#he's on thin ice and keeps slipping and taking cold baths in the water | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bangtanfancamp · 3 years

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Champagne Silk | KNJ

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⋅summary: Almost year ago, you became the arranged bride of the most powerful man in the city, Kim Namjoon, but this morning, with you, he’s just a man who’s head over heels for you who can’t help getting lost thinking about his future with you.

Alternatively: no matter how powerful a man Namjoon is, he is still a klutz in the kitchen. A sexy klutz though.

⋅ author’s masterlist

⋅part two of the Silk series ( read part 1 here)

⋅also the second installment of breakfast with bangtan series (masterlist here)

⋅pairing: mafia!namjoon x reader

⋅genre: mafia! au, arranged marriage! Au, smut, fluff, angst, established relationship

⋅word count: 15.5k words

⋅rating: mature

⋅warnings: a generous amount of consensual sexual activities 🙃, brief scene of oral sex, impregnation kink, a shared bath tub, multiple instances of christiana being uncomfortable with using proper technical names for genitalia and being intentionally ambiguous instead. (honestly it’s more tame and wholesome than you think but god, if these two aren’t hot for each other )

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“Damn it.”

The sound comes rumpled from the other side of the kitchen, like someone’s trying to keep it hidden. It’s so subdued and muttered that around anyone else, it might have been successfully hidden. But not right now. And certainly not with you. Because you know the distinct, adorable huff of your husband’s regret in an instant.

“You all right over there, darling?” There’s an innocence in your voice to hide your humor.

“Promise you won’t laugh if I tell you?”

“Oh, unfortunately I can do no such thing, my love. You’ll just have to brave the odds and tell me.”

Your smile is benevolent, but unyielding. You politely, pleasantly even, refuse to give him another option, and he knows it. It’s that simple. Even with his back to you, he knows the jig is up. As he hunches with heavy shoulders, he sighs and mutters something too low for you to pick up at first.

“Once more for the people in the back, yeah?” You tease.

“I said, I spilled wine on everything,” he exhales.

His voice is tinged in shades of caramel, rich with resignation, as he confesses, stepping aside so you can see the mess he’s made.

“Oh, Joon.”

A terribly bright fondness pulls your lips into a smile as your clumsy giant sheepishly ducks his head across the room. His once pristine white shirt, his linen pants and your white antique tablecloth are all freshly dip dyed in swirls of Pinot Grigio and rosé.

“I know. I know. You don’t have to say it.” His eyes flit down to the stack of too many wine glasses slotted between his large fingers that have spilled their bounty across every available fabric surface.

“You have no idea what I’m about to say,” you point out graciously.

Crossing the room, you tip up on your toes to press a tender kiss to the spots where his jolly dimples would show if he weren’t so flustered.

“MmmHmm. Sure I don’t.” He squints at you while you slip one glass at a time out of his grip and reach for a cloth.

“Precisely. You shouldn’t assume, Namjoon. You know what they say.” You smirk, wetting the cloth with water you know will be too frigid for him to stand in this half asleep state he’s in, but the stains have got to go.

“And what exactly do they say?” His large palms dip to rest on his hips as he braces for your commentary.

“Simply that assumptions only make an ass out of you and me so…”

His nose scrunches in distaste, even as he starts to laugh. “What a beastly phrase. I forget how much delicacy Americans have.”

“Oh heaps of it. More than they know what to do with, really.” You shrug as you wring out the cloth. “Positively genteel. Is that not why you chose to marry one?” You add with a wry smile.

Glancing down at the bands on your finger, you warm at the way they glisten in the bits of lazy Sunday light filtering through the window. Namjoon’s glints golden across the room as he waits for your rescue. Both still new enough to feel like a novelty. Enough to make a small light inside you beam with pride whenever you catch sight of it.

“I chose to marry the only one I could find who was quick enough to get the stains I make out before they set and sweet enough not to give me grief for it.” He arches an eyebrow down at you in challenge as you slip one hand past the deeply undone row of buttons on his shirt to pull the fabric up and away from his skin as you begin to gently blot at the wine.

“Oh no. Well, I hate to inform you of this, but unfortunately, I’m actually 0 for 2 in those qualifications. But I will sincerely try my best since you’ve placed so much trust in me.” You chuckle as you set to work. “Would it be helpful if I mention what a smart wife you have to have ixnayed buying that cabernet sauvignon you wanted so badly, especially given your current predicament?”

Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to your forehead before dipping to press his nose against your own while shaking his head.

“No. Not in the slightest.”

“See? That’s good to know. Would have been awful if I mentioned the Merlot I put back too then. Can you imagine? Could have been so unseamly.”

He laughs, smiling against your hairline. “Well, what would have been the point of whisking my bride all the way out to a little villa in wine country and inviting guests only to not serve them red wine?”

“The point would have been you not turning into the kool-aid man whenever said wine inevitably spilled all over you. Case in point.” You look up at him through wide, fluttered lashes as you press the icy cold cloth against a particularly bold splatter on his chest. The frigid water grazes his nipple through his thin shirt and your giant of a man winces like he was wounded on the playground.

“Hey, that’s freezing.” He moves to swat your hand away.

“Would you rather just take this off then? So I can work properly,” You smirk.

“No,” he sighs. “That would just be colder.”

He looks so adorable right now. The lavender locks you’d once loved so well have been replaced, faded into a dusty blonde instead. His thick hair, usually coiffed so neatly, so perfectly, is currently disheveled entirely. Bits that had been gently curated to frame his face the night before are now plastered to his forehead, others shooting off at odd angles, all from falling asleep on the couch beside you once your dinner guests finally left late last night.

He’s still in last night's now stained and rumpled clothes, still looking absolutely divine with the sleeves cuffed against his elegant forearms and his now wide open neckline thanks to the buttons undone all the way down past his rib cage.

His body is every bit a grown man, but his sleepy features- those wide eyes and pouted lips- make him look every bit the little boy you saw once in his mothers photo albums the week of the wedding. Big Namjoon still makes the same faces when he makes a mess as little Namjoon, and it makes your heart squeeze in your chest.

“Don’t be such a weenie,” you tease.

“Careful who you tease, woman. You’re the only one in this city who forgets how many people are afraid of me.”

“This city is half a day’s drive away. There’s no one to fear you here,Joonie. Besides, your enemies have clearly never seen how quickly you’d fall in a battle against the cold or else you would have been displaced ages ago,” you tease with a twinkle in your eyes as he narrows his at you.

“I don’t think you’d like ice water on your breasts first thing in the morning either.” He huffs under his breath.

“You never know til you try,” you wink.

“Would you like to try?” His eyes rake over you salaciously despite the tenderness in his smile.

“No, I can’t say that I do,” you chuckle, pushing a palm against his chest. “Besides, it’s hardly first thing in the morning, Joon. It’s almost noon.” You nod toward the clock.

There’s still sleep in his voice when he laughs, the sounds rich and resonant where it blooms from his chest. “Well, it’s still morning for me when we didn’t fall asleep til well after 3 because our guests don’t know when to leave.”

You smile to yourself at the memory of time spent with your friends. Well, more accurately Namjoon’s friends, i.e. the members of his crew who have become like family to both of you. Namjoon’s been on the move so much with work lately that there’s been no time to simply sit and enjoy their company. You were in raptures when he suggested they join you for dinner last night.

“It was so good to see Hoseok and Jungkookie though. Their new girlfriends seem so sweet.”

Namjoon’s gaze seems far off somewhere as he listens to you.“They do, don’t they? JK’s seemed spunky too. She’s good for him.”

“I think so too. He spent half the night blushing- he was so happy. It was good to see him so over the moon for once, that little romantic.”

Namjoon smiles, a soft thing nestled in the pocket of his cheek, full of fondness for the youngest of his friends. “Yeah, I’m glad he finally found someone so good for him.”

Pulling you in, he kisses you gently, once, twice before pressing his lips to the top of your forehead, an unspoken “as good as you are for me” hidden his warm brown eyes.

“Big softie,” you whisper, reaching up to cradle his face, thumb brushing over his cheeks. He tips his face toward your palm to plant a kiss there too, his lips just brushing the inside of your wedding band as you smile.

“For you? Always.”

“For me? It was the food last night. God, That charcuterie board Jin brought was positively masterful.” The memory alone has your mouth watering. “Such a shame it was all gone so soon though.”

“Ooo, speaking of,” Namjoon slips out of your grip to rustle around in the kitchen behind you. “Not quite.”

“What did you do?” You narrow your eyes at him as you settle into a wooden chair to start tending to the swirling stains on the tablecloth.

“Oh, the best thing. Husband of the year level best thing.”

“Husband of the year? Can't wait to see this then. Very moderate expectations, indeed.”

With his back to you, you can’t see what he’s up to, but you can certainly hear it. Especially the low grunt when his hip snags on the new island counter. This poor man was clearly made for a different life than this old world kitchen provides. You wonder which will go first, your husband or the architectural detail. You chuckle to yourself until you realize exactly what it is he’s carrying.

“Kim Namjoon, is that-?”

“A mini stolen charcuterie board? You bet it is,” he winks your way, and a storm of winged things flutter in your stomach.

“How did you even-“

“When you had everyone gathered in the backyard, and Jimin tripped over the cord for the string lights.”

“I’ll never know how such a graceful man can cause such disasters. Or how you managed to befriend the only other man on earth as poised and clumsy as you all at once,” you chuckle, stealing a fig from the corner of the board as he peels back the plastic film covering it. “Oh my god, that’s so good.”

“Mmm Hmm. I knew you thought so,” he taps you on the nose lovingly. “You always ask Jin to make these for you, and then you’re always so sad when all twelve people you invite make it vanish in half an hour.”

“I know. I know. It would go farther if there were fewer people to share it with, but Joon, the boys are like family. I haven’t seen them all together in so long. I couldn’t bear to leave anyone out.”

There’s a twinkle glinting in his eyes as he smiles down at you. He’s glad to see how soft your heart somehow remains despite the life you both lead.

“Which is precisely why I took the liberty of stashing some of this bounty away while the guests were busy and saving it for you.”

When he smiles at you like that, all softened edges and warm brown eyes, it’s impossible not to fall in love with him all over again. It’s not like you’ve forgotten how kind he is or how striking he can be when he smiles. It’s simply that the more you see it, the more in love you become.

Rising up in your chair, you reach across the table to tenderly cradle his cheek.

“I hate to say this, because then you’ll know you were right, but this is really is an excellent submission for husband of the year. I would like to point out, though, that you are welcome to make as many entries as you’d like before the panel comes to a consensus, you know.”

He smiles so wide that his eyes get lost in their beautifully crinkled edges. “I’ll keep it in mind. Now, they do say that you should play toward the judge’s preferences. Would you happen to know any? To help me get that inside edge.”

“Now, now. I can’t help you cheat. You’ll have to conduct your own research.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely. We have a strict moral code. They’d ruin me if I let that sort of intel slip.” You tilt your chin up in defiance despite your smirk and laughing eyes.

“Hmm. We can’t have that, can we? Shame. I really thought this was going to be my year.”

“Do you really think the only way you’d win is to cheat? Come now...it can still be your year if you play your cards right.”

Your hand drifts up to his carelessly perfect hair, fingers gliding through it and tugging a bit near his scalp. One of his favorite ways to receive affection you’ve found out this past year. His lids fall heavy before he can catch them, a small hiss catching behind his teeth that means you’ve done it right.

“Careful. You don’t know what you might be starting.” His eyes wander the edges of your lips, trace the frame of your collarbone.

“I’d never take the risk if I wasn’t ready to face the consequences.” The twist of your lips is subtle, as gentle as the seduction you’ve learned is your forte.

Namjoon licks his lips, the lower one snagging in his teeth as his eyes drift over you. Without breaking his gaze, he takes a champagne grape from the board and lifts it to your lips. You can feel your pulse flutter and quicken beneath your skin. It always does when he eyes you like that.

The man might as well be a snake charmer for all the control you feel like you have over yourself right now as your mouth parts of its own accord for him. But just before the fruit can graze your lips, his grin widens- wicked with delight- as he decides to pop it in his own mouth instead.

His dimples are so deep as he laughs at your flustered state that you wish you could crawl inside them and hide.

“Ha Ha. Very funny, Joon. Tease the woman you claim to love. Excellent way to keep a happy wife.”

Rolling your eyes, you push off from the table, fully intent on doing... you have no idea what, exactly. All you know is that you need to get away from this table as fast as you can before you knock the carefully preserved remnants of this charcuterie board to the floor and take him on the table.

The blush that was rushing to your cheeks is now crashing in your ears and all you can think to do is “go,” but before you can get even half a step too far, Namjoon’s warm, impossibly large hand is already wrapping itself around your wrist and grounding you to your spot.

“All I want is a happy wife,” he laughs. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I thought I made that pretty clear from the first day.”

Slowly, he stands as his hand trails its way down to dance across your palm before lacing your fingers with his.

“Certainly doesn’t feel like it right now,” you pout, despite the excitement thrumming in your veins. You know that look on his face now. The one that’s evil and beautiful, sincere and serpentine. The one that wants to devour you playfully. To love you even as he ruins you.

“Oh no,” he tsks. “That won’t do.”

Suddenly, he snaps you to him, his hands fastening themselves to the dip in your waist. You gasp, the force making you brace against his smooth, exposed chest to catch yourself.

“It won’t?” Your voice comes out airy, too thin, as the morning breeze billows through the open windows.

“No. Not at all. So I wanna know: how can I fix this, baby?” His eyes are possessed by something wicked as one hand leaves your waist to trace a thumb over your parted mouth.

“I- I”

“Shh, I made this mistake. I’ll make it right.” He arches a single brow as his tongue wets his lips, and your brain loses any grip on rational thinking.

“And h-how do you plan to do that?” It’s a whisper- too breathy, too barely coherent. His hands are so warm. His touch is like lightning and suddenly even breathing requires too much energy with the way you feel like you’ve shorted out.

“I don’t know. You tell me, baby.” His knuckle tips it’s way under your chin, tilting your face up to his as you follow in obedience.

“But… I thought… I told you. The judge can’t help.” You swallow, lashes fluttering shut as his breath ghosts over your lips.

“Then she can’t get what she wants,” he challenges.

“Fair enough. That’s fair.” Your head bobbles in assent.

“So I’ll try this again,” his face dips down until his mouth rests just below your ear. “What do you want, baby?”

You feel lightheaded as you melt in hands, rushing out the words, “Counter. Now. Please.”

Your expression folds in on itself in satisfaction when Namjoon grips you around the waist and plants you on the kitchen island without a moment's hesitation. You gasp, airy and quick, before his palm is fitted against the curve of your throat with just the amount of pressure he’s learned that you like.

“Good girl. Open your legs for me, baby.”

A muffled inhale later, your knees have parted where you’re sat on the island and Namjoon is fitted between them, his hips to the counter as he kisses you in earnest.

“Oh my god,” you gasp as his tongue and open mouth work their way down your throat, painting wide open blossoms of scarlet and blush along the way. Your hands are in his hair, at his scalp, tugging and grabbing to bring him back to your kiss. His taste is tinged salty and sweet from your skin and the grapes, and your thighs wrap themselves tight around the narrow slope of him.

He’s gotten so broad since the wedding day. If you had trouble composing yourself around him then god only knows how you’ve survived the past year. His shoulders seem wider, his arms more substantial, his chest impossibly inviting as you claw at the last remaining buttons of his dress shirt.

“Off. Off. Take this off.” You push at the sleeves that bunch around the arcs of his newly swollen biceps, taking a moment to drink in how beautiful they are as you clutch at his golden skin.

“So eager now. What happened to my shy girl?” His voice is teasing, light, but his eyes look proud of you.

“You did things like this to her, and now she can’t get enough.” Your mouth fits itself to the beautiful stretch of bare skin beneath his ear, suckling the indescribable taste of him before traveling down his throat and across his jaw.

He laughs, something deep and melodic, before his fingers begin to glide over your collarbone and dance over your arms, featherlight, like he always does when he’s trying to rile you up.

“Should I get this out of our way then?” His fingers tug at the slim straps of your champagne blush dress. You’d worn it especially for him at last night’s party. You’d never forgotten his affinity for your skin draped in silk.

“Why? Don’t you like it?”

“Of course I do, baby. It’s perfect.”

“Then why do you want me to take it off?”

Your voice is sticky sweet with innocence, but Namjoon knows better. He doesn’t know where you got the wherewithal to tease him right now as he holds you pressed against his growing warmth, but when your eyes flick to his, he knows you’ve made the right choice. He likes it when you challenge him. It makes it more fun when he wins.

“So I can do this,” he grins with a flash of his teeth.

Without missing a beat, he’s slipped both straps clean off your shoulders, leaving the dress to pool around your hips, and scoops one of your soft breasts gently into his mouth. Your breath comes sharp, a stuttered, inhaled moan that tastes as sweet to him as the ripened figs on the tray. Deliciously priceless.

He still can’t get over you. He doesn’t think he ever could. He’s never reached a point where the sounds you make fail to set his world ablaze. He’d like nothing more than to make drawing them out of you every morning just like this his sole profession.

Reverently, his other hand brushes up your side to cradle your other breast beside it. God, they’re so soft. Namjoon is almost ashamed to admit how infatuated he is with your breasts. It would be embarrassing if you weren’t equally in love with receiving all the attention he gives them.

What can he say? He’s a simple man. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world to him and for him? They’re perfect. Even with all the exploration the two of you have shared this past year, he knows this part of your body has got to be his favorite- your skin there is so velvet smooth and supple, so delicately sensitive, so perfectly sized for him to devour to his heart's content.

As his tongue warms the tender skin of your nipple with affection, and his thumb steadily plays with the other, he feels the muscled grip of your thighs tighten against him. The sounds you make for him as you clutch at the edge of the granite might as well be a symphony. He loves you like this. Wild and coming undone at his touch and attention. No one in the world but you and him.

“J-joon, baby.. I-“

Looking up at you through heavy eyes, entirely impressed with himself, he smiles and flicks his tongue against you again. When the jolt makes you jump, he stands to his full height above you, and sets his hands back on your sides.

“What is it, baby? You have to tell me.”

Your brows crumple in softly as you look up at him through your lashes. If you could speak, you would, but the way he plays you like an instrument with no effort at all always seems to dispose of your grace.

“But Namjoon…” you’re trying and failing to catch your breath as both his thumbs come to lazily torment the soft swells of your chest.

“You know what you like. You know what you want. Just tell me.”

You’ve barely got enough breath to function as it is, let alone to form a sentence. “But baby, I can’t…”

“Then I’m afraid you can’t have it.” He tuts. “Not if you can’t ask.”

His grin is wicked, and as much you want to drown in it, something in you wants to wipe it off his pretty face.

“Not… fair…”

He runs his tongue over his teeth as he smiles.

“Really? Because to me, what’s not fair,” he grips your hips, snatching you forward that last little inch to sit snug against his hips, “is me giving you a prize you haven’t earned.”

His hands dip to cup the curve of your backside,

his fingers digging deep into the silk and softness he finds there as he continues.

“ What’s not fair is the way you teased me in this little dress last night when you knew there would be too many people around for me to enjoy it properly…”

Dipping down, his sumptuous lips brush your ear as he whispers, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What seeing you in this dress all night did to me?”

As yet another lightheaded gasp leaves your lips, a dark, satisfied chuckle leaves his.

“H-how would I know?” your air comes in shaky as he has his way with you

“You know, baby girl. You always know.”

As his fingers dip firmly into the globes of your backside, he begins gently, just barely, rocking against you. No hurry. No fuss. Just maddening, slow pressure as he grazes you. When an airy moan comes whimpering from your lips, his strong hands tense, keeping your hips too fixed to succumb to moving with him.

“But you didn’t... say anything.”

Your eyes flutter closed as his face lowers toward yours. You can feel the brush of his lips ghosting over the edges of your cheek, his nose tracing against your skin.

“Don’t act like you couldn’t tell. You know silk always does me in.”

His fingers slip across your stomach where your dress has pooled to rest. They ghost like a whisper over your hips and down your legs until they reach the hem of your skirt. He fits his hands against your skin and drags them up achingly slowly, willing his touch to memorize the feel of your skin along the way as he pushes the fabric up inch by merciless inch- all while never stopping the insatiable way his lips move warm against yours.

His touch and his kiss are languid, unhurried, as he sets you on fire. When he reaches your thighs, his palms splay across them, his thumbs dragging along the inner swell of your legs as your vision begins to blur.

He’s taking his time. He’s teasing you and enjoying it. It’s evident in the way he slows down the higher he gets. The way his mouth begins to travel down your throat in kisses so soft, so divinely sweet, that you swear you’re growing lightheaded from the swelling rush of pleasure.

His thumbs have made their way to the folds of your hips, his hands hidden beneath the fabric as your body lights up electric at his touch. Like if it shines bright enough for him, he might bless it with all that you know he is capable of. But even though he knows you’re more than willing, your tease doesnt satiate your body or her cravings for him just yet.

Instead, he slows down further. He fits his hands on the outer edges of your hip while his kisses turn gentle, calming, resolving, as if he has no intention of following through further after riling you up like this.

“What are you— why are you stopping?” Your eyes flit between his, a subtle , whining irritation building up beside your impatience when he doesn’t move. He’s quiet at first, in no rush to answer. As his beautiful face hovers over you, he's so smug you almost want to slap him for toying with you like this.

But that won’t get you what you want. What you need. So Instead, you take one of his hands and press it to your breast as you guide the other toward the center of you.

He plays along at first, until his fingers are about to brush the part of you that’s positively tingling for his touch, and he abruptly pulls back, resting both of his hands on the countertop on either side of you.

“Ah, ah. That’s for when you use your words, my sweet.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, and suddenly, you’ve never been more greedy or more furious.

Snatching at his waistband, you pull his hips forward and slip your hand over the linen to hold him. His breath catches at the back of his throat, and his eyes go wide, dumbfounded at the shift in power.

“And I said, the judge can’t tell you the answers.”

You level him with a look of quiet confidence as your fingers slip between his skin and the linen to hold him where he wants you most. His brows tip into softened u’s as the coolness of your touch brushes against him.

“Husband of the year should know what I want by now. I shouldn't have to tell him.”

You grasp him, fingers running delicately up the underside of him at the same time that you lick into his mouth. You feel him dip a bit as his knees buckle, making his hands on the counter the only thing holding him up.

“Mother of god,” he mumbles, even as his hips move in compliance with your touch. “Where did you learn that?”

“From the best,” you beam. Your smile is genuine, sweet and blindingly bright. It makes him want to take a bite out of the apples of your cheek, so he does. A playful nip that has you giggling and him pressing his lips together in fondness.

The moment is sweet, until you catch his eyes with that same saccharine smile on your face, and take your hand away. His mouth opens, about to protest, until he watches you run your tongue in a long, slow stripe up your fingers before reaching back down behind his waistband to run the wet digits over his heated skin as you grasp him.

“Oh my… fuuuuck,” he exhales, his weight dropping to press into the counter. His face dips to lean against yours as he struggles to stay lucid. This feels so good, so out of nowhere, that his body is bursting to life more rapidly that he can keep up with.

With every movement you make, he moves with you, gasping through his open mouth with every touch as he tries to keep his composure. Leaning into your forehead, he feels his nose bumping against yours as he searches for air. He feels nearly lightheaded but god, you’re incredible. Your touch feels so good- he never wants you to stop.

Still, he wants control back though. To make you as much of a mewling mess as you’re currently making of him. He was enjoying the game you were both playing before, but he likes the feeling of winning more. However, just when he thinks he’s got a way to get the upper hand back, you ever so lightly twist your grip as you pump him, and suddenly, he can’t tell if he’s dying, ascending or blacking out.

It feels so good so fast that he can barely remember his own name, let alone stage a coup. Your fingertips gently play with the tip of him at the top of each swell in your fluid flourish, and suddenly he can’t think of anything else to do with all this bursting excess inside of him but to kiss you. So he does. Open mouthed. Sloppy. Full of want. It feels so incredible that you can’t help but laugh brightly into his mouth, ethereally elegant, even as you wreck him.

As you work, he can feel the way he’s growing harder with your attention, the way his blood feels like it’s singing the longer you touch him. His hips are obeying you like they belong to you, and at this point, he’s pretty sure they do. His mouth is painting your throat, adding swathes of crimson to the blooms he made before until your neck is colored with an entire bouquet of his affection.

When he closes his eyes, the light behind them sparkles with effervescence as he listens to the quickness of your breath as you work. The sounds, the moans, the gasps you make as you touch him mingle with sounds of early morning nature and Namjoon wonders if this was what the poets meant when they described paradise.

Pleasure is cresting over him in warm, molten waves now, and as it builds, he realizes he was wrong.

That as much as he loves your luminous eyes, your serene smile, the softness of your breasts, that those aren’t truly his favorite part of you if he’s honest. At least not right now. Not in moments like these. Because right now, with your hand wrapped around him, wrecking him with craving, that title is held by the treasure between your thighs; and as the blood rushes away from the rest of his body and swells where your hand lies, all he can think of, all he wants, is to bury himself in the wet, velvet warmth of you and never leave.

If he doesn’t get you naked with him inside you within the next three seconds, he thinks he might die.

So he does something about it.

“Open, baby. Open your legs for me,” he demands. It’s firm, commanding, but his eyes are so full of needy want that it’s hard to say who’s really in charge right now.

Pushing your hand away and placing it on his chest, Namjoon kicks down his linen trousers and slides up your dress as you obey. He springs out, the length of him pressing into the meat of your thigh. It has you whimpering before you can catch yourself.

“God, I knew you were a smart boy. You’d figure it out eventually,” your voice is teasing, but your face is so dizzy, so desperate for him, that he could give you the whole world if you asked.

“You ready for me, baby?” His eyes are half blown with lust, his lashes hanging heavy as he runs his fingers over your opening, before collapsing against your shoulder. “ Oh my god.”

“What is it, Joon?”

“Nothing. I just,” he chuckles once, “I don’t think I’ll ever get over how wet you get for me.”

With no hesitation, he slips two fingers inside you as your belly contracts. Gasping his name, you can’t help but cling to him as light shoots through your body at the incredibly welcome feeling of his hands there.

“Nam- Namjoon, ah!” Wrapping your hands around his shoulders, you can feel your nails dig into his sturdy flesh as he begins rocking you with a motion so good, so fluid you fear you may simply float away and never touch the ground again.

“Yes, baby? What is it?”

“You. I want you. Please.”

“You have me, baby.” His teeth are gritted in focus as he works you, his brow dipped low as he watches how easily you come undone with his attention. Warmth gushes over his fingers as he feels your walls contract in tandem with the tug of your hands in his hair. The sting is sharp and sublime as you grasp him tight with every part of you.

