to be alone — a.h.b.
cw: very borderline smut but not really, suggestive, fluff
“shh, go back to sleep.” i feel the bed dip in the wee hours of the morning, his voice a hoarse whisper. it’s a dream, my sleep-addled brain tells me, it’s another dream fueled by loneliness and missing him and being so so cold every night. it’s—
“baby?”
“hmm?”
“you’re not cold, are you?” he slides in behind me, still fully clothed. his soft, worn jeans rubs against my thigh. a second later, he drapes a sweater covered arm over me. “you’ve got goosebumps.”
“you’re a dream,” i mumble, sleep coating each word. his deep laugh resonates all around me, surrounding me like a warm blanket.
“am i?” he kisses the shell of my ear. “how do you know?”
sleep threatens to take me under once again in the comfort of his arms. his soft sweater is familiar—just the tiniest bit fuzzy, smelling exactly like it always does; of his cologne and fabric softener and him. i smile to myself, this is so far the most realistic dream my brain has produced.
“hey,” he kisses my shoulder, sending butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
“you’re a dream…” i repeat, “because i’ve had this dream before.”
“oh yeah?” i feel myself being pulled into a chest—so solid and real and warm. his fingers dance on my arms, from my shoulder to my elbow and back up, tickling just a little—not enough to fully wake me up, but definitely enough to hold me there, suspended in a limbo between sleep and consciousness. “what happens in your dream?”
“you come into my bed…”
“like this?” the smile in his voice is prominent.
“mm-hmm,” i nod and turn, eyes closed, face burrowed into his chest now. his scent surrounds me stronger than before, with new things added to it—faint smell of coffee and the outdoors in general.
it’s a dream it’s a dream it’s a dream, i chant in my head over and over again till the words meld into each other and turn gibberish.
“and then?” his voice cuts through my spiral.
“and then you hold me.”
“i am holding you…” i feel him nod, and yet his arms tighten, pulling me deeper into his chest. the next time he speaks, i feel the vibrations of his voice running through my chest, passing through my heart.
“and then?”
instead of answering, i focus on his fingers—up and down, up and down. from my shoulders to my elbow and back up.
“sometimes you touch me,” i breathe into his chest, “other times you hold me until i wake up.”
my voice is muffled, barely audible. it’s alright, though. he’s just a dream, a figment of my imagination, a part of me. how could he ever not understand me?
“i touch you?” he laughs, a little smug, and i nod. “how do i touch you?”
i take his hand in mine, trace the pads of his fingers. then i place his hand under my camisole—rough fingers touching my ribs, tracing them individually. he reaches the bottom of my breasts and i sigh. “you touch me like that. like you do when you’re really here…”
“baby i am really here!” he laughs, kissing my head this time. his thumb moves in circles over my ribs. “open your eyes, ‘m right here.”
“‘s a trick,” i mumble. a moment later my mouth finds the hollow of his throat. his skin is slightly cold to the touch, halfway to warming up. against my lips i feel some stubble, like he hasn’t shaved his neck in a day or two. “you’ll disappear if i open my eyes. and i want you to stay. i miss you…” i say, “i can’t wait two more days till you’re home.”
“you don’t have to,” he laughs, giggles almost—it’s a giddy, breathless sound that makes me smile too.
“you’re a good dream,” i hold onto him tight, relishing how solid he feels in my arms. “the best dream i’ve ever had.”
his hand slips out of my camisole and cradles my cheek. then i feel him tilting my chin up, feel his lips on mine—just one tiny, soft kiss. he smiles against my mouth, says something too but the words don’t fully register in my mind.
“i’ll see you soon,” i murmur, properly sleepy now, unable to hold on for much longer.
“you will,” his voice holds a promise. “go to sleep now, i can’t wait to see you in the morning.”
i chuckle at his words. just before sleep properly drags me under, i place my hand on his cheek, feel the familiar beard under my palm and hear him hum. “and you’ll be here in the morning?” i tease, “will you be here as a daydream?”
he threads his fingers through my hair, playing with it till it’s impossible to hold onto consciousness. just as i’m about to slip under, i hear him exhale. “as anything you want me to be,” he murmurs, and i succumb to sleep.
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to be alone
Nikolai Lantsov x wife!reader
summary: in the silence of the morning, nikolai is more than content to be alone with you || words: 530 || masterlist
The cool morning air tickles your skin. A warm hand presses against your back. There’s a small slither of light peeking in the gap between the curtains, barely illuminating anything. The dawn hasn’t truly broken. Your husband stirs beside you, rolling onto his side.
His eyes peel open and meet yours, shining through the darkness.
Here, in the silence of the morning, Nikolai did not have to be King. He did not hold the burden of responsibility nor did he handle the consequences of his country. Here, he was simply Nikolai. He was your husband, your lover.
Nikolai loved being King. He helped his people in ways he could not before, in ways no one had before. But he also hated being King. He hated the power it gave him, he hated how it made him separate to everyone else again. All he wanted was to lie in bed with his love by his side, but that could prove impossible.
Sometimes Nikolai would remind himself of the days you first met. The days on the Volkvolny, the peaceful days, brought solace to his turbulent mind. He could remember the rocking of the ship, the sound of waves sloshing against the hull and the echoed laughter in the tight corridors.
Times were simpler then. Nikolai was a second son, free to do as he pleased.
That tranquillity was what he felt now, as you pressed gently kisses to his shoulder and held his in your arms. No words needed to be said, enough had been spoken in the past. Touch was enough. Simple touch to say “I’m here.” “You’re not alone.” “I love you.”
The monster inside him did not stir. It did not protest as Nikolai sweetly kisses you back.
When another dignitary would greet you, kiss your hand, the monster inside Nikolai reared its shadowed head. It didn’t want to see another man touch you, even if it was the expectation of foreign Dukes and Princes.
What Nikolai or the monster didn’t know, was that in those moments, you were wishing to be a million miles away. The feel of cracked lips on your hand felt like sandpaper and sent shivers up your spine. You know it’s improper to simply walk away or ignore the men all together so you stay. You make polite conversation and you falsely smile at the jokes you’ve heard a hundred times before.
The thought of running had crossed your mind many a time. The Volkvolny was waiting for her old captain to return. Tolya and Tamar would love to be back sailing the high seas. Nikolai only needs to don the teal coat for the swagger to return to his step and the tension bleed from his stance.
Instead, both of you were stuck playing Ravkan royalty at court, simpering and sticking up to anyone who could give you an advantage in the future.
The bedroom was away from prying eyes. Here, you could tear your itching finery off and throw it into a faraway corner, never to wear again. Here, Nikolai could complain without worrying and pose plans that his advisors would scoff at.
Here, the King and Queen were simply people.
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