TARDIS, ignoring his arguments. "Welp. I'd better go," she excused. "I've got to see this!" The TARDIS dematerialised as soon as she was inside, and rematerialised in Adam's living room.

"It's my house," Adam gasped as he was shoved out. "I'm home! Oh my God, I'm home! Blimey." He turned around to see the Hunter and Hazel, neither looking very impressed by him. "I thought you were going to chuck me out of an airlock."

"Oh, it's still early," the Hunter chuckled humourlessly. "Is there anything else you want to tell us?"

"No," Adam said quickly. "What do you mean?"

The Hunter rolled her eyes. "The archive of Satellite Five. One second of that message could've changed the world." She used her metal hand to crush the answering machine, making Adam swallow hard. "Oh, and whilst we're on the topic of phones, why don't you give Hazel hers back?"

"Wait, what?" Hazel checked her back pocket, then glared at Adam, holding out her hand expectantly. Sullenly, he handed the device over.

"That's it then," the Hunter nodded, satisfied. "See you."

Adam blinked. "How do you mean, see you?"

The Hunter looked at him like he was an idiot - which, to be fair, was her current opinion of him. "As in goodbye."

"But what about me?" he protested. "You can't just go. I've got my head. I've got a chip type two. My head opens."

"What, like this?" She snapped her fingers, and his portal opened.

"Don't." He closed it.

The Hunter's lips twitched. "Don't do what?" She snapped her fingers again.

"Stop it!" He closed it again.

Hazel sighed. "All right now, Art, that's enough. Stop it." The Hunter held up her hands, smirking.

"Thank you," Adam sighed in relief. Hazel snapped her fingers. "Oi!"

She shrugged, grinning unashamedly. "Sorry. Couldn't resist."

Adam glared, closing his head again.

"The whole of history could have changed because of you," the Hunter stated heavily.

"I just wanted to help," Adam said, his voice small.

"You were helping yourself," she told him.

"And I'm sorry," Adam told her. "I've said I'm sorry, and I am, I really am, but you can't just leave me like this."

"Yes I can," the Hunter told him, not even raising her voice. "'Cause if you show that head to anyone, they'll dissect you in seconds. You'll have to live a very quiet life. Keep out of trouble. Be average, unseen. Good luck."

"But I want to come with you," Adam pleaded.

"I only take the best. I've got Hazel," the Hunter shrugged.

"Oh yeah, daddy issues supreme, yeah, she's the best," Adam muttered under his breath.