“Inside. Come inside. Need you. Now,” you plead. Your other hand trickles down his torso to the soft hair above his member before holding him firmly with a twist of your hand. He moans, hips canting into your delicate palm.

Namjoon doesn’t need to be told twice. Slipping his fingers out of the way, he scoops you safely to the edge of the island, one large hand stroking himself and guiding him to line up with your eager entrance.

The essence of you coats the tip of him without any effort, your body unfolding, so relaxed for him, as he easily begins to slip inside you. It’s so abundant that the slide is effortless, helping him bottom out almost immediately within you. Your head falls back in wonder as he does, your hands quickly planting against the cold counter to catch you.

Wow. God, Namjoon’s body always has a tendency to overwhelm you, no matter how many times you get caught up in each other like this. You still can’t get over that. Honestly, it would be impossible to when he’s built like he is.

He’s broad everywhere- that’s obvious to anyone. But here, he’s long and thick, with thighs like tree trunks powering each movement as he glides inside you. Any other time, you might have needed his help to adjust, for him to take his time to warm you up, but this morning? Your body is ready for him, and he knows it.

It’s unfolding itself for him like a bloom to the sun, and he’s reverent enough to return its worship. You’re so wet that he can feel it trickling down his hip as he pistons into you, and he regrets not dipping down to sample a taste of it before coming inside. But now that he’s here, there’s absolutely no way he’s leaving the warmth of your walls until you're both falling over and spent.

Your ankles are crossed behind him, pulling him as close as you can get him, and his face is pressed against your neck and collarbone as both your hips work in dizzy tandem. The sensation of it sends his consciousness swirling as the pressure in his abdomen builds.

He’s convinced now that you’re a real, actual goddess. There’s no way you could make him feel this divine if you weren’t. Your ambrosia coats his thickness, spilling over him as he thrusts harder, deeper, tilting his hips to curve against that spot inside you that—

“Oh! God! Joon,” you yelp. “Yes, don’t stop.”

His grin is infectious. You can feel it against your skin as you pull him tighter, rocking in time with him as your euphoria builds. Your laugh is bright, sparkling as he licks his fingers and slips them swirling over the sensitive burst between your legs. Your breath catches, his name and profanity tumbling from your lips in equal measure.

You’re not sure how much more of this you can take. Your senses are on overload, your vision darkening around the edges as the pleasure he paints across your body escalates rapidly. Somewhere far off, you can hear his voice. His mouth is near your ear, his breath cooling your skin that’s become sticky with sweat, but you can’t understand, can’t wrap your brain around what he’s saying…

Until you realize that even fully coherent, you’d still be lost because your forever intoxicating husband has slipped back into his native tongue. You love it when this happens. With his senses so thoroughly drowning in you, translating language just becomes too hard a thing to manage, so the harder and deeper he goes, the lower the bass in his voice becomes as he mumbles in korean against your ear.

You’ve learned enough to catch words like “beautiful” “perfect” and “God, I love you,” but the rest remain a mystery as he captures the innermost parts of your body for himself with swift, perfect strokes of his hips. The depth he’s reaching right now has you in raptures. It has your breath coming in short gasps as your breasts bounce buoyantly with each...incredible… thrust he delivers.

You won’t last much longer. You know it. And All you can think right now is how badly you want to look in his eyes when you come- which you know will happen any second now.

Between his touch, his voice, the indescribable way he moves his hips when he’s inside you, and the crescendo you feel from the spot he’s internally caressing right now, you know you’re only moments away from dissolving into the atmosphere, yet all you want is more of him.

“Joon, baby, I’m so close. Look at me. Please,” you move one of the hands supporting you to hold his face and bring it to yours.

God, that please of yours. It flows so naturally from your lips when he has his way with you. He doesn’t know how to describe what it unleashes in him, but he knows it never fails to wreck him. “Shh, let go, baby girl. I’m right here. I got you.”

Before he can think, he’s kissing you deeply, his tongue insatiable as he tastes you. He alternates between kissing you and pulling back to catch your eyes. The depth of affection in his gaze warms you brilliantly from the inside even as you swear you can practically feel his thrust against the underside of your lungs.

His once seamless rhythm has become all feel and nuance. All order is long lost as he makes his last powerful dives into the depths of you. You can feel it- the tightness in his body, the firm set in his jaw, the profound depth of his voice as he praises your body in Korean. If you were to die like this, caught up in Namjoon’s impeccably loving, gracious body, you wouldn’t have a single regret.

There’s nothing more you could ask for.

The glittering sensation pulsing through your body let’s you know it’s almost time to surrender, and you’re ready to come undone. Surely, there could be nothing more blissful than this— until Namjoon takes the hand he’s kept gripped around your waist and slips it up to your throat.

Your eyes go wide.

He really was paying attention. Husband of the year, indeed.

And just like that, the express trip to ecstasy nearly slams into your body. His eyes are locked on yours. He’s muttering a soft “good girl” and “that’s it, baby” as he works his powerful hips into you. He has one hand clamped firm and perfect below your jaw along your throat, and the other dancing elegantly along the bundle of nerves between your legs. He takes those fingers into his mouth to wet them, his face crumpling in a satisfied moan at the taste of you on his skin, before slipping them back where they belong.

It’s altogether too much and you are lit up sparkling as the combined sensation of it all builds with the warmth of his body against you, within you.

“Come for me, baby,” he says it clear and firm, his touch generous to help ease you over the edge.

“Only if you come with me,” you breathe. Your eyes meet his as you try to find something to hold on to as the tension in you crests.

He smiles then. All dimples and sweet eyes and perfect lips. He places a sweet kiss on your cheek beside your lips, and that’s all it takes to ruin you.

You feel your body contract around him in bliss as his name spills from your mouth. Making love to Namjoon has never felt commonplace, but there’s something about today. About him. About the sweetness of this morning in the middle of your perfect hidden home with him that makes you burst not only with pleasure, but with love.

As your orgasm washes over you, you feel illuminated from within like the sun is glowing out of your skin as your body melts against him.

“I love you,” you whisper. “You’re so perfect.”

As your body floats back down from wherever you just astral projected from bliss, you can feel that his body is just a breath away from tipping over the edge itself. He’s pulling back, pulling out, intending to spill himself elsewhere, but in that instant, you realize you don’t want that.

Your memory flashes back to your wedding day. To the moment those hideous people decided to squawk about your child-rearing, heir-producing duty just hours after your vows, and Namjoon had cut them off immediately at the jump and whispered,” don’t pay them any mind. That happens when you’re ready. Not a second before,” soft against your ear.

It was one of the first instances that made you realize what a good man he was. How willing he was to put your readiness, your comfort, before anyone or anything else. And now, as you take him in, as you remember how truly and deeply you love him, you realize you’re ready for there to be more.

You’ve had countless discussions with him about starting a family, and everytime, without missing a beat, his answer has always been, “whenever you’re ready, I’m ready.”

You've come to learn over this past year that he’s wanted nothing more than to become a dad since he was a small boy.

You’ve gotten to witness how fun, gentle and gracious he is with his nephews. With Jimin’s daughter, his sweet godchild. For a year, you’ve watched him be good and kind to any child he meets, patient with you, subdued as he hides the depth of his desire to be a father behind his dimpled smiles and suave redirection when you bring it up.

He’s been willing to wait for you. He never pushes. He never demands. And in this moment, as you study the face of the incredible man who’s welcomed you into his heart and his home, all you want is to begin the journey to give him what you know he will never ask for, even though it’s what the secret parts of his heart want the most.

“Namjoon,” you whisper,” don’t. It’s okay. You can finish inside me.” You caress his face lovingly as his eyes go wide.

“Really? But baby… I… what…” Your eternally eloquent man has gone slack jawed in his loss for words as his hips begin to still.

“It’s okay,” you nod. “I want you to. I want to feel you.” You kiss the dip of his dimple.

“Are you sure? i-“ he stumbles before you lovingly cut him off.

“I think it’s about time we start trying for our family, don’t you?” You whisper. Your fingers thread through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes as his face beams with light. His shoulders and chest are shaking with laughter as his eyes flit between yours and he smiles.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” His hands slip up to cradle your face, the most beautiful mixture of excitement and relief and the purest joy making his misty eyes look brilliant in the early light.

“Absolutely,” your voice is soft as you tip your nose against his. Your smile is all pearls and laughter as you reach to grab the full apples of his ass and push him into you.

He’s laughing and smiling and gasping when you do, before happily resuming the final few thrusts he would need to send himself over the edge.

“Use me, baby,” you whisper, eyes alight with the gentle seduction that always ruins him. “I want to feel you when you finish.”

Biting his lip, he swallows and nods, almost too eager, but you’re beautiful and warm and you’ve gotten so tight around him and he can’t help himself. He’s close. He’s already soo close. He’s spent nearly this whole morning trying to contain himself inside you despite the absolutely mind numbing feel of you, and here you are telling him to let go? It’s impossible that you’re real.

Pulling his face to you, he realizes you’re kissing him. Your honey sweet tongue has made a home in his mouth. Your soft breasts brush his chest with every thrust. Your hands are clutching his back and in his hair. Your heels pressed into the back of his legs to pull him close, and now he knows you want to carry his baby.

To allow your body to grow and change just to hold his seed, start his family and realize his dream of not only being a husband to you but a dad to your babies. He’s so in love with you. So maddeningly, ridiculously, stupidly, over the moon in love with you, and all at once, it’s happening.

His release is coming, strong and quick, and he can finally drown in the feeling of it happening while you surround him. His body is reeling at the burst of perfection he feels from losing himself in you like this. The cloud like swells of your thighs pressing around him might very well be the only thing holding him up.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, I love you.” His face is buried in your neck, your chest, your hair, your cheeks- everything all at once- his full lips dropping kisses on your skin like stars falling from heaven.

When he pulls back to look at you, he can’t even put what he’s feeling into words. But it’s okay. Because you know. He can see it in your eyes.

Cradling his face, you smile up at him, eyes glossy and happy. “You ready?”

“To have a baby with you?” His voice falters as his smile grows so wide his eyes nearly disappear. “There isn’t anything I want more.”

Pressing his forehead to yours as he hugs your waist, you both press your noses together and laugh. Overcome with something almost too sweet to simply be called happiness. The word seems too small to encompass it all.

“Maybe I’m not husband of the year yet, cause I definitely didn’t see that coming.” He chuckles.

“Oh shut up. I know you felt how you made me finish. You’re just showing off at this point.”

“I can’t have my baby girl leave anyway but satisfied with me.” He winks, and you smack his chest lightly.

“I’d be mad at you for being so smug if you weren’t actually as great as you think you are,” you scrunch your nose at him as he laughs.

“Well, if there are any areas of improvement I can work on, let me know. I hear I'm about to have a lot of time to workshop your suggestions.” Namjoon lovingly nips at your collarbone, and you tingle in bliss at the thought of how many more moments like this lie in your near future.

“Duly noted. On that note then, I feel compelled to point out that what you just did counted as an excellent submission for husband of the year.”

“Oh really?” He licks his lips slowly as you nod.

“Remember- you can make as many entries as you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. Limitless,” you assent.

“Good to know. I’ll keep it mind,” he smirks, dipping down to lift the fullness of one of your breasts into his hand as he gently kisses the top of the swell of flesh. You sigh into his kiss. This is going to be a spectacular journey— you can already tell.

“Namjoon.”

“Hmm?” His eyes perk up, though his mouth never leaves its preoccupation with your bare chest.

“Is this… is this okay? I hope I didn’t spring this on you too soon or… I don’t know...too out of the blue? Because your comfort is important too, and I—“

You’re swiftly cut off by the sweet press of Namjoon’s delicious lips against yours. “Shh. Yes, I want this. More than anything.”

“So my timing wasn’t—“

“No. It was perfect. You’re perfect,” he kisses the tip of your nose as your lips bloom into a smile. “And if we are going to try to fill that cute belly of yours with a baby, then maybe… maybe this shouldn’t just be a weekend visit.”

Tipping your head to look at him, you feel your brows scrunch. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, this has always been our getaway spot. A place to stay safe and lie low when things get jumpy in the city. A place to take you when we want to be alone. Truly be alone. But if…” he hesitates, lacing your hand with his and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “If you’re going to be carrying my baby, I want to keep you safe. I promised you that the day I met you- I’d never let anything happen to you. It’s been risky enough to have you in the city all this time as it is.”

“So...what exactly are you suggesting, love?” You run your thumb lovingly over his knuckles.

“I’m proposing if you do get pregnant, we move you out here. Permanently. Or at least somewhat long term.”

“Wait…” you pull away, eyes clouding as you do. “Alone? Without you?”

“No. No. I didn’t word that right. I’d be here as much as i can, and I’d send the security detail to stay out here whenever I have to leave so—“

“Namjoon, I don’t want to be all the way out here by myself. Surely, that’s not necessary.”

He frowns as he tries to gather his thoughts. “This is coming out wrong...You wouldn’t be fully by yourself. I’d be here as much as I can. I just... want you protected. Safe. And out of the city while you're carrying something so precious.” The backs of his knuckles graze your stomach.

“But I don’t understand. Why—“

“I don’t want anyone to hurt you.” His voice has turned solemn, his eyes an odd shade of vulnerability when they meet yours.

“Joon, nobody’s gonna do anything. You’ve made that city so secure-nobody could hurt me even if they tried.”

Something stormy and troubled clouds his eyes.It makes you wonder if there are things he hasn’t told you. Things he’s kept to himself to ensure that your life is as peaceful as possible. You wonder what kind of darkness he’s had to swallow for your sake.

“But they have tried.”

It's news to you.

“What do you mean… when?”

“It’s happened a few times. Nothing ever got far enough to warrant bringing it up.”

“What on earth? Joon, why in the world wouldn’t you tell me that?”

He sighs once, from some deep place in his bones. “Because i never wanted to have to see the look in your eyes that I do right now.”

Suddenly, any anger you held vanishes all at once.

“Baby, why are you carrying something like that all by yourself?”

“So you don’t have to. I promised I’d keep you safe, and I meant it. That includes taking care of your peace of mind. Something you won’t have if you knew how many times someone’s shot off at the mouth about coming for you because they’re irate at me or how many times someone has done more than just talked and actually tried.”

It’s a sobering thought.

“Is that… is that the real reason why you never pushed for an heir?” For reasons you can’t explain, the idea makes you want to cry. Namjoon sees the shift immediately, his fingers ready to brush your tears before they even fall.

“Shhh, hey. No. I mean, it’s part of it. You know all I’ve ever wanted was to be a parent. When I married you, please know the idea of you being the mother of my children sent me over the moon, but I know this world. How people take what they want. Do what they want. I wanted better for you.” He runs his fingers soft over your cheek like you’re some spun glass artifact he needs to protect.

“I wanted to be better for you than the men in this world were going to give you. I promised myself that I was never going to demand anything from you. That’s why I didn’t push for an heir. I meant it when I said we go at your pace. Always.”

Sniffling, you look up at him through wet lashes.

“Joon, protecting me doesn’t mean you hide the truth from me.”

“Not even if it would hurt you? Scare you?”

“I knew what I was signing up for when I agreed to marry you. It’s so kind of you to try to take these burdens so I don’t have to, but then who carries them for you? That’s my job. You have to let me do it.”

Closing his eyes, he exhales long and slow through his nose.

“You really mean it, don’t you? You really want to know.”

“Yes,” you nod, caressing his face. He looks troubled. You’d give anything to help take some of his cares away.

“Then you should know why we came to the villa this weekend.”

“So it wasn’t just for a getaway?” You brace yourself for whatever it is you’re about to hear.

“It is, and it isn’t. I guess I have to go back a bit for this to make any sense, but my family isn’t from here. You know that. Our roots don’t go back as many generations as yours do, so when the new kid on the block started gaining power in this city faster than anyone had seen before, there were a lot of families that weren’t happy about it.

Especially not when the daughter of one of the oldest families in the city became my bride. There had already been a lot of grumbling against me before I made such a powerful ally, and there were certainly plenty after. Anything we’d stumbled on over the last few months had been mostly hearsay, but…”

“What is it, Joon?” You're worried now. You can hear the way his voice sounds choked.

“There was a deal that went wrong a few weeks back. Just a skirmish with some lower level captains that got out of control, but I thought I’d put a pin in it. Turns out the other family involved hadn’t let it go like I thought …” he stops, eyes going cold as color drains from his face.

“Baby, it’s okay. You can tell me,” you reassure.

Closing his eyes, he licks his lips and takes a deep breath, his voice lower, raspier when he continues. “There was a hit put out on you this past week.

You’re shocked. “There— what?”

”It’s okay now. Jungkook caught intel on it soon enough that he crushed it before the people responsible could hurt you, but I've never seen anyone get this close. Y/n, I couldn't breathe when he told me. When I found out, I nearly lost my mind. I called you immediately to make sure you were safe— I couldn’t breathe til I heard your voice.”

You had no idea he’d been through that. You can’t imagine what you would have done if the roles were reversed, if you’d been seconds away from losing him. It would’ve shattered you. You’re not sure how he’s still standing.

“Once I knew you were okay, the first thing I could think was that I needed to get you out of town as fast as I possibly could. Something’s building in that city, y/n. The lower families are tired of their rank. They’re itching to get back any sort of power they can- it’s making them reckless. There’s rumors of a war building…I’d dismissed it so far. Didn’t think they were a real threat until they had the nerve to try something like this. We squashed it, but this was too close, and I’m not willing to risk you.”

Realization dawns across your face. “That’s why we left with less than an hour's notice. I’d thought you were just being romantic about a weekend getaway but ...That’s why we came to this safe house and not the one on the edge of town, isn’t it?”

His eyes fall away as he nods, “That’s why our security detail was thicker than usual.”

“But I've hardly seen anyone.”

“That’s on purpose. I didn’t want to scare you. Didn't want to draw attention to a whole parade leaving town so I had them follow us at a distance. They’re stationed all around the property and schooled to stay out of sight.”

“What about the boys? Was it safe to have them here this weekend with their wives? Their girlfriends? Didn’t we put them in danger?” Your rounded eyes betray the sudden guilt you feel for what you thought had been such a beautiful night.

“Shh, no. Hey, they’re fine. I had them all moved out to safe houses not too far from here with a security detail on them too. They’re just a few miles from here. That’s why I didn’t feel bad about them driving out last night- they didn’t have to go all the way back to the city, just to our guest houses and then their safe houses in the morning….I’m having them all lie low for a little while. Figured they’d want their girlfriends and wives as close to their side as I want mine. Thought having them over was a good distraction for a night.”

You had no idea. Something cold runs up your spine at the thought that this weekend, this beautifully perfect day could’ve been so different. Or perhaps not even happened at all.

Slipping your dress back into place, you cover yourself. It feels wrong to have this conversation half naked. Namjoon seems to sense it too as he pulls his pants back on. He offers to help ease you down from the counter, picking you up and placing you gently on the whitewashed floorboards, making sure you’re steady before he lets you go.

Under any other circumstances, you’d laugh at how he has to make you sure you’re stable enough not to keel over where you stand after blessing you with an orgasm so bright it makes your soul radiate around your body. Now though, you find your hand cradling your lower belly, feeling entirely naive for thinking now was the time to bless the world with Namjoon’s child. You should say something, but the words get stuck in your throat…. you feel like a fool.

“I’m gonna make us some coffee, yeah? You want a cup?” Namjoon offers softly. When you look up, he looks so worn out all of a sudden. Like he’s somehow aged years during the course of this conversation. Like he really does need a cup of coffee, if not something stronger.

“Sure, baby. I’ll take one.”

Nodding, he presses a kiss to your forehead before he plugs in the black gooseneck kettle you’d gotten him for his birthday. The gift had been simple, thoughtful, and if he was honest, it was the best present anyone had ever given him.

He practically survives on black coffee most days. At the beginning of your marriage, he was always long gone before you rose most mornings, so in an attempt to slow him down and have more time with him, you’d gotten him a pour over set and a gooseneck kettle to replace his old instant apparatus.

He wondered if you were aware of all the additional gifts it had given him along the way....It required time to steep and brew. Time he’d never given himself before he met you. The methodology of it soothed him, provided his mornings with a small structure and routine he’d never had in a lifestyle marked by so much chaos.

Taking the time to make his absolutely necessary coffee this way helped wake him up gently, slowed him down enough for you to have the time to slip out of bed and catch him before he was gone, to hold him while he prepared it. To remind him of the precious reason he needed to be careful while he was out that day.

As the water boils, he turns his back to you. He feels himself melt when your arms wind around him. Softly, you press a kiss between his shoulder blades before your touch slips away as quietly as it appeared. The subtle sounds of your footsteps fading as you walk away and the gentle buzzing of the kettle are all that fill the room in the silence between you.

Namjoon sighs as he turns, his arms crossed as he leans against the counter to watch you. Without a word, you silently procure a hearty loaf of fresh,crusty bread from the pantry and begin to slice it for breakfast. As your head tips down in concentration, he watches your untamed hair fall in your eyes. It’s beautiful the way it frames your face. It makes something squeeze in the center of his chest.

Crossing the room, he comes to stand beside you, lightly brushing your hair back into place for you with his hand. You still in your task, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch.

“Namjoon?”

“Yes, baby?”

“If it’s this dangerous…” your voice is barely above a whisper, “this unsafe… does that mean we shouldn’t have a baby?” When you look up at him, your eyes are starlit with tears. Your hands are trembling, and he hates to see you so sad.

“No. You’re ready, and I want a family,”’he soothes.

“But… but if there’s this much risk, how can our child ever have a normal life? Won’t we always be afraid for them all the time? Is that selfish? To make a life that has to live in this world just because we want them to?”

He brushes his fingers over the cascade of teardrops starting to fall from your eyes. “All parents have to worry about that, y/n. This world is still a scary place even outside my line of work.”

“I know. But they don’t have to worry about a hit on their child’s life or a ransom or generation’s old grudges putting their child at risk....They just have to worry about whether or not a child in their daughter’s class has a peanut allergy because little ashley will only eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches right now and nothing else.”

You’re talking with your hands as Namjoon gives you a smile that’s equally warm and sad. “That’s a really specific scenario.”

“I went through a phase in first grade, okay?”

He finds your eyes until you laugh before pulling you in tight against his chest. “First of all, that’s adorable. We’ll address that again later because little y/n sounds incredibly cute. And secondly,” he sighs,” you grew up in this world- the same as me- and we both survived. Having a child is expected of us, yes, but if that’s not what you want... it doesn’t have to happen. But, if we both want one… if being a mom will make you happy, then I’m going to find a way to give you that.” There’s a heaviness about him right now. An authority resigned to accept whatever fate weighs on your heart the most as he watches your eyes fill with questions.

“But won’t we be afraid for them all the time? I feel so naive for only thinking of how much I’d like to meet them, how much I’d love them just because they’re a part of you, when I should have known better.”

“That’s not naive. That’s beautiful. No matter what they’re like, we’ll love them. Because they’re ours.”

“What if they don’t want any part of this world? They should have a choice… but can I even give them one or will their only option be serving as the new head of the Kim family one day?” Your face looks stricken. “Did you get to choose?” Your watery eyes flit up to his.

He swallows, face stony as you survey him. “I did what I had to do so our life can look however we want it to,” he’s sighing again, worn out out by memories you may never see. “Look, you’re my wife, and I’m your husband. As far as I’m concerned, we’re the ones get to decide what’s right for us, y/n. I’ve told you that, and I meant it- that extends to our children too. Their lives don’t have to look like what anyone else wants but them. I don’t care if they want to be painters or accountants or captains in the family. They get to shape the life they want. That’s what I’ve worked so hard for.”

You feel your eyes flutter shut in relief on their own accord. Of course he’s already thought this through to this degree. When has your Namjoon ever done anything less? It soothes your mind to know he’s taken the time to lay the groundwork so you don’t have to. Still though, questions you’re ashamed didn't occur to you sooner rattle through your head and spill from your mouth.

“Do they have to spend their life in boarding school like I did? Are our only options to send them away or be scared for them every day?

“Y/n, no. We’ll find what works for our family. I want that with you- figuring that out and watching them grow. I’ll keep you both safe. However I have to. I promise you.” His thumb brushes over your ring as he holds your hand against his chest. “I promised you.”

And just like that, it hits you all over again- how much you love this man. How deeply you trust him with every fiber of your being. How you couldn’t have found a better man to love you if you’d tried. You two are it for each other- you’ve known it since the day you met him on the steps.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers, kissing your knuckles,”... but, y/n?”

Your eyes flit up to meet his. “Yes, love ?”

“I meant what I said. If this is all too much, if this scares you, we can wait.” His brown eyes are so deep and sincere. You know every part of him means it, and it’s precisely because of that, that you say the words you do.

“No. I want this. All of this. With you. We’ll figure this out,” you nod, gently pulling the back of his neck down so your foreheads are touching. “I want to have a baby with you. I’m all in, if you are.”

You can feel the rush of tension that leaves his body. He wraps you in his arms, so close and secure, and something innocent comes from him that you don’t think you’ve ever heard.

“God, you know I am. Thank you.”

His voice is as robust and full as always, but his eyes… there’s something so young and soft and terrified in them. Like the weight of all he’s been carrying alone has crashed down on him all at once. “I’m so excited to have a baby with you if it happens. And it’s okay if it doesn’t. But I can’t wait to try.”

You’re nodding and crying, and you realize something that perhaps has never dawned on you before. This is the first time you’ve seen him truly this vulnerable. He’s always so strong, so composed. Too busy holding up an entire empire and caring for you to let his walls fully fall.

But as he buries his face in your neck, you suddenly feel dampness pooling against your skin and realize he’s crying. You wonder how you got here on a morning that had been so serene and full of bliss. Bliss you now realize has come at a price.

“I was so scared I'd lost you the day we came here.” Slipping your hand into his hair, the other soothes his back as he clings to you tighter. “I'm so glad you’re okay. You’re so smart. I know you are. You don’t make reckless mistakes when you’re out— you take good care of yourself— but I was so afraid. My heart dropped when Jungkook told me what he’d heard. He couldn’t calm me down until I heard your voice on the phone.”

Stroking his hair, you recall the phone call just a few days ago. How strangled and out of breath he’d sounded. How you’d asked if he was okay, and he’d simply said he was now.

“It’s okay. I’m right here. It’s okay.”

He takes a moment to collect himself, pressing you so close you may fuse together. It’s unguarded, and precious. Something you know both of you treasure as he nuzzles into your skin in that space along your neck where his face perfectly fits.

It’s as simple as that. You both stay like this for as long as you can, secure in his embrace, your breathing settling until it’s nearly in sync. It’s peaceful for you, cathartic for him. It’s a moment framed by a different kind of intimacy than the one you both shared in this very room less than an hour ago.

He shows no sign of letting you go until the kettle begins to howl for him from across the room. When he does, his fingers trace the silk fabric along your waist as his lips kiss your forehead. He takes one more heavy breath before he squeezes you in release to tend to the coffee.

“Cream and sugar?” He asks, his voice thicker than usual.

“Always,” you answer.

And so the morning resets itself.

The day shifts into afternoon. The sun drifting higher, brighter, casting the shadows and ridges of Namjoon’s sculpted body in almost Grecian relief as he carefully pours the water for both of you over the coffee grounds. You finish slicing the crackling bread loaf and bring it to the table to place it beside the remnants of Seokjin’s charcuterie board.

It’s only when you catch sight of your lacy table cloth that you remember the accident that started the whole morning to begin with. You’d both gotten so preoccupied with each other that you never made it any further than cleaning his shirt and not the rest of the disaster.

Smiling to yourself, you gently slide the cloth off the table and fill the sink with cold water to soak it. Looking over at your husband, you realize wine stains still swirl over the front of Namjoon’s linen pants. There’s a very good chance those are fully set now, but just in case, you might as well try to fix them.

So, gently, you hook a finger into his waistband and tug. “Let me have these.”

“Round two all ready? Greedy girl.” He winks, his voice soft as follows the drip of his Colombian roast.

“No, smart girl. We did a terrible job of getting you cleaned up.” You pop the p at the end of the word as you snap the elastic on his pants.

Looking a bit lost, Namjoon glances down to see the lovely pastel splashes of rosé running clean down the front of his pants. He’d been too busy to notice once you’d gotten him out of them. Blushing for no reason other than the embarrassment of you having to clean up his foibles, Namjoon dips down to remove the trousers, leaving himself looking statuesque and unreasonably gorgeous in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs in the afternoon light as he tends to the coffee.

You feel terribly immature over how quickly affected you are by the sight of him in his current predicament and carefully take the pants from him, only to turn abruptly in search of some fresh air and relief. Namjoon catches your equally flustered state, smiling to himself, but doesn’t acknowledge it out loud. This spell of quiet that’s settled over the room is too peaceful to break.

Once the coffee’s done, he brings both your cups to the broad heirloom table, and you enjoy breakfast… or, he supposes, brunch at this point...together in the stillness. Every bite you take is piled high with prosciutto and fig while Namjoon drizzles honey on his slices of bread.

It’s peaceful, idyllic. Tranquil enough to forget the world that awaits him back in the city.

It’s funny, the duality of his life. How easy it becomes in moments like these to lean into the simplicity of breakfast with his lover and ignore the undulating danger and uncertainty awaiting him in the rest of his world. It makes him realize how much he’s come to covet exchanges like this when he gets to feel like you’re just two people in love and nothing else.

As his eyes trace over you, he promises himself to do everything in his power to make sure your life with him is hallmarked by sweet pockets like these. As many of them as he can give you.

At some point Namjoon pushes up to get the carafe of orange juice from the fridge, and after assigning your more capable hands the job of opening the champagne, you both polish off your brunch with the tinkling clink of your toasting mimosa glasses.

Once your bellies are full and satiated, Namjoon looks up at you. His elbows are propped up on the table, chin contentedly resting in his hands. There’s a question hidden in the corner of his lips as his eyes glisten with mischief.

“So… what else do you have in mind for your agenda today, my bride?” He reaches across the table to grab your hand, kissing the back of your palm as you giggle and roll your eyes.

“Well if you must know... I'm thinking I might give my sister a call. See if she’d be willing to come pay me visit.” You offer, pushing one of the last grapes around the corner of the board, avoiding the way Namjoon’s eyes shine.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you shrug nonchalantly. “Maybe she could come stay in one of the guest houses. Potentially. Once I move out here. Whenever that may be.”

“So my baby won’t be alone when I’m gone?” His dimples are popping in his cheeks as his smile spreads wide. It’s a brilliant idea to bring her out here with you until Namjoon can finesse a way to be by your side 24/7. He wonders why he didn’t think of it sooner. Probably because you’re as smart as you are beautiful.

“Neither of your babies.” You crinkle your nose as you smile back at him.

“I like the sound of that,” he’s beaming back at you, happy and light. His eyes are misty with emotion he can’t hide, and it only makes you love him more.

“Me too.”

“So, how would you feel about getting to work as soon as possible then?” His eyebrows bounce salaciously your way, and you can’t help but giggle.

“Is that what you want?”

“If it’s what you want. Always.” Namjoon licks his lips and a crackle of electricity shoots up your spine. The parallels to how this morning started are not lost on you. It makes something in you thrill with excitement.

“Well, I would love to take a bath. Our activity this morning was excellent, but I must say you left a bit of a sticky mess in your wake.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon ducks his head bashfully.

“So I’m going to break in that beautiful clawfoot tub and fill it to the brim with matcha bubble bath.”

“Mmm. With the orange blossom bath salts too?”

“Always,” you wink as Namjoon bites his lip.

“God, you always smell so good when you use that. It makes your skin so soft.” The thought of your skin fragrant and bare has his blood stirring again as his eyes rake over you.

“Well you are welcome to keep me company and read to me while I soak,” you offer nonchalantly as you walk away. You can feel his eyes on your hips as you round the corner, quickly followed by the sound of his bare feet against the floorboards.

“Or I could join you in the water.”

When he responds, his voice is closer than you expected it to be. He’s caught up to you so quickly with those long legs of his.

“Or you could finish the chapter of the book you were reading to me on the way up. You left me on such a cliffhanger when your hands got distracted on the drive. I’m dying to know what happens next.”

Biting his lip, that wicked gleam is back in his eyes at the memory of the drive up and the things the two of you got up to in the privacy of the tinted, shielded back seat.

“Fair enough, but I get to join after.” His hand is forceful where it slips across your waist. You tumble into him, wanting nothing more than to let him win and start this game all over again, but you had a feeling you were winning this round, and you like to win.

“I can promise you no such thing. We’ll just have to see how the day goes,” you shrug, dismissing him completely to climb the stairs.

As much as he enjoys the view, Namjoon loves the play for dominance more: it’s cute on you. Too bad he’s still got the upper hand. He catches you on the stairwell, turning you around to face him. His hand ghosts down the front of your silk draped stomach directly to the dip between your legs.

He places enough pressure to catch your sensitivity there, smiling something wicked at the sound of your sharp inhale. He already knows how delicate you are after you’ve already finished once until he warms your body up again. The prospect of starting this dance all over again has him stiffening with delight against your leg when he feels the familiar slip of your essence help the fabric glide beneath his touch.

“Oh baby girl, you have no idea how well this day is gonna go.” His voice has dipped to an octave reserved only for the devil as he smiles at you and lifts you off the stairs and into his arms.

You squeal at the suddenness of it, wrapping your arms securely around his neck so you don’t fall. He just chuckles, something throaty and dark, as he carries you up the stairs and down the hall to the sunlit bathroom.

Setting you on the counter, he turns to start the bath- scooping in bath salts, pouring your bubbles, raising the blinds so the room is flooded with light. He doesn’t want to miss a single look on your beautiful face when he has his way with you for a second time today.

Not once has it occurred to you to move from the spot where he put you. Instead, you sit perfectly still on the bathroom counter, feeling your nails dig into your palms, your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you watch him. Your pulse is already thrumming with anticipation all over again.

When he turns back to you, you can see clear evidence of his arousal reshaping itself beneath his black briefs, and suddenly, despite your meal, there’s something else entirely that you want in your mouth. He catches the hungry way your eyes follow him as he walks back to you.

“Can I help you, baby?” His laugh is warm, even if his eyes are sinister. It’s all you can do just to nod your head and slip your fingers forward to tug at his waistband. When it begins to fall, you slip down to the floor, catching him off guard entirely. Not in a million years did Namjoon didn't plan on this course of events, but he certainly isn't unhappy about it.

Namjoon leans back against the counter in the spot you’d just been sitting in as your hands grasp onto the muscular ridges of his toned legs. You set to work kissing his golden skin on his thighs slowly, indulgently, enjoying yourself as you go.

You’ve always been weak in the knees for his absurdly gorgeous legs. They’ve only gotten more toned in the last year just like the rest of him, and between his dimples, his arms, his chest, and his legs, it’s hard to know where to begin. Or it would be if there wasn’t something hard and beautiful staring you in the face.

Namjoon is in heaven watching this unfold from above. When you slip him into your mouth, he feels all his rational thought go dark. He’s helpless to do anything but cave in. God, the two of you are like rabbits, but honestly, how can you not be when you make him feel like this? He begins to lose himself in the soft rhythm you create, something lazy and hypnotic, that makes him feel weightless.

He can barely hold himself, but every second is worth it. All he can do is luxuriate in the way you take your time as you bless him. At least, that’s how he always thinks of it because it’s truly nothing short of divine.

He can’t tell if it’s been a few minutes or an eternity when all of a sudden, you’re abruptly letting him slip from your mouth with a pop and a sultry smile. The cool air rushing against him nearly startles him in the wake of the warmth he’d been cocooned in while your tongue did its incredible work. Because just as quickly as you started, you’re gone.

He realizes then that the floor is wet. Apparently, You’d both gotten so lost in each other that the water in the tub had spilled over its edges and he hadn’t even noticed. Also, at some point during all this, you must have slipped out of your dress, because you’re lowering yourself into the water now as bare as you were on your wedding night.

Namjoon swallows. His body is ramping with endorphins, and he’s so worked up it nearly hurts. As he makes his way to the tub, you stop him with a dainty hand against his lower stomach.

“Ah, ah. I asked you to read to me.”

Your eyes are coquettishly round as you bat them up at him. He’s tempted to scoff.

“Are you serious right now? Aren’t we in the middle of something?” His face is serious, focused as he eyes your breasts floating in the water amidst the matcha- scented bubbles.

You push back against his stomach again. “Yes, we were… in the middle of that last chapter. Book. Please.”

There it is again. The “please” he’s always been so enamored by. The “please” that’s usually the product of your need for him. The one he’s so infatuated with that he’d do anything to satisfy it. The one that, up until now, he’d thought you were unaware of, yet here you are using it against him.

That’s when he knows he’s trained you too well. There’s pride sparkling in your eyes as you look up at him, and he can’t believe it. Running a hand down his face, he shakes his head at you. What has he gotten himself into with you?

“ If that’s the way you want to play it, fine,” he squints at you with playful derision. “But I’m reading to you in the tub with you when I come back.”

“Oh please do,” you coo, batting your lashes at him.

Oh, you’re good.

Namjoon can’t help but laugh at himself as he walks to the bedroom to collect the book. When he met you a year ago- the blushing, soft spoken girl who was too nervous to meet his eyes- he definitely never would have thought that a year later you’d be sending him down the hallway fully naked and half hard to fetch your literature for you while you float in a bath. He wonders when he got so wrapped around your finger like this, but if he’s honest, he doesn’t mind.

You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Being with you is the best his life has ever been. He’ll forever be grateful, that against all odds, you agreed to marry a man who was nearly a perfect stranger and create a life with him.

As he walks back to the bathroom, Namjoon catches a glimpse of your rosy smile flashing his way, peeking at him beyond the wall of bubbles. It fills his chest with something buoyant and light as he makes his way back to you.

There’s absolutely nowhere he’d rather be.

As he sinks down in the water behind you, more displaces, splashing out across the white wood beams and dousing your hair in the process. He apologizes profusely but instead of getting mad, you simply slip the rest of the way under the water to finish the job. When you resurface, you’re laughing so happily that your smile is the brightest thing in the room, putting even the afternoon sunlight to shame.

He pulls you to him, affection for you glowing warmly in his chest as you settle between his legs and look up at him. He kisses your forehead, his heart filled with contentment, before reaching forward to dry his hands on the closest available towel and thumbing through the book until he finds the page he marked.

The two of you stay that way until the chapter is finished and the book is closed. Until the bubbles all dissolve and the water’s gone cold. Even then, once the water is drained, you still stay wrapped in a tangle of Namjoon’s long limbs as you twist to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

Eventually he straightens out his legs to allow you to climb into his lap so he can find his way home again and slip inside you. Your bodies are swathed in the golden light illuminating the room as the two of you go effortlessly slow and unhurried, taking your time .

Namjoon sinks into you, lost in the beauty of you and your connection.

This time, your session together is marked in emotion and security.

He knows how much you want to start a family with him, and you know how special it was for him to let his walls down, to let you know how scared he was to lose you. Both of you are in awe of not only how attracted you are to each other, but also of the caliber of human you’re currently sharing your bodies with, of how transcendent love making can feel when your hearts and hopes are as interwoven in the act as they now are with all your cards on the table.

When Namjoon finishes this time, it’s in sync with you. It’s the first time that happened for the two of you in tandem. As your eyes search his, you're both aware that this shared state of bliss is nothing short of miraculous. As story-worthy as this act has always been between the two of, this time feels different. Markedly so.

Perhaps, it’s because you’ve both dropped your guards enough to fully let the other in, in a way you hadn’t uncovered before. If the crashing of his heartbeat has anything to say about it, Namjoon would probably guess that you've both sunken so deep into each other that it was impossible for the crescendo of your orgasms not to crest all at once for the both of you.

Once you’ve gathered yourself enough to speak, you watch Namjoon with dazed eyes, in awe that someone as incredible as him even exists, let alone that you get to call him yours. As he slips out of you, the warmth of his seed flows out between your thighs, and some ridiculous part of you can’t help but smile.

Namjoon catches it too, and leans forward to kiss you.

“You’re gonna be a great mom, you know that?”

Your eyes flash to meet his. Your body is spent, your emotions are big and at this point, your heart feels so filled to the brim with affection for him that you fear it won’t fit in your body anymore.

“They’re gonna be the luckiest kids in the world to have you for a dad,” you whisper with shining eyes as you touch his chest.

He dips his head, smiling so exorbitantly wide that it consumes his whole face, and all you can think is that you can’t wait to see that dimpled grin shining back at you from the face of a little boy or little girl down the road.

“By the way,” you begin as his gaze perks back up to meet yours. “You should know that we’ve tallied the votes for husband of the year.”

“Oh really?” His brows lift attentively. “Should I pack it up? Is it time to let the dream go? Surely it’s not going to a rookie this year.”

“You’d be surprised,” you tip your head. Taking his hands you place them so they’re cradling your chest. “On behalf of the board and the esteemed academy, it is my honor to present the award of husband of the year to you, Kim Namjoon.”

As he throws his head back, he bursts into a bright fit of laughter and mock cheering like you’re both surrounded by a make believe crowd.

“Oh my goodness,” he squeezes your breasts in his palm like the globes are irreplaceable awards. “I would just like to thank all the people around the world who supported me and believed me, who shined the light of their support on me even on days when this seemed bleak. We couldn’t have made it here without you guys. This award belongs to all of you.”

He waves to the imaginary audience he’s created before pressing your breasts together and happily burying his smiling face between them. He mumbles something you can’t understand that gets lost in the downy softness of your chest as you laugh at him.

“What are you even saying down there?”

“I’m thanking the people who got me here.” He eyes you soberly like that should be obvious before breaking character and cackling at how ridiculous this is. “I can’t believe we really kept this joke going all day.”

“I can’t believe I got in the tub to clean up the mess you left earlier only to now, once again, be sticky with dried up mess.” You look ruefully between your legs.

“Hey, hey, that mess may very well become your child.” He tuts as you grin and narrow your eyes at him.

“I don’t think that’s how this works.”

“Semantics,” he shrugs, kissing your nose. You can’t help your eye roll that follows. “Hey,” he breathes, eyes suddenly serious.

“Yes, love?”

“Please know, whatever happens, I’ll always love you, and I’ll always take care of you. Both of you, if we’re so lucky.” The tips of his fingers rest against your lower belly, and yep. You were right. Your heart bursts clean out of your chest. You can feel the way your eyes glisten, happiness spilling from them as you get lost in Namjoon’s smile.

“I know you will, Joon. I know you will.”

-fin.

846 notes · View notes

skarsgard-daydreams · 3 years

Text

Know Thyself

Description: When Eric invites you to his dungeon, you get more than you bargained for.

Notes: 5,800 words of kinky Eric Northman smut. Reposted because this hellsite reordered several paragraphs for no reason.

Warnings: 18+, sexual content, bondage, spanking, orgasm control, forced orgasms

"You're not on the schedule tonight," a familiar voice drawled as you arrived at Fangtasia for your shift. Pam stood in front of the mirror in the break room applying her blood red lipstick with razor thin precision. "Boss's orders," she added, her lips curling with an amusement that was frankly disquieting.

You shoved your purse in your locker anyway and gave Pam a skeptical look. "What are you not telling me?"

Pam slid the gold lid back onto the tube of lipstick with a click. "As much as I would love to stand around and answer stupid questions all night, I still have a job to do," she said. Dark, grungy rock music began to blare in the club proper, signaling that Fangtasia would soon be open. Pam closed your locker in the blink of an eye, a wicked grin spreading across her pink lips. "You’re coming with me," she said. She gave you a little push out of the room and steered you downstairs with a firm grip on your shoulder. It would be pointless to argue, so you stumbled along in front of her as Pam’s dagger-like stilettos echoed in the stairwell.

As far as you knew, the basement of Fangtasia was little more than a crammed storage room filled with excess liquor, Halloween decorations, and old VHS tapes from its heyday as a video rental store before vampires came out of the coffin. A set of keys rattled in Pam's hand and she unlocked a metal door that you had always assumed led to the broom closet. She held it open and stared at you with cold eyes.

“Go on.”

The hard edge in Pam’s voice chilled your blood, but you swallowed your nerves and stepped into a long stone corridor dimly lit with torches. You heard nothing except your own heartbeat and the faint crackling of the torches as you stepped inside. Her hand connected with the small of your back and you both proceeded down the passage, which had several alcoves walled off with iron bars that were so dark you couldn’t tell if they were occupied or not. Pam stopped in front of a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall and produced an old-fashioned key that she had tucked into her bodice. She eyed your black Fangtasia t-shirt and pursed her lips.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Pam,” you said nervously, but the rest of your words dried up in your throat as she stared you down. You took off your top and shimmied out of your jeans, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise to your face.

No matter how many times you undressed in front of Pam, you always felt like a piece of merchandise under her scrupulous gaze. She slid her fingers under the elastic waist of your panties and snapped it against your skin. “And these,” she added. You slipped out of your panties and took off your bra as well, adding them to the pile of clothes on the floor.

“Don’t worry,” Pam said in a flat tone that was not even a little bit reassuring as she opened the door and gestured for you to go inside. “You look good enough to eat.”

You crossed the threshold into a spacious stone chamber with vaulted cathedral ceilings and arched doorways leading off in four different directions. But what caught your eye was not the architecture or the flickering candlelight in the rooms beyond. It was the ancient iron maiden that stood in the center of the room, its doors clamped shut and its strange carved face contorted with anguish as it stared wordlessly at the place where you stood.

Behind you, the heavy door creaked shut and you heard the scrape of the bolt sliding back into place, locking you within. Even though you knew this had to be orchestrated by Eric, your veins suddenly iced over with fear. You heard soft footfalls coming from one of the rooms beyond and instinctively took a step back, your heel colliding with the door behind you. A tall figure appeared in the central doorway wearing a wry smile and a plain black tank and jeans.

“Where are your clothes?” Eric asked. You furrowed your brows, realizing that you stripped down in front of Pam for no reason. “Ah,” he said. “Pam.”

“She never misses an opportunity,” you said, embarrassed by your own naiveté.

Eric chuckled and took your hand in his. “I will deal with her later,” he said. “Come with me.”

You followed him into the room to the far left, which reminded you of a Roman bath. A pool of dark water rippled below, its steaming surface scattered with purple flower petals and floating candles. The smell of incense hung in the humid air—something warm and inviting, laced with exotic spices. At the end of the chamber, a reclining skeleton was painted on the wall with two words written in Greek letters below it. Eric retrieved a short silk robe hand painted with peony blossoms from a hook on the wall and held it open while you slid your arms into the sleeves.

"What does that say?" you asked. Eric's lips brushed against your temple as he reached around and tied the robe shut with a decisive motion.

"Know thyself," he said. "It's a replica of the memento mori in the baths of Diocletian in Rome." He kept his arms around your waist and you leaned against him, enjoying how solid he seemed as he held you from behind. It wasn't often you had uninterrupted time alone with your lover. He was always being pulled in one direction or another by whoever was above him in the complicated vampire hierarchy, or he was occupied with the problems his own subordinates brought to him. But tonight you knew you would not be interrupted. You turned in his arms and looked up at Eric, trailing your fingertips over his bare muscled shoulders.

"What do you want to do with me?" you asked with shy smile as Eric inhaled the scent of your hair like a sommelier using all of his senses to sample a fine wine.

"Possess you utterly," Eric murmured. His voice was gravelly and full of desire, and his candor surprised you. He tangled his fingers in your hair and captured your mouth in a languid kiss. You swayed a little, but he held you steady as he tilted your head back and dragged his lips down your throat, savoring your taste. He sucked lightly on your pulse, which seemed to be directly connected to your center. You hummed softly in encouragement and reached for his belt, but he pulled away.

Candlelight reflected in the dark water below, dancing to the syncopated rhythm of your heart. Worry itched at the back of your mind as you watched Eric walk away, his bare feet slapping against the stone floor. Perhaps you had done something wrong. He retrieved a black gift box from a hammered metal table and stood before you again in an instant.

“I have something for you.” Though Eric seemed to possess an endless store of confidence, there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. He was trying to be careful, you realized, fearing he might scare you away. You summoned a reassuring smile and traced your fingers along the edge of the box.

“You spoil me.”

A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That’s what Pam keeps saying,” Eric said. He took the lid off the box, revealing a solid metal choker. It was thin but surprisingly sturdy, with a small keyhole on the clasp at the back. A delicate spray of flowers and vines swirled across its surface, carved with such care that they created a sense of motion. You lifted it out of the box and studied the pattern quietly, aware that you were being studied as well.

“It’s beautiful,” you said sincerely. You lifted your eyes and offered it back to Eric, gathering your hair away from the nape of your neck. He turned you to face away from him and opened the clasp on the necklace. After a moment, smooth metal circled your throat. It felt cool against your warm skin and fit snugly into place without being too tight. You heard a tiny click at the back of your neck and realized it had locked when he closed it. Your breath hitched in your chest. Eric’s lips brushed against your ear as he spoke.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

Your mouth felt dry, but you nodded, reaching up to brush your fingers over the floral inlay of the necklace.

“What will you say if it’s not okay?” Eric asked. He placed his large hands on your shoulders and turned you to face him again. You pressed your lips together in thought for a moment. You had never needed a safe word with him before.

“Clementine,” you answered.

“Good.” He trailed his fingers along the edge of your jaw, drawing you closer. “And if you can’t speak, what will you hum?”

Your eyes widened and you forgot every song you’d ever known. “Um...” you said. “Yankee Doodle?”

Eric’s eyes crinkled with amusement, but he made no comment about your song choice. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to your lips. “Are you ready, pet?” he asked.

“I think so,” you said, but your voice sounded shaky and small. You weren’t sure what lay in the rooms beyond or what he had in store for the night. The torture device in the foyer had frightened you, but you trusted Eric. You chewed on your lip and tried to summon a playful smile. “Are you going to put me on a leash?”

The arched brow on your lover’s face told you he was now considering it. “Would you like me to?” he asked, always willing to up the ante.

“I...” you stammered. The thought filled you with horror and excitement in equal measure, and you weren’t sure how to answer. But Eric’s blue eyes were full of mischief as he approached a mahogany apothecary cabinet and opened one of the drawers.

“I hadn’t exactly planned on that.” He rifled through the drawer for a moment and took out a fine metal chain. “But I can oblige.”

Eric returned to you and attached the chain to the choker around your throat, testing it with a small tug. The solid metal acted as a collar, and you found yourself stumbling forward, forced to follow his lead. A toothy grin spread across Eric’s face. You wanted to be mad at him, but you were breathless with anticipation. He wrapped the chain around his hand and you trailed after him without resistance as he led you from the room.

“I could get used to this,” he quipped, entering the foyer.

“I’m sure you could.”

Your eyes met the gaze of the iron maiden again, and you were relieved when Eric walked past it without a second glance. “What is that for?” you asked.

Eric looked at the torture device. “Pam liberated it from a museum in Spain, but I doubt it was ever used before she got her claws in it,” he said. “It's more ornamental than practical.”

“So, you’ve never used it.”

“I didn’t say that,” Eric said with an air of mystery. He tugged on the chain, urging you to follow him into a rounded chamber with a circular dais in the center. Thick shackles hung from the walls on massive chains that looked strong enough to secure a vampire, and several human shaped cages were suspended from the ceiling. Your heart leapt into your throat.

“What are those?” you peeped nervously as Eric removed the chain from your choker and untied your robe. His eyes followed yours toward the ceiling.

“Another of Pam’s acquisitions,” he said, pushing the robe off your shoulders. The fabric pooled at your feet and his gaze swept over your naked flesh approvingly. “The English used to hang the corpses of criminals in them after execution as a warning to others.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer to your next question, but you blurted it out anyway. “What does Pam use them for?”

Eric shrugged. “I don’t ask.” He took you by the hand and led you to the dais, holding you steady as you stepped onto it. “Stand here,” he said. “I want to get a good look at you.”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other and watched as Eric circled you slowly like a predator stalking its prey. The surface beneath you was rough and uncomfortable to stand on with bare feet. Something told you that was by design. Eric appeared in front of you again, considering you with a steely gaze.

“Kneel,” he commanded in a firm voice.

You lowered yourself to your knees and realized you were trembling slightly. The uneven surface of the dais below you dug into your knees as you sat back on your heels and cast an uncertain glance at your lover. He had never spoken to you in that tone of voice before, and you weren’t sure what it meant.

Eric studied your face with hooded eyes and tucked your hair behind your ear. “You look so lovely on your knees,” he said as though it was a thought he had not intended to say out loud. You tilted your head toward his hand, craving his touch, but he withdrew it and looked at you with a stony expression. “Lift both of your hands as high as you can.”

You did as he instructed and he gave you a small nod of approval. “Good,” he said. “Now, don’t move,” he added. “I will return in a moment.”

In the blink of an eye, he was gone. You sat alone in the strange circular room with your arms stretched above you and the floor digging painfully into your knees. Though you heard no sound from the other rooms, you had the unmistakable feeling that you were being watched. You shifted a little, trying to find a position that was comfortable, but moving only seemed to make your knees hurt even more.

You had no way of knowing how long you waited. Soon the muscles in your shoulders began to ache, but Eric did not return. You wondered if you should call for him. Maybe he had lost track of time.