The Hunter narrowed her eyes, but it was Hazel who spoke. "What did you just say to me?!" she demanded sharply, stepping forwards. When Adam didn't reply, his eyes wide in shock and fear, she backed down. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You're just a sad, scared, little boy who's too weak to stand up for anything. I pity you. Let's go, Art." The pair of them stepped into the TARDIS and flew away just as Adam's mother got home.

~~~

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lana-b-bana · 5 years

Text

Dinner & Diatribes (Part 1)

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Summary: Cordelia arrives at Outpost 3 to take care of some loose ends, but during that time, she finds herself attracted to Ms. Wilhemina Venable. However, Wilhemina doesn’t seem to return her feelings—she detests Cordelia, in fact. They try to go their separate ways, but a fateful evening encounter leaves them both wanting more.

A/N: I have not watched Season 8, so I messed around with the plot! All the witches are alive in this (besides the witches Michael brought back). Also, thanks to the wonderful @shineestark for clarifying the plot and for motivating me! There is some smut in this, so be warned! I’m just here spreading the #LetWilheminaBottom Gospel! Anyway, this is just my chance for me to write some enemies-to-lovers, so enjoy !

---

“More than anything I was relieved that in my unfamiliar babbling-and-wanting-to-talk state I'd stopped myself from blurting the thing I'd never said, even though it was something we both knew well enough without me saying out loud to him in the street - which was, of course, I love you.” — The Goldfinch, Donna Tartt.

---

It was a shame men were so egotistic, Cordelia mused as she transmuted herself back to the Outpost she had gotten so accustomed to. If the Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men hadn’t insisted on Michael taking the test of the Seven Wonders—if Michael didn’t even exist—things would’ve been so much easier. Now here she was, ready to administer the test to a boy with a beautiful smile but threatening eyes who could possibly be the first male Supreme.

The Supreme.

The title brings no joy. Instead of a certain dark relish that was familiar to her mother, all Cordelia feels is a quiet bind to duty. She has to be the flawless figurehead of the coven; any other choice would bring shame to her girls, not to mention herself.

Now, seeing what the Supremacy has given her (nothing but death), there was no reason to celebrate such a vain title without acknowledging the end of the road. But death is nothing to be scared of. Not anymore.

Death, duty, and a fierce love for her girls makes the Supremecy worth it. After the war has ended, and the dust has settled, what is left for her?

Enough of that. Cordelia straightens her shoulders as she strides into a room where Michael and his mentors wait. Cordelia is flanked by Myrtle and Zoe, but God, if she doesn’t feel alone at this moment. “Are we ready to begin, gentlemen?”

“Why, of course.” Michael smiles at her. Chills creep up her spine. “Shall I pick up any more of your friends?”

Cordelia ignores his not-so-subtle jab about her failures. “Whenever you’re ready.” In another world, there would be no need for him to even ask such a question, but then again, she wouldn’t be the Supreme. Her heart clenches again—pain is all she seems to feel lately—but the sound of a door banging open drags her out of her thoughts.

“What is the meaning of this?” Cordelia should have been accustomed to the shock of seeing an eyeful of purple, yet she still smirks when Wilhemina catches everyone’s attention. “I asked a question, and I demand an answer.”

Cordelia doesn’t have eyes in the back of her head, but she can practically see the warlocks exchange glances. And of course, it falls on her to be the bearer of bad news. “May I speak to you outside, Miss Venable?”

She sniffs before leading the way out of the room. “You may.”

Outside, a couple of greys are milling around, but with a pointed glare, Wilhemina sends them scrambling away. Cordelia can’t help but be impressed by the effectiveness of Wilhemina’s methods to rule, even though they are vastly different from hers. But opposites attract, do they not?

“Must I ask again? I would hate to think you have the same lowly behaviorisms as the rest of the imbeciles in the room, but then again, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Cordelia arches her eyebrow, not sure if she was amused by her sharp tongue, or irritated because of her rudeness. Both, perhaps. A mixture of both. “My apologies for intruding on your territory, Miss Venable, but there is a test I need to administrate to Mr. Langdon. It is convenient for everyone to gather here.”

Wilhemina’s lips press together. “Yes, how convenient to give me no explanation of how you got here and to leave me out of the loop. One might think you teleported here, but that is impossible, of course.”

It takes all of Cordelia’s self-control not to smile.

Perhaps Wilhemina notices this, for she takes a step closer and glowers at Cordelia. All she does in response is allow part of a smirk onto her face, purposefully stepping into Wilhemina’s personal space. The other woman makes no attempt to move away, but her hands tighten around the head of her cane. Wilhemina is the taller of the two (but they are quite similar in height) and when she leans down, Cordelia has to stop herself from staring at the strong flex of her neck, the gentle curve into her jawline.

“If you cause any trouble, I will not hesitate to toss you out into the radiation myself. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.” Cordelia smirks fully this time, noting that it only serves to enrage Wilhemina more.

They are close enough to kiss.

That thought makes something, something flare in Cordelia’s eyes, perhaps a dark pleasure, but whatever it is, it forces Wilhemina to swallow and turn on her heel.

“Good evening, Miss Venable!” Cordelia can’t help but call after her. No response follows. She stares at Wilhemina’s retreating back, feeling the tension between them simmer and hover before quietly wilting away, just waiting for another chance to be rekindled again. Caution should be used, but still ... how fun.

---

A week ago, Michael passed the test of Seven Wonders. Cordelia has spent much of that time in her guest chambers, where the bed is too springy and the room is too cold for her liking. Still, anything is better than walking into the warlocks’ smug faces and the little taunts from Michael. It’s hard to believe he’s the next Supreme—not because she wants to keep her power, but because there is something off about him.

Cordelia spends most of her time with her Council, planning, or arguing rather, over their next moves. Myrtle is the strongest voice against letting Michael be the Supreme. “Oh, little bird, I’m sure he has evil down to his little toe! We can’t let him be the next Supreme; we’ll all die!”

Surprisingly, Mallory had agreed with Myrtle. Actually, everyone else except Cordelia had firmly said that Michael was not fit to rule. She had shaken her head and mentioned Fiona, how she would rather die than end up like her. That had quieted them before her girls shuffled out the room. “I do hope you know what you’re doing,” was all Myrtle said before left.

Honestly? She had no idea.

A growl from her stomach makes Cordelia realize it’s time for dinner. She couldn’t stay hibernated in her room forever, and she has to face Michael at some point. With a deep exhale, she squares her shoulders and heads to the dining hall. It is her duty, after all.

Cordelia is the last to arrive by the looks of the taken seats and the weight of many eyes swiveling to her. She simply nods and smiles which stiffens slightly when she sees the only available seat. The seat at the head of the table, on Wilhemina’s left. Fantastic.

Wilhemina looks bored with the whispers that follow Cordelia and her coven, but when she approaches her, a glint shines in her eyes. “Good evening, Miss Goode. I see you’re finally ready to come out of hiding.”

Cordelia keeps her smile polite as she sits down, her arm barely brushing with Wilhemina’s. “And I see your vision isn’t entirely clear. What a shame, I was quite looking forward to getting to know you, but I presume you can’t tell me much about my appearance, hmm?”

It’s a low blow to toss Wilhemina’s ignorance right back in her face, but judging by the way she gripped her fork, it certainly works. Or, it partly did. “What I can tell you about your deceiving appearance is that you are a crooked enigma, an entitled, arrogant, rude, high-and-mighty failure as a leader with the worst fashion sense and hairdo I have ever seen!” She hisses the words out, and there is no amusement in them. Just pure anger.

For a moment, Cordelia opens her mouth, ready to start a full-out brawl. There is white-hot anger simmering in her veins at the job to her leadership, something she always prided herself on. She would die for her coven, her girls at the drop of a word. Yes, she led them to the end of the world, but god damn if she wasn’t going to get them out of it.

Cordelia manages to smirk, tempering down her anger with a comment she knew would frustrate Wilhemina even more. “I could say—and I do see—the same for you, Miss Venable.”

The pits of Wilhemina’s eyes are black, blazing like coals. A shiver rises up in Cordelia, but before she can move, Wilhemina bangs her cane on the ground and stands up in one fluid motion, looking down on Cordelia. Literally. “Miss Goode, I want you outside. Now.”

“Well, since you asked so politely.” Sarcasm colours Cordelia’s voice as she tries to ignore the chills running through her body at Wilhemina’s strict tone. Just when she thinks she has her all figured out, Cordelia always manages to be surprised. Perhaps that’s part of dear Wilhemina’s charm.

She doesn’t have time to ponder her sudden familiarity, as Wilhemina turns and take a long stride toward Cordelia when they are in a private hallway. The furious look is back in her eyes, and she pushes a finger into Cordelia’s shoulder. “You! You are such a pest in my outpost! Everywhere I turn, you are there, whispering and planning. Tell me, what are you planning? I know it involves the men”—she says this in such a disgusted tone—“but any ideas fail me! Tell me, or I’ll toss you outside right this instant!”

Her voice is low, but it quickly becomes louder and sharper as she progresses with her rant. Cordelia feels bad for Wilhemina, she really does, but she can’t say anything that would make sense. Supremes, magic, and teleportation. All things a lunatic would say.

“Well?” Wilhemina thumps her cane, glaring at Cordelia. “Are you going to answer me, Miss Goode?”

“No. I won’t.” Cordelia lifts her chin, wanting to savor the sweet taste of defiance, and instead running various excuses through her mind. How could she get out of this problem now?

Wilhemina growls and this is it, this is the moment that Cordelia will have to use her magic or restrain her, except—

Wilhemina presses their lips together, capturing Cordelia’s bottom lip into her mouth a moment later. It takes a hard bite for Cordelia to kiss back, teeth clashing together in the midst of their furious battle. She manages to back Wilhemina up until she’s against the wall, and even though her mind is clouded with lust, she keeps her hands behind Wilhemina’s back so she doesn’t slam into the cold wall.

She flinches at Cordelia’s wandering hands and breaks apart to put her hands on Cordelia’s shoulders. She thinks Wilhemina is going to push her away, but she pulls closer until their bodies are pressed together, not even a sliver of an inch left.

“Take my jacket off,” Wilhemina mumbles in between kisses. Cordelia manages to bring her half-lidded eyes up to Wilhemina, questioning without words. Are you sure?

“Well, are you going to make yourself useful for once, or I will have to do it?” Her arrogant tone is back, and Cordelia tugs sharply at her neat jacket until the buttons are spilling off, rolling away on the floor.

“That was my favourite jacket, you idiot—”

“Shut up.” This, Cordelia hisses out as a desire to leave Wilhemina wordless, gasping for words consumes her. She doesn’t bother to remove her belt—only shoves it up—and sticks a hand down her skirt, into her underwear.

They both gasp at how wet Wilhemina is. “Christ, Wilhemina, you’re practically dripping.” A bit of pride enters Cordelia’s voice, enough for her to almost forget that she’s just as aroused as Wilhemina.

“Did I—” She let outs a gasp when Cordelia ever-so-slowly inserts her pointer finger inside her. Already, Wilhemina is clenching around her finger, and Cordelia lowly chuckles, lowering her mouth to her neck. “Did you say something, darlin’?”

“Did I ... give you permission to address me by my first name?” Wilhemina shakily exhales when Cordelia scraps her teeth on her jawline. She weaves her hands into Cordelia’s hair, tugging when she feels teeth biting down the same spot.

“Mmm, I think you did when you kissed me and told me to undress you.”

“It was hardly undressing, just taking my jacket off. Just ... shut up and fuck me already, Miss Goode.”

Cordelia chuckles and focuses her attention on Wilhemina’s lovely neck. She leaves a few kisses before she bites, leaving a large hickey. “Say please.”

Wilhemina bites down on her lips to try to stop herself from making noise. Cordelia tsks and gives a sharp thrust with her finger. “I wanna hear you. At least say my name.”

A cry manages to escape Wilhemina’s lips, loud enough for someone passing to hear. The thought only spurs Cordelia on, and she thrusts again. “Say it, Wilhemina. Say my name.”

Wilhemina’s voice catches when she moans, “Cordelia, fuck me.”

Cordelia smirks and keeps her hands still. “Say please.”

“Fuck! Cordelia, please, please fuck me!” She pulls on Cordelia’s hair again, trying to move her hips to gain friction.

Cordelia chuckles, thriving on how easily Wilhemina is bending to her orders. “Isn’t ‘fuck’ such a coarse word, my dear?” she asks while slowly pumping her finger in and out of Wilhemina.

“What ... what else do you think we’re doing? We’re not making love,” Wilhemina spits that out with scorn, her eyes glinting the exact time Cordelia deflates a little. “I hate you, Cordelia. Get that in your mind. This is a fuck because I want it, not some love idiocy. It’s too bad that’s what you thought because you were doing so well—”

“Be quiet.” Cordelia growls, fury filling her because yes, that’s exactly what she thought, that Wilhemina has some feelings for her and she’s too stubborn to admit it because fuck, Cordelia likes her. Really likes her.

“Make me.”

And she does. Cordelia pushes in another finger, and Wilhemina takes it incredibly well if the wetness dripping onto Cordelia’s fingers is any indication. Cordelia starts thrusting fast, reveling in the obscene squelching sound her two fingers make.

“I-I’m close.” Wilhemina’s earlier arrogance is gone, replaced by a wild want of a release. “Don’t stop.”

“Oh, I should. I should get you back for being so horrible to me. I should stop you right here, on the edge of your climax, and make you beg again for me. Look at you, riding my fingers, dear Wilhemina, so needy and wet. I won’t, though because I—”

Wilhemina cuts her off with a desperate kiss, and Cordelia barely manages to catch the look in her eyes. It’s apprehension, it’s desire, it’s something like guilt, or perhaps it’s a combination of the three.

Their kiss is open-mouthed, and Cordelia tastes dark cherries—is it Wilhemina’s lipstick or hot breath? She’s not sure; she’s completely swept up in the feeling of Wilhemina jerking against her fingers and the load of wetness that drenches Cordelia’s hand. Wilhemina manages to muffle her moan into Cordelia’s mouth, but there is no hiding the way she claws at Cordelia, tugging her even closer than they are.

Perhaps them breathing together is the most intimate part of all this. Their chests heave at the same time, and every time they gasp or moan or grunt, they are literally breathing into each other’s lungs. If Cordelia can concentrate, she can almost feel a part of Wilhemina’s soul flying into her heart through their connected mouths. She’s not sure if it’s magic, but it is heaven and hell at the same time.

They part slowly, lips first. Wilhemina, her lipstick smudged, drags her eyes open, and the delicate shyness there steals Cordelia’s heart away. “Why ... how could ...” She trails off, and Cordelia busies herself with fixing Wilhemina’s belt, combing back some stray hairs, and smoothing down her skirt. She keeps her touch light and gentle as she cups Wilhemina’s cheek, smiling gently at her. “Would you be alright if I went to go grab your cane, darling?”

At her nod of agreement, Cordelia takes two steps to where Wilhemina’s cane rolled away in their ... actions and picks it up, covering Wilhemina’s hands with hers over the head of it. The warmth of her hands hopefully soaks into Wilhemina’s as they stand quietly, simply looking into each other’s eyes. Her customary awareness bleeds back in Wilhemina’s eyes, and Cordelia wishes that the unguardedness she saw—the bashful delight—makes a home there, someplace else from Cordelia’s heart.

Wilhemina is the first to break the silence. “Don’t you have dinner to go to? Or shall we stand here tenderly and gaze?”

Cordelia chuckles. Her anger from before melts away at a simple jibe, and she smiles. “I certainly have ... satisfied my appetite, my dear. I certainly don’t mind during the latter though.”

To her delight, a blush blooms on Wilhemina’s cheeks. Though she is the epitome of prim and proper once again, ignoring her appearance, the afterglow effects seem to be working in Cordelia’s favour. “Yes, well, I. I must return to see if the miscreants are revolting in my absence. Will you be joining me?”

She shakes her head no, the call of silence and thought about their evening together too strong to resist. (Though, it’s not as if she would do any thinking besides the feeling of Wilhemina’s skin.)

“Ah. Good evening, then, Miss Goode.” Wilhemina looks vaguely disappointed a moment before turning to leave for the dining hall.

“Wilhemina,” Cordelia calls softly after her.

She stops and does not turn around, merely moving her head an inch to the right. Cordelia wishes she would turn around to meet her gaze that says everything her mouth doesn’t. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow at dinner again,” is what comes out.

Wilhemina nods and continues on without a word. The words that linger with Cordelia are “I hate you”, uttered by the same woman who rips Cordelia to shreds carelessly with her words, yet allows her to piece herself back together with her touch.

I hate you.

Somehow, Cordelia doesn’t believe that at all.

Tag List: @shineestark, @marilynroselleprentiss

#so where did “I don’t write smut” go hmm #idk y’all need to thank me for this I’m going to hell jaoifjoiajfeaif #cordelia goode x wilhemina venable #cordelia goode #ahs cordelia goode #wilhemina venable #apocalypse #ahs imagine #ahs fic #ahs apocalypse #american horror story #sarah paulson #ahs #ahs sarah paulson #not sfw #coven

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harlot-of-oblivion · 5 years

Text

A Dance with the Devil

You are a dancer looking for the perfect partner when you catch the eye of a white haired gentleman known as Vergil. Instantly attracted to this handsome cool devil you engage in an intense dance of passion and seduction.

Well this happened. I blame Vergil's sexy legs.

I'd like to give a shout out to @drusoona for showering me in endless screenshots of those wonderfully yummy legs. It kept me going. Much thanks and love! 💕

I'd also like to thank the anon on tumblr that suggested the title. I loved the idea so much that I even incorporated it in my fic. So, thank you for the inspiration. 😘

The song that is used during their intimate tango is Do It For Me by Rosenfeld.

Enjoy!

You always enjoy the feeling of a crowded dance hall. The soft murmurs that echo as people chat among themselves, the ever present music in the air, the distinct tapping of feet stepping on the floor as the slight swoosh of bodies accompanies their rhythm…you thrive on this energy.

Quite a turn out tonight, you thought as your eyes scan the various students, guests, and instructors that the fill the vast room. You’ve been dancing at the Red Grave City Dance Studio for about a year now. Usually people come and learn the basics, but they don’t stick around to truly master the dances. But you take pride in your tutelage of the intricacies of the standard smooth dances, which is your primary focus. You find any excuse to put on your heels and slap on a red split dress just to feel that exciting rush as you glide across the floor.

Which is why you’re here at the open house…or in this case, an open dance hall. Students of the studio invite anyone they see fit to this event. The dance instructors will go around, invite them to dance, and show them various steps and dances. You didn’t bring a guest though. It’s just events like this are perfect to show off your skills…and perhaps find a suitable dance partner. Unfortunately it takes two people to really do the smooth dances justice, and so far you haven’t found anyone that can be a decent lead. So here you are, standing in the corner as your eyes search the throng of people for a partner.

The swinging door of the entrance way caught your attention. You see one fellow student, you believe her name is Kyrie, walking in holding the arm of a young man with short white hair. Kyrie enrolled about a month ago, to brush up on her waltz for her wedding, and it seems she was finally able to convince her fiancé to join her. You recall his name to be Nero if memory serves you right. As they move towards the registry table you notice that the happy couple didn’t come alone. A woman close behind them is grinning mischievously as she follows the couple. You raise your eyebrow quizzically as you see her cowboy boots, jean shorts, several tattoos and…is that a tool belt? You blink your eyes in disbelief as another figure suddenly appears beside the odd group.

Where the hell did he come from? You ponder as you take in the fierce presence of a man that appears to be their guest as well. He was tall, pale, and every bit as stoic as you can get without being called stone. His attire was out of the ordinary for today’s standards. A dark blue coat with light blue embroidery and three coattails, a blue formal vest, black pants, and boots with several straps. It was striking, but you had to admit he pulls it off. You couldn’t help to admire his long legs, noticing their strength and elegance as he strides purposefully towards the table.

I wouldn’t mind feeling those legs guide me on the dance floor, you thought suggestively to yourself as he comes to a halt at the group. Now that he’s a bit closer you can get a good look at his facial features. His white hair is swept up out of his face, showcasing one the most handsome faces you’ve ever seen. It reminded you of the marble statues of ancient times, every angle and contour carefully carved into a masterpiece. You’ve touched one of those statues once. It was cold to the touch, and soft as satin. By the way he carries himself, he seems to be calm, cool, and you absently wonder if he’s also soft as satin.

While the rest of the eccentric group talks with the instructor at the table the white haired gentleman, who you guess must be related to Kyrie’s fiancé since their hair color is similar, steps to the side and observes the room. His head slowly turns as his eyes inspect the room, his face expressing no emotion as he surveys his surroundings. You know you should look away before his eyes makes their way to where you stand, but how could you tear your gaze from a work of art? Besides, its not like he’ll notice one lone woman staring among the crowd…

His eyes sweep over to where you stand. Suddenly, he pauses and his intense gaze directs all their attention at one corner…right where you’re standing. He’s staring straight at you. A small shiver rushes through your body as you gasp out a shuddering breath. His captivating silver eyes pin you down and you don’t dare move, afraid that if you do the moment will be lost. Outside distractions seem to fade, your mind no longer registering the classical music and the company of dancing bodies. All of your focus is on the white haired gentleman, whose face has now molded itself into scowl. Great…he’s probably wondering why a weird woman is gaping at him with no sense of decency. You were caught red handed and you should just break eye contact, walk away while picking up what was left of your dignity.

But you don’t. For some reason, your gut tells you to stand your ground. You feel that this staring contest is a test…as to what its testing you for, you have no idea. So, you remain trapped by his gaze, lifting your chin little in defiance and hope its convincing enough to relay the message that he doesn’t intimidate you. The scowl lifts off his face as he regards you in curiosity. I guess I passed? A pleased grin graces your lips and you tilt your head to the side in a teasing manner, inviting whatever trouble this man has in store for you.

The white haired gentleman moves his elegant legs, his eyes never straying from your form as he approaches you. Your heart begins to beat faster in anticipation. While you wait for the walking work of art to arrive you let your eyes drift all over his body. You get the impression that he likes to be in charge, which suits you fine as long as he proves to be a good lead. You can practically feel his eyes roam over your body as he reaches you and halts just out of your personal space. He silently stands there for a moment, the blue hue in his silver eyes shining as he studies you up close. You raise your eyebrow questioningly as you slightly pop your hip out in mild amusement. If he thinks he can keep me waiting...well, he’s in for a rude awakening.

“Is this where you impress me, or should I find someone else to dance with?”

Your shrewish voice seems to knock him out of his thoughts as his eyes focus on your face. He stares down at you with a bewildered expression on his face and that makes you grin triumphantly as you wait for his response. A few seconds of silence pass before he does something that takes you off guard…he laughs. The sardonic timber echoes in the air as he steps within your personal space and bows down. His height towers over you as he presents his hand. Then, in a confident and very sensuous voice, he asks the question you’ve been longing to hear since arriving here.

“May I have this dance, my lady?”

You place your hand into his open palm, giving him a sultry glare. “And who do I have the pleasure of following into a dance?”

“Vergil. And who do I have the pleasure of leading into a dance?” he requests in turn as he leads you to the dance floor. You give him your name as he pulls you close, preparing you for a waltz. You’re so close that you can feel his chest vibrate as he hums, repeating your name softly. “So that is the name of my temptress…well, let’s see if you can truly dance with the devil, my lady.”

Either this man is extremely confident in himself or very arrogant, you mused as your body reacts to his words, a warm tingle runs down your spine as the dance begins. He proves to be an excellent dancer, masterfully leading you into a refined Viennese waltz. He knows exactly when to be direct and when to be subtle with his body. You find yourself easily following him, enjoying the rush of adrenaline dancing with a dashing stranger.

For the rest of the evening you spend all your time with Vergil. Your conversations with him are vague, both of you wordlessly acknowledging that you want to live in the mystery of each other for as long as possible. And the dancing…he leads you into a couple more waltzes, but its when you goad him in a tango that your attraction for this man ramps up. You thought he was reluctant to tango because he didn’t know the steps, but you were quickly proven wrong when he kept up with you on the dance floor. That’s when you decide to up the stakes in this little game between the two of you. Alluring glances out of the corner of your eye as he guides you across the floor. Sensual caresses across his chest, waist, and arms as you follow his lead.

And by the way his actions become more demanding you knew he took notice…and he mercilessly reciprocates. The next tango is full of his suggestive touches and intense gazes. His warm fingers teasingly stroke your waist, neck, and legs. His strong arms hold you close as he effortlessly lifts you in the air. And his long elegant legs brush you constantly. When he slips his knee high between your thighs and slides it across your skin, the heat of his body making your slick heat quiver…you come to the decision to tempt this man straight to your bed.

When one of the instructors announces that the last dance of the night is about to commence you lean up and whisper into Vergil’s ear. “As much as I want to dazzle everyone with one last dance…I’d rather have you all to myself.” You step away from him and raise a suggestive eyebrow at him. “Show me what you’re really capable of, Vergil. Follow me…and don’t hold back.” You give him the best come hither look you can muster, hoping that you’ve enticed him enough before turning your back and walking away from him, grabbing your clutch purse as you go through a side door.

Being one of the top students here gives you some privileges…such as a key to a private dance room. The butterflies in your stomach get stronger with each step down the hall. You can’t shake the slight worry that he won’t follow, thinking you too forward and rejecting your offer. But the way he looks at you, talks to you, touches you…you feel certain that he’ll follow, if not to dance then…well, you’re open minded and quick to adapt. That’s what makes you great dancer after all.

Light footsteps reverberate through the hall behind you. You turn your head and see Vergil close behind you, fierce eyes piecing right through you. His smooth gait reminds you of a predator stalking their prey and you relish the idea letting him catch you, but only after he gives you a good chase. Exhilaration overtakes the butterflies in your stomach as you reach the door to the private room. As you place the key in the doorknob you feel the dominate presence of Vergil enclose around you, stealing your breath away as his lips brush against your neck.

“You play with fire…still think you can handle the heat?” he murmurs as he drags his lips to your ear, making you shiver at his chilling touch.

You turn the knob and open the door. “It’s the heat that makes me thrive,” you reply calmly as you gesture for him to come in. When he steps though you close the door and lock it before looking back at him with fiery conviction gleaming in your eyes.

“Light me up, Vergil.”

You seductively strut past him to the corner of the room where a phone speaker sits on a table . A deep rumbling purr emanates in the air as Vergil follows behind, no doubt enjoying the view of your shapely behind. You make sure to really rock your hips, adding to the already splendid bounce of your ass. You’ve managed to somehow make it this far, and you’re going to make damn sure you have your way with this cocky man…hook, line, and sinker.

Vergil growls and you feel his strong hands grab your arms, pulling your back to his chest. His lips brush against the shell of your ear, making you shiver in delight. “Brazen temptress,” he remarks, pressing his hips to your body. You feel the distinct bulge of his arousal against your butt. You almost break down and turn around to end this game, but you stick to your task, determined to go through what you have planned. You shrug him off and continue on, taking your phone out and hooking it into the speakers. You make sure it has the song you want queued up, putting it on repeat just in case. Once everything was in place you turn to face a tantalizing sight.

Vergil has removed his signature coat, revealing his bare arms. Seeing a bit more of his skin gives you tingles in all the right places. His gloves are also gone. Those calloused hands are slightly twitching as his side, preparing to enact whatever you bring. You bite your lip and lower your eyes as you lean forward a bit, hands clasped behind your back as you shamelessly show off your ample cleavage.

“Would you do me the honor in joining me in a tango, sir?” you request playfully.

Vergil hums appreciatively. “How could I say no to such a riveting display?”

You don’t even try to hide the delighted smirk that appears on your lips. Turning slightly you swipe at your phone as Vergil makes his way to the center of the room. He stands patiently facing the mirrored wall, a fine example of grace and prowess. You hurriedly join him, getting in close behind him and put both hands on his back as the beginning of the song plays. You wait a moment before sliding one of your hands around until it rests on his chest, fingers spread wide as you slightly dig your nails into his vest. His own hand comes up to rest on it, warm and rough as his fingers curl in between yours as the words of the song plays through the air.

Show me how

Show me how you like it done

You're all mine

I'll make you feel like you're the one

Your hand slowly withdraws and Vergil leans to the side, as if to follow your smooth touch. Your body shifts around to his side, your lustful eyes meeting his as he leads you in a soft twirl and brings your back to his chest. One of his hands presses on your abdomen while the other glides up your side, stopping just short of your cupping your breast. Your mouth opens as you let out a sigh of pleasure, extending both arms out to the side as you ready for his next move.

Take off your clothes

Give me your trust

Look me in the eyes and confess your lust

His body leads you to the side and you let him spin you in that direction, snapping you still after one step. His arm encircles your back as you grasp that arm, your other free hand brings itself to back of his neck. Vergil rests his forehead upon yours, his fervent gaze meeting yours as you nuzzle your nose against his and both your lips are but a breath apart. In the corner of your eye you catch a glimpse of this delectable image in the mirror. It takes all your willpower to not let out a wanton moan as desire flows through you.

Get on your knees

Beg me to stop

I promise I'll love you if you do it

So do it for me

Your rub your fingers into his hair at the base of his neck as he steps into a contra check, changing your direction as you leisurely twirl with him until he pauses your body beside him. He rests his hand against your rib cage, his thumb grazes the underside of your breast. Your breath shutters as you feel yourself give in to this arduous haze. His arm behind your back gently pushes you forward, commanding you to take a couple steps as he comes in close. Once again his face is unbearably close. You can feel his steady breath against your mouth. His hand on your rib cage slides up, barely cupping your breast. As he continues past your breast his thumb firmly brushes against your nipple, causing you to whimper softly.

The corners of Vergil’s mouth turn up in a smug grin. Shooting him a frustrated glare, you decide you about had it with him being a big tease. Time to show him why I dared to dance with the devil, you thought mischievously as you wait for your opening. The sneaky hand that made you whimper reaches the underside of your arm. He extends his touch, caressing every inch of skin, before ending at your hand. He bends his knees slightly, you following his lead as he slinks to the side and fully grasps your hand in his. As you both straighten up, you bring your face in just a tad bit closer, seizing your chance at payback. You open your mouth and let your tongue peek out, the tip swiping across Vergil’s pouty lips. He bares his teeth and snarls. He jerks your body even closer, your chest meeting his as he positions you both for his next move. His silver eyes glare down at you, warning you to behave…or else. You know the music is about to pick up the pace, so you ready yourself for a spirited ride.

The air around you ignites as he leads you into a fast paced tango, his legs showing no mercy as your high heels keep up with their stride. You gave just as much as you got though, completely in sync with each other as he guides you passionately across the floor. You close your eyes, giving him total control as you just bask in the moment. The firm grasp of his hands as they direct you wherever he wants. The gentle caress of his hips as they slightly rock with his movements. The titillating stroke of his thigh between your legs on occasion. Vergil was cool and reserved when you first met him, but now…he was extremely zealous in this dancing, setting your body aflame with lust.

Give me your hand

I'll show you things you've never done

Hold my head

I'll make you feel like never before

Even in your delirious stupor you admire his technique; so precise and controlled as your bodies move as one. If this is how he is with his clothes on…you couldn’t wait to see what he had in store for you at the end of this thrilling game. Your eyes flutter open as both your bodies spin, and he continues to lead you in a few more as he stands stationary. His hand on your back signals you to stop and he dips you down to his knee, his glorious legs spread wide to accommodate your body. In turn you grandly extend your arm out, showing off your sexy red dress as your daring leg lunges out. A sultry grin pulls at your lips, enjoying the rush of elation that wafts through you. As your about to be lifted back to your feet your eyes catch the reflection in the mirror.

Vergil isn’t looking down at you as you sensually stretch your body. He’s looking up…at the mirror. Jaw clenched, mouth partially open as he harshly breaths, and his eyes are practically glowing as they roam your body. Pleasure surges through your body as you witness for the first time a slip in his controlled façade. It’s very sexy and you want nothing more than to pull his face down and kiss him senseless. But your in it to win it. So, you decide to test his resolve once more. You show off your slender neck as you raise your hand up to it and stroke your skin all the way down your chest while letting your mouth drop open in ecstasy.

Take off your clothes

Give me your trust

Look me in the eyes and confess your lust

Suddenly, he forcefully lifts to your feet and pulls your backwards, a hard chest colliding with your back. Vergil takes your hand and encircles it around you as his lips come to your ear, pressing lightly as they descend down to your neck. You feel his lips smirk against your quickening pulse as his tongue comes out to taste your skin. This time you don’t even try to stop the soft groan that leaves your lips. His arousal is very evident as you instinctively rub your bottom against his hips. Vergil hisses and nibbles at your neck as he spreads your arms out, rocking his hips forward to indicate where he wants you to step. God damn tease! you thought exasperatedly, but you also had to applaud his tenacity. You can feel yourself slipping, but you press on, not wanting to give in just yet.

Get on your knees

Beg me to stop

I promise I'll love you if you do it

So do it for me

Just as you take a step away from him you feel him follow, lingering for just a moment before leading you in a twirl back to his side. You raise your hands gracefully above your head, doing a couple more turns before coming to a halt in Vergil’s arms with a sudden snap. His body is as close as it can get, the bulge in his pants now against your hip. You feel his fingers fondle your waist as he lowers his head atop yours. His eyes are half closed, darkening with desire as he unabashedly looks at your lips. As your hands lower onto his sculpted arms, you tilt your head up as far as you can. You stare up at him desperately as you offer your lips, seeking some relief from the hot tension that’s been steadily rising since the start of this dance.

Vergil lowers his head until his lips are but a scant breath away from your mouth. His eyes peer into yours, gleaming as his lips firmly brush against yours own. You hum your appreciation at this long awaited moment, eagerly kissing back as his hands come up to your arms. Instead of deepening the kiss he infuriatingly bends his knees, intending to continue on with the dance. You weakly whine in protest, but a low rumbling growl alerts you that he will not be swayed. His lips sadly leave you as he guides you once more, his steps even more demanding than the last time.

You follow him…except this time you don’t let him have all the reins. To show your displeasure at his torturous teasing you decide to put more emphasis on your legs. Specifically, taking advantage of the split seam of your dress. You spread your legs wider than necessary, showing off your skimpy panties in a risqué manner every so often. Normally this action would be a waste, but with the mirrored wall…there’s a chance that Vergil can’t resist checking out the reflection. By the way his movements start to be more domineering and the distinct cadence of harsh breathing he was indeed noticing your very sheer panties.

Say my name

All I wanna do is hear you scream in pain

Say my name

I promise I'll love you if you do it

So do it for me

After a couple more flashes of your clothed sex, Vergil abruptly pauses and you can see fire in his eyes. Not so fun when its turned on you now, is it? You just keep the routine going, trusting that he’ll support you as you give him a naughty smile, bending your back in a full arch towards the mirror. You can see yourself there, hair dangling wildly and your breasts boldly displayed for only his eyes to feast on. This rewards you a guttural grunt and you can’t help to feel accomplished at finally hearing him let loose.