“Eric?” you called softly. In the empty room, you received no reply. Your knees were stinging now and the muscles in your arms burned with the continued effort to keep them lifted in the air. You knew you would not last much longer. A whimper escaped your lips and you wobbled a little, lowering one of your hands. Eric appeared in front of you instantly, his expression stormy.

“What did I tell you to do?” he asked. His voice was quiet but keen like the blade of a knife.

You looked at him with wide eyes, your heart hammering in your chest. “Keep my hands in the air,” you said.

“And what did you do?”

“I... I lowered them,” you answered. You furrowed your brows together, feeling it was deeply unfair for him to blame you for something you couldn’t help. “But you weren’t here, and I couldn’t do it any longer.”

Eric’s brow arched in warning and his icy blue eyes hardened. Silence fell over you like a spell and you knew it had been a mistake to argue. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled. You lowered your gaze to the floor and took several deep breaths, waiting for him to speak.

“I know you are,” Eric said. “And I will forgive you after you’ve been punished.”

He grabbed both of your wrists and dragged you to your feet. You wobbled as he pulled you off the dais, hauling you out of the room without giving you a chance to catch your balance.

“Eric!” you yelped, staggering after him through the foyer and into another room. He stopped abruptly in front of a wall where countless whips, floggers, canes, paddles, and riding crops were hung.

“Pick one,” Eric said. He released his grip on your arms and sat on the foot of a black four-poster bed covered with a dark velvet quilt, waiting for you to make your selection.

You stared at the array of instruments before you. Some of them looked like the sort of thing you could pick up at any average sex shop, while others seemed to be custom-made or possibly the real thing. You swallowed your fear and reached for a leather riding crop with a narrow tip and a flexible handle. It seemed small enough that it might not inflict too much damage. You approached the foot of the bed and placed it in Eric’s hands. He whipped his open palm with the riding crop and shook his head.

“This one will sting too much,” he said. “Pick one that’s more rigid.”

He waited with patience while you tested several others in search of one that would meet his specifications. The anger that radiated from him before had now dissipated and he seemed set on administering your punishment based on principle rather than wrath. You had the distinct sense that everything was going exactly as planned—that you had been thrust into a labyrinth of impossible choices, and he was the minotaur that would delight in making you suffer. You had half a mind to throw the riding crop in Eric’s face and tell him you were going home, but you had enough faith in him to trust that he would be good to you.

Eric rose to his feet as you held out another riding crop. He tested it on his hand and nodded in approval. You thought he might draw his hand back and strike you at any moment, but he set it on the bed and picked up a silky blindfold, securing it over your eyes.

“Lay on your stomach,” he said in your ear. He grasped the nape of your neck in his hand and guided you down onto the bed so that you were folded over the foot of it with your ass prominently displayed. You turned your head to the side and took a few nervous breaths. The dull ache of desire throbbed in your center even though you had to fight off the urge to bolt. Eric squeezed the rounded flesh of your ass, caressing it appreciatively. “I want you to count for me when I strike you,” he instructed. “I’ll start with my hand, and then switch to the crop. We’ll do five of each.”

“Okay,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

“Do you remember what to say if it’s not okay, pet?”

You considered the possibility of cashing in your get out of jail free card, but his hand slipped between your legs and stroked the length of your slit, offering you the promise of even greater reward if you played his game. A small gasp escaped from your lips and you pressed yourself into his touch, but his hand was gone. “I remember,” you said breathlessly. “I’m okay.”

“Then count for me,” Eric said. He drew back his open hand and delivered a stinging blow across your ass.

“One,” you managed to say.

“Good girl,” Eric purred. He massaged the sore spot for a moment and then struck you even harder, making you yelp in surprise. Your hips jerked and Eric pressed his left hand into the small of your back, pinning you in place as you gasped for breath. “Count,” he reminded you.

“Two.”

The third blow followed quickly, but Eric’s firm hand held you still. A stinging warmth was spreading over your ass and felt arousal pooling between your legs.

“Three,” you whimpered.

Eric struck you again and kneaded your ass, producing a low moan from your lips.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked, his own enjoyment evident in his voice. “What number was that?”

“Four.”

The fifth blow landed harder than the rest. You forgot to count, but Eric didn’t seem to care. He let you lay there panting softly, trying to catch your breath while he massaged your tender skin and teased you between your legs. The adrenaline in your system dulled the pain until it mingled with the sensation of Eric’s fingers stroking you, making your entire bottom radiate with pleasure. You whined needfully and rolled your hips into his touch.

“Oh, we’re not done yet,” Eric said. He withdrew his hand and sucked your arousal off his fingers. “Cross your wrists behind you,” he said. “I don’t want your hands to get in the way.”

You wanted to tell him he could punish you any time he liked if he would just fuck you then and there, but you knew you weren’t in a position to negotiate. You closed your mouth instead and did what you were told. Eric wrapped his hand around both of your wrists, pinning them against your lower back. You always knew he was strong, but you were stunned to realize he could immobilize you completely with just one of his hands. The riding crop made a whooshing sound as he swung it in the air experimentally, making you flinch with anticipation.

“Five more,” Eric reminded you. “Count for me.”

The sharp bite of the riding crop against your flesh stole the air from your lungs. The pain was much more concentrated than before, and the shaft of the instrument seemed to gather momentum easier than a bare hand.

“Breathe for me, pet,” you heard Eric saying. “That was one.”

You inhaled and exhaled, speaking in a shaky voice. “One.”

“Very good,” Eric murmured. “Focus on your breathing.”

He struck you again and dragged the tip of the riding crop over your dripping cunt, making you shiver.

“Two,” you moaned.

“That’s my girl,” he said. “Three more.”

Tears began to sting your eyes with the third blow, wetting the silk fabric that covered them.

“Three,” you whimpered.

“That’s right.”

The fourth blow struck even harder, and Eric held you steady as you bucked your hips. You were crying in earnest now, your tears leaking from the blindfold.

“You’re doing so well, my love,” he said softly. “Just one more.”

“Okay,” you sobbed.

You cried out when he struck you one last time, but an overwhelming sense of relief flooded your body as you realized that was the end. You were shaking all over and you could feel your pulse throbbing between your legs.

“F-five,” you stammered.

Eric released your wrists and trailed his hand over the marks on your ass, massaging it with care. Your hands fell limp at your sides, feeling leaden.

“Do you promise not to disobey me again?” Eric asked. He swirled his fingers around your swollen clit, drawing a low moan from your throat.

“I promise.”

“Then you are forgiven.” His melodic voice filled you with warmth and a moment later his fingers thrusted inside you. A long, breathy gasp escaped your lips and you felt your insides beginning to clench, but he pulled away.

“Don’t,” you pleaded. “Don’t stop.”

“Patience,” Eric said. “The night is young.”

He rolled you over and pulled you to your feet. Your legs felt weak, but he let you lean your full weight against him and bury your face against his chest as he untied the blindfold. It felt good to press yourself against something cool and familiar. A few stray tears leaked from your eyes. Eric wiped them away with the soft pad of his thumb and licked the salty liquid from his finger.

“How are you, pet?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” you mumbled into his shirt. And it was true. Even though the punishment Eric doled out had been painful, he had helped you through each moment. The fear that coursed through your veins earlier in the evening had been released in a kind of catharsis, and you now felt strangely at ease with whatever might happen next.

“Good,” Eric said. There was a hint of pride in his voice as he stroked your hair. “You’re very brave, for a human.”

You pressed a soft kiss against his throat and felt Eric’s hand tighten in your hair. “You’re very tender, for a vampire.”

“Only with you,” he mused. He took you by the hand and kissed your fingers, leading you out of the room. “Come.”

The last room was outfitted with several strange pieces of furniture that you suspected were part of Pam’s collection of authentic medieval torture devices. You recognized a rack in one corner and a set of stocks in another, but what caught your eye was the wooden frame in the shape of an X in the center of the room. It was covered in soft leather and had thick padded cuffs at the end of each arm.

Before you could ask Eric what it was, he spun you around and pinned you against it with his hips, giving you a bruising kiss. You moaned against his mouth as he secured your wrists to the frame. He kicked your feet apart and trailed his hands over the smooth curves of your body, scratching you lightly with his nails. Then he bound your ankles as well.

Your face felt flushed and your pulse roared in your ears as he stepped back and raked his gaze over your body. You knew you were utterly helpless, and every part of you was on display. Your legs were spread wide and your breasts heaved with each panting breath you took, trying to regain control of yourself. A smirk spread across Eric’s face. This was what he had been waiting for all night.

“In all my years, I don't think I've ever seen something so exquisite as you, pet.” He took a step closer and grabbed a fistful of your hair, kissing your throat as he spoke. “You're beautiful,” he said. “And you're mine.”

His words made your whole body resonate with satisfaction. Eric’s fangs scraped against your throat, but he did not bite you. Not yet. He wanted to savor every inch of you before deciding where to sink his teeth in. His tongue licked your throat while his hands roamed your body, pausing when he felt your heart begin to beat faster to lavish attention on the places where you were sensitive.

He smoothed his hand over your stomach and caught your nipples lightly between his teeth, enjoying each whine and whimper that came from your lips. He teased you with agonizing patience. Your body felt like a spring compressed under an enormous amount of pressure, and you were desperate for release. It would not take much now for you to come undone, but each time you were close, Eric ceased his ministrations.

“No, no, no,” Eric murmured against your breast as he stopped circling your clit with his thumb. “I haven't given you permission to come yet.”

You were about to protest when he took hold of a handle on the side of the X and suddenly rotated it upside down. Blood rushed into your face as you hung from your ankles, your arousal on full display. Eric made a small sound of satisfaction at the sight and sank his teeth into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He thrust his fingers inside of you while he drank, stilling his hand whenever he felt your muscles begin to contract.

“Please,” you begged. “Please, Eric, I want you to fuck me.”

He withdrew his hand and dragged his tongue along the length of your slit. “Do you?” he asked with a surprised inflection. “Hmmm, I don't remember asking what you want, my love.”

Eric pulled away and righted the X before too much blood could rush to your head. Your heart was beating rapidly and your breathing was ragged. You watched his tall form shift out of view and heard him rifling through a drawer to the side as you caught your breath.

“Please,” you whined when he reappeared in front of you. “I need you inside me.”

“I know,” Eric said with mock sympathy. “But it gives me such pleasure to hear you beg.”

You heard the familiar buzz of a vibrator before you felt it. Eric pressed the powerful toy against your sensitive mound and produced a low, guttural moan from your throat. “You're not allowed to come yet, sweet girl,” he reminded you.

“You’re gonna make me,” you panted. “Eric, please.”

Eric lubricated the vibrator with your arousal and guided it over your clit. “I’m warning you,” he said, a slight smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Do not disobey me again.”

“I-I can’t help it,” you whimpered.

He increased the intensity and kissed your throat roughly. “Don’t you dare do it,” he growled in your ear, but you couldn’t hold back anymore. You cried out as your release overwhelmed you, sending shockwaves from your head to your toes. Your sensitive nerves were flooded with a blissful warmth, and you fell limp in the restraints after a moment, breathing shallowly. Eric turned off the vibrator and nipped your ear with his teeth.

“Oh, you’re in so much trouble now, you wicked little thing,” he said in your ear. But he let you recover for a moment while he returned to the cabinet against the wall and searched in another drawer.

Soon he stood in front of you again. He grasped your chin and opened your mouth, pushing a rubber ball gag between your teeth. The surprised sound that came from your throat was muffled by its presence as Eric secured it behind your head. He framed your face with his hands and forced you to look into his intense blue eyes.

“I’ve got you,” he said. “Remember what I said about humming?”

“Mmhmm,” you managed to hum, but you didn’t want him to stop. You felt perfectly at ease, caught in a strange liminal state between dreaming and waking. Eric stroked your hair and studied your face.

“Good,” he said. And then the tenderness in his voice was replaced with a hard edge as he curled his fingers around your throat. “Now you're going to come until I decide you can stop,” he growled, switching the vibrator to its highest setting and pressing it ruthlessly against the oversensitive bundle of nerves at your center.

The intense vibration sent sharp rippling aftershocks through your body. You moaned into the gag and felt yourself tensing painfully, but you were too weak to struggle. Eric was telling you to relax. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to focus on his words, allowing the tension to melt from your body. Soon you felt yourself building to another climax far more intense than the one before.

“That’s right,” Eric said. “Take it like a good girl. Let’s see how many we can get out of you.”

You weren’t sure how much time had passed or how many times Eric had pushed you over the edge before the vibrator finally switched off. The ball gag was removed from your mouth, but you couldn’t formulate the words to ask for what you wanted. You let out a small needy whine instead, begging for him.

Eric captured your lips in a kiss and thrust his length inside you, filling you with what you needed most. He rolled his hips at a slow pace, making sure you felt every movement as he fucked you. You moaned weakly and soon you were clenching around him, pulling him to the edge with you. “Come for me,” Eric said, his voice low and gravelly. “Now.”

You gave a small cry as you came undone again, soaking his cock with your release. Eric groaned against your neck and followed you swiftly, one hand fisted in your hair and the other clutching the side of your face as his hips stuttered to a stop.

He remained inside you for a few moments as you took a few ragged breaths. Then he reached up and released the restraints circling your wrists. You sagged against him, too exhausted to hold yourself up. Your legs felt like they were made of rubber and your head felt woozy, but you were at ease, knowing he would take care of you.

You were vaguely aware of the warm scent of Eric’s cologne as you pressed your face into his chest. Soothing words poured over your consciousness in a language you didn’t understand. You tasted blood on your lips and felt the bruises on your wrists and backside simply melt away.

When you woke again, you were laying between fresh sheets in your own bed. Your hair was still damp from a bath and your legs were tangled with Eric’s as he slept beside you, one arm outstretched so you could lay your head on his chest. The light tight shutters had been sealed over the windows in your bedroom, blotting out the midday sun. Eric had them installed ages ago, but he still was hesitant to sleep above ground. You trailed your fingers over one of the ancient scars on his bare chest and relished the rare treat of waking up beside him.

The alarm clock rolled over to noon, and something reflective glinted on your nightstand. You stretched out your hand and picked up the elegant metal choker. In the darkness, you ran your thumb over the floral inlay and found that the clasp was open. You had forgotten about it by the time the night was over, but Eric had not. You glanced at your lover’s face. He was always eerily still when he slept. You drew your hair over your shoulder and closed the choker around your throat, listening to the soft click as the lock snapped shut.

You laid back down and tucked your head under Eric’s chin, listening to the sound of your own heartbeat. He stirred slightly, circling his arms around you and drawing you to his chest. His fingertips traveled along your spine and paused when they reached the cool metal at the back of your neck. After a moment, he cradled your head in his hand and pressed his lips to your forehead.

“You were so good for me, pet,” he mumbled sleepily.

You hummed in contentment and kissed his chest. “I like being yours,” you whispered.

“That’s good,” Eric said, playing with the ends of your hair. “Because I have no intention of ever giving you up.”

#eric northman #eric northman smut

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hongism · 4 years

Text

poison - c. jongho 18+

day 6: sex toys - choi jongho warnings: vibrators, cock rings, butt plugs, clitoral massagers, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, explicit smut, unprotected sex, creampie wc: 1.6k genre: smut, pwp, 18+ day 6: sex toys - choi jongho

The steady and rhythmic buzz between your legs burns at this point, a neverending pulse inside your velvet walls that brings you to the edge time and time again. You’ve lost count of how many orgasms Jongho has put you through already at this point. You can barely think at this point, and the only sensation running through your veins at the moment is sheer pleasure. Jongho tilts the deceptively thin vibrator upwards. It rubs harshly against your sweet spot, pulsating until your thighs quake from the feeling. Jongho slips it out of you as soon as you start trembling. It grants you just enough reprieve for you to catch your breath, and you drop your head to the mattress.

“Color?” Jongho asks, soft tone carrying through the air to reach your ears. It’s almost like poison, the way his sickeningly sweet voice touches your ears and taunts you with its teasing nature.

“Green,” you murmur in response. Your whole mouth is drying from gasping for breath; even when you try to wet your lips, it serves no purpose other than to make your tongue burn.

“Need water, baby?” Jongho stands up straight at the foot of the bed, placing the vibrator in his hands near your leg so that he can focus more on you. You muster a nod, and Jongho moves around the bed to step into the bathroom for a second. You’re still far too lost in pleasure to figure out how long he’s gone, but when he returns, he helps you sit up with a glass of water in hand. “Is it too much, love?” He asks again, hand rubbing small circles against your back. You don’t answer at first and instead guzzle the water down to soothe your burning throat.

“N-No,” you manage after a few gulps. “I wanna keep going.” You pass the glass back to Jongho, and he takes it with a small chuckle.

“Your wish is my command, princess.” With that, Jongho places the cup somewhere off to the side and returns to his position at the foot of the bed. However, instead of getting on his knees before you again, he wraps his hands around your thighs. He tugs you to the edge of the bed with a sharp tug, eliciting a needy moan from your lips, and you fold your legs around his lithe waist by instinct. Jongho doesn’t let you pull him any closer though. His hesitance almost frustrates you; the way his fingers hover over the jeweled plug that’s buried deep in your ass. His cock twitches against your folds, but he doesn’t make any move to fuck you.

“Jongho,” you plea, letting a bit of desperation slip into your tone. He seems to catch your drift and tugs the plug out as gently as he can—your hole flutters around nothing. The sensation of emptiness ebbs through, and you want nothing more than for Jongho to fill you in a way only he can. Still, his next movements remain languid and drawn-out, like he’s trying to get you riled up and needy for more. If that is his plan, then it’s working quite well. He reaches down to lift the curved vibrator once more; his other hand stretches to raise the small tube of lube a couple inches away. Even the click of the lid sounds like it occurs in slow motion. You aren’t too proud to beg, and with his slow pace, you’re ready to burst at the seams with begs and whined demands.

“Think you can take my cock and the vibrator at the same time, baby?” Jongho inquires. His eyes flit up to meet yours before he guides the vibrator to your flexing hole.

“Yes, yes, please,” you respond with enthusiasm and wiggle your hips closer to Jongho’s hand just to accentuate your neediness. He starts with the vibrator, teasing your hole with just the tip several times so that when he finally edges it past your rim, you’re squirming for more. The stretch isn’t much bigger than the plug he had in you; Jongho always does a good job preparing you well for whatever the two of you dabble with in the bedroom. He keeps it off for the time being, focusing on getting it comfortably inside you first. He buries it all the way to the hilt and lets it just rest there until you shift your hips again. The two of you don’t need to exchange words for him to know that you’re comfortable. You’re so in tune with each other’s feelings and comfort zones that it’s an unspoken understanding by now.

Thus, Jongho pulls back a little to line his thick member up with your other hole. The small black ring around the base strains against his erection, but he doesn’t remove it yet and pushes into you regardless.

“Breathe, baby, breathe…” He coos as he inches into you. You do as told, inhaling and exhaling deep breaths as best you can, and it helps you through the pain of the stretch. And at last, he completely fills you up in both holes, one hand lingering on the handle of the vibrator and the other pressed to the inside of your thigh. Jongho shows an incredible amount of willpower in that moment — pausing and staying completely still despite the small twitches of his cock inside you.

“I’m ready,” you say after what feels like hours. Jongho nods back at you, then his finger flicks over the power button on the vibrator. It springs to life in you, immediately drawing a choked moan from your lips, and the sensation carries through your whole form. It brings back the ache in your muscles, the lingerings of your earlier overstimulation, and all the pleasure that comes with the feeling. Just as your moans peak, Jongho dares to slide his cock out halfway and thrust all the way back in with force. The vibrations ripple through your body, and the combined pleasure of Jongho fucking you sends you into a state of delirium. None of the words that fall from your lips are coherent in the slightest, but Jongho isn’t in a much better place. He can manage a few grunts and groans here and there, although that’s the extent of his noises.

Your body feels more and more like air the more time passes. You can’t even grasp how close your next orgasm is, but you’re never given much time to think about it with the pace that Jongho maintains in his thrusts. He doesn’t need to raise the speed of the vibrator one bit, which is something you’re grateful for because you really aren’t sure that your body can handle that amount of stimulation. This is a tightrope in and of itself, toeing the line and bordering too much, but at the same time hovering around not enough. It’s only when Jongho completely pulls out of you to frantically tug the ring around his dick off that you realize how close you are. The levitating sensation is removed from your grasp as Jongho’s cock leaves you, and you swoop back down to reality just long enough to take in Jongho’s next words.

“I love you,” he murmurs, leaning back over you to press a soft kiss against your dry lips. You return the gesture with fervor and intensity, but it only lasts for a second. Jongho pulls back and slips his cock back between your folds. You don’t even get a chance to respond with an “I love you” of your own before he’s back to the brutal pace of his thrusts. Your orgasm hits with an almost embarrassing haste – Jongho manages four thrusts before your walls lock him in a vice, and your high washes over you with more strength than any of your previous orgasms. Jongho grunts but continues to fuck you through it, albeit with much slower thrusts now. He doesn’t last much longer in that state either. A new kind of warmth flushes out all other sensations in your body, the heat of Jongho’s cum filling you up as the vibrator continues to stimulate your ass. It takes some time for Jongho to recover, but when he does, he switches the vibrator off to allow the two of you to bask in each other’s presence with no distractions.

“I love you too,” you say, barely remembering that you weren’t able to respond sooner. Jongho’s gaze is soft as he thumbs over your cheek.

“I love you more,” he teases as a smile breaks across his lips. You don’t bother arguing with him and instead just slap his shoulder half-heartedly before trying to push him off you.

“Alright, lover boy, let’s just get me in the bath for now then.”

...

a/n: i’ve got no words honestly lkafjlksdj

link to kinktober masterlist

taglist: @noonawriter @daniblogs164 @felixity @okokokok123-45 @jeonartemis @crescent-hwa @jertazz @wheresmymoniat @nlost21 @monbecaratstayarmy @hello-its-ya-boi @onyxblade01 @kimnamshiks @poutychangbinnie @toothlessshiber @xxbluestrifexx @lokihoeforhyunjin @ice-cold-taeyong @essantial @blueish-sun @etaerealboy @notbeforelong @wideawakeficrecs @adestinyuwu @simpforhyunjin @naajix @seoha @lilyliline21 @leaz-kpop-life @hyunjinsicedamerican0 @marigold-bebee @changbinswifu @xcookiemonsteer @ddalgi-yong @singjiries

unable to tag: @sailing-goddess-of-ateez @gingerale-addict

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honestsycrets · 3 years

Text

Never and Always II: A Cold Bath.

❛ pairing | ivar x reader

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | hvitserk wants to take an ice bath. oleg questions the reader about england.

❛ tags | verbal arguments, fear of Ivar, reader attempts to jump in sea, athelstansdaughter!reader, possible triangles, ivar isn’t the villain, implied previous ivar x reader, nsfw-borederline, oblivious hvitserk

The ice is frosty under your ass. A circle of ice had been cut, as you were told, for Oleg’s beautiful wife. After she was done with it, Hvitserk had this great idea. He slung his forest green tunic to the ground and unraveled his pants, all while you held your face between your fingertips. His hands ran together as he warmed himself up from the cold that slurried through the air toward his pale cheeks.

“What are you hiding for?” he laughs.

He’s in. You hear his body dip in-- but more than that, you feel his large hands on your calves, working up your dress from your knees. You squeak and peek through your eyes. His broad shoulders look… you gasp in a breath. He’s beautiful under the warm light of your room, when he’s pulling on his tunic, but better like this. When his blotchy and black tattoos are complemented by the frosty air. His hacksilver pendant rests on his hirsute chest. Just waiting for you to join in.

“Hvitserk, don’t--” you squeak, finding that his hands have left for the many ties on your sides. “I don’t have anything under this!”

He glances around. The unmoving guards are turned around. Like anyone would care to watch you. You might be a princess: but you’re far removed from the lines of royalty by which name you claimed.

“Since when have you cared?” Hvitserk mumbles, working them free. “Lift your hips.”

You obey. He adds another piece of clothing to the pile to the left of him, averting his eyes to yours. Was he looking? As Hvitserk offers up his battle-worn hands to yours, you realize he isn’t. He helps you scoot off the ledge and into the waiting waters-- and into his arms. Your chest bumps into his, cool waters hardening your nipples into erect peaks.

“It’s cold--” you excuse, setting your hand on top of his chest for support. You can’t help yourself: you swathe your fingers over his hacksilver pendant, tracing the golden corners of it nestled between golden hairs. His eyes linger on your finger. “I’m surprised you still have this.”

“Why?”

You press your lips together. “Paris was a long time ago, Hvitserk.”

He urges you back against the wall of ice to allow for some well-deserved distance between your bodies. You’re at a lack for his warmth, the way his hairy chest felt against your breast, or the way you had to ignore his nether regions as he swam in place.

“Not in my mind. In my mind, it was a day ago,” Hvitserk reaches for a pitcher of mead. How it isn’t iced over by now, you’re not sure. He gives you a cup and takes one for himself. “Have you and Ivar…”

“No,” you cut him off. “Not after he left my room.”

He drinks a full swash, bouncing between his pale cheeks before swallowing. You flush. “He hasn’t forgiven you.”

More than me, you’re reminded. The way his nostrils flared or heat behind his dark eyes. You’re a long way from Kattegat, but what happened… it’s there with you. You turn over in the icy pool and allow your hips to float freely while in thought. More than Ivar.

“He’ll get over it, Thor willing.”

Hvitserk joins you and finishes his drink. “We all thought he would marry you.”

You pour yourself another drink. “He proposed to me.”

“And you said…?”

You bore into the reflection of the cup.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Very well,” Hvitserk sighed, shifting himself around. With his back to the ice, he settles his arms back on the wall to balance himself. “You shouldn’t wear those rags from home. They do nothing for your body.”

The rags from home were safe. The clothes that Katya had given you were… showy. They were meant to make a spectacle. While here among the Rus, that was not what you wanted to do. You peer over to Hvitserk, “What would you know of my body?”

“I know you’ve filled out,” Hvitserk answers with his head tipped back. He lifts his head again, moving to sock your arm with his closed fist. “You should flaunt it. We might need a woman’s touch with Oleg.”

��I plan to keep myself as far away from that dog as possible.” You snap, turning your face down into your arm. Whatever the reason Hvitserk wanted you to dress more… alluringly, it was wrapped in political conquest. He noticed your body and yet, the moment that you waited for? It was… bittersweet. It was a pawn in the game of chess. “He has plenty of whores.”

“Not English princesses,” Hvitserk says pointedly.

“I am not English. I am heathen,” you splash your drink in his face. Hvitserk flicks his head to the side and then up. In that short expanse of time, you’ve pulled yourself out of the water. He watches as you snatch your brown bag of a dress and yank it over your head. “And you are a fool to think otherwise.”

“Princess,” he reaches out, catching your thigh in his sturdy grip. He applies an amazing amount of pressure to keep you in place until he can slip between your legs, floating whilst you pull the dress down. “I know I am, but I am a fool who wants to keep you alive.”

You slide out from underneath him. You could do that yourself.

Your little servant knew you hated the dress. Not minding that your legs were accustomed to slacks or that… your usual staples were drab. She was in tune with every instance of uncertainty you had. She’s a mouse of a girl, small but soft and loving. Her soft brown eyes pale and her body thin, she makes herself smaller when Hvitserk enters the room.

“What do you think?” you ask her honest opinion, spinning in place, and stopping to look at the woman in the mirror. She’s foreign to you. You gestured to your gown. “You think the boys will approve?”

She clasps her hands together, nodding with a bob of her long veil. She grins a wide gap-toothed smile.

“Why don’t you speak?” you ask her. “Are you mute?”

You swap a look as Hvitserk bounces past the wooden room divider and seizes your wrist. You had questions the girl whose presence flooded the room like a shadow and yet still slept in a bed near the door.

“There you are. You took my advice,” there’s a slight pause, then a smile. “Come, Ivar is waiting for us to say hello to Prince Oleg and his wife. Is this gold?”

There’s only so much you can ask of your Hvitserk now that he was awake and well. Apparently asking that he be attentive was too much to ask of him. His mind is constantly running; even when he is quiet.

“Yes, I think so.”

“It’s nice,” he remarks of the dress. You don’t know why you expected more. Or why it hurt when he glazed it over so easily. As though it meant nothing to him when it felt like it should have meant something. Of course, it meant nothing, you reminded yourself. He didn’t know it should mean something.

“I will see you soon,” you call back to your slave girl. She waves curtly and picks up the strewn clothes around the room.

The floors in Oleg’s castle seem to stretch for miles. All virtually the same; minus the change in the appearance of the guard. Some tall, some short. They all have the same dark hair and hard black eyes. You fiddle with the pendant of Thor that hands above your chest at Ivar’s room. Hvitserk dips inside, and moments later, appears with your once-was lover.

Ivar seems to wear all the same clothes. Baggy, ill-formed, horrendously brown. If you had to see Ivar in brown, you preferred the tunics from home. Shaped to his muscular arms, the neck slightly pulled apart, with a view of his muscular chest and the proud pendant of Thor, that matched your own, beating on his chest.

“--The dress.”

“I’m sorry?” you spoke, moistening your lips for the memory. Talk of this horrendous gown tips you off to Ivar’s voice. You lifted your head from staring at the intricate, but ugly ties at his chest to look him in the eye. He leans in and bumps into your chest.

“You look beautiful in the dress.”

Ivar always noticed you. The warmth that flooded your face wasn’t exactly something that you could withhold, not when he met your eyes with such force. He brought his hand up to your anxious fiddling and forced it to still.

“Thank you.”

“So then why would you wear it, uh?” he asks next. His nose scrunches up, bearing his gleaming white teeth.

“What?”

“He is a womanizer and here you are,” his head tilts to the side, rounding out. Here he goes. You can’t suppress your eyes rolling up as his hand twirls up your side, condescending: just like Bjorn. “--dressed in gold silks and a glistening crown. Calling for his attention! Do you not know the value of a plain dress?”

Hvitserk remains as still as the guards behind him.

“Hvitserk told me to dress up,” you hiss back. “Is that not enough?”

“Hvitserk--” Ivar bobbles his head, rolling his eyes in mimicry. “What does Hvitserk know of men? He does not even know what he wants most days.”

You let out your suppressed breath and pick up your skirts. By all appearances, Ivar was maintaining his image. He lurches out to seize your arm, stopping you in place from storming off back down the halls.

“I don’t say these things to--” Ivar breaks into a huff of air, “I say them to keep us safe. If we were home, you could wear whatever you wanted and it would not be an issue. Now stop making that face.”

“It is my face. What would you have me do?” you arch your brows up at him, challenging his words with a soft gleam in your eyes. “Wear a bag and pretend to be a proper Saxon girl?”

“You’re too mouthy for that. We could never fool Oleg like that.”

“The guards have already seen her,” Hvitserk leans forward. “Let her wear it.”

The weight of Ivar’s eyes fall upon you like iron weights. You remain voiceless when he turns on his brother like a snake, Ivar rules his lower lip in between his teeth. Then out. His expression remains hooded and dark as he starts down the hall. “This is your fault.”

The dress does not inspire many friends. It’s soft golden silk contrasts against brilliant sapphire blue. With its long waterfall sleeves and cinched waist, you should have a family of admirers. Instead, you have a proud dog and a scowling ex-lover. Oleg hums and prompts your name.

“I have recently heard you are a princess. An English princess.”

Here you go.

“Where did you hear that?” You can play along, despite the words that had seized up the contents of your belly. Ivar was right. This was a game. Your mouth was dry with apprehension for his response.

“I’ve foreseen it,” he says sharply. Or on the lips of his guards. “I’ve not come by the manner in which my beloved Ivar came upon you so haply.”

“He didn’t. His father Ragnar and his dearest friend, my father, Athelstan did,” you told the prince in punctuated words. “My mother Judith abandoned me with them. She knew I would not survive in Wessex.”

“As a baby?”

“Yes,” you say. “But I am a heathen.”

“I’ve no doubt of that. I know a heathen when I see one. Tell me of this-- Alfred the Great.”

“I know nothing of him,” you rap your knuckles over the table. “Only that he is my twin.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. I was raised by a boatbuilder, you see. Ragnar’s cruel punishment.” You wish that he would stop asking you so many questions. It was a long time since you dreamed of England and the family that you could have had. Maybe, you could have met Ivar there. He would have hated you.

“And of England?”

“You should ask Ivar. I’ve never been.”

He leans back in his chair.

“That is fine. It has been a long day-- and I anticipate, a longer night. I hope you enjoyed your ice bath with Hvitserk.” In that split second, Ivar turned his head over toward you. The pain resurfaces a power you never knew you had over him. Regret hits you like a shield on the battlefield, forcing you to lurch in your chair, setting a hand on his thigh. Ivar’s eye snaps down to your hand over his calibers.

“What bath?”

Oleg chuckles, warm and cruel. “They bathed together in Katya’s pool. Did they not tell you?”

His head hangs, focused on your delicate palm over his firm thigh. Out of the corner of his eye, his raw stare centered on you. You have noting to be ashamed about. You were not his anymore. You had no reason to feel as if you had, yet again, betrayed Ivar the Boneless. You had done nothing wrong!

Oleg snatches the cloth to clean his face. He wipes crumbles from his beard and drops the cloth on the plate. He excuses himself with his young wife. “Let us talk of England tomorrow, Ivar. I am— interested.”

“Ivar--” your voice sounds small. Too small for a woman whose life was once wound up in being on the battlefield beside a man like Ivar the Boneless. You feel small as you struggle to explain, swirling in a whirlpool of thought. Ivar throws off your hand from his thigh and closes his eyes. With one smooth inhale and exhale of breath, he stands up. He doesn’t have to ask Igor to stand up either. The future grand prince is up, trailing his steps, a puppy after the larger dog that might as well be his father.

“You should go to him.” Hvitserk breaks the silence after Ivar’s thrumming steps fizzled out. “Explain that it wasn’t what he thinks it is.”

That earlier that day, you hadn’t felt a zing of excitement when Hvitserk’s naked chest bumped into yours. That attention of his you craved-- it was nothing. Hvitserk’s hands are turned over his clothed chest now. You try to swallow your pride.

“He knows what it is,” you turn your face toward Hvitserk. Oleg’s many servants pick half eaten gold dishes from the table in front of you. Your eyes pricked as you ran your hands together. Your gown feels somewhat hotter, somewhat harder to stand in. Hvitserk tilts his head slightly. Something wasn’t right.

“Knows what-- what is?” Hvitserk asked.

You’re a coward. If you were half the man that Ivar was, you would be able to tell Hvitserk your deepest, newly realized secret. The air in your chest was punched out. You couldn’t, not now. It aches a whole in your chest. “It’s nothing. I should go.”

You walk back to your room with a knot greater than any battle had given you. You knew why; that your stomach was unsettled by Oleg’s push for England and its riches. The rich green soil and lapping beaches that Ragnar would tell you about. Back when you wondered of whom you came from. Who was Judith? Or Alfred? The thoughts were painful to recall as the child that had been so easily sent away. The door beside you whirled open. A hand launched out and yanked you into the dark room. The buckles alerted you to Ivar’s presence.

“Ivar?”

“Hush,” the door whizzed closed again. It falls with a heart shattering clank against its hinges. You wait til the noise outside the door has settled to walk toward a singular chair among blonde furs. It looks like home. You take a seat and wait for the impending ass whipping you anticipate is careening your way. In its place, Ivar snakes forth.

“He will want to fight Alfred.”

You tilt your head. “And? What concern is that of mine?”

“You know why.”

In the West, where your brother was, you would be faced with the obligation to fight one way or another. Surely Oleg knew your reputation for fighting with the brothers. But you could not-- imagine taking the life of your brother. Even if you did not know his quality.

“It won’t be an issue unless you make it one.”

“Hm,” Ivar reaches out. You jerk back, allowing his hand to curl back in. As his hand becomes a fist, he nods through his thoughts. “Then you had better not betray me a third time.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a second.”

He slips open the door.

“You’re running away, again?”

There’s a moment-- when you think he’ll just smile and close the door behind him. After all, with Hvitserk’s rantings and ravings, it was very easy to do so. You want him the rejection that will follow. Rather, Ivar stabs the ground and maneuvers around to face your accusation.

“I wish you the best in your first marriage with my own flesh and blood,” he mocks, spreading his hand out in half of a bow. “Good night, Princess.”

He might as well have said bitch.

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @destynelseclipsa @soleil-dor @strangunddurm

#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar/reader #ivar the boneless/reader #vikings imagines #viking imagines #Ivar the Boneless imagines

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professional-idiocy · 3 years

Text

On Thin Ice - pt. 3

Yeah yeah, I’m slow with stuff. In my defense test week was a bitch and math SUCKS. Especially when you have to deal with this sadistic program called ViLLE that’s supposed be “helpful” with teaching math. If you ever see that name run for the hills.

Pt. 1, Pt. 2 - Next

Taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain, @whoopsalittlewhumpy, @uncooly-supreme-whump

TW: Mentions drowning and burns. Colby is a huge mess with a lot of issues with self-worth. Also torture cause Rosa is a bitch

Kevin didn’t know what to think. He was sitting on his couch with a sleeping villain snuggled close. He sighed continuing to pet Colby’s hair. At least he didn’t hate him. If he’d just gotten lost earlier Colby wouldn’t have been tortured for months.

He was in way over his head. He didn’t know anything about treating injuries. He’d just copied something he’d seen on TV! He was severely underqualified for this. He was a journalist, he wrote articles, he wasn’t exactly the best for whatever this situation was.

He needed to think. He had a person who’d been tortured. He had evidence of the injuries and the condition he’d found Colby in. He also had evidence it was a hero who’d done this.

He needed to get a doctor to look at Colby. That would definitely be important. Where would he even find a doctor? Especially someone who wouldn’t mind Colby was a villain…

Selena! That was it. She had a doctor friend who would probably be willing to help them. He took out his phone being careful to not wake up Colby continuing to softly pet his hair.

Kevin frowned when some dried blood got stuck in his hand. It made him feel horrible, his sister had done all this. His sister had tortured someone. It made him feel nauseous. Rosa had always stood up and protected him as a kid, but to do this to another person was horrifying…

Enough.

First, he’ll help Colby, and later he needed to ask his sister to explain why he would hurt Colby. Right now the best way to help Colby was to get a doctor here.

He sent Selena a message. He really hoped it wouldn’t go south.

Hey, I’m a pickle right now. Would your doctor friend be willing to help a villain?

I kinda took one in. He was tortured by a hero. Please don’t tell anyone. He’s really fragile rn. Also tell her I’m also willing to pay

Soon enough Selena responded, easing his worries.

You mean Ellie?

Knowing her she will gladly help, especially if the patient is a villain. I blame “the cat” for that.

I’ll text her number tomorrow once I’ve given her a heads up.

It’s 10pm so try to sleep

Kevin sighed in relief. Everything went well and he was also getting tired. He should definitely sleep while he had the chance. The couch was decently comfortable, and he really didn’t want to wake Colby up. He yawned softly while Colby clung to him, sleeping contently.

Kevin shot up hearing a soft yelp combined with a thud. He scanned the room only to find Colby on the floor trembling while crying.

“I’m sorry. I- I didn’t mean to fall asleep, a- and I’m sorry for waking you up. I didn’t mean to. Please- please believe me I’m sorry” Colby begged kneeling on the floor. Kevin frowned muttering curses under his breath. Rosa had done a number on him and he hated it.

“It’s fine, you aren’t in trouble. I know you must be really stressed but believe me you aren’t in trouble” Kevin said as softly as possible, hoping to get a more positive reaction out of Colby, which it did. Well, to some extent. He fearfully waited before sniffing and wiping away tears.

“I’m sorry”

“I know. Do you wanna get onto the couch for me?” Kevin said softly, trying to get the terrified villain to trust him.

“I can stay on the floor, sir” Kevin frowned at that but as soon as he showed even a hint of displeasure Colby seemed to freeze in fear. He quickly scooped Colby up before sitting him on the couch.

“There you go. It’s much better, right?” Kevin asked as Colby nodded still keeping an eye on him, worried he’d done something wrong.

“I’m going to go make breakfast. Do you have any allergies?” Colby shook his head as Kevin smiled softly petting his hair, which he seemed to enjoy a lot. If leaning into the touch was anything to go by. He got up, leaving for the kitchen, doing his best to ignore how sad Colby looked, making him feel like he’d just abandoned a kitten.

He sighed once he was sure Colby wouldn’t hear or see him. This was going to be a lot of work, but Colby was adorable. First, he needed food for both, then get Colby to take a bath, call Ellie and ask if she could come and take a look at Colby.

Sandwiches would do, right? It’s not like he had anything else here, he was supposed to go to the store yesterday, but Colby had kinda ruined that plan, besides he can just order takeout. He smiled at the sandwiches, they looked like crap. He wasn’t the best in the kitchen, but it would have to do for now.

Colby really didn’t know what to think. Kevin had been so nice even when he’d done something wrong. Miss Rosa would’ve never forgiven him for assuming anything. Instead, Kevin had gently pet his hair and now was making breakfast. He really wanted to know how he needed to repay it all.

He jumped back to awareness when Kevin came back with four sandwiches on two different plates. He tilted his head curiously as Kevin smiled handing him a plate. He held onto the plate confused as Kevin sat next to him eating. Colby mimicked his actions before carefully taking a bite out of the sandwich.

He couldn’t help but to smile. It was amazing and tasted so good! He really wanted to repay him already. If he didn’t, he would be horrible and selfish. He gulped the sandwich down before carefully turning to Kevin. He didn’t know what Kevin wanted for this. He froze as Kevin just pet his hair smiling softly. It was nice.

Colby took the other sandwich, carefully trying to stuff it on Kevin’s plate. Maybe Kevin would like it if he gave him the food back? He was full anyway and didn’t deserve this much. Kevin smiled as Colby finally got the sandwich to fit.

“Are you full already?” Kevin asked softly and Colby nodded. He smiled taking the sandwich and putting it back on Colby’s plate, much to his surprise, but he didn’t hopefully let it show.

“You know you can save the sandwich for later. You don’t need to give it to me” Colby let his expression slip into one of surprise before nodding. So that wouldn’t work. He couldn’t just give his food to Kevin. So, he needed to find another way to repay him for the mercy he’d been shown.

“I- I can take care of the dishes” Colby said, trembling softly. He needed- no he wanted to be useful.

“It’s fine. I’ll take care of it, after I’ve prepared a bath for you and then we’ll check on the wounds” Kevin said as Colby nodded quickly before he could hesitate. Kevin got up leaving for what Colby assumed was the bathroom.

He sat on the couch, mind racing through all the scenarios. A bath meant water and Kevin could use water to hurt him in so many ways. Kevin could hold his head underwater and he knew he was too weak to resist. Cold water could cause shock and hypothermia, but if the water was too hot, he’d be burned.

He deserved it though, unlike the people he’d hurt for Alaric. He was just doing as ordered but he’d hurt people. He didn’t even remember their names or faces. They were all just people Alaric had wanted information from.

Miss Rosa was right.

He really was a monster.

A simple “Are you alright?” broke through his thoughts making him snap into attention. No-one had asked that before. It made him feel warm and fuzzy.

“I mean, you were crying just now” Kevin said softly as Colby blinked before quickly wiping the tears away.

“I’m fine” he whispered weakly as his voice escaped him. Kevin smiled ruffling his hair. Maybe he just needed to be small and cute for Kevin? He did seem to like it when he snuggled close. It that was the case, he really didn’t mind the warmth and closeness of another person.

“Alright then. I got the bath ready, but do you need help? I mean you can barely walk” Kevin asked awkwardly as Colby watched him carefully.

“I can’t put much weight on my legs, but I’ll be fine. You don’t have to waste your time with me”

“Alright” Kevin said picking Colby up who clung to him in surprise “I already prepared everything and left clothes you can borrow” Colby nodded clinging to Kevin in confusion. He didn’t really know what Kevin wanted and it was best to not speculate too much. He knew for a fact Kevin wanted him to be entertaining thanks to Miss Rosa’s clue since he’d be returned when he became boring.

He needed to avoid that.

Kevin sighed taking a sip out of his tea. He really didn’t know a thing about this. He’d called Ellie who’d promised to come tomorrow to take a look and give him some advice. It was reassuring but he really hoped Colby was fine he’d left him to take care of himself. He should be fine, but it still worried him. Colby was practically helpless in his current state.

As soon as he thought that he heard a soft thud just outside the bathroom. He put his tea down on the table rushing to the bathroom only to see Colby on the floor, helplessly looking up at him. He’d never noticed it before due to all the dried blood, but he was way too thin! He was literally nothing but skin and bones!

Was his sister always this cruel?

It was disgusting to think Rosa would do something like this. His thoughts were brought to a halt as Colby looked up at him in terror before beginning to cry and apologize for bothering him.

He looked so small and fragile as the too large shirt kept slipping off his shoulder. Why would Rosa hurt someone like him? He looked so small and young as he trembled looking at him in terror.

Wait, did Colby think he was mad at him?

Shit.

He knelt in front of Colby as he watched in fear of something. This whole situation made him feel terrible, confused, and icky. He needed to do something.

“Shhh, it’s fine you did nothing wrong” he said softly as Colby just kept crying softly still apologizing. He reached out to run a hand through Colby’s hair only for Colby to suddenly cling to him.

“Please, I know I might be a bit troublesome but please don’t give me back to Miss Rosa. I’ll promise I’ll do my best to repay you” He begged clinging to him, Kevin held him close, gently wiping away Colby’s tears as he watched silently in a mix of surprise and fear.

“It’s fine. I’m not giving you back to her, ever” He said as Colby breathed a sigh of relief before snuggling closer to Kevin. He would never let this precious bean be hurt again.

#whump #whump writing #original whump #On Thin Ice #you're stuck in here with me pal #implied torture tw #torture tw #villain whumpee #civilian caretaker #hero villain whump #original writing

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albino-whumpee · 3 years

Text

Blank Space

An idea came to mind so here. Just gonna say I made a playlist for Albus and Sann on spotify. Here. You can go listen to it here.

Taglist! Hope you liked it! Thank you for reading and sticking by for so long! :D

@castielamigos-whump-side-blog @giggly-evil-puppy @cowboysrappin @haro-whumps @burtlederp @neuro-whump @comfortforthepain @whumps-the-word @whole-and-apart-and-between @broken-horn @ashintheairlikesnow @rosesareviolentlyread @crowned-avery @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump @whumpasaurus101 @grizzlie70 @twistedcaretaker

CW// child abuse and domestic violence, children going missing, child neglect, starvation, and useless child services.

“…ller…Mu…”

Someone was calling for him. But there was a ringing on his ears and his head hurt. The cap on his head with the chipped borders, protected him from the annoying white light of the school´s infirmary. He had been sent there during E.P. After he had refused to continue doing sit-ups because of the pain. In the distance, he heard a sigh.

“Serra”

“Don´t call me that” the boy´s lips moved instantly.

The guy with the white lab coat let out a sigh.

“Sorry, Muller. But I can´t do anything if you don´t show me what´s wrong” the boy exhaled, trying to dissimulate how much it pained him to do even that.

“Can´t you feel it above the clothes or something?” the boy tried to negotiate. The shame swallowing whole. The man gave him an exasperated frown as reply. Muller sighed, wetting his lips before putting his hands on the dirty gym shirt. The last tower standing between him and the reality the doctor shouldn´t see. Shouldn´t know. “Please?”

“Muller…” that tone was the signal to drop it. So he braced and lifted it up to the man, straying his eyes to a corner. The man´s eyes turned into brown plates, mouth hanging disgusted at the way his bones looked like they were trying to pop out the thin layer of bruised skin.

“Oh my god…” he exhaled just before he saw the shirt fall. The man opened his mouth a few times. Like a fish trying to breath out of the water. Gasping for just a bit of precious oxygen. But he was just a man who rubbed the side of his head and leaned on to him with those eyes full of pity he didn´t want. “I know you´re no fighter, Muller. You´re the quiet kid with regular notes. Can you tell me where did you really get those?”

He stayed quiet. Locking his jaw as he breathed in.

If he said the truth it would be worse. It would hurt and not only for him. It would be bad and even worse for Annie. Who was in class. Surely talking with her friends and bragging about the cake he had bought for her birthday. Smiling despite the bandages on her wrist.

He had tried before. To tell someone with authority about his father. He had been hopeful. They had patched him up and let him bath and eat a normal meal. But what happened then was that he was sat in a cold room with a chair in the middle. Talked with a woman that simply took notes, before giving him back to the man they had told him he wouldn´t see again. Just to go straight back home and resume what had made him call child services in the first place.

“I got into a fight” He said.

“Tell me the truth”

“I got into a fight”

“We both know-”

“It won´t change anything if I say the truth or not” Muller said with red eyes lit up in rage.

“Serra…”

“Don´t call me that. I got into a fight and lost. That´s the truth” The ringing on his ears went up. “Just…Just do your damn job and give me something for the pain, doc” the boy said scrunching his eyes, passing a hand over them roughly, in hopes it would end the headache. His dad had grabbed the broom on his hands while he cleaned the living room´s floor of the carpet of beer cans. Said the sound woke him up. So he shoved him to the floor and let it rain down until it broke. Then he had lost interest and gone back to sleep. That´s when he could scramble outside. Forgetting his backpack on the way.

The doctor let out a long, long breath that just made Muller grit his teeth. He finally rolled down to a cabinet. Unlocked it and let his fingers navigate the few pill cases there were. Nothing strong. Nothing that would stop the fear and the pain forever. Just a pill of ibuprofen.

Muller wasn´t amused in the slightest, but it would help. That and a bit of ice on his eye. The doctor put a bag of it on his lap. Taking off the cap, he let his head hang. Letting the cool sensation of the ice wash the pain away.

“Lay down and don´t take the pill just yet, ok? Do you like sandwiches, Muller?” He asked digging on his backpack next to the desk. Taking out his wallet.The boy snapped his healthy eye open going red of embarrassment. Of course, you need to eat something before taking pills and that had happened yesterday afternoon. Around seventeen hours ago.

It vaguely reminded him of Don, the doctor’s clinic where appointments were profusely refused to be paid and the man even gave them his own children’s old clothes. The boy had tried to keep the smell when he did laundry, but it inevitably started to smell like his father at some point.

“Y-yes, Thank you…” he muttered before the man turned to the door. Or tried to, before the albino grabbed his wrist. “Doc, please, don´t tell anybody about this” the man gave him a pained look as the ice bag slipped off his face. “I…Albinos bruise easily…it was just a fight I lost. Please…” Muller hoped it was enough. He was aware he was known among his classmates as a troublemaker. Coming with bruises and scratches almost every day kept people at an arm length. He would use that. He could use it and keep people away from the truth. That he didn´t search for trouble because going back home was enough.

Just so she wouldn´t need to do the same.

The man slowly put away the boy´s hand. “It´s absolutely impossible to call someone, Muller? Child services?” he knelt next to him. Taking the ice pack that had slid to his lap and putting it against his swollen eye. “You don´t have anyone you could stay with? Just for a while?”

The boy´s face went dark. Even as it formed an ironic smile.

“Why would I be here if I had a place like that, Doc?”

—-

When he went back to class, patched up and cradling his ribs, changed into his normal wear from the secret backpack on his locker, to enter art class. He saw a few people muttering something when he came inside the classroom before pulling his cap down. Looking at his red sneakers as he navigated to his seat at the front. Then tried to blink into focus the words on the board.

“Free assignment. High contrast. Acrylics. Due next Wednesday. Be sure to return the materials clean and dry. Be creative!”

Muller sighed slowly. They weren’t sure if they really had a teacher or if they were being given classes by a ghost, as they would have the instructions written on the board and had to leave them on the desk that day or the date written. Receiving their scores through email he had to check on the library.

It was odd, but it was also easier to not be disrupted on the only place he could take his cheap mp3, put the earphones to silence the room and just paint. His moment of full relaxation of the week.

After putting the earphones, he had no idea what to paint, however. He stared at it with a pencil on his hand for a long time, drumming it into his jeans, until an idea came to his head, making him smile. He rolled up the sleeves of his oversized sweater and dipped into sketching light lines over the smooth surface. Halfway through an upbeat song, he felt eyes on him. Brown eyes staring into the purple of his forearm. Not shiny from the cream the doctor had rubbed on it to numb out the pain anymore.

Muller rolled back down the sleeve, pulling his eyes away, before he stood up to grab the paint tubes in the other side of the room. A few girls scooting away as they spotted him. Always looking down, averting his sight from other’s curious eyes.

Two hours of work later, the black paint had reigned over the canvas. He had had to squint harder to get the tiniest little details of it right. Using negative space to frame the silhouette of fruit plate, a candlestick with hanging jewels and a chalice. Leaving them completely white.

A blank space in the immense blackness.

Happy with the result and having played the list four times, he accidentally put the brush with black paint over his cheek. Rubbing it away just smudging it. Letting out a groan, he noticed nobody was there anymore. Had left their half assed paintings on the desk or simply left.