In the mirror you can now see his face openly showing his ravenous desire. His hand slides down behind you and grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing it as he grinds his hips into you. A sharp dart of pleasure shoots through you as a gasp escapes your lips. You gradually lift your body back up to him and purposely sift your fingers through his hair, hoping that it will be enough for him to finally give in and have his way with you. No such luck. All he does his scoff indignantly and twist you around, determined to endure until the end.

You huff in agitation, but also refuse to back down as well. The song is nearing its end, blasting its erotic beat as Vergil holds nothing back in this explosive finale. He swirls you around relentlessly around the floor, using his body to support you sporadically as your feet flicker and kick in the air. At one point he displays his strength when he wraps his arms around your waist, picks you up, and flips your body up onto his shoulders. You let the momentum carry you as your legs swing around behind his neck, trusting him to carry you through this stunt. His arms expertly catch you and immediately he twirls you a few times before ending in a triumphant dip.

Holy shit. You are so aroused that you couldn’t stand it anymore. Your body goes limp as Vergil picks you back up carefully, having no more energy to go on in this state. He gently cradles your head and lifts it to examine your face with scrutiny. You breath is rapid, your breasts straining against your dress as they rose and fell in time with your breath. At this point you probably look totally flushed and sweaty from the sexual intensity of the dance. But at this point you didn’t care. You needed this man to kiss you, to touch you…to fuck you so badly. This whole scenario was your idea, confronting him about this obvious attraction you both have for each other and doing something about it. He’s responded above and beyond expectations spectacularly at this point, but you feel that you’re at the point of no return. All you can do is hope that the risk was worth it…and await his next move.

Vergil traps you in a vice grip close to his body. His hand angles your head up and you notice that his face is immobile, but his hooded eyes shine with satisfaction. He leans in and captures your lips ferociously, making you cry out in delight as your arms wrap around his neck. His tongue instantly demands your mouth to open and you comply, enjoying the taste of black tea and mint as he explores every corner of your mouth, leaving no place untouched by him.

Distracted by his heavy kisses you didn’t notice his hand leave the back of your head until you felt a soft smack on your butt. You release a muffle moan against his mouth, encouraging him with a small bite on his bottom lip. He merely grumbles and proceeds to mercilessly make out with you. His sly hand creeps down over the curve of your ass, its path unyielding as it slides over the backside of your thigh. He prompts you to lift your leg with a slight squeeze of his fingers. You groan meekly as you do as your told, his hand holding it in place before slipping down over your knee and extending the rest of your leg out. He abruptly pulls his mouth away from yours, ignoring your cry of protest as he holds your foot high in the air. He then moves his body in a way that tells you he wants to turn you away, and to keep your leg up as you sweep it around.

He’s still trying to finish the dance…what a handsome, insufferable man. You sigh and shake your head in disbelief, but you didn’t want to disappoint him. So, you spin your back to him, making sure to really show off your lovely leg. When your back is completely flat with his chest Vergil bends your leg backwards around his waist as he lowers his body as if he was dipping you. This stretches your body in a pleasing pose, open and reliant on his arms to keep you steady. You happen to notice that you're facing the mirror, and its only then that you realize what he’s done. His expression is pure sin as his hands quickly shoot across your body. One hand gropes a breast while the other glides over your delicate center. You gasp out, unable to move away as he strokes your damp panties at an agonizing pace. All you could do is moan and watch all this unfold in the mirror, completely at this wicked man’s mercy.

A husky chuckle sounds close to your ear. “My, my…all this for me?” Vergil softly scoffs as his hand speeds up slightly, emphasizing the slickness in which they move. You whimper as you try to move your hips to ease the pressure, but its no use; he’s got you right where he wants you. You feel a hum vibrate against your ear. In the mirror you see Vergil nibble on your ear, making you twitch against him as his hand completely cups your sex. His eyes catch yours in the mirror and he grins smugly.

“Look at you…wet, wanton…and all mine,” he grumbles and bites down on your neck, sucking it hard as he marks you. You gasp out in pain, but the fingers on your wet panties tease you, rubbing close to your hot clothed entrance which eases the pain into rough pleasure.

“Ah…Vergil…please…I need…ah!” You plea softly, hoping that he either gives you release with that wonderful hand of his or tears your clothes off and fucks you senseless.

Vergil releases your neck and whispers in your ear. “Your begging pleases me…so, what does my temptress want, hmm? Tell me…hold nothing back. And perhaps I’ll reward you with what you desire.”

You take a shaky breath and find his eyes in the mirror, making sure you have his attention as you voice all the things you’ve wanted to do to him since you’ve first met. “I want to see you naked. I want to run my hands up and down your legs as I suck your cock. I want to taste you…fuck you…please, Vergil! I need-”

Suddenly Vergil straightens his form, taking you with him as he forcefully turns you around to face him and slams his lips against yours. His arms squeeze you against his chest as he lifts your feet off the floor and props his thigh in between your legs. The sudden hard friction against your aching center makes you moan in sweet relief, your hips rocking subconsciously as you sought out any kind of release. You didn’t care if your looked like an animal rutting in heat…it felt too good for you to care at the moment.

Vergil’s keen eyes took notice of your subtle humping of his leg and one hand reaches behind you, expecting him to halt your movements…but instead he guides your hips as he presses his thigh closer to you. You can feel every indention of his pants and the smooth shift of his muscled leg. Your mouth leaves him as a stunning moan escapes your lips. It felt absolutely delicious, but you could feel your cheeks redden in embarrassment. This also didn’t escape his notice as a wicked laugh leaves his devilish lips.

“A truly salacious sight! Playing coy while finding pleasure on my thigh…does it feel good? Pleasuring yourself on my leg?” he asks as he grinds against you to add extra friction. You whine and nod your head, desperately trying to hold back from reaching your peak. But he continues to rock your hips against his thigh, and at this rate you’ll explode before any of your clothes come off. Vergil bends his head down against yours, his eyes fixate on your face as he spoke in a low, rumbling tone. “Don’t wait. Show me what my temptress looks like when she’s in the throes of passion.” Your eyes widen in shock at his words, your vulgar hips slowing a bit. Vergil huffs in displeasure and presses you closer to his leg. Taking the hint that he really meant it…you vigorously rub yourself on his thigh, letting go of all reservations and just give in to his naughty demand. All the tension that’s built up since meeting this man is coming to a head. You can hear Vergil’s labored breath as he watches, enraptured by watching you pleasure yourself on his leg.

“That’s right,” he mutters, spurring you on with his deep sensuous voice. “Come on.”

Vergil’s soft command is all it takes to finally bring you over the threshold. Your body tenses as you cry out in fervor, no longer caring that you got off on a man’s thick thigh. You vaguely register your dress being unzipped and a warm hand cupping your breast, a calloused thumb circling your nipple as it prolongs your high. Your hands clutch onto Vergil’s vest urgently, making sure that you were secure as a shiver runs through body. It makes your toes curl in your heels and your legs twitch as you slow your hips, letting the pleasurable wave carry you before it recedes and you float back down to reality.

When you come to your senses your open eyes and see Vergil staring down at you with awe. “Now that…was a ravishing show,” he marvels as he fully takes your dress off up over your head. “Worthy of applause…” He removes his thigh, the obvious slickness of your orgasm shining on his pants. You feel your cheeks blush as Vergil takes a finger and swipes some of it. “And an encore.” He brings that finger to his mouth and sucks, moaning softly at the taste of you.

You bite your lip and tilt your head to the side as you trail your hand down your body, pulling on the skimpy strap of your panties and snapping them back against your hip. This entices Vergil into action as he steps up close to you and grabs your hands, placing them on his still clothed chest. “Remove all my clothing and get on your knees,” he orders fiercely, making you shiver in anticipation as your fingers swiftly undid the buttons of his vest. You peel it away to reveal his well toned chest, and it takes everything in you to not reach out and feel every muscle. You kneel down and unbuckle his boots, removing them as he lifts each foot for you.

That only left him in his pants. As you undo the clasp at his waist you gaze up at Vergil, silently thanking him for letting you indulge in your fantasy. He smirks and his fingers caress your cheek, thumb coming up to your bottom lip and brushing it tenderly. You open your mouth and gently suck his thumb in, giving him a preview of what is to come. His lips curl up in a quiet snarl as your hands begin to pull his pants down with his underwear, your fingers caressing every inch of his legs you can get to on the way. His cock pops free and you can’t help to pause and admire its impressive size. You hear Vergil laugh, its cocky cadence echoing throughout the room.

“Eager to suck my cock and taste greatness?” he inquires boldly as he raises an eyebrow at you. You finish removing his pants and look back up at him, flashing him an impish grin as you blow a bit of air on the white hair trailing down to your prize. He hisses and grabs a handful of your hair, holding you still as he lightly palms his erection.

“Mmm…if you want me to taste greatness then you better hurry and shove that glorious cock of yours in my mouth,” you remark playfully. Vergil scoffs and releases your hair, his eyes gesturing for you to proceed with your dirty deed. You scoot a bit closer and make good on your claim, sliding your hands all over his calves and thighs. One of your hands gently grabs the base of his cock, holding it steady as you take your first lick on the tip. A pearl of precum spreads across your tongue and you moan at the taste. Cool and salty…just like the man standing before you.

You lavish every inch of his cock in earnest with your tongue, getting him ready for the warm cavern of your mouth. A long rumbling growl lets you know that he’s feeling good. His fingers are back in your hair, stroking your scalp encouragingly as you worship him. You suck the tip of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue all round his head. Vergil grunts openly, not longer trying to retrain himself. You open your mouth and take in as much of him as you can, and begin to lazily suck his cock. His fingers massage your head enthusiastically and his breathing becomes staccato. Your eyes flicker over to the mirror and see his face the picture of total rapture. This makes your body heat up, seeing this man so relaxed…and it was all thanks to you.

Feeling motivated to really impress him you prepare to blow his mind. Your hands trail down his thigh, nails slightly scratching his skin as you open your throat and take all of him down to the base before quickly withdrawing to the tip. Vergil gasps above you, the muscles of his legs going taunt as his fingers grip your hair roughly. You do this a few more times, working your throat for his size before grasping his ass with both hands. Your eyes drift back to the mirror as you bury his entire length into your mouth, stopping at the base and suck hard. Vergil’s head falls back as a groan bursts from his lips and he growls when you start to gently thrust your mouth against his cock. His eyes again meet the mirror and you both watch as you do your damn best to drive him crazy. Your nipples harden and your slick heat aches as you feel the skin of his cock growing taunt, a sign that he’s close to release. You moan and once again your hips subconsciously rock to ease the tension. Vergil rubs your hair as he pointedly looks you in the eye in the mirror.

“Bring yourself pleasure once more. Let me hear how much you love the taste of my cock,” he commands.

You don’t have to be told twice. You bring one hand down to your core and slip it beneath your soaked panties. Remembering that Vergil is watching you in the mirror you balance yourself on your heels and provocatively spread your legs wide, making sure he sees you energetically rub yourself. You don’t last too long as you feel your body quickly respond to such an erotic sight. Your let your muffled scream ring out as you come again, almost missing the distinct quiver of his cock about to release. His guttural snarl signals you to prepare for his seed as it gushes into your mouth. You swallow every single drop, humming as you savor this man’s unique taste.

When his cock has no more seed to give you slowly remove your mouth, careful not to scratch him with your teeth now that he’s growing soft again. You settle down on your knees and rest your head on his hip as your arms hug his legs for balance. Vergil’s hand is still in your hair, gently petting your head as his labored breaths start to even out. In the mirror you see him staring calmly down at you. His hand cradles your head and lifts it up so he can see your face. Smoldering silver eyes with flickering blue hues take in your messy hair, swollen lips, and shaking body. You stare back up at your dancing devil and grin mischievously.

“So, did I truly dance with the devil?” you ask as your hands knead his thighs.

“Mmm…you are a bewitching vision on the dance floor, my lady,” he says with a charming grin. You beam up at him as he helps you to your feet. You sigh in relief to be off your knees as Vergil pulls you close, his bare chest against your sensitive nipples as he kisses you softly. You instantly respond and let him deepen it, the heated rush of before gone and replaced with lazy strokes of the tongue. When he breaks away you take the opportunity to voice the inevitable.

You tilt your head questioningly. “Well, that was the best dance I’ve ever had, but…now what?”

Vergil’s brow furrows in deep thought and for the first time since meeting him…he looks hesitant. “I am uncertain. I normally don’t indulge in spontaneous trysts.”

You squint your eyes in amusement. “Spontaneous trysts? That’s the fanciest way to say one night stand I have ever heard,” you giggle softly as your hands rub his smooth chest.

Vergil leers down at you mockingly as his hand spanks your bottom. “If you know what the proper etiquette is for this social situation then by all means…enlighten me.”

You bite your lip to hide your gleeful smile. “I don’t know if I would call it etiquette...but you just need figure out if you and your partner want to continue to see each other. If we decide to end it here and go about our separate ways, then we take the lovely memories of each other with us and recall them fondly when we’re lonely…but…” Your voice trails off as you slide your hands around his neck, looking up at him with hooded eyes. “The night is still young and as much as I love idea of letting you have your way with me standing in front of that mirror…my heels are killing my feet.”

You take a step back and look Vergil directly in the eye. “Come home with me. I have music, wine, and enough space for more dancing if it suits you.” Your eyes pointedly glance over at the mirror. “I also happen to have a mirror…right above my bed.”

Vergil has you back in his arms in an instant. He growls as he grinds his hips against you, his slightly hardening cock rubbing against your sheer panties. “You would invite the devil into your bed? Well, well…you truly are a brave temptress.”

You moan softly and give him a peck on his cheek. “I just know what I want…and I want you, Vergil,” you whisper as you wait for his answer. His fingers dig into your hips for a moment before he captures your lips in a heated kiss, igniting your desire once more. When he pulls away you see can practically see the dark promise of pleasure gleaming in his eyes.

“Allow me to lead the way out, my lady.”

Both of you help each other get dressed, once again letting your touches linger in your renewed game of seduction. Once you had all your belongings gathered you notice that Vergil is now holding what looks to be a katana. You raise your eyebrow quizzically, not really knowing how you haven’t noticed it until now, but you just shrug it off because its not strangest thing to see around here. As you head towards the door Vergil stops you and directs you to stand behind him. You are about to ask him why when he unsheathes his sword and swiftly cuts a cross in the air. As he sheaths his sword with a disciplined flourish, a blue light suddenly lights up the room as reality seems to rip open a portal before you. All you could do is stare dumbfounded at this display of power as Vergil turns to you and offers his arm to you. His nonchalance about the whole thing snaps you out of your astonished daze and you look at him incredulously as you take his arm.

Vergil lets out a cocky laugh. “I hope you’re prepared, my temptress.” He leans down and his low tenor voice whispers in your ear. “Because I won’t be leaving your bed until you’re bargaining for your sweet release and screaming my name.”

Once again he sets your body aflame as you finally realize that he must one of the prolific demon hunters of Red Grave City. Well shit…I really did dance with the devil! Vergil flashes you a devilish grin before leading you through the miraculous portal, towards whatever sinful games he has planned for you. You wrap yourself around his arm, pressing your breasts against him and looking up at him with hunger in your eyes.

How can you not resist another dance with this handsome devil?

Read on my Ao3

My Master List of you want more. ❤

#vergil #vergil x reader #vergil sparda #dmc #devil may cry #dmc5 #shameless smut #the ballroom dancing fic is done #vergil's legs #are pure sin #a dance with a devil #writing #fanfiction #harlot writes

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lokisgame · 5 years

Text

A Generous Donation [7]

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6]

She kissed him back like it just might be the last kiss on Earth. Long and hungry and completely unabashed. He might have been the one who closed the distance, but she held on to his shoulders and kept him in place with fingers twined in his hair, shifting against him, stealing his breath. It was a direct assault, no prisoners taken, and he had to push back, forcing her to unlatch, just to get some oxygen. "Hold on," he panted against her lips, kissing of any sting she might feel, "I'm not twenty." "Thank God," she teased, but slowed down, feeling his lips in single kisses, "just so, you know, I'm not, desperate." "What?" "I want you." "Ditto," he grinned and grabbed her ass. "I'm fine and this is not some," "Cry for attention?" "Yeah," "One day, PC will kill romance," he chuckled and kissed her pulse, "but consent is important." "It's given, freely, consciously," she grinned, grinding her ass against his hands, "and you talk too much." "So I've been told," he whispered in her ear then licked her earlobe, "occupational hazard."

She laughed, feeling stubble against delicate skin. "I guess you don't get to be, a professor at Harvard by being a good listener." "I can listen," he said between kisses, going back down her neck. "How about," she grinned, scratching his scalp, "you show me, what you've got. And I tell you, if I like it, or not." Mulder chuckled and looked up, "you want me to apply for the job?" "I want you," she said, combing fingers through his hair and gently pulling his head back, "to be yourself." She kissed his mouth, sliding the tip of her tongue over his lower lip. "It's not a test." "You say so now," he smiled against her lips, "but later, you'll sit at lunch with your best friends." Hand on her breast squeezed then slipped and he tickled her side through thin cotton of her button-down. Scully giggled, trying to escape but only squirming more, his arm around her waist held her in place. "You watched too much Sex and The City." "It was research." Mulder chuckled and claimed her lips again. This time they paced themselves. He untucked her shirt, working his way up through buttons and sloppily returning kisses until the last one gave. The fabric fell away and he felt skin and lace, burying his face in her cleavage and squeezed her breasts. The lace, though soft, spoiled the effect. "I love this bra," he panted, trying to get his mind straight enough to think about the clasp, but her hands were already there, one pull and the gates of heaven have opened. He bent down and tipping her back, latched on, laving and sucking, making her moan. Silk and warmth under his hands and her constant shifting in his lap, sent his head spinning. He wanted her now, like this, on this couch, but he also wanted to know her all, learn all the textures and tastes and just enjoy. He was hard and she was hot and it was easy to get lost. "You like this?" He panted, letting go of her breast, having loved them both. "It's okay," she said and he looked up, catching up on the tease, "but you're still dressed." "Sorry, got distracted," he grinned and pulled the sweater, along with the tee under it, off his back. Scully leaned back to make room, and when he surfaced, her shirt and bra were gone, and her arms were open. "C'mere," she said and pulled him back, pressing her lithe body into his chest. She kissed him long and hard and wherever her hands wandered, his skin tingled, sending shivers up and down his spine, his cock growing harder with each pass. He broke free from her lips and pressed a kiss under her jaw. "You want more?" "I want it all," she panted, dropping the tease, and there was joy in her voice, pure abandon. He tightened his grip and she held on, letting him lower her to the cushions. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, kissing down her neck and shoulder, then across her collarbone. "No, I got stretch marks, and cellulite and things are starting to sag," she whined. "You're joking, right?" "Yeah," she laughed, "but tell me more." "Well, these are pretty outstanding tits, you've got here," he circled his tongue around her nipple then flicked the tip, she shivered, "yup, wonderful, 10 out of 10," he switched and did the same to the other one, "times two." Scully laughed and smacked his shoulder, folding her arm over her eyes. "Go on." Scratching her sides gently, Mulder obliged, kissing her sternum, and down her belly, "and you clearly work out, my cutting board isn't this flat." "Lots of steam to burn off," she sighed, and he chased the motion, turning it into a laugh with the tip of his nose. "Stressful job, being a doctor," he agreed and moved on, reaching the button on her jeans. "Now this, this I don't like," he said, making her pull herself up, propped up on her elbows, wearing nothing but a frown from the waist up. "What's wrong with my jeans?" "Nothing, very nice jeans, great ass inside them, I think." "You think?" "I can't see it, now, can I." "Oh, for crying out loud," she groaned and reached for the button. "Wait, do it slow." He instructed, watching her hand, and she got it. Shifting to get out of the way, he watched up close how she arched her back to pull free the belt. He stroked down her thigh and calf till he reached her socks and pulled them off, all the while watching her pop the button through its' hole, find the tab on the zipper and pull it down slow. She hooked her thumbs under the edge, and lifted her hips, right into his face. "God, you're good at this," grinned and buried his face in her jeans, breathing her in. "Will you let me finish?" She laughed, and he shook his head, still in her crotch. "Mulder, c'mon." He didn't let go, but took the edge off her jeans and started pulling them down, just as slow, kissing every inch he uncovered. The pants were a tight fit, but once they cleared her hips, she had no time to think, because his tongue was already searching, slipping past skin and bumping her clit. She fell back, feeling his hands cup her ass and lift her to his mouth, licking and flicking, while her thighs were bound and she was pulled into this one tight peak, like a pinched sheet, swelling around it, but needing more still, it was a cruel tease. "Mulder?" She warned, and he let go. Grinning, he pulled her pants down and away, and she was free, and his mouth was on her, her thigh over his shoulder, her breast in his hand, nipple trapped between fingers, and his tongue everywhere. He circled and stroked, and dipped and stroked some more, it was like they never had dinner, and she was his main course. She dug in her heels trying to get some control and he slowed down. "Too much?" He rasped, letting go, only to kiss the inside of her thigh. "Slow down," she gasped, felt him shift, the hand caressing her thigh vanished. "Tell me, when it's too much," he said and she felt his fingers inside her. Two long digits curling and teasing, while his tongue worked her clit, build the heat until he found the spot, he was looking for. Surprised the first time, she twitched and moaned, but he stayed there, and they began moving and panting together. She clawed at his shoulders and tugged at his hair, but he didn't let go till she vibrated, like a taut string of a fine tuned instrument. Then he sucked hard and pushed deep, cutting off her moans and after a second, she was limp, pulsing and twitching around his hand, no longer fighting him. He kept teasing her clit, but only too soothe, cushioning her fall, until her breathing calmed, then kissed his way up her stomach and back into her arms. "Was that too much?" "No," she laughed, basking in afterglow. "You want more?" "Yes," she grinned, but it switched to a most adorable pout, when she felt him pull back. "Condoms," he grinned, and kissed the corner of her lips, unlocking her arms. "If you want to move to bed, now is your last chance." "Will you carry me?" "I'd rather not," he called from the bathroom. "Then get your ass back here." He rinsed his mouth and downed a glass of water, before filling it again, and bringing it back to her, to find her sitting on the couch, legs stretched out on the seat, crossed at the ankles, naked and disheveled, looking like a wet dream. "Thank you," she said, accepting the drink and took a sip, watching him reach to unzip his jeans. "Hold on," she said suddenly, and leaned over to set the glass on the coffee table. She dropped her feet to the floor and he was standing between her knees, towering over her and she smiled, looking from under her lashes, hands hovering an inch over his, "may I?" "Be my guest," he said and made room, feeling fingers slip between skin and denim, tugging and pushing. "Just so you know, you don't have to do this." He said, but then his pants dropped and she pulled on the waistband of his boxer briefs. "How old are you again?" She said, grinning wickedly. "Around you, I'm sixteen, be gentle." "I will," she said and wrapped one hand around the base of his cock, standing so hard and proud, that he glowed. "All this for me?" She mused, and licked the tip gently. "Yeah," he managed to choke then stopped, because her mouth closed and she was leaning forward and his head was about to explode. He panicked and took half a step back, "Wait, wait." Scully looked up and smiled, "too much?" "Too much," he said and she took his hand, pulling him back on the couch. "You got the condoms?" "Here," he gave her the packet, trying to calm his heartbeat. "You're staying, right?" "Yeah, now don't talk," she said and straddled his lap, "let me do this for you." And when she pulled him forward and claimed his mouth and cock, he didn't have to do nothing, but hold on and watch the stars unfold.

They moved to the bedroom, to be more comfortable. Fire burned in the little fireplace, serving as music and light, and they were beyond teasing and banter, rollercoaster of a day taking its' toll. "You have a house, yet you live alone," she mused sleepily, voicing a stray thought. "I bought it of a friend, when he moved back to Oxford." "Oxford?" "I got my BA in England, but came back after a while, finished my Ph.D. here and stayed." "Why did you leave Oxford?" "There was a woman, I was young," he scratched her back lightly, the rhythm and his low voice, hypnotising. "I got in too deep and paid the price." "Were you ever married?" "Engaged, once," he sighed, "she left, two weeks before the wedding." "Why?" "Got a better offer." "I'm sorry," Scully said, pulling herself closer. How could anyone give up this was beyond her. "Don't be," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "it's ancient history." Scully turned on her side and he followed, keeping her wrapped in his arms. "I wanted a baby," she said after a long moment, "and he thought I can't do both, be a mother and a doctor." "He was clearly an idiot," Mulder said, only half awake. "So, we had a huge fight about it and split up, and then I had Will, without him." "And now Will's at Harvard and you're a neurologist." He kissed her neck and pulled her closer. "Did I tell you you're awesome?" "No," she laughed and squirmed, his stubble scratching her skin. "Well you are, now try to sleep," he whispered, and relaxed around he. The weight of his arms, was as comforting as her own blankets.

#generous donation #au #sweet nothings #x files fanfic #msr fanfic

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breadcaaat · 5 years

Text

part one

Jeongguk x hybrid!reader

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: violence & gore, human trafficking, bad language, abandoned ramen??

There are few things more liberating than running from your empty, dingy little studio apartment to eat ramen at midnight post break-up. Something about it makes the noodles taste better.

The little shop was quiet this late at night, the sort of modern Gothic quiet that made Jeongguk wanna drink wine and brood at ominous-looking treelines. Not that he likes wine or is particularly good at being handsome while brooding - it's just a concept. There's plenty of room for concepts this late at night. Daydreams and stuff. Night dreams? No, that'd just be a dream. I'm not asleep, so how does that work? Is there a word for daydreams at night?

He's got his nose buried in his phone when two salarymen - off late - slip into the little store and sit down. Google says there is no word for a daydream at night. Lame.

The waiter sets a few bowls of food in front of him and he thanks the old man quietly, setting his phone down and clicking his chopsticks together. What if humans had straight fingers? Like, just five chopsticks a hand.

Two more guests enter. They sit with the two salarymen, and he takes that first hot mouthful of noodles. Wait - if they were fingers they'd be made out of skin, right? So, like, skin sticks.

That's basically like having tiny, hard dicks for hands. Or no-knuckled fingers.

...Gross.

He takes a break from eating (momentary loss of appetite) and takes notice of the table for four.

It's an interesting group - individually, they were mundane as a cup of black coffee - but together they were unlikely. The salarymen seemed poorer now he was looking at them better. Greasy hair, bumpy skin, untailored blazers, slightly off-shade ties. One had a goatee and the other a mustache, neither really solid. Pubescent, kind of, like... like ironed pubes... I'm never growing a beard. Across from them sat a dude with bleached hair and heavy jewelry. He had a yellow smirk on his face that gave Jeongguk the feeling that he hadn't earned those shiny chains without a bit of underhandedness.

The last guest was covered head to toe in baggy clothing. He couldn't see their face, their fingers, anything. They kept their eyes down and their hands to themself.

Mustache - he looked a bit more intelligent than Goatee - smiled at the old waiter as he served them some drinks, and then pulled out a cigarette and held it to him. The old man looked puzzled, to say the least. "It's been a long day, hasn't it?" Mustache prompted, holding it a little closer. "You should take a smoke break. We'll be fine here." He smiled, and Jeongguk noticed his tongue was yellow with nicotine.

The old man's shoulder's stiffened, but he took it without a word and - after shuttering close all the blinds in the room - exited out the back. It took Jeongguk no more than a hot second to realize he should probably do the same.

He started to quietly gather his few possessions, and was about to get up to go for the door when he realized something rather inconvenient; the door was on that group's side of the restaurant. He'd have to pass them to get out. Where he was - at a booth tucked away on the other side of the restaurant, behind the serving counter in their perspective - they hadn't seemed to notice him yet.

He slid back into the booth and held his breath.

Mustache sat back, sighed, tugging at his labels a little. Goatee was putting off some serious I-hate-the-man-I’m-looking-at vibes, and the man he was looking at, Bleach, was receiving them with a smug sort of glee. Jesus, his teeth were yellow.

“Needs some whitening strips or somethin’,” he mused under his breath, and that’s when he got a look at the last one in the group.

At his whisper, she - they were a she - peeked at him from behind her hood with grey-hazel eyes. Like, completely. The color of her iris totally spanned across where the whites of her eyes should have been, and the pupils were huge in the shadow of her hood. They both froze as their eyes met.

What fresh hell?

The hair behind his neck prickled and gooseflesh rippled across his skin. He realized then that this group was more than just a dysfunctional business get-together - this was something completely out of his depth and something he needed to get away from now.

I have ramen at home, he thought, and with that shifted to the end of his booth to break for it, ramen abandoned.

He stopped though, as Mustache stood up and walked around the table until he was stood next to the girl with grey eyes, saying: “Stand up.”

She did, without a noise. Wordlessly, Mustache reached up and flipped her hood off. Her hair had the kitchen-scissors treatment and was matted in places, hanging loose. She was wearing a wide headband, too - this he took off without any permission to touch her, and she didn’t react.

Underneath the band, two ears flicked up - like, legitimate fucking cat ears. Thick, furry, rounded a little and black with a white spot on the back the size of a thumbprint. She bore Mustache’s probing with a dangerously quiet, docile attitude. He took a thin flashlight and checked the insides of her ears, lightly touched the tips to see if they’d flick. “She’s dirty,” he muttered, and Bleach pulled out his phone to play a mobile game. “Nothing a q-tip can’t clean,” he replied. Goatee growled a small warning.

He shined the flashlight in each of her pupils and she flinched, sensitive to light. He seemed satisfied with the reaction, however, and tipped her head up to check inside her nostrils, then pulled her jaw down to check her mouth. “Say ‘ah,’” he said, and she complied, and he shoved a finger in to prod at her teeth. They had some sort of fanged, metal retainer on them; he popped these out for a second and then popped them back in after checking her real teeth. He moved down then and unzipped her hoodie to reveal nothing underneath - Jeongguk flinched and glanced away, then glanced back.

This is a slave trade, he noted mutedly as the examination continued. I’m witnessing a real-life slave trade. Mustache did a couple more things after that - had her jump (holy shit she could jump - her fingers tapped the ceiling,) tested her arm strength and looked at her hands, checked down the back of her pants and reached in to touch something (ew,) probed at her feet and ankles and knees. She bore it all with the patience of a saint. His final move to was to tug at a thick collar on her neck - a pinkie-nail thick band of leather about half a thumb wide.

When he was done - the whole process took about three minutes - he took a step back and just looked at her. Bleach’s eyes flicked up from his game, audio still playing, and scrutinized Mustache with red-rimmed eyes.

There was silence.

Bleach heaved a sigh then and clicked his phone off. “Shit - you buying? I got a kitty at home in bed and I’m fucking tired.” Kitty?

“How much?” Mustache asked.

“Seven million won, in cash.”

“That’s double than what you offered the first time!” Goatee finally speaks, and it’s with barely contained anger. He looks like he’s holding in the fart of a lifetime.

“Tigers cost more than dogs.” Bleach shrugged.

“Aish,” Mustache muttered, and stood and looked at her again. A tense moment passed, and both Bleach and Goatee got progressively broodier. Neither of them had attractive brooding expressions.

With a stretch and a scratch at his chin, Mustache heaved a sigh, picked up a filled purse from beside his chair, and said - "Half now, half by Thursday."

"Deal. Stripes, c'mere." She padded closer to him - that must've been her name - as he took the purse. He then pulled something out of his jacket pocket - it looked like a TV remote but only had two buttons and some print in silver sharpie at the bottom. He handed it to Stripes.

Mustache and Goatee both visibly flinched, and as the remote passed hands Mustache started to protest but Bleach interrupted him by loudly sucking a hiss through his teeth.

"Jungsu-shi," he started, more patronizing than anything else. "Can't give it straight to you or you'll kill me and take your money back, yeah? So just wait until I'm outta here and then she'll give it to you. No problem." This very much seemed to be a problem with Mustache (Jungsu-shi?) and Goatee - now they both looked like they were holding in massive farts from fear and anger, respectively, sweat misting at the temples and red in the face.

The door chimes jingled as Bleach left the restaurant.

Jeongguk was holding his breath and it seemed like everyone else was too. Stripes stared down at the remote, eyes unmoving. A minute passed. Two.

"He's gone now, so give it to me," Mustache said. There was a barely contained waver in his voice.

Stripes looked up from the remote but did not hand it to him. Jeongguk could read a lot of things in those alien eyes. Indecisiveness. Defiance. Calculation.

It was in that moment that Goatee's anger-fart burst forth with all the gusto of a night after Mexican, and as he stood up with a yell commanding obedience and force enough to send his chair screeching and Jeongguk startling in his seat, he read in those grey-hazel eyes something else: anger. Pure, unadulterated anger fueled by bitter blood and killer canines. Which she bared then, sharp grey metal to match her eyes.

When Jeongguk was a kid, he did about nine years of tae kwon do. He took part in a handful of tournaments, too, and one fist fight in middle school. God knows how many action movies he's watched. Fight scenes are cinematic. People get hit and they get back up despite blows to the head and broken bones because they're passionate characters - or whatever. Grunts go down after a punch from the protagonist. People like fight scenes because they're full of energy, not malice. Even the fight scenes that try to be realistic - there's always something held back, always something inaccurate. The fight scene he witnesses is over before he processes it's a fight scene.

He's pretty sure Goatee makes the first move, but Stripes reacts so fast that it looks like they both launch at each other in sync. She tosses the remote away and they tumble down to the floor snarling, Stripes on top and mostly out of sight behind the serving counter. There's a struggle, some kicking, the sounds of flesh hitting flesh, a growl, a gurgle. He stops kicking and she disappears behind the counter. A pool of blood rapidly crawls across the floor. The remote skids over to Jeongguk's feet and Mustache follows it.

They make some really awkward eye contact.

On impulse, Jeongguk grabs the remote and runs for the kitchen. Mustache yells some choice words and chases him.

Shit shit - they crash into the kitchen and he yanks a steel rolling table across his pursuers path, only to take a pot thrown to the head - fuck, ow! Shit! He stumbles, and it's just enough of a delay that Mustache vaults over the table gracelessly and stumbles in front of him, whipping out a butterfly knife. His panting was the loudest thing in the room.

"Listen kid - " he cuffed him over the ear because he looked too dizzy " - Hey, listen - if you don't give that to me right fucking now she's going to kill us both, hear? So fucking hand it over - !" He never finishes his sentence, cut off when a knife enters one ear and pokes out the other.