He began to pick up the dirty brushes left from his classmates and went to the sink to clean them thoroughly like always. He didn’t need thanks, but it would be easier if they didn’t try to put out the desperation of the exam periods on the poor brush by smashing them open. There always was one that couldn’t be saved. He was about to throw it out, right when he saw the bruise on his forearms. Going darker in long stripes.

He pressed his lips together as he dipped the brush into the white paint and stroked his arm with it. The cool sensation of the sticky material covering his bruised skin, almost melting into his natural color made him do the same to his other arm.

When he finished it was almost as if he hadn’t fled his house after being hit with a broom that morning. It had been so easy to cover them as it was easy to wipe it off in a rush for the next class. Half finishing up and putting the painting on the desk. Trying to run as fast as he could, when he heard someone coming closer.

The woman saw him scramble outside the classroom as she went in through the other door. She just came in to take the paintings to her car to evaluate, but that time she found herself absorbed on the painting. Taking it into her hands, shocked. Noticing to a smile the same little “A. M.” Painted on the far corner, always there on her favorites of the class. She turned to the door, light brown wavy hair jumping swiftly at the motion.

She put the painting on top of the others as she marched back to the parking spot her old Tsuru was on. She would make sure to arrive early next time and offer him that little place on the students exhibition.

She did wake up early, to most of her disgrace and her co worker’s surprise. She did arrive to class with the announcement of the school’s artistic exhibition, spooking her students and earning groans, but she didn’t see a kid with a white ponytail in oversized clothes. Not the next week, or the one after that.

His painting hanged on large boards among other student’s works, regardless. But he never came back to see it

#you came back a stranger #wru #oc #original fiction #hurt comfort #angst #emotional whump #whump #my writing #writing #whumpblr #albus #annie #tw domestic abuse #tw child neglect #tw starvation #tw child services #tw bruises #trauma response

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lady-of-the-lotus · 3 years

Text

Poison Kiss (But, Like, In A Good Way)

A poisoned Tang Fan is hot, then cold.

Sui Zhou takes care of him.

(come for the overdramatic beginning, stay for the fluff!)

The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty - Suitang - 1.7k - T - pretty fluffy overall - AO3

_____________________________

Heat, flaming heat, melting his skin and cooking his marrow—

Something wet. Water? Cold, wet, all around him—

Tang Fan opens his eyes. He’s in the bathtub, with Sui Zhou and Old Pei standing over him. Sui Zhou is bent over the rim of the tub and holding him from behind as if afraid that Tang Fan will slip beneath the water if he lets go. He does so slowly, keeping a grip on his arm as he moves around the tub to look down at Tang Fan.

Old Pei breathes a sigh of relief as Tang Fan blinks. “How do you feel?”

Tang Fan blinks. The room is spinning, Sui Zhou’s worried face the only thing in clear focus. “I feel—I feel—hot—”

“I need to get more ice.” Sui Zhou ladles cold water over Tang Fan’s shoulders. “I’ll find someone—”

“No.” Old Pei’s voice is grave. “I don’t think ice will help. The heat is coming from within…take him out, Sui Zhou.”

Gently, Sui Zhou lifts Tang Fan from the bath, wrapping his naked body in a towel. “Hang in there,” he tells Tang Fan, almost too low to hear. “Old Pei is working on something…”

“Get him back to bed.”

Sui Zhou carries Tang Fan back to bed. His arms are warm, too warm, but there’s a sense of security about him that Tang Fan clings to even as he feels himself begin to float, mind adrift again.

Hot. Too hot…

Something soft beneath him as Sui Zhou lays him down in bed. He removes the towel, draping it modestly over Tang Fan’s midsection but leaving the rest of him bare to sweat into the sheets.

“What now?” he hears Sui Zhou’s asking. A tugging sensation at his scalp, and he hazily thinks that someone must be combing out his wet hair. “He can’t go on like this.”

“I know—I know—let me think—”

A damp cloth dabbing his jaw, his throat, his chest. The familiar scent of Sui Zhou’s soap, the soap he’d brought home from the army, a clean fresh scent, as Sui Zhou bends near him. The faint scent of cooking, still clinging to Sui Zhou's clothes. Sui Zhou’s hair, tickling his bare chest as Sui Zhou sponges his skin. His face, magnified by Tang Fan's fever: his eyes wide with worry, usual dark circles under his eye even darker, well-formed lips slightly parted as if about to speak—

Tang Fan reaches up with a shaking hand, hooks a finger in Sui Zhou’s collar, pulls him down, pulls him close.

Kisses him.

He’s too hazy to have put much thought into it. Any thought into it.

The kiss is soft and sweet and broken abruptly by Sui Zhou as he jerks away.

A small gasping sound, and Old Pie’s amused voice: “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised, but—”

“He’s delirious!”

A clucking sound. “It’s alright, Sui Zhou. I’m a broadminded man, though I can’t say I’m—”

“Doctor Pei, this is not—”

A laugh. “I’m not judging you. Take care of him. I have a lead on some ice. Keep sponging him down! Give it another hour, then you can bathe him again. I’ll be right back—”

A flap of material, and the sound of a door closing.

Sui Zhou looks down at Tang Fan. He stares up at him, eyes bright, face flushed. He’s in just his kun, or drawers, looking even thinner and frailer than usual after days of fever and malnourishment. He's begun to move again, as if the heat in his skin has become painful. Gently Sui Zhou pins him to the bed, his skin hot beneath his hands.

"Just lie still," he whispers, keeping his head back this time, out of kissing range. "Hush. Lie still...."

The sound of his voice seems to sooth Tang Fan, and he stops moving, though he still grasps at Sui Zhou's robe, as if trying to draw him closer.

Leaning away, Sui Zhou dips a cloth into a bowl of tepid water and begins dabbing at Tang Fan’s narrow chest, sponging the ice-cold sweat from his skin. He’s still alarmingly warm to the touch, damp hair stuck to his throat and shoulders, skin pink and splotchy, lips white and chapped.

Lips that had…

Delirious. Tang Fan must be delirious…

Tang Fan reaches up a long slender arm, resting his hot sweaty hand on Sui Zhou’s cheek.

“Where did Old Pei go?” he asks. His voice is rough, almost inaudible. “Don’t leave me too…”

Sui Zhou swallows. “I’m not going to leave you.”

“Don’t…”

“I won’t.” He removes Tang Fan’s hand and wipes it down, laying it gently on the coverlet. “I’m here. I’m still here…”

Tang Fan tilts his head. “I knew you wouldn’t, Guangchuan. I can always count on you. Always.”

Sui Zhou swallows a surge of anxiety. Tang Fan, for all his surface frivolity and friendliness, is not one to speak about his feelings, or anything truly intimate. Sui Zhou can count on one hand the number of times he’d said anything like that.

And as for the kiss—

Tang Fan closes his eyes.

Gently, Sui Zhou runs the washcloth over Tang Fan’s flushed limbs. His skin is smooth and unscarred, the long slender lines of his throat meeting his frail-looking collarbones, his whole appearance of that of something fragile and beautifully delicate.

Something to be protected.

He turns him over on his stomach, moves his damp hair aside, and sponges the sweat from his bony pink-and-white back. His shoulder blades are sharp, his backbone a long bumpy line, his ribs visible.

Tang Fan twitches, rolling over on his side. “Guangchuan?”

“Still here.”

Weakly, Tang Fan pushes the damp cloth away. “I’m cold now.”

Sui Zhou feels his forehead. Tang Fan is right. With alarming abruptness his hot pink skin has gone white and cold to the touch, his entire body wracked with sudden chills.

Sui Zhou straightens in alarm. “I’ll go heat water for a bath—”

“Don’t leave me!” Tang Fan is speaking more clearly than before, but there’s unmistakably febrile panic choking his voice. “Don’t leave me alone—”

“I can’t let you freeze—”

Tang Fan clutches the front of Sui Zhou’s robe. “You’re warm.”

“I…”

Tang Fan moves aside, one trembling grayish hand on the sweaty sheets beside him. “Please, Guangchuan, I’m so cold—haven’t you ever been cold?—”

That settles it for Sui Zhou. He has been cold. Many times, while serving at the border. Cold, and hungry, and alone, and—not that he would admit it aloud—afraid, at times, as Tang Fan is now. At least until the creeping numbness took over as he kept surviving, and surviving, and surviving while everyone around him died...

He removes his damp outer clothes and crawls into bed beside Tang Fan, pulling the blankets over them. Tang Fan curls into him, a shivering bundle of bones. He wraps his arms around him tightly, moving Tang Fan’s hair away from his cold clammy skin so that it can dry without chilling Tang Fan further.

Tang Fan’s face is pressed against the hollow of his throat, his shallow breath cool on his skin. Sui Zhou pulls him closer, making sure the bedclothes are tucked tightly around them, keeping his warmth contained for Tang Fan to absorb.

He’s never shared a bed with someone before, definitely not someone pressed tightly against him like a sick kitten. Tang Fan is trembling, shivering violently, ice-cold hands inside Sui Zhou’s undershirt and pressed against his chest as if seeking his warmth.

Sui Zhou reaches around him, runs his hands up and down Tang Fan’s arms, tries to rub heat back into him. Tang Fan's arms are too lean, with little flesh or muscle to warm his fragile body. Hesitantly, fearing he’s going too far but uncertain of how else to help the shaking bundle of bones in his arms, Sui Zhou wraps a leg around Tang Fan, pinning Tang Fan’s long thin legs between his.

Take it, he wants to say. Take my warmth, take all of it…

Slowly, Tang Fan stops shaking, his violent trembling tapering into a gentle shiver. He moves slightly, resting his head on Sui Zhou’s shoulder. His eyes are still hot and glazed, but his breathing is deeper, steadier, chest moving against Sui Zhou’s.

Sui Zhou is afraid to move. He’s not used to this. He’s used to protecting by using his body as a weapon, not something that can warm, heal, comfort.

But it’s always been like that with Tang Fan, he realizes suddenly. And with Dong’er, brought into his life by Tang Fan. He's never done this kind of thing before, but cooking for them is something soft, something nurturing, something that gives life instead of bloodily protecting it.

“I want soup,” Tang Fan murmurs as if he can read his thoughts. “A brand-new soup.”

Sui Zhou feels his forehead again. He wants so badly to stay like this, but there's a fear again, a fear of what this might mean. A memory of the kiss—not a memory. The kiss has yet to have left his mind at all...

“Are you hungry again, or just cold?" he asks. "I’ll go fix you something—”

“No.” Tang Fan’s fingers dig into Sui Zhou’s chest, his voice a mere whisper. “Stay with me.”

Sui Zhou wonders if it’s the fever talking, as he’s certain it was for a kiss. It’s as if Sui Zhou is a giant puppy or a hot stone wrapped in cloth and tucked under the covers, warming Tang Fan. Nothing more than that. Anyone could do the same thing…

“Guangchuan." Tang Fan is almost inaudible. “You won’t leave me, right?”

Sui Zhou swallows. “I told you I wouldn’t.”

“I mean…if I get well…”

“You will.”

“…if I get well…you won’t leave me, will you?”

“Why would I leave you?”

“Make me leave you. I owe so much in rent…and food…”

"Forget all that." Sui Zhou smiles to himself, suddenly wanting to laugh, not something he feels often. Tang Fan is still cold against him, but Sui Zhou suddenly feels warm. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Tang Fan presses his face against Sui Zhou, fingers beginning to lose some of their chill. “Promise?” he murmurs.

“I promise.” He wants to ask him about the kiss, but he has time.

Tang Fan will get better. He knows he will.

And now that he’s promised him free rent and food, he’ll never get rid of him.

Pulling Tang Fan closer, he closes his eyes and thinks of soup.

______________________

Enjoy? AO3

#suitang #tsomd #the sleuth of the ming dynasty katie #tang fan #sui zhou #old pei #pei huai #lotus writes #poison kiss (but like in a good way)#yeah....#look it's late and I had to come up with a title before I posted..............

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theheartsmistakes · 4 years

Text

The Last Night: Part XIX

A/N’s at the end:

Parts I-XVIII:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

.XIX.

Earlier that evening…

After seeing his mother to her room for her afternoon nap, Alastair retired for the remainder of the evening in the Institute library. It was the one room in the house, other than the unbearably small closet sized guest bedroom that the Herondales so graciously gave to him, where he could be alone.

After the past week of excruciating pain while the runes and Silent Brother’s magic repaired the bones in his leg, the damage to his head, waiting for Cordelia to wake up, and answering the barrage of questions from anyone with a tongue to speak, he craved the precious minutes he could find of peace. Charles, unfortunately, conducted most of the questioning, which often left Alastair with a headache worse than the one he’d woken up with after being thrown by the demon and cracking his head on stone. Even when it was just the two of them alone, Charles remained callous and professional, only bothering to ask how Alastair was fairing, but he directed most of the questions to the Brother Zachariah rather than Alastair himself. It felt as if their relationship had been nothing more than a figment of Alastair’s feverish imagination. Alastair began to question if it all had, in fact, all been a dream.

Most moments of quiet were spent beside Cordelia. When his mother retired for the night, Alastair would take up her position beside his sister and watch her chest rise and fall like he’d done when his parents brought her home as a baby. She was so tiny then. As delicate, round, and soft as a baby bird with tufts of red hair that already curled around her ears. Only a year and a few months older than his baby sister, he’d sit next to her crib and watch her sleep. He’d listen to the small shushing noise her breathing made, until he’d fall asleep. At some point in the night, he would be placed back in his bedroom, tucked under the blankets, and left under the glowing stars his bedside witchlight made across his ceiling. It wasn’t until Cordelia was a year old, and he was nearly three, that he stopped falling asleep on her floor, but only because his parents made him.

When Cordelia was awake, he wasn’t much different. The first few months weren’t terrible. She slept most of the time except when she was hungry or needed a change. It wasn’t until she was four months that Alastair thought he’d keel over from anxiety. His irresponsible mother would just place her on a blanket on the floor where anything and everything could fall or step on her. Not only that, but as time went on she’d begun to put everything in her mouth from leaves that had fallen off the giant fern in the corner, to splotches of mud from boots, and pieces off of the rug. Alastair was always there to fish out the foreign object from her gummy mouth before she could choke. He’d give her a proper scolding and she’d respond with a toothless laugh and gurgle that made Alastair’s insides feel like mush.

Cordelia was the first word out of his mouth when he woke up from his injuries. He wasn’t certain, but he felt he’d dreamed about her. The remnants of nightmares lingered underneath his skin like he’d been submerged in ice cold water for too long and couldn’t shake the chill. When he woke up and found Cordelia being held in an induced coma while her body healed from injuries inflicted while he’d been unconscious, unable to rescue her, made it difficult for him to breathe or to think. He’d felt like that little boy again sitting beside her crib afraid that the moment he looked away, she’d stop breathing.

When she’d finally woken up, he’d felt a rush of relief. He needed a moment to compose himself in the hallway before he went through her door to find her sitting up in bed, smiling at him with her own relief. But she’d forgotten everything that happened to her since the moment they left the institute, since she broke her engagement with James after he’d properly humiliated her.

He’d meant to warn James against ever speaking to his sister again, but the boy was like a shadow. He slipped in and out of the Institute before Alastair ever had the chance. He visited Cordelia when Alastair was asleep or bathing or being interrogated. And now, she was off galavanting with him and there was nothing Alastair could do to stop it. He wasn’t about to upset his mother by demanding that Cordelia not go with James.

On his way to the library, he practiced the speech he’d give James when they returned. He may be able to worm his way into the good graces of his sister, but not Alastair. It would take a lot more than his pathetic sallow looks and natural wind blown curls to win Alastair over. After everything James has done, he didn’t deserve Cordelia and Alastair made it his mission to make sure that James knew it.

By the time he reached the library, his leg throbbed under his weight. He’d been trying to use his crutch less despite Brother Zachariah’s advice to keep off of it. The sound of his grunt echoed mockingly through the library as he pushed open the door with his shoulder and stumbled inside with a curse.

A fire burned behind the elaborate grate and already had a decent bed of coals forming underneath it as though it had been burning for some time. A stack of books sat on the coffee table that stood in-between the fireplace and the two wingback chairs.

“Christopher,” said a familiar voice. “Is that you?”

Alastair seized and turned for the door. He was nearly there when the library occupant emerged from the middle isle and stopped when Alastair came into his view.

“Oh,” said Thomas, closing the book in his hands. “It’s you. What are you doing here?”

“I thought the room was empty,” said Alastair, adjusting his weight to his good leg. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“How is your leg?” asked Thomas and tucked the book under his arm.

Alastair patted it with his hand. “It’s still there.”

“And your head?”

“Also there,” said Alastair. “The bandages itch something awful and I fear I’ll always have a slight pain in my knee when it’s about to rain, but otherwise, I am nearly mended.”

Thomas slid his hand into his trouser pocket. “Good. That’s good.”

“I never did thank you properly for coming to our aid,” said Alastair, braving a small chance at having a conversation with Thomas after not speaking with him since…well, since the night Matthew revealed Alastair’s deepest regrets. “I’m afraid of what would have happened if you had not come.”

“We did it for Cordelia,” said Thomas, without a note of sympathy in his tone.

“Right.” Alastair nodded. “Of course. Still, I offer you my thanks—“

“I don’t want your thanks,” said Thomas, turning his back to Alastair to return the book to the empty spot on the shelf. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Thomas,” started Alastair as he braved a step closer. He felt as fragile as the thin ice that blooms on a lake at the start of winter. One wrong step and he’d break through. “I know what I’ve done to your family is unforgivable and if there is ever anything I can do to unravel the mess that I’ve created—“

“You can’t.”

“I understand but if there is—“

“My mother cried herself to sleep for months because of the lies you told,” said Thomas, calmly. “She locked herself in her bedroom and wouldn’t let my father in no matter how desperately he begged or how strongly he claimed the rumors were false. She made herself sick to the point where father left only so that she would come out of her room or let someone in to bring her food and water.” Warmth bloomed across Alastair’s face. He wanted to hang his head in shame and fall to his knees, broken or otherwise, and beg for Thomas’s forgiveness, but he did no such thing. Instead, he lifted his chin and continued to listen to the consequences of his actions. “She looked so frail when she finally emerged. Barbara was the first one she spoke to; the only one she spoke to. It took several more weeks before she’d even acknowledge my father. I think she had to convince herself that it wasn’t true before she could believe anyone else. I’m ashamed to admit that even I questioned the validity of it.”

Thomas took a deep breath, his eyes were rimmed with tears, and his mouth set in a hard line. “I just want to know why? Can you tell me at least that? Why attack me— my family?”

The truth dangled on Alastair’s tongue. The truth that would uncover every secret that Alastair buried deep inside and fought his whole life to remain unknown, to everyone, including his own beloved sister.

Because my father is a drunk.

Because I was afraid of anyone finding out the shame he’d caused my family for years.

Because the four of you: Matthew, James, Christopher, and you had something that I never had and would never have because I cannot allow people to get close enough to me in fear that they will be able to see the shame of my family; and they would see what I am. So I took the attention off of my family—off of me— and put it on yours and Matthew’s.

And I can never take it back.

“Tell me!” Alastair shuttered at the pain in Thomas’s voice. He’d never heard him shout, not once, even after Barbara died.

Maybe it was better if Thomas hated him. It meant his secrets were safe. In doing so, he’d keep Thomas from more ridicule and his family as well. Even if Thomas didn’t know it, he’d be doing him a favor. A small one that might cause more pain than redemption or forgiveness which they both seemed to be after.

So he’d let him hate him in hope that maybe one day the truth would be enough.

“I should go,” said Alastair, turning towards the door. “Cordelia should be arriving soon for supper.”

“You’re really going to walk away?” Thomas scoffed. “Are you such a coward that you can’t just tell me the truth?”

“What good would it do?” spat Alastair, the defense he’d carefully been building all of his life built up with even more strength. “You think there is some deep meaning behind my actions? Some explanation that will make me less of a monster. You were an easy target, the four of you. You were defenseless and weird and Matthew was the most irritating of you all. And I heard a rumor and I wanted to humiliate him, because I was bored, and because I could.”

Alastair’s chest ached as the tears spilled from Thomas’s eyes. He quickly wiped at them with his sleeve and when he looked at Alastair again, he recognized the hate that boiled behind his eyes. It was the same hate in his own eyes whenever he looked in a mirror.

“Get out,” whispered Thomas, his voice so low, Alastair almost didn’t hear him.

“Gladly,” said Alastair and pulled open the door. As he turned down the hall towards the staircase, he heard a loud bang hit the wall. He didn’t stop or hesitate, the tapping sound of his crutch hitting the wood flooring echoed through the hallway.

____

The door to the staff hall groaned open just as Alastair walked down the last step. Lucie Herondale, shaking the rain from her hands and muttering something to herself, looked up in surprise to find Alastair standing at the end of the staircase. Her elegant blue dress was stained black at the hem and discolored with rain. Droplets glistened on her skin as she came to a stop underneath a glowing witchlight orb hovering above her. He waited a moment for Cordelia to come in behind her, as she so often does, but when she didn’t his eyes narrowed on Lucie.

“Where is Cordelia?” he asked, subtly gone from his tone as he was far too tired to pretend any longer.

“She was just behind—“

He didn’t wait for her to finish. He had an idea that he already knew.

He moved around Lucie, still muttering her excuses, and pushed open the staff hall door. A few of the maids gossiping in the hallway quickly moved out of his way. Teeth clenched, Alastair followed the trail of rain droplets that Lucie brought in with her until they came to an end at the staff exit. Before he could stop to think for a moment, he grabbed the door handle and yanked it open.

A blind rage consumed him at the vision standing on the little porch. James Herondale with his hands around Cordelia’s waist and mouth consuming hers while her own hands were tangled in his hair.

They broke apart like two dropped links at the sudden intrusion of light.

A high pitched whistle filled his ears. With hands trembling, he reached out and grabbed Cordelia’s arm, wrenching her inside. When James attempted to pursue, he pressed the end of his crutch into his chest and pushed. “Haven’t you done enough to ruin my sister’s reputation?”

“Alastair,” said Cordelia, gripping the arm that kept her behind him.

After a few steps backward, James regained his balance, and smiled a malicious grin that was void of any kindness. “Haven’t you grown tired of causing other people pain?”

“Pain?” Alastair seized with disdain. “What do you know of it in your privileged little life? I’ve taken responsibility for what I’ve done. Have you?” He took a limp step out onto the small brick laid porch. The witchlight lantern flickered with the energy crackling between the two of them. “You may have beguiled her into forgetting what you’ve done, but I certainly have not.”

“Alastair,” cried Cordelia as a crack of thunder rumbled through the sky. He heard the pain and desperation in her voice and he ignored it.

“You’re toxic and dangerous,” continued Alastair as he stepped out into the rain, advancing toward James. “Everything you touch becomes ruin. Trouble pursues you. You use people for your own selfish gain. I may have turned a blind eye before when I knew the engagement was a farce to repair my sister’s reputation, but I will not allow my sister to come into an honest romantic entanglement with the likes of a half-demon sycophant who is only using her for his own selfish gain.”

James’s hands clenched into fists at his sides as he glared down at Alastair as though at any moment he would hit Alastair square in the jaw. Alastair wondered how much farther he’d need to push. What other buttons he’d need to press. “Walk away, Alastair.” James growled so low it was difficult to hear him.

“Or what?” Alastair met his glare. “Are you going to hit me? Go on then, do it.”

“I’m not like you,” said James as rain dripped down his face. “I won’t let you drag me down to whatever miserable level of hell you currently reside. I care about your sister and I’m trying to right my wrongs; I’ve made a lot of them I’ll admit, but I am trying. Can you say the same?”

The question shook through Alastair. The rain dripped down James’s face reminding him of the tears that spilled from Thomas’s face only moments ago because of Alastair’s words. It seemed the people he cared about were evaporating from his life, he wasn’t about to lose his sister too.

“Stay away from my sister,” said Alastair. “I won’t ask you again.”

“Alastair,” Cordelia hissed as he pushed her back into the house and closed the door before James could stop him. He clicked the lock into place as James jiggled the knob. With his crutch securely tucked under his arm, he grabbed Cordelia’s hand with the other. But before he could drag her along, she ripped free from him and pressed her back against the door.

“Don’t be stupid, Cordelia,” hissed Alastair. “You have to be smarter than this. Can’t you see what he’s doing? He’s trying to get back at me for what I did to him at the academy by hurting you!”

“I’m not stupid,” she spat back. Her hair hung in limp curls around her face. Her cheeks had more color in them than he’s seen in months. It irritated him further. “And he’s not. Unlike you he’s trying to move past all of that. You’re not children at the academy anymore, grow up! He cares about me and I care about him and neither of those things have anything to do with you.”

Alastair felt his chest explode, but only laughter burst from his lips. “He doesn’t care about you, Cordelia. He doesn’t. You don’t matter to him. You have to see that.”

“I do matter to him!”

“You don’t,” demanded Alastair. “I’ve seen the way he looks at Grace Blackthorn and it’s not the same way he looks at you. Have you forgotten what he’s done?”

“That was a misunderstanding,” said Cordelia, her eyes brimming. “He explained everything to me.”

“Did he?” asked Alastair. He pointed his finger at the door where James last stood. “How convenient that when he can’t have the girl that he’s actually in love with, he comes groveling back to the girl that gives her love so freely.” Cordelia’s cheeks bloomed red as she tore her eyes away from him. “He’s a liar and he’s trouble and you’re not to see him ever again, do you understand me?”

“You cannot forbid me to see him.”

“Yes, I can.” Alastair glared. “Because if I find out that you are seeing him, I will tell everyone that he was the one that burned down Blackthorn manor and the night we left it was he who was in Grace Blackthorn’s bedroom when you walked in.”

Cordelia looked at him as if he had struck her. “Why are you doing this? Why are you being this way?”

Alastair shook. “I am trying to stop you from making a horrible decision.”

“Stop trying to protect me!” Cordelia demanded. “I don’t criticize you for your choices on who to involve yourself with and I do not appreciate being told who I can or cannot love anymore than you do.” She smoothed the wet hair away from her face. “You promised. You promised you wouldn’t say a word of those secrets. How dare you throw them in my face to accomplish your own vindications. I will not be your pawn in this long standing war you have with him. If you say a word of those secrets to anyone, I will never speak to you again. Then you will truly be alone.”

She shouldered around Alastair, her skirts dripped water as she passed him, and this time Alastair didn’t reach out to stop her.

A/N: Good evening! I hope your October is going splendidly so far. I am experiencing some moderate to extreme anxiety due to work related issues. My job before quarantine has not asked me to return yet, so I found and started a freelance writing job, which in theory should be really exciting, but I have ZERO self-confidence in myself or my writing. So, I’m working through that. This chapter was a fun escape for me. I hope you guys enjoy it! Please hit that cute little heart, drop a lovely comment, and reblog if you feel so inclined. As always, be safe, take care of yourself, and stay healthy out there. Next update will be in two weeks, Nov 1.