Jeongguk chokes out what might've been a sob.

Everything's slowed down now. He follows the hand at the knife's handle up to Stripes's face, which is covered in blood up to her eyes and down to her neck, dripping off her chin. Between her teeth, she's holding Goatee's throat, which she lets dribble out with a plop. She lets go of the handle. Mustache sags to the floor. Jeongguk thinks he's choking but he's not really sure; there's a buzzing in his ears.

She shifts so that she's crouching in front of him then, and he tosses the remote at her defeatedly. I'm going to die, he thinks, but she simply grabs it and then crawls towards the pot Mustache threw. Setting the remote on the ground, she takes the pot and smashes it. The effect is immediate.

Her hands fly up to her throat with an agonized cry and she sags to the ground, writhing in pain. Jeongguk's confused but still impulsive. He crawls over before he can think not to, just like before.

"What's - what's wrong?" She bats at him with a clawed hand distractedly and he dodges it " - Hey, I'm trying to help! Show me what's wrong!"

She does so, unintentionally - that same clawed hand joins the other at her throat, tearing and prying at the leather there. "Get it off," she chokes. "Get it off!"

"I will, I will!" How?

He could see the willpower it cost her to take her hands away, instead bunching the fabric of his hoodie in her fist. It was the first good look he got at the collar: thick, ungiving, brutal. And electric, apparently - off to the side there was a plastic box bolted firmly into the leather, with two prongs branching off of it and to the skin of her neck, like a dog's shock collar. He yanked on this, trying to pop it away. "Shit," he murmured when it didn't budge at all, "Okay, not gonna work - roll over - is there a latch? How do I get it off?" She rolled over and pointed at the remote before letting out another sob.

"But that's broken," he hissed, moreso to himself than her but it earned him a pinch to the side with a very sharp pair of fingers. She whimpered something about numbers, moving her hair to reveal where the collar was latched with a three-digit padlock.

...a remote that only had two buttons and some print in silver sharpie at the bottom...

Scrabbling for the remote, he looked at the broken shell and there he found it: 825. "Here!" he said, and then entered it and yanked out the padlock. The heavy leather sagged off her neck and onto the ground.

She rattled out a sigh of relief. Her sobbing quieted to soft whimpers, then to nothing.

Jeongguk must've sat there for a minute or two digesting both his ramen and the events of the night, when police sirens wailed - muffled by the shop front, down the street. Both heads swiveled in their direction.

He heard a pair of car doors thunk shut and turned to look at her with wide eyes, only the tiger girl wasn't there. All that was left to say she'd been there at all was a broken leather shackle and an open back door.

Also, a pair of corpses he'd rather not smell or look at anymore.

A/N: uhhh first fic?? I’m riding a wave of impulsiveness posting this right now. No fucking clue when the next one comes out but if ya’ll berate me the notifs will prompt me into finishing. I am incapable of motivation.

Tag List: (fuck it i’ll make one of these too) @feed-my-geek-soul thamks for beta reading 😘

#jeongguk x reader #jeongguk #jungkook x reader #jungkook #hybrid fic #hybrid bts #bts #angst #fluff #eventual smut?? who knows? god??#it's night #namjoon #seokjin #hoseok #jimin #taehyung #yoongi #it's night part one #ktfic

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hockeylvr59 · 5 years

Text

Promises part 4 || Auston Matthews

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: Welp...here’s part 4 yinz. Ft. Morgan Rielly (hope this satisfies you for now anon) with mentions of Mitch Marner, Frederik Andersen, and Zach Hyman. Let me know what you think.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2224

Taking care of Owen was honestly the brightest part of each and every day. He was the happiest baby and watching him grow was such a blessing.

The day before he turned two months old you’d asked Auston to bring you a puck home. Though he was confused, he had complied, leaving it on the island so you’d find it. The team had left for a road trip early the following morning and Auston was at dinner with a few of the guys when you’d attached him into a group chat with his parents and sisters as well as some of the guys whose numbers he’d insisted you needed if you were going to be taking care of Owen frequently.

Since you weren’t there to see it, you could only imagine Auston’s reaction when he saw the photo of Owen lounging on the couch with his Carlton stuffed bear next to him and the puck with a silver ‘2’ written on it laying on his stomach. Things had been too crazy for anyone to think about documenting Owen’s first month development but it was something that you wanted to make sure happened from here on out. Especially with Auston on the road so much, you thought it would be a good way for him to reflect and look back on Owen growing up.

The photo received glowing comments from Auston’s family as well as some of the guys who loved that you had included hockey into the theme. You already knew what you were going to do at months three and four and you were sure Auston would love those as well.

____

You’d officially been helping to take care of Owen for a month the first time you’d met any of Auston’s teammates. With the boys having an off day besides an early practice you weren’t even supposed to be over at Auston’s that day since he could take care of his son when the nanny left.

Plans changed though when the nanny, Maria, called you around 3pm because Owen had been screaming his head off for nearly two hours. Nothing she did would calm him which was strange because you’d seen her with Owen and he had taken to her well.

Since you were done with class for the day, you’d told her that you would head over and see if you could get him to sleep. Within five minutes of you taking Owen, he’d stopped his tantrum and was curled against you sound asleep. Maria murmured something about how he’d just missed you and while you hated to admit it, it seemed like she had a point. She seemed exhausted and seemed like she had a headache so you assured her that she could head home and you would stay with Owen. As she left she informed you that Auston had mentioned having the guys over around dinner time.

You were dancing around the kitchen with Owen watching you from his swing when Auston came home. He was talking loudly with Mitch Marner, Morgan Rielly, Frederik Andersen, and Zach Hyman and you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t you know you’re supposed to be quiet in case the baby is sleeping…” You called out scolding them teasingly, honestly thankful that Owen had woken from his nap shortly before because you would be annoyed if they had woken him after how long it had taken you and Maria to get him to sleep.

“Y/n, what are you doing here?” Auston asked when he came around the corner to find you layering noodles with pasta sauce, ricotta cheese, and a mixture of italian sausage and ground beef. If the guys were going to be here for dinner you figured homemade lasagna was better than them ordering pizza out.

“Maria called me when Owen wouldn’t stop screaming.” You declared with a shrug, turning to grab a bag of italian cheese out of his fridge. “And before you ask or insinuate, no she wasn’t doing anything wrong, she was super patient with him, he just was being fussy and evidently missed me.” After adding the final layers to the lasagna, you popped it into the oven and set the timer before looking back at him. “And she had the start of a migraine coming on so I told her to go home and that I’d stay here.”

“Oh.” Auston murmured and before he could say anything else his teammates had descended on the kitchen.

“There’s the little man…” Mitch declared spotting Owen and seeing the baby crinkle his face up you chuckled to yourself as you turned to fetch a bottle as Owen’s cries echoed through the room. Mitch immediately jumped back declaring that he hadn’t even touched him and after running the bottle under hot water and testing it on your wrist you held it out to him.

“He’s just hungry. If you pick him up and feed him I’m sure you’ll be his new best friend.” You assured him. Once his teammates helped him get a handle on Owen, you handled the bottle over to let Mitch feed him and then turned back to the kitchen to cut up some vegetables for a salad.

“You don’t have to do all that…” Auston whispered softly from beside you.

“I don’t mind, but if you want me to leave so you can have boys night that’s fine.” You stated, wiping your hands on a dish towel as you glanced over your shoulder at him. The last thing you wanted to do was interfere with his life. You were friends and you watched Owen but that was all and so if he wanted some time alone with his teammates you certainly couldn’t fault him for that.

“No. No. It’s fine.” He assured you. “I just...you already do so much. You don’t have to make dinner for all my teammates too. We could have just ordered out.”

“Yeah because that’s good for you…” You stated smirking. “I’d rather you guys not be sluggish tomorrow because you ate unhealthy take out with way too much sodium. It’s not like throwing together a lasagna is hard Aus…”

Throwing his hands up in defeat he murmured a thank you before heading to chat with his teammates and supervise his best friend feeding his son. It wasn’t long before the empty bottle was being placed beside the sink and you called out a reminder to bump Owen because otherwise getting him to sleep tonight would be as difficult as it was this afternoon and you really didn’t want a cranky baby tomorrow because he didn’t sleep enough today.

With dinner completely prepped, you slipped back to the guest bedroom where all your things were in order to relax for a few minutes while the lasagna cooked. With your door cracked, the noise was muffled and you were able to flop down on the bed to try and get some reading done for your classes the next day.

With your focus on your reading material you didn’t look up until there was a rap at the door and Morgan Rielly popped his head into the room.

“Um..y/n the timer on the stove went off and no one was sure if it meant food was done or…”

Sliding off the bed after marking your spot in your book you followed him back to the kitchen.

“It’s almost done, I just need to pull the foil off and put it back in with some garlic bread.” The bread was homemade as well, a loaf of french bread with fresh garlic butter. It didn’t take long for the oven timer to be set again and once everything was taken care of you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

Looking toward the couch, Freddie now had Owen cuddled into his chest while the baby slept again and the rest of the guys had started to play NHL 19. All of them except for Morgan who had followed you and was watching as you finished making dinner.

“Did you want some help getting plates and stuff out?” He asked you, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

“That would be great. Do you know where everything is?” You responded sure that he probably did but not wanting to leave him hanging if not. The fact that he proceeded to all of the correct cabinets to get out six sets of everything answered your question.

Morgan set everything on the counter in the form of a buffet line, even grabbing the salad you’d made from the fridge. Then he’d disappeared to the living room for a moment before he was back pulling bottles of water and a few beers from Auston’s fridge. Seeing you already had your own he just smiled at you and winked causing a slight blush to unconsciously grace your cheeks.

Soon after, the timer on the stove went off again and as you pulled things from the stove, Morgan set out a few more pot holders onto the counter so that you could rest the lasagna there while the bread stayed on the stove.

“Thanks for the assist.” You told him before going to call the rest of the team in to get some food.

When you returned to the kitchen he was offering you a plate and after raising an eyebrow at him you took it gratefully.

“You cooked, it’s only fair you get the first serving.” He explained. “Also assists are kinda my thing.” His reference made you laugh and you tipped your head to him in acknowledgement.

“Fair enough.” You mused, heading to sit down on Auston’s loveseat, ready to dig into dinner since you hadn’t really eaten since breakfast. The baby monitor on the coffee table showed Owen in his crib and you sighed grateful that the baby was getting the sleep he’d missed out on this afternoon. Hopefully it didn’t mess his schedule up too badly.

Each of the guys stumbled back into the room, plates overloaded with food and you were grateful that you had seemingly gone overboard worried that it wouldn’t be enough. Morgan was the last to return and the only seat left was the one right next to you so he lowered himself into it trying not to topple the plate balanced on your lap.

Apparently all it took to shut a group of hockey players up was to provide food for them to shove into their mouths. NHL network played on the tv and while you were sure they were watching it, no one seemed too invested. Seeing as you had a normal person’s amount of food compared to their heaping servings, you were the first to finish and you placed your dishes in the dishwasher before tossing your now empty water bottle into the recycling bin.

The guys had pretty much decimated the food so you consolidated what little was left to one tray before working on cleaning up everything else. Having turned some music back on quietly, you sang along as you cleaned and after about fifteen minutes the sound of footsteps approaching finally appeared. Again it was Morgan, now carrying a stack of plates. When he reached you, he bumped you to the side with his hip.

“You cooked, we can clean up.” He insisted. You really didn’t mind but the look on his face told you not to argue with him. “Also, thanks, that was probably the best meal I’ve had in months.” The sincerity behind his compliment surprised you. All of the guys had thanked you for dinner and the way they were inhaling it told you it was good but Morgan was taking the compliments to the next level.

“You’re welcome. It really wasn’t anything that special.” You stated, downplaying your efforts as always. You knew that you could have just left them to fend for themselves by ordering pizza or chinese and maybe it was silly but you felt like Auston deserved better than that. He’d been balancing a lot on his plate and you knew he wasn’t eating the way he should most nights.

“Hey, I’m serious.” Morgan insisted as he finished rinsing each dish before adding it to the dishwasher. “Auston is lucky to have you as a friend. He’s told us everything you’ve done for him and we both know you didn’t have to. Shit we’re his teammates and I’m positive we haven’t done a fraction of the things for him that you have.”

Auston had thanked you time and again so you knew he appreciated you. At the same time though, Morgan’s acknowledgement felt different. Almost like he was really seeing you. Seeing you in a way that Auston never had.

“I’m gonna go check on Owen and then get back to my reading. Thanks for finishing up dishes.” You whispered, taking in one more glance at Auston’s teammate before slipping down the hall to the nursery. Owen was still asleep and you ran your fingers over his cheek before going into the spare bedroom and closing the door.

There were a million things you needed to do and you knew you should sit down and start reading again. Instead you took a moment and leaned back against the door, your eyes falling shut as you let out a shaky breath. “What the hell was that Morgan Rielly?”

#auston matthews #auston matthews imagine #toronto maple leafs #toronto maple leafs imagine #morgan rielly #morgan rielly imagine #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #tleafs #006

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aria-i-adagio · 5 years

Text

Built with Stolen Parts

Masterpost

Fandom: The Arcana

Chapter Rating: T

At the palace, Portia laces me back into the same white dress from last night and redoes my hair. Armor, I remind myself, as she paints the foreign feeling make up on my face. She leads me back through the hallways to another room within the palace, one that I haven’t yet seen. This room is intended, I suppose, to be less intimidating than dining room. Cool blue wallpaper dominates the color scheme, accented with touches of gold and marble. Nadia is ensconced in one corner, plucking delicately at a harp. She looks up and gives us the barest of nods. A tall, thin figure in a double pointed headdress on the other side of the room catches my attention. Their back is to the rest of the occupants, and they stare out the window, preternaturally still. Portia clears her throat, drawing the attention of the other figures in the room, and announces me.

“The Countess’s magician, Dema -” She pauses, realizing that she’s never asked for my surname.

“Strayhorn. Dema Strayhorn.”

Formality of the announcement passed, three of the room’s occupants spring into action converging on me. A funny little woman with one blind, drooping eye pats the space next to her on a sofa. A tiered dish of pastries and tiny cakes - or rather, what remains of them - are on the low table in front of her. “Oh, you must come sit next to me. Countess Nadia has provided us with the best snacks.” She seems friendly enough, a bit child-like with her giddy talk of snacks and giggles happily when I settle beside her. “I’m Procurator Volta.”

“Volta, you can’t hog the magician.” A portly figure, dressed all in red plops down on the couch placed perpendicular to ours and holds out a gauntleted hand. I briefly touch my fingers to it, worrying about cuts from the sharp edges. “Not when we’ve heard so much about her. Pontifex Vulgora.”

“Yes, we’ve just been dying to meet you.” An old man in flowing black robes hovers across the table from Volta and me, fingers wiggling in excitement. His skin is a corpse like shade of gray and long pointed ears droop from beneath a ceremonial hat. “I’m Praetor Vlastomil. You must tell us all about yourself. Your business, your hobbies!”

“Yes!” The red figure to my right pounds their fist against the arm of the sofa. I expect to feathers begin to fly from the upholstery. “Perhaps you enjoy the martial arts?”

“Well, no, I -”

“Or baking? I do love having friends who bake!” Volta claps her hands together in glee, excited by the very notion of baked goods - what a strange little woman! I’m almost reluctant to disappoint her, but I’d quickly starve if left to my own devices in a kitchen.

“Um, I don’t cook, but I garden, um, some.”

The Praetor’s long ears perk up. “Gardening you say? How wonderful! Do you have a healthy population of worms in your garden? They’re so important for soil structure and aeration! Most people just don’t appreciate all that worms do.”

A conspicuously silent man, sitting in an armchair opposite of Volta with a glass of red wine in hand, sniffs and looks entirely unimpressed. He’s so pale that I wonder if he’s ever before allowed his skin to be in direct sunlight, and the thick, dark hair that is held back in a loose braid emphasizes his unhealthy, albeit human pallor.

"Valeri! Don't you want to introduce yourself?" The small one, Volta, speaks to him familiarity vibrating in her voice. He raises a heavy brow and looks over to me, judging if I might care about that knowledge, or be worthy of it, I'm not sure.

He takes a slow drink of his wine and looks me over, gaze inscrutable. "I would not go that far as to say that I’m dying to meet her."

"Oh, don't be like that, dear Valeri. I'm sure she's a sweetheart! And competent, if the Countess makes her her own!"

A little twitch of his pale lips, and another sip from his glass of wine, perhaps just intended to make things bearable. I wouldn't mind some wine myself, but I suspect he's not the person to ask. And something about the way his lips twitched when Volta said the word competent pissed me off. Especially if he was the Consul Valerius who been allowing the city to run into the ground. "No need to die on my behalf, Valeri." I adopt Volta's familiar name and wait for his reaction.

He ignores me. No surprise there. "And who am I, dearest Volta, to doubt the competency of any of the illustrious people gather here?" I'm amazed I'm the only one who recognizes this as sarcasm. Volta beams with pride, and Vulgora seems to fluff up even more. His eyes are on me now, pale and resigned under heavy brows. "Portia, I think our guest cares for a drink."

"Of course." Portia reaches over the back of the sofa, pressing an overly full glass of wine into my hand with a wink.

I take a sip, it’s mostly minerally with a hint of leather, and stare at the Consul over the rim. "Indeed, I've certainly never seen anything in the city that would lead me to think that someone in this esteemed gathering could be incompetent."

"It is as if everyone here focused all of their efforts on ensuring the city's prosperity, isn't it?” He raises his eyebrows at me, perhaps an iota more interested than he was before. “Truly a marvelous display of reason and renunciation."

Is he testing me? Or just not expecting for anyone to listen to him anyway?

"Well," I raise my wine glass slightly. "Certainly one wouldn't want to renounce all of one’s interests. But it is so easy to confuse one's own interests with the good of all. A common vanity, if you will."

"Sometimes that vanity blooms from understanding that any endeavor one might undertake will only amount to nothing, no matter whose interests are served. There's a certain serenity in accepting that, don't you think so? Volta?"

"Mh?" She looks up, crumbs around her small mouth. "Yes, Valeri, of course." She clearly hasn’t heard his statement, or hasn’t comprehended it, but she beams with a snaggletooth, pleased to be the recipient of attention. When she licks the crumbs from her lips, I see a tiny sigh escaping Valerius’s pouty lips. He drinks, not in response to my gesture, but more as though the wine is necessary to wash away the things he witnesses here.

I can't blame him. The occupants of the room lack any definite order or purpose. Nadia idly strokes her harp, seemingly too lost in her own musings to play the role of hostess. Both Volta and Vulgora seem to be more interested in the offerings of the kitchen, while the pale praetor continues to rhapsodize about the effect of having a sufficient population of worms in the soil, undeterred by the plain fact that no one is listening to him. The still figure by the window has turned to face the room. They're watching us, red eyes slowly scanning back and forth across the room, but there's no sign that they intend to speak. Just as well, the sight of them is making my skin crawl. "So, Consul - it is Consul, right? - perhaps you can explain how things work at court."

"The esteemed magician asks an open question that would take more time to answer than I'd dare to keep the pleasant company here from their important duties. Do you wish to cut it down to what you crave to know most, or do you wish an audience in private?"

Vulgora cackles at the comment, living up entirely to their name. I'm not sure if their laughter makes it dirtier than the Consul intended or not, but one corner of his mouth pulls upwards. He seems amused enough by the outcome. It takes effort, and Portia's hand briefly touching my shoulder as she fills my wine glass, but I manage to avoid rolling my eyes or making my own snippy remarks.

"Well then, perhaps just you, Consul.” I keep my voice even. At least, as even as I can. "What do you do for the city?”

And he tells me, giving me a textbook definition of his responsibilities, tone distant and emotionless, sips from his glass becoming more frequent as he goes on. Again, nobody seems to listen. Vulgora has started an argument over something with Vlastomil. Bones seem to play an important role in it, while Volta watches Nadia play the harp in what seems like honest adoration.

Valerius seems slightly nauseated as he continues on about the role of a consul, and how vital the position can be to the order of the city. His lecture is interrupted by frequent sips from his wineglass. How aware of his failures is he? I almost feel bad for prodding him. Almost. He finishes with a resigned sigh and a long drink of wine before gesturing to Portia to top off both our glasses.

"Thank you." I glance down at the crystal goblet my hands. The fine silver chasing around the rim had been allowed to tarnish. Unexpected, given the precision with which the palace's staff appeared to operate. No matter. I raise my eyes back to Valerius. "The Countess tells me she wants my help in solving Lucio's murder the restore order to the city. But it's hard to envision what that might look like."

He throws me a look and forces a smile. "Her Excellency surely is only too willing to share her vision of the future with you?"

"If the Countess has invited me as an investigator, surely it's part of my job to seek out multiple accounts."

"And it would spoil my account to give it in front of the others, don't you think?" Something around his eyes looks like he's trying to ask nicely without being remotely good at it. "If you have the time, that is, to spend a few minutes with my boring stories."

I very much doubt I'll find his account boring. If nothing else his sarcasm will keep me entertained. "I'm sure that I can find some spare time, Consul."

"But you?" A cool gloved hand folds around my shoulder. I stiffen at the unexpected touch and twist around. The figure behind me is the same that was standing so very still in front of the window only moments before. "What role do you play? Should you even be here, little witch?”

"Quaestor." The harp music suddenly stops, and Nadia rouses herself from her corner. "Please do not frighten my guest."

"I'm not frightened." It's a lie, and I suspect the grey green possibly not a human person standing behind me knows it. But if I say it with enough confidence perhaps I'll convince myself.

"Nonetheless, what is your purpose?”

Nadia answers for me as she strides across the room. "A benevolent universe brought Dema to me in my hour of need. To help me lay the matter of my husband's murder to rest. A task that the five of you have failed to manage."

I'm not sure what the Countess means by her first statement. From what little I know of it, the universe is rarely benevolent. As for the rest, Valerius hides his face in his wine glass yet again, and Volta pauses in her nibbling to look down at her tiny hands. Vlastomil twists his hands in dismay. "Countess, I assure you I have left no worm - no stone unturned."

Vulgora slams their first on the arm of the sofa in anger. "If you would just let me smash a faces and crush a finger or two -"

"Silence. There will be no crushing fingers and smashing faces."

"Not that those things would help us achieve our goal." The Quaestor's speaks with an uncanny cadence, each syllable and pause measured to the millisecond.

"I hope that our goals align, Quaestor."

"Do they? I know mine, Countess. Do you even know what yours are?" Without moving a muscle or changing their tone of voice, they shift between conversations. “Vlastomil, I do believe that the majority of bone decomposition comes from microbial activity, not the action of worms. And Vulgora, the crushing of bones only exposes a greater surface area to such action. The mechanical break up itself does little else. Both of you are quite incorrect.”

The Countess’s eyes flash and her lips tighten into a thin, annoyed line. “That’s quite enough your morbid talk. You’ve tried my patience sufficiently for a single evening, all of you. Portia, please, see that all my guests are served dinner in their chambers.”

With a huff, Vulgora gets up from the sofa and stalks out of the room. Volta looks over at Nadia and mouths an apology before scurrying behind them. Simpers is the best verb to describe how the Praetor leaves the room. The Quaestor remains standing perfectly still behind me. I straighten my spine, sitting still, as if I’m trying to avoid attracting the attention of a predator. Nadia glare is focused on the space just over my head, and I can feel the Quaestor’s eyes drilling into the back of my head.

The Consul clears his throat. “Magician, would you care for another glass of wine? We could continue our conversation without further distractions.”

“Um, yes.” I edge to the side and then quickly get away from the sofa and the Quaestor. “That’s an excellent idea.”

The Consul raises one eyebrow in amusement. He stands up slowly from his chair and rearranges his robes. “Countess.” He inclines his head ever so slightly to Nadia who doesn’t remove her eyes from the Quaestor.

“Good evening, Consul.”

***

The most baffling fact about the whole evening was that the Consul has an honest to the heavens office, the kind with a desk and paperwork that he likely works on himself, even if it is a really nice desk of dark wood set with marquetry, gleaming from frequent applications of polish. The scent of old paper and ink and wine fills the air, and he offers me a chair that is clearly the one for the more important visitors.

That consideration is unexpected. He pours another glass of wine for me, then one for himself, giving me a stern look, when my fingers touch a paper on his desk. I mumbled an apology and take the wine from him.

"Judging from what you have seen," he opens, "how do you think the court works?"

"From what I've seen, I'm not entirely sure that the court does work."

"Imagine the court to be less occupied with themselves and actually directing their attention outward. Is that what you wish?"

I take a drink of my wine. "I'm not sure that I specifically want their attention on the city. But functional leadership would be welcome."

His face freezes for a moment, but then a laugh bubbles up, one that has lost any trace of good humor, and descended into the depths of compensatory irony. “That it would, but I daresay it would still fail as much as it did when -" He prefers to drink instead of finishing the sentence, but in my head it ends with "- when I tried."

Who else had tried? "What leads you to be such a cynic about the city?”

"I do not know if you remember the glorious days before Lucio filled the throne with his overabundant self. You may be too young - even for me the vision comes more from stories than from things I've witnessed. Do not misunderstand me, Magician, but I wish your undertaking to fail. Not gloriously, but just to fizzle out like cheap fireworks. Even if it was Devorak who killed him, the city is off better without being reminded of the whole affair. I told the Countess as much, but she very much does not wish me to doubt her decisions - something she seems to have learned from her late husband."

Much more than simple disapproval of Nadia’s plans or a concern for the collective psyche of the city underlies that statement. Some grim tug at the strings of his closed off heart. I wonder if he tends to wake up with stomach pain. His face looks the part of a man with an ulcer. “Dredges up unpleasant memories?”

He hesitates, then nods. "I knew him too long. Too well. Maybe better than the countess does, and so did Devorak." A hasty, uncharacteristically unrefined gulp from his wine glass. It’s hard for him to admit that.

I suspect that's as much as I'm going to get out of him on that topic for the moment, but it's one to return to, if I can get him around to the point that he'll trust me with the information. "And you're not convinced that Juli - Devorak is the culprit?"

He raises his brow as I stumble from the personal to the formal name. He's more aware of his surroundings than I expected. "Julian, mh? I'd congratulate him if he was, but I doubt he'd be able to willingly hurt a person."

"Congratulate him?" I hadn't expected that response.

"You are aware how very . . . fragile things are in the city. Of course, you are. Your questions among the illustrious company earlier were just to see if I was as well. See, Magician, if the Count remained in place, I very much doubt there'd be a city to be worried about now. His constant need of amusement emptied the treasury. He liked to think he was generous, giving the people all sorts of entertainment, but he took from them first in taxes and tariffs.” Another sip of wine soothes some of the irritation in his voice. “While the Countess' lifestyle is expensive enough, it is not bleeding everything dry."

"I see. So, why does the Countess tell me that the 'illustrious company' insists that Devorak is the guilty one? How does that serve them?"

His pale eyes are on me as he refills the glasses without looking. "I do think you already know the answer."

"So, what does it gain them? To have a patsy?" The three that I had conversed with didn't seem like they had enough concentration or intellect between them to think that far ahead, but I suppose that the witlessness could have been an act. "And the Quaestor? What’s with them?"

Valerius blinks, and his face becomes even paler as he shudders. "Ah. Them. Valdemar, the head of research. I try to block them out of my world as far as possible, and . . . I would suggest avoiding them if you can. If they were food, even Volta wouldn't be able to stomach them."

"That - " I think back to Volta's continuous munching during the gathering. "Says quite a bit. How do they relate to the other three courtiers?"

"They don't. At least not that I know of, but that says precious little these days. They may use the others as a diversion for all I know, as they may intend to do with Devorak."

"So, let's say Devorak didn't do it and shouldn't be hanged. How do I go about proving that?"

"It depends. Do you think he's still alive?"

"Why would the Countess be hunting for him if she doesn't have some reason to believe that he is?"

"Would you not prefer to have a goal instead of complex realities if you could choose to have one? And I have to admit, Devorak has proved harder to kill than the most, so she might have heard something she didn't share with me. That is how it goes, isn't it? A lack of trust and questionable secrets lead to more trouble than they're worth."

I can understand the preference for a specific goal over the complicated nature of reality. As for trust, Nadia had said that she wasn't certain of her courtiers, and my initial appraisal of them led me to agree. Except, perhaps the Consul. He had been fairly open with me, and it seemed like his intentions were honorable enough. He could be an ally - a much needed one. Someone with intact memories would be useful. "Devorak is alive."

"Good on him." He empties the glass with one gulp. "You will excuse if I forget this the moment you leave the room?"

"Forget what?” I smile surely and take another drink of the wine. I thought what the Countess served at dinner was good, but this is another level entirely. For the first time, I see him smile. It's small and barely there, but it makes him look like . . . less of a pretentious bitch, really.

"Has he learned in the past years to keep his head down?"

"Well, that would be rather difficult for him."

"You would have to teach him to spend more time on his knees, which shouldn't pose a problem for all I know." His face the usual blank and slightly tired mask.

"I, um -" I grasp for words, stuttering about as badly as Julian. I may have played my cards badly here, but they're on the table now. "I think I can manage that." I realize how bad that sounds about the time I finish the sentence. The wine. I'll blame the wine.

"You, of course, would be glad to let him get away, because you have taken a liking to him. What do your cards say about him? Have you asked them?" He is polite enough to change the subject. Not something that I would have expected from him.

"After a fashion." Technically Julian had asked the cards, but that seemed like splitting hairs. "I didn't envy what they had to say."

"You, of course, will ask your cards about me. As you will ask Portia, who will surely describe me as an amazingly boring drunkard. No, she'd probably use, let me think . . . wino?"

"It would be a bit hypocritical for me to judge you for being a wino. Classier than what I usually drink, at least." I touched the pocket of the dress where my cards were tucked away. "Would you care to know what the cards have to say about you?"

"As it would be for Portia." He shrugs and his well-tailored robes fall in dramatic folds for a moment. "It is far easier to see the little foibles of other people than your own. As for your cards, indeed, I would like to hear, even if I can't promise I will listen."

I reach into the pocket of the dress and pull out the deck. But when I unfold the fabric, the cards aren't Asra's. It's my own traditional deck, worn corners and all. Sitting back in the chair, I fan the cards in my fingers and cut the deck several times, just to convince myself that the deck truly is mine. I had transferred Asra’s deck to my pocket after getting dressed. This deck should be at the shop, tucked away in a laquered box on the back room shelf. Where I had left it. How did they come to be in my hands now?

“What is it, Magician?”

“Nothing.” I don’t understand how I’ve ended up with deck. But it’s a relief. These cards feel warm and familiar. “I was thinking. About what spread to use.” The Consul’s eyebrows raise. He sees through the statement; I said the words too quickly, but he doesn’t comment on it. Hands moving quickly, I set aside the decanter of wine, clearing space on the table between us. “Do you have a question, Consul?”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Not particularly.”

I shuffle the cards, happy to have them in my hands again. “Then past, present, and future. Cut them.”

He arches an eyebrow at me and reaches across the table, lifting up a portion of the cards, seeming a random, setting them to the side and then restacking the deck. “Go ahead, Magician.”

I deal the cards out - three rows by three columns - and flip over the uppermost left. The Knight of Pentacles upright. There are multiple ways to read any of the Knights, but I feel this one speaking to me. The whispers from the cards aren't some property of Asra’s deck then - not if they continue now. I'm not sure what I think of that . . . It was reassuring in a way to attribute the voices to the general cloud of magic that trails Asra. Now, well, maybe I'm only hearing voices. I close my eyes and repeat what I heard. “You’ve spent your life preparing to serve with nobility. You’re stern. Not just with others, but with yourself. Your pride comes from meeting the standards that were laid out for you. Competence is the only thing you actually respect.”

“Anyone could have told you that.”

“But that’s not the position you find yourself in now, Consul.” Messaging from that card - not disapproving, exactly, but disappointed - past, I slip back into myself and explain the spread. “This row is the past. The other two cards represent events or people who still influence you." I flip them over revealing the upright Two of Swords and the reversed Knight of Swords. My fingers hover over the Knight. "There was someone in your past. A different kind of egotist. Reckless. Self serving. Inattentive to detail." It whispers a name into my head . . . Lucio.

I want to ask if the card represents Lucio to the Consul - see if it’s voice holds to some exterior reality, but I hold my tongue and draw my hand back to the reversed Two of Swords. The swords held by the blindfolded figure draw attention to discord and connection between the two knights. "There were things you didn't see -" The card murmurs, nuancing the statement. “No. You saw, but you didn't want to see them. And so you ignored them."

Again, he fills our glasses, watching more me than he does the cards, pale eyes expressionless. I know he's wondering how much I'm drawing from rumors I heard or just guessing from the way he holds himself. Then he draws the Knight a little closer so he can see the illustration better. Briefly, our fingers touch, his hand icy cold.

"I suppose most of us had a man like this in our lives," he finally comments. "There are just too many of that kind out there." This is more of an admission than expected.

He’s probably right. I can think of at least one person in my present to whom the phrases egotist and inattentive to detail could apply. Reckless and self-serving might still may still be a matter of opinion. And Asra had drawn the Knight of Swords himself three days ago; albeit in a different spread and position. I return my concerns about Asra to the little caged off corner of my consciousness where they live. Right now, it’s Valerius I have questions about.

I flip over the center card, watching the Consul’s face. His eyes narrow and his fingers tighten around the stem of his wine glass. I look down. Beneath my fingertips the reversed Hierophant looks up at me.

“What does that card mean?” His question is barely a breath.

I close my eyes and wait. After a few moments I can hear him speaking. “The Hierophant hands down the traditions of the past to the uninitiated. He preserves order and guards the keys of the city, intending to bless the inhabitants. That is what he would choose to do, but he’s only a single link within a chain. He is only as good as those from whom he receives his power. Despite his good intentions he can become lost.”

"Are those cards..." His nails click nervously on the wooden table, ". . . based on concepts or on more? Actual . . . beings?" He chooses the word carefully.