#chain of gold fanfic #chain of gold #james x cordelia #james and Cordelia #james herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #alastair carstairs #the last night fanfiction #cassandra clare #the last hours #the shadowhunter chronicles #shadowhunters #lucie herondale #thomas lightwood #thomas x alastair #thomastair #thomas and alastair

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outr-banks · 4 years

Text

What Happened, Happened || Fic

Rafe x Reader || Series pt. 1

requested: yes

a/n: anon, the deed has been done. i personally really liked writing this fic, so i decided to make it into a series! hopefully you guys like it 🥺

In which you end up taking care of a beaten up Rafe Cameron after a kook versus pogue brawl in the midst of his twentieth birthday party. It’s a party that changes, everything.

warning: slight angst, mention of a fight, mild language, light explicit content

flashback will be in bold italics

masterlist

Growing up in a family of kooks but called pogues actual family was and is hard. As much as you tried to run away from a lifestyle that is superficial and faux, it’s somehow always trailing behind you. Especially times like when you received an invitation to Rafe’s twentieth birthday party. You automatically denied attending such a thing, but your mom, who has an unspoken dislike towards your friends, made it clear that you had to attend. To put into her words, “you’re still a kook.” But this is what she does, constantly reminding you that your life doesn’t meet the requirements of someone with class and you have to make up for it.

You warned JJ not to come to the party, but his destest and child-like behavior against the kooks, had taken over. Everything happened quickly, you didn’t even have the chance to stop it, but it’s not like it would’ve done any difference.

“Please do not come to the party, JJ.” You nearly beg when you take notice of a small devious grin creeping on your friend’s lips.

“Come on y/n, it’ll be fun. This could be a great opportunity to bond with our fellow compadres” JJ swiftly puts an arm over your shoulders and chuckles at his own sarcasm.

Everything you did, your friends did it with you. But, it felt best to keep the water away from the hot oil.

“I mean it, JJ.” You swap away his arm and send him a menacing look. You want to trust that neither him or the rest of the boys won’t attempt to ruin the party, but can’t help worry something will go down.

Pound

It’s a frightening sound to hear, and it won’t stop. The physical pain of two boys unable to control their anger towards one another, entices a group of people to crowd around them. No one knew what happened or why it started. Everyone stood and watched not doing a single thing except encourage the disturbing brawl.

“Stop! Get off of him!” Kiara angrily screams, pushing Rafe off of JJ.

“Enough!” You hurrily hold unto Rafe, as he goes to take another swing at the beaten up blonde boy.

His arm pauses in the air the second your hand touches his body. A pair of blue eyes find your stare and to your surprise he calms down under them. The room falls silent, “Rafe go to the bathroom and stay in it till I get there.”

He’s hesitant to your command and looks at the situation in front of him before obeying. You watch him aggressively push through the crowd as he disappears among them.

“Kie, take JJ with you and get him cleaned up.” Kiara nods and takes ahold of your friend. His eyes trail over to you and he wipes the blood that drip down his mouth. You can’t help but be disappointed in JJ. He’s your best friend yet didn’t act like it tonight.

You focus back into the mesh of people watching tediously, “alright party’s over everyone, as you were.” You flip them off and then head to the bathroom to find Rafe.

You knock on doors at random till you find Rafe sitting on the bathroom counter. His attention faces you and he stiffles out an awkward cough. If there is any other kook that pissed you off more than the rest, it’s him. He always made sure to make your life a bit more complicated, but somehow you find yourself always caring for him and tolerated his actions. He doesn’t have anyone around who truly worries about his well-being, or dare even say, love him. All of his friends are pieces of shit who use him and support all of his poor life decisions.

“Where’s the first aid?” Your voice remains montonous, refusing to show any sympathy towards him. He hurt your best friend and needs to know better.

“Bottom cabinet to the left.” You rummage through the bins and grab it.

You observe his evident wounds that paints all over his face, “damn” you whisper under a breath.

“You should see the other guy.” Rafe laughs, but clutches at his stomach in pain. He sees you don’t react to his joke, nor his hurt.

“Look y/n, those pogues started it.” He huffs.

“Those pogues are my friends. Now lift up your shirt and let me see.” You remain unamaused as you watch purple and red colors fused together just above his bare stomach.

You scan through the first aid and find an ice pack. Rafe leans back as you break in the ice and wrap it around a bath towel then place it directly over his bruise.

“Ah!” Rafe squirms once the ice pack touches his skin.

“Hold it there.” You say, while preparing to clean up the bloodied marks across his face.

“Why are you doing this y/n? Couldn’t you just help your pogue boyfriend.” A scoff escapes your mouth and you shake your head

“I’m being serious... shit!” Rafe yells when you wipe an alcohol pad against his open wound. Probably applying too much pressure than needed. But, it’d do the job to shut him up.

You can feel his eyes search for yours but you continue to focus on his cuts.

“Rafe, I-I.” Deep inside you want to tell him that he’s wrong, you don’t hate him. In fact, you care about him. But you think to yourself-

What would that do?

“You’re wrong...JJ is not my boyfriend.” You place a thin bandaid on the cut above his eyebrow.

You take a step back observing the rest of his face making sure you didn’t miss a spot. There’s a split right above his lip and you do the same steps again.

You take his face with your hand a bit aggressively and pull it closer to you to get a better look.

“You like the view huh?” A grin tries to form on his lips but you force it shut.

“You’re not funny so shut up.” You demand. His lips are plumped up and full, they truly look kissable.

Your eyes unfocus from his wounds and land to his eyes. You feel a sudden drop in your stomach, and your heart rate increases. Seeing him so fragile under your touch and obedient to your words had awoken something in you. The stare between you both becomes dangerous, but you simply can’t look away.

The atomophere is dense and heavy. Your bodies are like the ends of a magnetic field, any closer it’ll attach. You watch his eyes fall to the location of your lips and bounce back to your stare. It’s an overwhelming feeling but nothing is running through your mind, except him.

A lusftul urge causes you to crash your lips against his, and he responds with twice the amount of lust. His hands drop from holding the ice pack and snakes around your body pulling you closer to him. Every kiss deepens further and desperation takes place. You want more of him, you need more. Rafe taste of peppermint and weed, an odd combination yet flavorful and splendid on your tastebuds. Your hands travel all around his torso and then land to his hair. His lips move to the nape of your neck and you give him permission to have more access leaning your head back.

Rafe’s touch alone drives you insane. It ignites a firey feeling in your stomach. You watch him leave wet kisses all around your throat through the mirror. His mouth lands on your sweet spot and you let a moan slip out. Your fingers wrap around this honey color strands and pull on them tighter each time his tongue meets that very spot. Rafe’s breath becomes heavier, and the sounds of your pleasure and his, stimulates the both of you. Your eyes focus on the mirror as you observe how each of you unravel one another in a wild and unexpected way.

Reality sets in and your mind fills with many thoughts. What the hell are you doing? All of it frightens you, and embarrassment surfaces your face. You immediately pull away from Rafe’s embrace and your body grows cold. Panic rises and your moves become frantic and shaky. Rafe looks confused and in shock, he too can not believe what just occurred. His hands are frozen in the air, remaining in the shape of you.

“I-I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I have to go.” You look at him once more, afraid and dumbfounded at your own actions. Just as he’s about to say something you quickly open the the bathroom door and slam it shut.

What the fuck just happened...

a/n: if you enjoyed this, you might be interested in this.

#drew starkey #outer banks #rafe cameron #obx #jj maybank #rudy pankow #jj outer banks #netflix obx #obx netflix #outer banks netflix #outer banks fics #outer banks writing #kiara carrera #obx kiara #obx kie #obx writing

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ajokeformur-ray · 4 years

Note

Hey we talked earlier. I just wanted to send my request before I forget. Can you write a fluff piece where the reader has an emotional break down and Arthur comforts her? One day it gets to be too much. She screams and starts to cry. Arthur comforts her, helps her get a bath and cuddles in bed with her. Thanks so much ❤️

Hi, my love! Yes, I remember asking you to send this in to me so I didn’t accidentally forget about it - it’s so hard to keep track of DMs and I really appreciate you taking the time to send this in to me. I’m really sorry that I wasn’t able to get this out to you in time, life has been... quite difficult lately and it’s gotten in the way of things I want to do. I hope you like this, darling, and that things get better for you!💚

TW; dissociative tendencies, general sadness, non-sexual nudity (Arthur gives you a bath), ONE reference to being suicidal right at the end of this piece (Arthur’s thoughts; canon). If you think that any of these warnings may negatively affect you in any way then please consider skipping this piece. Take care of yourselves, loves!

Word count: 2, 874.

You could feel how close you were to breaking down. It was approaching you a little bit closer every single day and at this point, there was little to nothing which could be done to stop it from happening. You were too far gone and, if you were really being truthful with yourself, you didn’t want to even try to stop it from happening. What was the point? It would happen whether you wanted it to or not, such was the stage you had reached within yourself. You didn’t have the time to break down emotionally, but that was the difficult thing about feelings. They demanded to be felt and you could only wait it out and hope that the resulting destruction wasn’t the wrong kind of chaos.

You knew not when the oncoming storm would become the incoming storm, but you knew, somewhere deep inside your tormented soul, that it wouldn’t be long. You could feel yourself beginning to crack around your rough edges. You could feel the world becoming both too loud and yet too quiet. Everything was muted by the roaring of blood in your ears and yet heightened was it in sound by the pounding in your head, which only made you more susceptible to headaches caused by stress. When Arthur touched you, it was like electricity was crawling across the surface of your skin. You were hyper aware of every moment during which his arm brushed against you when he walked past you in the apartment; the touch both accidental but also something which Arthur needed so that he knew you were right there beside him. When someone spoke, it was too loud and yet too quiet. Whenever you had a moment to yourself, you became aware of how desperately you needed to cry, to scream out to the world about your pains.

You felt invisible...

... But not alone.

Never were you alone when you were with Arthur. You had known great loneliness in your life, and horrible bouts of isolation when situations and circumstances bigger than you had taken your loved ones away from you for who knew how long, but since the day you had met Arthur, a seemingly ordinary way which had witnessed the very birth of serendipity, you hadn’t ever felt truly alone. Even in your perceived invisibility were you seen by him, just as you were the only one to see him when he, too, thought himself to be invisible.If anyone understood what you were going through, it was Arthur. He, who had been so abused, neglected and mistreated in multiple ways across his three decades and some of life. He, who had been tried and tested, used up and left for dead. He... who held your battered heart in the palms of his weathered hands and desperately tried to help you with the strength of his death defying love for you. There was nothing which Arthur wouldn’t do for you, just as there was nothing which you wouldn’t do for him, and each and every day did the two of you prove this depth of love to the other person.

You were this close to breaking down emotionally. You both hoped that you were alone when the storm tailored to your experiences hit, and wished that Arthur was there to see it happen so that he could be there for you. All, if not most, of the old wives’ tales which you had been raised on had even a small amount of truth to them, and so you should have known to be careful what you wish for.

In the end, all it took was for Arthur to look at you.

There was nothing... special about the look on his face. He just glanced over at you from where he was stood in the living room, his sea green eyes sought out your own and... you lost the fight. Your breath caught in your throat and you coughed a little, as if to clear your airways. But there was nothing to be cleared. Your breath caught again and your sharp inhale made Arthur’s gaze sharpen as he looked at you, as he really looked at you. He had known that something wasn’t right, he had known that you were suffering, but he also knew you well enough to know that he couldn’t push you to tell him. With patience and persistence and a great deal of worry had Arthur simply waited for the inevitable, just as you had. All at once did everything come crashing down and Arthur saw the precise second that your ceramic mask, the one you put on every day before you left the apartment, slipped off your face and shattered all over the floor into a thousand pieces. A scream had an ice cold grip around your tried heart and it clawed its way up to your throat, up, up. It was right on the tip of your tongue and you clamped a hand down over your mouth to muffle the desperate noise which escaped you.

Arthur’s dark brows were furrowed and almost touching, so deep was his concern for you, and he cooed in understanding. “Oh, Y/N,” Arthur opened his arms, ready to welcome you home. His tone was soft and his words were gentle. Arthur was everything you needed in this moment but his sympathy, as warm as summer, only made you feel worse, somehow. You took one step forward, and then another, and a paragraph from a page in Arthur’s journal which you had accidentally read once slipped into your mind just as you fell into Arthur’s arms. Step step step step step. “Come here, darling. I’m here. Not going anywhere.” You remained in Arthur’s arms for only a few moments, tears beginning to blur your vision. The urge to scream was still there, but you didn’t give into it. Instead, you found yourself wanting to cry. It was a more peaceful mode of self-expression and you tried to be casual in the way you swiped a hand over your face. But Arthur knew you like he knew the backs of his veiny, weathered hands, and he saw you. “Why don’t we get you a bath, hm?” You nodded, your breaths coming faster now, and quicker. Arthur shushed you gently and his thin lips, cool to the touch, pressed a tender, lingering kiss to your temple.

You closed your eyes to fully enjoy and to take in Arthur’s gentle, tender affections, and the man cooed in sympathy once more as he walked with you to the bathroom. His steps were slow and measured and you thought that you picked up on his humming of Slap that Bass, though you were unsure due to how beautifully off-key Arthur was. Your own mind seemed far away and yet so close to you and through a television screen did you watch Arthur turn the taps, the tendons in his wrists so prominent as they seemed to almost protrude through his skin. Oh, how badly you wanted to press a kiss to his pulse point. To feel his heartbeat against your lips, to feel the most real proof of his existence right there. You wanted Arthur in the most emotionally intimate of ways and you knew that Arthur knew exactly how to give that to you. The bath filled quickly with water and you got yourself undressed. You were shy about your body, especially in front of Arthur, but you were too emotionally distraught to do much about it. The gentleness with which Arthur took care of you as he washed your hair only caused tears to come into your eyes and Arthur shushed you quietly. He meant not to tell you to be quiet, he meant not to tell you that you couldn’t cry, but he was meaning to tell you that he was there with you. That it was his deft fingers in your hair as he used the right amount of each of your products. Somehow did he know that you liked to leave your conditioner in while you washed yourself over to give it time to work with your hair, and Arthur kept you focused on him and on his actions. He refused to let you sink deep inside yourself, knowing was he that what you needed right now was some tender loving care.

You needed him and Arthur felt a secret thrill run up his back. He loved how much you needed him and, truth be told, he needed you just as much. Soon were you physically taken care of and Arthur helped you up and out of the bath, wrapping his best towel around you. It only had two holes in it. He felt a stab of guilt that he didn’t have any towels which weren’t falling apart at the literal seams, but he reminded himself that you wanted him for all that he was and all that he would ever be, and the love which swelled in his frail chest at the thought brought a smile to his face.

Love.

“What do you want, Y/N? Dinner or cuddles?” Arthur’s quiet, soft rasp broke through your silent reverie, shattering it much like your carefully applied mask every morning had broken when you had finally laid eyes on your Arthur less than an hour ago. How time flew when you were with him.

“’M not hungry, Arthur,” You dashed a hand over your face and roughly dried yourself off. Arthur frowned in disapproval. Didn’t you have any patience with yourself? He wondered how you could treat yourself so awfully but be so tender with him, but he knew the answer already, for he did the very same thing. “Can’t we just go to bed? Please?”

Oh, help him. Arthur cupped your face in his cool hands and used the calloused pads of his thumbs to wipe your tears away. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you bit back a sob. Fuck, you loved him. He was always so good to you. You could only hope that you were just as good to him. He deserved nothing less. “Yeah,” Arthur nodded, granting you what you wanted easily. It was only early evening, not yet nine, but he was exhausted, too, and all he wanted was to climb into bed and cuddle you until the world melted away and all he knew was the two of you. On this night were your wants and needs aligned. “We can do that.” Anything for you, sweetheart. Arthur choked on his next words and so he was unable to finish his sentence, but you heard them anyway. You would always hear Arthur, just as he would always hear you.

Arthur headed out into the living room, subtly leaving you to get dressed into the clothes you preferred to sleep in while he cleaned up the mostly tidy apartment. The man of the house took care of messes, he never created them. Dirty plates were piled in the sink to be washed tomorrow. Overflowing ashtrays were emptied and the ashes which were spilled over were deftly swept into his hand and put into the rubbish bin which sat underneath the coffee table. Everything was taken care of with hasty movements, rushing was Arthur to be with you, his one and only who understood him. After he was done, Arthur retreated back into the bedroom and the door shut behind him with a quiet but firm click. You could wholly let go, now. It wasn’t that you couldn’t have let go before, but there was something about cuddling in bed with Arthur, your nightly ritual and your most favourite tradition, that made it easier for you to be your entire self. Lying in bed were you, the duvet pulled up to your chin and Arthur’s side of the bed was pulled back. You were waiting for him. You teared up again at that thought, so sensitive were you in this moment that the smallest of things were setting you off. You had been waiting for Arthur for your entire life, it seemed. No one comforted you like Arthur did. No one made you laugh like Arthur did. No one soothed you, encouraged or supported you like Arthur did. No one motivated you like Arthur did. No one was there for you like Arthur was. You had been waiting for him for your entire life. Arthur had been waiting for you, as well. The both of you had been so alone without each other, but now did you have everything you had ever needed or craved within another person, and never again would either of you be alone.

Arthur cooed to see you curled up so cosily in bed, to see that you had pulled back the duvet for him, so considerate were you, and to see you crying. “Come here, Y/N. I’m here.” He crossed the room in a few easy strides and slid easily beneath the duvet, pulling you towards him. He was rarely this confident in his movements, but you needed him and that worked miracles on the things Arthur could do. He knew exactly how to comfort you, intuitive and perceptive was he, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for you. “Not going anywhere.” Those same words had been spoken earlier that evening and you curled in on Arthur, your tears flowing freely now as they poured, hot and fast down your face. You choked on another scream and Arthur rested his head on the pillow beside you, his mahogany curls mingling with your own hair as every part of your bodies intertwined. You pressed yourself into Arthur and he hummed in thought, letting you arrange yourself as you wanted to before he got comfortable, too. The both of you were settling in for the night, now. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I get it...” Arthur sighed. The sound was heavy in untold truths and even in your own distress did you feel your heart breaking for him. “It’s hard. I know.” Arthur’s nose, cool to the touch - always so cold was he, warm was his soul - nuzzled against your cheek and you pushed into his touch, trying to shuffle even closer to him even though you were already pressed together. Arthur chuckled and rained kisses down upon your face, his lips drying out your damp, tear stained cheeks.

You nodded, clamping your lips together so that you couldn’t scream or cry. You weren’t sure what was building in your throat but you knew that it would be a loud noise. You just wanted to sleep now. You just wanted Arthur.

“I want you, Arthur. So much.” Your bottom lip trembled, still so overwhelmed were you, and Arthur could only love you more. You were always so honest in your feelings for him and it was something he had always admired within you.

Another coo, another kiss, and his arms squeezed around you. “You’ve got me, Y/N. Always. Won’t let go, okay?” His voice was quiet, his words full of a future you had always dreamed of, and his tone was kind. He was your everything and that had never been and would never be any different.

“Promise?” Your voice was so small, defeated but not defeated were you by the world, and Arthur felt his heart break. What had the world done to you? Bitterly did he know that it had done the same to him, and though he was already falling, too late was it for him, it wasn’t too late for you and he would be damned if he took you down with him.

“I promise. You’re my one and only. I’ll do anything for you.” A Joker though he would one day be, that was a vow which he would take seriously.

You shut your eyes, nuzzling into Arthur, and he only managed to hold you tighter despite how physically and emotionally close you were together. “Thank you for taking care of me, angel. It means a lot to me. No one’s ever...” More tears soaked into Arthur’s bare chest and you kissed the evidence of your own pain away from his skin. “No one but you.” Was all you could stomach to say. You had had enough now and you just wanted to sleep.

Arthur nodded knowingly. He always knew what you were trying to say, even and especially when you didn’t. “You’re welcome, darling. I love you. So much.” With another kiss, a tender squeeze and a gentle smile, Arthur helped you to put your mind to rest as finally, finally... did you sleep. He wouldn’t sleep much this night, haunted by insomnia and nightmares was he, but with you beside him did he think that perhaps he, too, would get some rest. You were his one and only, his reason and his purpose and the one reason he didn’t cash in on his refund for life itself, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for you.

You were his Y/N, and he would always take good care of you, just as you always took care of him. It was what you deserved and Arthur was beginning to think, thanks to your reverent love, that so did he.

AF/J @impulsiveclown @astheworlddturns @fluffedstar @jokersqueenofchaos @germansarechill @tsukiakarinobara @lynnesm @sagyunaro @greghouse @flowerglitterwoman @ben-solos-writing-avenger @jokers-doll @arthurjokersgirl @antonija89 @lilliryth @hotpacino @obsessedandthirsty @call-me-harley-quinn @cacklinghyena @arcanealaanais

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operationcavill · 4 years

Text

Untangled - Part 3

Does Henry finally get Y/N number? Does Y/N remember to ask for his? Keep reading to find out!

Inspired by: Butterflies // Kacey Musgraves

Y/N - Your name

S/N - Sisters name

B/I/L - Brother-in-Law

Part 1 | Part 2

The über driver jumps when he hears someone shout as they slam his door, “You didn’t give him your number, AGAIN?”

“I panicked, S/N!” She puts her hand to her forehead, “He didn’t give me his number either.” The elevator to their room is silent, mostly due to the fact that her brother in law looks like he might lose his drinks any second.

Making sure they got in safely she hugs her and checks the time. Her sister has hit her needy buzzed phase of the night, “You sure you don’t wanna stay for a bit? We could watch Drag Race.

Not wanting to invade on them any longer she shakes her head, “Nah. I’m gonna head home and hopefully sleep through this storm. I really don’t want listen to B/I/N vomit again anyway.” She gives her sister a peck on the cheek as she shuts the door to their room. Y/N walks down the hall toward the elevator, praying she doesn’t get stuck inside of it if the power goes out.

The ding brings her back to reality, “Hello there.”

What is it about a man with an accent, “Oh, hi,” She bites her lip.

“I didn’t know you wanted to run into me so soon. You following me, Darling?”

The way he says, ’Darling’ puts her on her toes, “My sister is staying here. Are you following me?”

Henry crosses his toned arms, “Just a very nice coincidence.”

“I take it this isn’t your floor?” She enters the elevator, pressing the lobby button.

He lets the doors close, “No, but I don’t mind sharing a ride back down,” He takes note of the sound of her boots on the laminate floor. He liked to see her in nothing but those boots. They were tall, black, cutting off at her knee and letting just enough room to show a bit of her thigh. They reminded him of something 60s, go go boots and all that. She was dressed very well but looked so comfortable. A simple dress with what she would later call ‘a fun cardigan, not a sweater,' “How’d you know it was gonna rain like that?”

She looks at him, smudged eyeliner making her look even more endearing somehow, “Hmm?”

“How’d you know it was gonna rain?”

She shrugs, “It’s just one of those weird things.” She taps her toes while the elevator beeps, still paranoid about getting stuck in the small space.

“Is it terribly forward of me to tell you how cute you are?”

“No,” She looks as if she’s embarrassed to be complimented, and he can’t understand why.

Henry moves closer, “Well, Y/N, I think you’re lovely.”

They approach the lobby, “I, um, need to catch my Uber.”

He licks his bottom lip, “What a shame. Can I wait with you?”

She tries to hide her smile but it quickly falls as she notices the rush of people coming from outdoors, “Ugh. Frickin’ rain."

“Don’t like storms?”

“I don’t mind them. I live in an older building so when it storms, we usually lose power for the night.”

“Ah, I certainly hope not. It’s surprisingly cold tonight.” He would love to keep her warm on a night like this.

“It is. Getting stuck in the rain didn’t seem to help,” Oh, what a playful look she gives him.

He laughs, “I admit I was wrong.”

“Shit.”

“Everything ok?”

“My ride cancelled on me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” His hands find themselves in his pockets again, “Um, well I can give you a ride if you like.”

“Oh that’s super nice of you but the bus runs—“ He almost rolls his eyes, the bus?

Henry hates the idea of her riding a bus alone at night, and in this weather? She could get sick. He couldn’t have that, “Please, I insist.”

He receives a quizzical look, “Are you sure?”

“Of course,”

“Ok, well, I’m telling my sister you’re giving me a ride. You know, just in case you turn into a psychopath or something. No offense,” Y/N laughs nervously.

“None taken, car’s this way,” He returns the smile, hoping she’s not too bothered.

She follows him to the cold garage, “I hope you have heated seats. Should’ve worn jeans,” She wouldn’t say it out loud but the wind was making her butt so cold that she could have worn it was going numb.

Henry grins as he opens her door, “You’re in luck.”

“Thank you.” Her sweet smile.

“So, where am I headed?”

Y/N suddenly get a bit more animated, waving her hands about, “Outside Squirrel Hill, when you pull out, go left, “ She points, ”and pop on Irvine.”

“Alrighty.”

“And at the second light, make a right.” She zoned out on his hand on the gearshift, he has very nice hands. They look soft, but not too soft.

“So, how’s your legs?”

She was too preoccupied by his hand movements to hear what he said,“Hmm?”

“Your legs were cold?”

Thank god its dark in this car, she blushing and wants to jump right out of the car, “Oh, yeah, the heated seats, they’re fine. “

“Good, it is rather cold. I should’ve brought a jacket.”

“Extra cold for the beginning of October,” A loud clap of thunder makes her gasp, “Oh!

He jokes with her, “Not scared of storms, huh?”

She sighs, “Took me by surprise is all,” The rest of the ride is quiet, a soft song playing and the rain violently hitting the sun roof.

——————————

He parks in front of the brick building and gives a sympathetic groan, “Well, I’d say your electricity theory was correct.”

She sighs, “Listen, would you mind walking me up? There’s a creepy guy on the 3rd floor that I wouldn’t exactly like to meet in the dark.”

His stomach drops, is she safe here? “Of course. Are you ready to brave the rain?”

No.“Count of 3?”

“1-2-3,” They both open their doors and bolt.

“Uh,” Y/N feels the icy cold drops hit her thighs as she runs.

He grabs her hand and encourages her run faster, “Hurry!”

“Oh my god,” She’s shivering now, and she notices the thinness of his shirt once more and the body underneath it, and that he’s still hold her hand.

Regrettably, he lets go to shake the water off his arms, “I think we might make a puddle in the lobby.”

She shivers, “Right. Steps are over here.”

"What floor are you on?”

She groans, “I’m on 5.”