I pause and think for a moment before responding. The answer is both and neither, but I don't think that will be particularly satisfactory. "What prevents a concept from being personified?"

"It is your profession to tell me that, Magician," he answers after a moment. At least, he hesitated long enough to think about the question, which can probably be considered a success with a man who was clearly determined not to engage in the kind of self reflection it takes to answer an open ended question. And, to be fair, that question is like the matter of how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. Can a concept become a person? Or a person become a concept? Much of the answer depends on how one defines the very concept of a person. Yet, I have been hearing the cards speak to me, which strikes me as a personal, not a conceptual one.

"I would say that nothing prevents it. The cards are based on the personifications of concepts. So yes, they have a personal nature."

He looks at me. Have I ever seen eyes so tired? Yes, I think, but I forgot where. He rubs his fingertips over his face again. "But they don't . . . talk to you. Pay personal visitations now and then. These are no calling cards."

I hesitate. Despite voices speaking to me of late. I've never been visited by one of the arcana, but the idea did appear in one of Asra's books. A sort of higher level intervention into human affairs. "It's not usual, but they certainly can."

"Hm."

Thoughts are rolling behind his smooth forehead, crashing uselessly against the stones of his doubts. Something worries him, and it is a complicated matter. I don’t care to dance through a tangle of deflections. Better to be direct. "Have you been visited, Consul?"

"I . . . no. It's just a silly recurring thing in my dreams. Don't even know why the card reminded me of it."

I expect him to blush, because it seems fashionable these days, but he doesn't. He drinks instead, and licks his lips.

"You rarely dream of something more than once, unless it is of significance to you." Enough images appear and reappear in my dreams. I haven’t yet discerned their meanings, but I want to believe that they signify something.

The consul muses. He taps a perfectly manicured finger against his chin then shakes his head. He’s not ready yet, but perhaps, close. "The future. Tell me about the future."

“The future can only be understood as a possible outcome of the present. Let me finish with it.” I flip over the card to the left of the Hierophant. The Eight of Swords upright. I’m silent for a moment, allowing Valerius to examine the illustration. It’s self-explanatory enough, a figure waking in distress with sword threatening to fall on their head. “Are you sure you don’t wish to tell me about these dreams of yours?”

Hesitation, again. For someone who just barely understands that there may be more between heaven and earth and certainly is not comfortable with that idea, he's being very brave. Well tempered, one might say. Even if he’s not quite ready to engage with the choices in front of him.

"The countess pays you for taking care of her business and be discreet about it, I might pay you for listening to mine one day, when you're less caught up in investigation."

Fair if frustrating. I'm painfully curious, but it isn't overly likely that Valerius's dreams are directly related to question of who killed Lucio. Unless Valerius killed Lucio, but despite his comments of congratulating whoever did the deed, something just feels wrong about that notion. Lucio is much too important to him. I return to the cards, flipping over the one to the right of the Hierophant. A second major arcana and an unfriendly one at that: the Devil.

"The way your face just fell doesn't bide well. Let me guess. The horned man stands for good fortune and unexpected love?" He must share my bad feeling when even he is trying to joke.

"Yes, and the chains represent freedom. Clearly." I pause and take a drink of wine. There’s a distinct aspect of pleasure in engaging with someone just as sarcastic as I am. And the Devil is blessedly silent, that’s not a card I care to here speaking directly to me be it hallucination or reality. "You have a good sense of the card I think. It represents being trapped, generally by our own character flaws. We think we're getting something out of continuing as we have, but in reality we're only digging ourselves deeper into a mess."

A tiny twitch in the corner of his mouth. "It seems your cards share your opinion about me.”

I shrug, but I wouldn't mind if the cards contradicted my own thoughts. I might worry less that the voices were mere figments of my imagination then. "Do you see something different in the card? The illustrations are intricate for a reason. There are general meanings for each, but they're not fixed."

"It seems to depend a lot in whose position you're in with this card. He -" He taps on the horned one. "Holds the reins, after all. Is liberated from those earthly needs men and women have. Perhaps that would not be so bad."

"Which figure do you identify with?”

Valerius muses briefly, touches on the woman then with her tail turning into leaves. "Passive, but at least not causing destruction everywhere I go. Could probably easily free my-herself if she only dared to."

He blinks, as if baffled by his own words and gives me a look that reminds me that this conversation will have never taken place as soon as I leave this room, and God help me if I speak of it again. It comes as a surprise his pretty face can look so menacing so easily.

"Should I ask why she doesn't?"

"I don't know . . ." he says, and I'm not quite sure whose question he answered.

I have another sip of wine. For a moment, I wonder if I want my memories back, if memory can be as crushing a weight as the one that lays upon him. I set the glass down and let my fingers hover over the final three cards. "The next row isn't the future per se, Valerius. It indicates a possible outcome, a likely one, if actions in the present aren't changed."

He waves a hand dismissively. "Turn them without me looking, magician. Tell me then if I want to know."

"Very well." I flip the cards over, moving from left to right. The Five of Pentacles, Justice, and the King of Pentacles, all reversed. Their voices are an incoherent cacophony, competing for attention, begging for actions to be taken that with flip them over to their upright position. The King and the Hierophant on the diagonal with the Knight Pentacles suggests the natural progression of his path should have been on to disciplined leadership, but something had led to a deviation from it, trapping him within the current disorder. "Valerius?" When in this conversation did I begin using his name rather than his title? I pause for a moment, but he doesn't reply either to encourage or discourage me. "You may not want to look, but you should."

"It will all end badly. Is it that? I know that, Dema, I know it for a time, but with the things as they are, there's no way for me to get out except for a noose."

That attitude is becoming a distressingly common theme in conversations. Fatalism must be in fashion this season.

"I don't like the idea of being a fortune teller. It suggests that the future is somehow fixed and can be told. Rather than the future being sets of more or less probable outcomes that can be inferred." I take a drink if my wine, giving him an opportunity to respond that he doesn't take. I'm not sure he's listening. "There's still free will. You're not fated to any particular outcome. Even when it feels like it. And believe me, Valerius, I understand that feeling."

"Part of my position is to plan, and to plan for the most possible way events will unfold. Your cards just taunt me with things I already know. Do you wish me to explain what they're saying? Because I understand them very well." A shaking hand reaches for his glass.

I shrug and refill my own wine glass. "It's up to you whether you wish to discuss them. I'm simply reminding you that the most likely possibility is not the only possibility. It needn't end like you think."

He laughs, and it feels like the first time that he’s done so in ages. And, it’s no laughter of mirth, just bitterness and despair. "I've been digging this grave since so many years, and here you are just telling me I don't have to lie in it? You don't tend to daydrink, do you?"

"You're wrong - on both counts. And I never said pulling yourself out it would be simple. I only said that you could."

"Maybe I'll come one day and tell you my dreams, but you're not here about that. You're here about a man you don't wish to find."

"Officially, at least. But you're wrong again. I've only told the Countess that I'll help her uncover what actually happened three years ago."

"And you see relevance in my . . ." His hand flutters gracefully through the air, ". . . bad habits?"

"I see relevance -" I pause and take another drink of wine. "In what you know. You were -” I know I’m about to step out on a bit of a limb here, but I suspect strongly that the reversed knight represents Lucio. And if nothing else, Valerius's official duties would have placed him in close contact with the Count. "Closely involved with the players. How that involvement affects you now or in the future? You're right that it may not be my actual business at the moment. But what you know of the past - I need more than hints from the cards."

"I can tell you that a lot of parties wished for Lucio's death, and that included our dear countess herself, a fact she has so gracefully forgotten. I can also tell you that I did not do it, even if that belonged to my dreams - well, those during the day. He was a forceful, lustful man, and prone to treading on anyone that wasn't clearly his superior."

It was strange to see him like this. Agitated. Emotional. And deeply, deeply conflicted about the entirety of it. Whatever had been between them, it had left deep scars. I believe him when he says he wasn't the responsible party. The denial is too uncontrolled to be anything other than sincere. "Who gained from his death?"

"Who didn't? The only ones who did not are the other three. They will be under scrutiny just as me, and-" He shakes his head. "You've seen the state of the city. Volta at least understands that things are amiss. The others . . . not so much."

"Really? Volta has the greatest insight?” I'm not shocked that Vlastomil and Vulgora are too caught up in themselves to notice anything. Volta seemed kinder, but not particularly aware of anything beyond the next morsel to go in her mouth. And Valerius has said three, not four. "What about the fourth? Valdemar?"

"Valdemar. Ha. They're above and beyond politics and human vanities. I don't dare to judge what they do, and I am sure anyone who tries will end up a victim of their science. And dear Volta . . . I’ve known her for quite a while, and she has always been well-meaning. That’s still in her somewhere, below the fear and voracious appetite." When he speaks of Volta, there’s some resemblance of affection in his voice, a little glimpse of someone who could be good man or at least, a decent one.

I set aside my once again empty glass with a sigh. "And there's nothing else you know - nothing you remember - that might help me?”

"I think, Magician, you may have to ask the right questions for the answers you are seeking." He nods briefly as he repacks his emotions and corks the bottle tightly. He's had enough of me, at least for now.

I begin to pick up my cards and consider which questions would be the right ones, even if now wasn't the time. "Thank you for the conversation, Consul. It was hardly boring."

"Do hesitate to consult me again." His features return to the cool, slightly disgusted mask, a bad case of resting bitch face to keep anyone from getting too close, but there still is the hint of a smile in the eyes, if only there. "Even though I might make time for you in my schedule. Be it just not to drink alone. But for now, a good evening to you."

***

When I return to my room, Faust is waiting for me. She’s curled around an elegant box on the table and lifts her head when the door opens and flicks her tongue at me. “And where have you been?”

“Tree!”

Not much of an answer. I scratch underneath her chin and pick up the box. It’s made of carved wood, intricately fitted together and finely finished. A note rests just inside the lid.

Dema, please accept my apologies for the behavior of my court and this small token of my regard. I think it will complement your eyes. - N.

Underneath the note, a sapphire pendant on a silver chain rests on a folded piece of silk. It’s gorgeous. Far, far more than a small token, at least in any world other than the Countess’s rarefied one. The jewel almost vibrates as my fingers touch it. Asra. This . . . more than anything I found in the shop, feels of Asra. Why?

I don’t have time for that. It’s late. The halls are empty and the garden should be abandoned by now. A good time to try again to see if I can contact Asra through the fountain. I take the sapphire from the box and tuck it into my pocket, nestled beside my tarot deck. Setting the casket back down on the table I extend my arm to Faust. She coils around it and works her way up to my shoulders.

“Asra?”

“Let’s try at least.”

I sit on the edge of the fountain and listen to splashing water. Will this work? Is the energy I felt on the sapphire actually Asra's, or just some trick of my very lonely imagination? Faust slithers up the side of the fountain and around my arm. I run a finger over her cool head then take the sapphire from my pocket, holding it out over the water. “Here goes nothing.” With a couple of deep breaths to clear my mind of any thoughts other than Asra, I let go of the chain allowing the jewel to drop into the fountain with a hollow plop. The water ripples, then as it stills, Asra's face appears and slowly comes into focus. He pushes his hair back from his face, looks surprised for a moment, and then smiles broadly.

“Dema, you did it! You figured this spell out!”

“I, I needed to talk to you. Asra, so much has happened.” I gnaw on my bottom lip and glance away from the fountain before looking back. “I think I might be in over my head.”

Asra's brows furrow with worry. “Hold out your hand. I want to try something.”

I extend my hand over the fountain. The water around Asra quivers, then coalesces rising from the surface and forming into a hand. The fingers wrap around mine and tug gently. I grip them and pull back. Slowly more of the water rises from the fountain, shaping itself into a shimmering likeness of Asra. He looks around and then flicks his wrist sharply. The water falls away, leaving him standing in the fountain, water up to his knees, but very much present.

“I didn't know if that would work. This fountain must connect to some powerful sort of magic, if it can act as this sort of portal.” He steps out of the fountain and looks down at me, a warm smile playing on his lips. “Dema, you look . . . ethereal. You’re practically glowing in that dress.”

“Asra.” I don’t feel glowing or ethereal. I feel like I’m sinking, being pulled down into a place that I don’t want to be in again. I pull his hand to my face, and he runs his thumb along my jaw before and sitting down beside me. His hands close gently around my shoulders, and he pulls me closer to him, letting me press my face to his chest and rubbing his hands over my back. He’s warm, and solid, and real, and the best of the many unsatisfactory connections I have to reality. There’s a burning behind my eyes, the frustrated, anxious tears that I’ve been refusing to give in to for the past days. My breath catches in my throat and when I can finally draw another, it’s ragged and stammering in my chest. Asra’s arms tighten around me, and I feel his lips pressing against the top of my head.

“Dema, it can't be all that bad.”

“I - I'm confused.” I snuggle closer to him. “So much has happened, and I think I might be going mad - again. Asra, the cards are literally talking to me. Not intuitions, not senses, actually speaking. And not just your deck - mine too.”

“You’re not mad.” He pushes me back away, just enough enough to look in my eyes. “I promise.” His hands move to mine, turning them over, thumbs running over the insides of my wrists and my palms.

“Can they speak?” I rephrase the same questions Valerius answered earlier. The one that I couldn’t quite answer either to my own, or to the Consul’s satisfaction. “Are they just representations of powers, archons, whatever? Or actual . . . persons?”

“It’s . . . complex. Some are more personal than others. But -” He pulls me back against him, hands soothing over my back. “You’re not just hearing voices, though. You’re more connected, attuned to the arcana than most are. That’s all.”

“I’m not sure I want to be.”

Asra’s only response is to tuck my head under his chin and hold me tighter to him. He’s quiet for the space of one, two, three breaths, then lifts his head. I take a deep breath and speak again. “That’s not everything.” Without extracting myself from his embrace, I run through the events of the past few days. Nadia's game with the cards, her plans to execute Julian, how I didn't think he had murdered the Count, and Portia was his sister. And why, why did it honestly feel like I knew him? I straighten up as I talk, pulling away from Asra. “Did I know him, Asra? You did. I found, in the library, um . . .”

Asra looks away from me, gaze moving to the willow tree. He sighs and speaks carefully, holding my hand tightly in his. “You knew him. And, yes, I knew him.”

“Who was he to you?”

Asra closes his eyes; his thumb runs over my knuckles. “A friend once, then something more. Ultimately, more than I could risk - not at that time. Dema, please, be careful around him. He's not necessarily sometime you should trust.”

“I'm not sure who exactly I should trust.”

Asra's expression saddens, and his cheeks redden slightly. He looks down to where are hands are still entwined. “I'm sorry that I haven't been that person for you. I'd never hurt you on purpose, I promise.”

“Asra.” I pull my fingers free and then cup his face in my hands, lifting his chin just enough for his eyes to meet mine. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll finally answer my questions. “Who am I to you?”

His eyebrows lift ever so slightly, and he closes his eyes. He turns his head and presses his lips to my palm, lips lingering against my skin. “Dema, sometimes I fear I'll be crushed under the weight of everything you are to me. You aren't my student . . . not really. I've taught you nothing that didn't already know.” He pauses, then reaches out reversing our poses and placing a hand on either side of my face. “Sometimes I'm scared that you'll see everything you are to me and it will be too much for either of us. So I have to escape, to hide. But -” He leans forward, touching his forehead to mine. “I want you to know. I don't want to have to continue keeping secrets from you. I want you to remember.”

“Remember what? Asra?”

His fingertips hover over my collarbone, then just a little lower, not quite touching the left side of my chest. “You're my very heart, Dema.”

I close my eyes, his face as I first saw it - shocked, terrified, relieved - folds the space behind it. Then I feel myself falling through smoke, glimpses of memories, Asra in each. Younger, wilder - lacking his studied detachment. And each memory is mine. I'm running through Vesuvia with him, dancing to the music of what must be the masquerade, kissing on street corners while ignoring the pouring rain. We were . . . I crash back into my body, ears ringing and temples pounding. Clutching my head, I fall forward with a pitiful moan, back against Asra's chest.

I feel cool fingers running through my hair. “I'm so sorry, my love. This, all this, is never what I wanted. Never what I intended.” Asra's voice is sad. “But here we are. And I'm so sorry to have made you remember, and so sorry to make you forget.” His lips press against my forehead and the world around me disappears.

Faust is curled around me when I wake by the fountain. I must have fallen asleep while trying to contact Asra. The last thing I remember is dropping the sapphire pendant into the water and watching the ripples spread access the fountain. I suppose it didn't work. A scarf I recognize as one of Asra’s is folded under my head. Odd? Must have brought that back from the shop. Yawning, I stand and lean over the water to fish out the pendant. I can try again tomorrow night. Or maybe, Asra will be home by then.

Chapter Nine

A/N: @ilyarium co-wrote this chapter - particularly the material with Consul Valerius.

Chapter title from Audioslave.

#the arcana #arcana fanfiction #consul valerius #pontifex vulgora #procurator volta #vlastomil #quaestor valdemar #asra alnazar #asra x apprentice #asra x mc #whatever i've done #my writing #dema

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