“Well, you know what they say. Never skip leg day.” Henry huffs and gets a head start leaving her to skip to catch up.

As they reaches the 3rd floor, the creepy guy is waiting just as Y/N thought he would, “Who’s ya friend?” She moves so that she’s walking beside Henry, “You gotta name?” They continue on, rightfully ignoring him.

He goes wide-eyed, “Jesus. He is creepy.”

Y/N sighs and shrugs, “He makes everyone uncomfortable.”

“I can see why. Those emergency hallway lights aren’t exactly doing him any favors either.”

“So, here I am.” She’s suddenly very aware of her lungs. Her chest feels tighten as she looks at him.

‘Here you are.” If she was in a movie, this is what they meant by calling men ‘Dreamy’. His thick eyelashes and soft lips, even his stupid scruff is beautiful.

“Thank you for the ride. And walking up here with me,”

“No problem, it was good to see you, again, so soon.”

Another loud boom of thunder rips through the night, “God!”

He tries not to laugh, “I think you might be a liar about hating storms.”

Her voice falls, showing her shyness all over again, “I think this one just has me particularly jumbled.”

“Oh really?” Henry moves closer, mere inches from her face.

She swallows, “Yes.”

He’s so close to her face that she could feel the warmth of his breath, “Why’s that?”

“You’re just—,” Y/N is distracted by movement in the corner of her eye, “GET OUT OF HERE!”

Henry watches the creepy man from the third floor descend the stairs and looks back toward Y/N, “Does he do that a lot?”

“No, I’ve never seen him up here, “ She looks startled and he instinctively walks back to her with large strides, briefly touching her arm, “Do you care to come in for a second? I don’t really want someone eavesdropping on me.” He nods, shuffling inside with her.

She eagerly shuts the door, locking it, but bumping into henry as soon as she turns back around, “Oh, sorry. It’s really dark.”

“It’s ok. I have some candles and stuff. You want some tea? The good thing about these old buildings is that they always have gas ranges.” The light from her phone helps her navigate and see Henry standing there with his wet clothes, looking ridiculously attractive. She awkwardly takes her boots off before kicking them to the side.

He can’t contain a chuckle, which earns awkward silence from her, “I don’t mean to laugh, you looked very cute struggling.”

“That’s a weird compliment, you know?” He shrugs with his hands in his pocket. She motions at him even though they can barely see, “Take off your shoes, please. With my luck, I’ll probably slip and fall on a single drop of water. Come on, let’s make that tea.”

Henry walks behind her very closely, making Y/N’s heart race in the best way, ”Thank you for letting me come in.”

“I guess knowing a superhero came in handy.” She laughs, “So, tea?”

“That’d be great.” He watches her look through drawers, sifting through things with her aid on her phone light.

“I think I put all the candles in the hallway,” She hums before speaking,“I don’t have anything warm to offer you besides the tea. Unless you want to wear a robe with little gold stars on it.”

His mind goes off with how adorable she must look about of the bath. Her skin all flush and warm bundled up in a robe, “Ohh, sounds very fashionable but I’m ok. Thank you, though.”

“I’m going to dry off and change before I turn into an ice cube. I’ll be right back.” Henry looks around her kitchen and tries to make out all her knickknacks from the barely there light of the small window above the sink. She returns in a sweater and leggings, and a towel in her hand. Soft. Y/N bumps into him a second time, “Sorry, I can’t really see. Got you a towel,” She clears her throat, “Got the candles.”

He would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy her body against his, “S’alright.”

She finds a lighter and joyfully announces, “Let there be light!”

“You are an exquisite hostess.” He rubs the towel in his hair, leaving it a curly mess.

“Thank you. I do try,” she searches her cabinet after filling the kettle, “black tea, green tea, or um, more black tea.

Henry looks offended, “I’m British.” He sits down in one of the wooden chairs in her small kitchen, somehow looking right at home.

Y/N puts on her best fake accent, “Oh, my mistake, Mr. Cavill.”

He attempts to wink, “Cheeky.”

“So, you’re in my kitchen and I barely know you. I’m either very stupid or very smart and pulled the hottest man in the world inside my apartment.”

“Should I say thank you?”

“Probably.”

“Thank you.”

Y/N plops the tea bags in the mugs, “Let me know if I’m keeping you. I didn’t really mean to just drag you in here. That guy is just such a weirdo,” She fills the cups, “I kind of panicked.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

“Sugar?” Sweet like her.

There goes those thoughts again, “Yes.”

“I, um, dont usually invite strange men into my house. So, I hope you’re not a complete crazy-pants.”

“Please, if you’re uncomfortable I can go. I don’t want to over stay my welcome, or make you think I’m a crazy-pants.”

“No, it’s ok. I actually like having someone here tonight. He’s never came up here before, and I like talking to you.”

“I like talking to you, too,” he sits up straight, “and I like your flat. Cozy, it feels like a home.”

“Thank you. I try to make it my little hideaway.”

“It’s nice. Especially in this storm.”

“I can’t believe how bad it is. I don’t think it’s rained this hard since the beginning of summer.” A bolt of lightning and loud clap of thunder shakes her, “Jesus!”

“Whoa.”

A buzzing noise comes from the counter, “Well, my phone is on 3% and there’s a flood warning.”

It’s then that he remembers his phone is in his car, “That’s cheerful news,” he watches her in the dim light. She picks at her sweater, seemingly avoiding his gaze and the glow of the candles make her all too alluring. Even when she isn’t speaking, she says a lot. Y/N’s body talks, and he wants to answer. “Ok over there?” She grants him pleasant smile with a nod.

She grants him pleasant smile with a nod, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” He can barely handle the few seconds of anticipation.

“Do you mind staying — would you want to stay here for a little bit?”

He hates that he gets excited by these words, because maybe she’s too scared to be alone or maybe he’s misread the situation entirely, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t like the thought of you driving in this, or being responsible for Superman’s death. I’d feel better if you’d stay until it lightens up. It looks like there’s a bit of a blackout, I can’t see really see anything out there.”

He smiles widely, “Well, I’ll stay and chat if you’ll have me.”

Before they know it, two and a half hours pass by. They share their favorite books and what music they like. They both agree that they could eat gnocchi for ever meal. He struggles with jet lag and Y/N has never been overseas. She misses her niece and mentions how she’s always loved to paint, too. Henry finds her passion for her craft and love for her family endearing, and it’s something he can understand. He always misses his family when he’s away, but his drive to work is practically unstoppable.

“What time is it,” she stretches, accidentally giving him a glimpse of her stomach. He wants to touch her skin.

He pulls up his sleeve to expose his no doubt expensive watch, “Oh, it’s just past 1,” He shrugs, “time flies when you’re having fun.”

She yawns, “It does.”

“You’re cute.”

“Stop it.” Y/N sits up straight, ready to argue for no reason. She’s bit grouchy when she’s sleepy and not even Henry’s good looks and charming accent can beak that seal.

“No.” He can tell she’s holding back a smile.

Ok, maybe Henry’s charm can break her out of it, “Yes.”

He shifts forward, resting his elbows on the table, “Your cute sweaters and your stupid cute mugs.”

She gasps, “They’re not stupid!”

“Yes, they are, they’ve got blue frogs on them. Your cute smile and your cute sleepy voice,” She leans back against the chair, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

They stare at each other, the candle light flickering between them.

“Do you always pout at compliments?” He enjoys that she cocks her said to the side, gearing up to return the banter.

“No, In fact-,” A knock at the door cuts her off.

He shares confused glance, “I take it you’re not expecting anyone?”

Y/N gets up but stops to grab his forearm, “Come with me.”

He doesn’t hesitate to grab a candle and guide her, but her hands are so cold he can’t help but clasp his hand over hers, “Your fingers are freezing!”

Y/N is too worried to appreciate the sweet gesture, “Shut up and see who it is!”

“It’s your apartment!” He guffaws and rolls his eyes.

“Henry! Just look through the thingie.” The way she’s said his name could leave him melting right in the narrow hallway.

“Fine.... I don’t see anyone?” He tries not to show his concern in order to save her from worrying even more.

She squeezes his arm, “What?

“No one is-,” Another knock comes from the hall.

[Tagged: If you’d like to be tagged, just shoot me a message!]

@igotkatiepowers @xxxkatxo @lunedelorient

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mrsalwayswrite · 4 years

Text

Say You’ll Stay- Chapter 2

Fury/Band of Brothers Crossover Fic

Here is the next chapter! Yay!

Warnings: Swearing, attempted sexual assault

Tag List: @happyveday @evelynshelby @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes @alwaysindecemberfeels

Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

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Dusk had fallen over the small town. A few stars peered down from the heavens already. Only a few clouds obstructed the moon and starlight. Thankfully the sounds of artillery fire had ceased. At least for now. There were no bird songs though, only the crickets that hid in the tall grass. Their symphony was better than gunfire though.

Carrying the heavy, water-laden wooden bucket, Anna carefully walked back up the dirt path from the river towards the building being used as a field hospital. The walk only took ten minutes but she was exhausted. Both from the unrelenting hours of work and lack of sleep. Not that this was unusual. Over the past year her body seemed to have adjusted to minimal sleep and excessive stress. It was her night off to actually sleep more than four hours, and her body practically screamed for her to hurry up and find her bed.

So focused on watching her footing along the muddy ground and trying to keep the water in the bucket, she failed to notice the soldier blocking the small path. It was only when his boots came into her view did she gasp and look up.

"Oh! You gave me such a fright." Her heart raced in her chest at the surprise. Soldiers did not normally come this way. The small creek was not worthy of note besides gathering water and washing things, if need be. It had been too cold for bathing or swimming, not that there was much time for either. She knew of a few that came down to try and find peace in the stillness of the smooth creek.

Yet there was something in the way the soldier stood looking at her, that raised the hair on the back of her neck.

"Apologies, Nurse Cooper. I saw you out here and it looked like you could use some help."

It took her a moment to recognize the soldier in the dimming light. It was a Private she had bandaged up from a gunshot wound, having only grazed his shoulder. A lucky shot for him. He had been trying to flirt with her as he sat bare chested before her, her hands cleaning his wound and wrapping a bandage around it. It was not until his free hand started tracing patterns down her back that she became wary of him. When she finished and stood up to leave, his hand slid down and cupped her ass momentarily. A sleazy wink was all the reaction he gave when she turned to look at him in surprise. She tried to avoid him after.

"Oh, I’m just fine. Thank you though." She tried to move around him, even stepping off the path into the tall, frost-covered grass.

His hands shot out, one to grab the handle of the bucket and the other to wrap around her small waist. "Come on, baby. Don't be like that. Let me help you."

"Let go of me, Private. I don’t need your help."

"You sure? I promise to take good care of you."

"Let. Go." She tried to step away but his grip on her only tightened.

He chuckled at her demand, trying to tug her closer. His thin lips, accentuated by the patchy beard on his face, curved up in a small smile like her resistance amused him. His ODs were even more filthy than her nurse’s uniform and she wondered when they last had been cleaned.

He was several inches taller than her, since she only reached about five feet and three inches...but she did not care. Her father had taught her to defend herself. Just as she reached for his hand, prepared to dislocate or break a finger clutching her waist, a voice called out.

"Anna?"

Looking up the path, she noticed Boyd standing there watching her with his hands in the pockets of his tan jacket and eyes narrowed at the soldier holding her. Beside him stood a young man, most likely someone from his crew.

"You alright, Anna?"

Before she could open her mouth, the Private still holding her spoke up.

"She's fine. Now fuck off."

Boyd shifted his eyes to stare at the Private, his jaw clenched. A long moment later his gaze locked back on hers. Hands in his pockets, he slowly started walking closer down the path, his companion trailing hesitantly but obediently. "Anna, we were waiting on you. Don sent me out to find you cause we promised to wait to eat till you came. If we don't hurry on, pretty sure Grady is gonna to start without us and Lord knows there won't be any food left then."

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she played along, putting both hands back on the handle of the bucket, "I had to help sew up someone's hand."

Boyd smirked then pointedly looked at the Private with a dead glare. "Somewhere you supposed to be?"

The Private's hand tightened painfully on her waist, clutching her in an almost possessive way. She winced, wondering if it would bruise. The two men glared at one another, the tension in the air palpable. Anna could not help but hold her breath, hoping a fight was not about to break out. That would just be the icing on the cake for how her day had been going.

Finally, he pulled his arm back from around her and let go of the bucket's handle. All the while, his eyes met Boyd's head-on, ignoring her as if she was only a piece of scenery. "She ain't worth it." He spat out.

He started to move away but at the last minute, he knocked the wooden bucket so it sloshed the water, spilling at least half down the front of her thin coat and dress. Without looking back, he continued back up the path, ignoring both Boyd and his companion.

"Shit." She mumbled, staring down at her wet clothes. The worst part was she would have to drudge back to the river to fill the bucket back up again. The first hint of tears filling her eyes came, and she covered her face with one hand, willing the tears to vanish. There was no time for that. She was fine. She had to be. She was just so damn tired.

"Give'er here." Boyd gently took the bucket from her hand and handed it to his young brunet companion. A slight nod and the younger man hurried down the path, disappearing through the tall bushes. "You alright? Did he hurt you?"

"No, no. I'm fine. I had it handled." She snapped, the residual fear and anger getting the best of her. All she wanted to do was rest but now, she wondered if her mind would even let her.

His eyebrows rose, thick moustache twitching. "Really? My apologies for interferin’ then. Norman and I will just be on our way."

"Wait, no. I'm sorry. That was rude. I just…and then he...I…" Embarrassed, she covered her face with her hands, taking a few, deep breaths. Her emotions felt like a tornado threatening to overtake her. Anger, frustration, exhaustion, hopelessness and fear swirled within; tears gathered in the corners of her eyes but she quickly wiped them away. She crossed her arms over her chest, the cold from the water soaking her coat beginning to slip under her skin.

Boyd faced her, one hand on her shoulder. "It's alright. Did he hurt you though?"

"No. He...um, he had just approached me."

He seemed to weigh her words before grunting an affirmative, his head swiveling back up to look down the path towards the river. "When did you last eat?"

"What?" She looked up at him in confusion, a shiver rattling her. If it was from the cold or adrenaline, she was unsure.

He smirked, looking back at her, with kind brown eyes. "When did you eat?"

"Um…" It was embarrassing how she had to rack her brain for that answer. Apparently she took too long because Boyd shook his head and interrupted her thoughts.

"That settles it. You're coming with us."

"Wait, what?"

The younger man appeared, carrying her bucket, a shy smile on his boyish face.

"Norman, this is Nurse Anna Cooper. Anna, this is Norman." Boyd quickly introduced, hands back in his jacket pockets. "She's gonna eat with us."

"Oh, ok. What about…?" Norman glanced down at the full bucket.

Anna answered, holding back tears once more that she did not have to trek back down to the creek. "I have to take it back... to the hospital."

"Right. Let's go." Boyd walked beside her; Norman followed, still carrying the bucket.

Her mind struggled to understand what all had just transpired in the last few minutes but if war had taught her anything, it was to roll with the punches and keep moving.

Anna pushed open the back door to the make-shift hospital, the immediate warmth bringing a small smile to her face. Nurse Falk stood in the back room, tending to the fireplace.

"What took ya so long, girl, I almost sent Evelyn to find ya…" Nurse Falk began when she heard the door open, but when she turned around to see Anna standing inside with the two soldiers escorting her, her mouth snapped shut. Immediately, her piercing gaze pinned Anna to her spot, making her shift uncomfortably.

"Ah, they… um, they helped me." Anna started, unsure what she wanted to say.

"Evenin', ma'am." Boyd took over, giving the middle-aged woman a respectful nod. "I met Anna earlier today and when I saw her gathering the water, I offered to help."

"That's mighty kind of ya, sir." Nurse Falk stated, though her tone only held a smidgen of actual appreciation. The head nurse was harsh and ran her hospital with a firm whip but she looked out for her girls, especially when it came to men sniffing around them.

"It's no problem. We'll get outta your hair. If s'alright, Anna is gonna come eat with me and my crew. Said she couldn't remember when she last ate."

Anna averted her eyes, picking at her nails as she could feel the anger in the head nurse's gaze.

"Mmm...that's kind again of ya to offer but…"

"I swear on the Lord's holy book, I won't let nothin' happen to her. We're just going to eat. I'll make sure she's back in an hour."

Nurse Falk pursed her lips, swiping her graying hair off her forehead. "Anna?"

The redhead glanced at her matron and silently nodded.

"Alright. One hour." Nurse Falk held up one finger to emphasize. Then her eyes seemed to take in Anna's mess. "Christ, girl. Why in the blue blazes are ya wet?"

"I spilled the bucket."

"Mmm, well take ya coat off. Ain't doing no good now. Hang it near the fire, then off with ya. One hour, ya hear me."

Anna followed her instructions, hanging her thin coat on a peg near the fireplace, having formed a small puddle where she had been standing. As she finished that, she could see the younger man- Norman- handing the bucket to the head nurse.

Next thing she knew, she was walking through the devastated town, Boyd on her left and Norman on her right. A chill swept through on the evening breeze, raising goosebumps on her exposed skin. She wrapped her arms around herself, her damp dress seeming to hold onto the cold air greedily. She wondered if the two would have waited for her to change clothes, but it was too late now. She had not realized how much water soaked into her dress until she took her coat off.

"Here." Norman shrugged off his jacket, tossing it over her shoulders.

"Oh no, it's …"

Boyd interrupted her. "I was 'bout to give you mine if he didn't. Can't have you catching a chill out here."

"But…"

"Just say thank you."

She shot a glare at Boyd who smirked, keeping his gaze forward. Rolling her eyes, she quietly thanked Norman, who smiled shyly. Honestly, the extra layer felt heavenly, it was just enough to keep the chill out and she hoped to help dry her dress out. Norman was only three or four inches taller than herself so his jacket was not too huge on her shorter frame. Arms in the sleeves, she wrapped her arms in front of her to keep the jacket somewhat closed. It smelled of sweat, gunpowder and gasoline. Nothing too unusual from the rest of the war. At least it did not smell like blood. She was thankful for that.

As they walked, Boyd talked about how they were a tank crew and briefly mentioned each of its members. His voice became a background noise amidst the sounds of renewed artillery fire, shouting orders, and vehicles moved around. A few times they had to stop to wait for a truck to pass or a squad of soldiers. Twice catcalls followed as they passed, not that she really paid attention to that anymore but after what just happened with the Private, it made her tense.

"Don't you pay any attention to them." Boyd commented quietly, moving slightly closer nonetheless.

Finally, they arrived at a brick building, a large chunk missing out of one of its corners. It looked like a giant had taken a swing at the building and clipped its corner causing a hole. A few soldiers relaxed on the main floor, smoking or sleeping. A couple of them turned to watch the three enter but no one said anything. Boyd quickly ushered her up the stairs to the second floor and an adjacent room from the creaky, wooden stairs.

"Bible, where the fuck you…"

A man's harsh voice abruptly ceased after Boyd pulled her through the door behind him.

A single lamp was alight in the corner, casting shadows over the abandoned bedroom and its three occupants, waiting for their companions' return. A small gasp escaped her but before she could turn around and run out the door, questioning the wisdom of her blindly following someone she met once, Boyd gripped her upper arm.

"This here is Nurse Anna Cooper. I invited her to eat with us, so you heathens show some respect."

Silence hung heavy in the room. She wondered if she should back out, if this was a mistake. Why did she come here? Scanning the room, she realized the silence lingered because everyone was staring at one of the occupants in particular. Almost as if waiting for his permission. When she looked his way, she noticed him staring at her, eyes slightly squinted. Something within her rose up and she met his gaze without wavering. She was exhausted, honestly the thought of food had made her realize how ravenous she was and she liked Boyd, his presence was comforting and peaceful. So far, he had not given her any creepy vibes. If this...man who clearly was in charge wanted her to leave, he was going to have to say it. She was just too damn tired to care for pleasantries. A shudder shot through her as her body attempted to absorb the warmth in the room, making her tremble slightly. She tugged Norman’s jacket tighter around herself.

The man looked just as weary as she felt. A scar on his cheek along with dirt and grime scattered across his handsome face made her wonder when he last enjoyed the luxury of bathing. His hair cut was odd, with it practically shaved on the sides and long on top. His eyes held an intelligence and determination she had rarely seen before. As his sky-blue eyes met hers, a slight shiver went down her spine. Not from fear, but attraction and a strange desire for his approval, surprising her through the haze of exhaustion. Which later she really should reprimand herself for. This was war, there was no time for attraction and romance. Wait, when did she start thinking about romance? A slight blush rose to her cheeks. She barely knew this man. Her friend back home would be laughing at her if she could read her mind right now. Christ, she must be more exhausted than she thought.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he gave a brief nod then looked over to only non-white man in the room. "We got extra?"

The stout man's eyes bounced back and forth between her and the other man- obviously their commander- before smiling. "Yeah, yeah. We got enough for la mamacita."

The commander met her gaze once more with a tight-lipped smile.

What had she gotten herself into? Who was this man?

*****

What in the fuck was Boyd thinking bringing a girl like her here?

Don watched as she sat between Boyd and Norman on the ground, head bowed and eyes closed as Bible led them in a quick prayer over their dinner.

She certainly was a pretty little thing. Auburn hair that was tied in a bun on the nape of her neck, a few strands hanging out around her face. Rich blue eyes like sapphires that seemed to take in everything at once when she entered the room. A button nose over soft lips, the bottom lip slightly fuller. What caught him was how tiny she was. Yes, she was certainly on the shorter end, but from what he could tell how Norman's jacket hung off her and her dress, she would normally be slender but now she looked far too skinny. He wondered if this was why Boyd brought her. It seemed meals were not a regular occurrence for her. Nor rest, if the dark circles under her eyes were any indicator.

Everyone quickly began to dig into the food they had managed to scavenge. Gordo and Norman had found some unspoiled apples, making sure everyone had at least one. They split the better parts of the C rations and two cans of beans they also found. Don knew he should inquire as to where Gordo and Norman found the food but with the pleased looks of his crew, he chose not to. Plausible deniability and all that.

"So, you're a nurse, huh?" Gordo broke the ice, munching on his third apple.

She jumped slightly as if surprised someone had spoken to her or had been lost in thought. "Yes."

"That how you met Boyd, huh? You at the hospital?"

"I cleaned up his hand."

"Uh huh...so how you end up here? That was hours ago that he went to get his hand fixed."

Don knew Gordo was searching for something, even if his question and tone seemed casual. Not that his own mind had not been repeatedly asking the same question. He had sent out Boyd and Norman to check on Fury one last time and had returned with this girl.

Fucking hell.

She tugged Norman's jacket tighter around herself almost subconsciously but before she could open her mouth, Boyd answered.

"Ran into her outside the hospital and asked her to join us. It's nice to be around pleasant company every once and awhile instead of you complainers."

That got Gordo jokingly riled up, even Grady threw out a comment.

Don just smiled, taking a bite out of his apple, sitting between Boyd and Gordo. This crew, he considered family. They were his brothers. He glanced over at Anna and noticed her suddenly tensed, tucking her legs beneath her. Norman and Gordo were arguing over what tasted the worst in their C rations. Boyd just laughed along. It was then he noticed what was making her so uncomfortable. Grady was leering at her, a dopey smirk on his face.

"Grady, knock it off."

Coon-Ass looked up at him, not in the least bit phased at being caught. "What?"

"I said, knock it off."

"Shit. Ain't hurting no one."

Don just glared at him until he huffed and muttered something under his breath, suddenly finding the can of beans extremely interesting in his lap.

Whatever food was placed in front of her, she quickly ate. Although if it was due to nerves or actually hunger, that was still up in the air. Don caught Boyd a few times sliding some of his own food her way. She would give him a look but he just ignored her, nudging her until she ate it. The whole time she kept herself wrapped up in Norman's jacket tighter than a ball of yarn.

Don had a few questions for his gunner once she left.

As the food disappeared amongst the group, he watched her eyes grow more and more heavy. A couple times, unsuccessfully, trying to hide a yawn.

"I should get going." She mumbled out, unsteadily getting to her feet. Slipping off the jacket, she gave it back to Norman with a quiet thanks.

Boyd jumped to his feet. "I'll walk you back."

"No, it's ok."

"Anna…"

"I'm fine." She snapped then winced. "I'm sorry, I just...if Doctor Erickson thinks I'm fraternizing…"

"It's alright."

"I'll see you tomorrow morning." Her gaze skimmed over the group quickly. "Thank y’all for letting me join you. It was a pleasure to meet y’all."

Before she could walk out, Boyd stopped her, his hand on her arm, voice low but not enough for the others to not catch his words. "You go down to the river again; you find one of us. Or for anything, yeah?"

She nodded then ducked out, leaving silence in her wake.

"Care to explain what that was about?"

Boyd ran a hand over his mustache before speaking. "Nothing, Don."

"Didn't seem like nothing." Gordo stated, already laying on the floor with his eyes closed. "She's pretty. Real pretty. I think Bible was thinking with his…"

"Gordo, you say another word and I'm going to shut your mouth for you." Boyd threatened, glaring at his crew mate. Grady and Gordo just laughed.

Don watched on silently. A picture of what happened formed in his mind. It was obvious Boyd was protecting her from something. "Norman," he looked over at the kid who he considered a younger brother, "what happened?"

The kid glanced from Don to Boyd and back, clearly hesitant to share whatever it was Boyd was hiding.

"Go on, Norm. S'alright." Boyd slid down the wall to take a seat.

"Well, we are walking, see, Bible and I heard a commotion. There was this Private who had her…" His voice dropped off.

"It's alright, son." Don turned from Norman to Boyd. "And the eating?"

"She couldn't remember when she last ate."

"Fuck." Don whispered; he could already see the determined look in Boyd's eyes. He had found a stray he planned on taking care of while here. Don sometimes wished Boyd relaxed like the other soldiers- drinking, smoking and women. Boyd "Bible" Swan was a good man, too good for those around him. Instead, he would find something usually to nurture, a stray dog or cat, and while they were in whatever hell hole they were in, until the next orders came, he would take care of his stray. This time...it seemed to be this nurse.

"Get some sleep. We'll be getting our orders tomorrow." Don said, moving to lay on his back. He could hear the others moving around, getting settled on the hard, wooden floor. His hopes of finding beds for his crew came to naught but at least they had a roof over their heads and floor space to stretch out. Though he did have to commandeer the space from a couple of Privates who were all but almost asleep. A sharp remark and a couple kicks to get them on their feet and out the door did the trick though.

Closing his eyes, he hoped sleep would find him quickly and without dreams or nightmares. His mind though kept revisiting a pair of sapphire eyes that met his own in such silent strength, he had almost chuckled at the time.

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