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gllamours · 3 years ago

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loving embrace

viktor x assassin! reader

you come back home from the under-city, clearly tired and over worked after a long, month long job.

tags: self deprecation, thoughts of breaking up, angst with fluff/comfort, (implied) unofficial marriage, established relationships

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you trudge past glaring enforcers, they clearly weren't fond of you, and you didn't feel like faking kindness towards them. grime of the under city was smudged on your cheek, smothered your hands and caked your clothes; you felt out of place in piltover.

wiping your dirty boots off on the mat below your feet, you sigh as you enter viktor's apartment complex, not even bothering to greet the neighbours who were happy to see you back from a long trip. you wanted to go home, get cleaned up and hold your boyfriend for a bit, was that too much to ask? apparently so, as the receptionist stops you. "hey, kid! you can't cake mud and whatever else all the way through the complex." the old woman scowls, and you sigh. "and you can't cake foundation on expecting it to hide all those gross wrinkles, grandma." you sneer back, storming past.

knocking on the door, you here viktor call out. "just a moment." you hated how unenthusiastic he sounded. eventually, after a few faint thumps, the door opens and viktor immediately smiles. "welcome home, my love." he ushers you inside, taking your weapon's holster off as you place your sword upon it's rack near the door. taking your filthy jacket off, you sigh, leaning back against his door, eyes fluttering closed as you allowed yourself to relax. "i'm right in assuming you had a hard time there, hm?" viktor asks, glancing over at you; hiding his worry.

"yeah... i almost got stabbed, twice." you grimace, and viktor turns to face you fully once more. "what? are you alright?" he steps over, trying to check your body for any wounds. "yeah vik, i'm fine." you give a strained smile, and he sighs. "go clean up, i'll make some dinner for us, hm?" viktor walks away, and you smile. he's always cooking for you, which made you think that perhaps you should take him out to dinner sometime.

viktor smiles to himself as he hears the shower start, deciding to leave some of his clothes on the bed for you before starting up your favourite meal. you deserved to be spoilt after a difficult hit in zaun. viktor always wishes to go with you, but he wasn't very compatible with your field work. it saddened him, as you would go for weeks, even months with the possibility of getting hurt or killed; but he tried not to let it eat at him as he knew you always came back. you promised to always come back, that neither of you would leave the other.

resting his cane against the counter, viktor tries his best to manoeuvre the kitchen at a faster speed, a form of physical therapy he found helpful as his kitchen wasn't that large; he enjoyed it. so absorbed in his surroundings, the scientist doesn't notice that the shower eventually turns off.

warmth spreads through your chest as you realise he left his own clothes for you instead of your own, a fondness filling your heart. getting dressed, you allow his oversized sleeping shirt swallow your aching body, taking in his comforting scent. slipping on a pair of his boxer shorts as well, you sigh before leaving the bedroom, heading towards the kitchen.

viktor was stood facing away, clearly absorbed in reading through whatever was on his phone as he waits on the food. you seize the opportunity, walking over and hugging his back, nuzzling your face between his shoulder blades. "ah, my love. are you feeling better?" viktor looks over his shoulder, smiling at you. "yeah..." you whisper, holding on a bit tighter, not caring how his back brace dug through his shirt and into the flesh of your cheek. "good, good. i'm glad you're feeling more like yourself." viktor chuckles, unbothered by your tight hold, finishing his reading before putting the phone down.

"come then, we can sit for a while as the food cooks." viktor takes your hand, grabbing his cane with the other. you let him lead you to the couch, letting him sit down first before snuggling into him. you both end up cuddled on the couch, lay tangled in each other as you both talk about anything; which is mainly just confessing how much one missed the other. "how was the job you went on? it must of been rough if it took you a month." viktor asks, arms squeezing your waist, almost as if he believed that if he let go you would leave again.

"it was alright... it's like one big game of cat and mouse, and it's not easy." you huff, almost moaning as viktor's fingers massage large knots out of your muscles. your fingers grasp his shirt, pulling viktor closer as you press your nose into his neck. "i couldn't imagine being an assassin... especially with my condition." viktor sighs, kissing your jaw gently. "yeah... it's a hard job, you're always running risks. i wouldn't want you doing this." you frown, and viktor can practically sense that something is bothering you.

"what is the matter, my love? you're rather quiet." viktor mumbles, right hand massaging larger circles into your back as the left rest upon your hip. "why do you wanna be with me..?" you ask, voice barely a whisper. at first viktor believes he imagined the question, completely taken aback. "what?" viktor leans back, gazing at your sombre face. "why.. why do you want to be with someone like me?" you frown, eyes refusing to look at him. "what do you mean..?" viktor's eyebrows furrow, completely unsure by your thought process.

"i kill for a living, surely you don't want to be around someone like that, let alone love me... i'm a murderer vik." finally, your eyes meet his and viktor wants to hold you as close as he can. "because we promised that no matter what we would stay together." he reminds you, and you sigh, looking away. "don't tell me you... thought about leaving me..?" viktor frowns, grasping your chin gently to force you to look at him. you squirm under his gaze, eyes flitting away. "yeah... i have. you deserve someone better, viktor." you almost gasp as he tugs you close, accidentally knocking heads as viktor cradles you close.

"you can't leave... you promised me, and i promised you. i don't care about your profession, or about the ridiculous standards you set for yourself. i love you, so much, my dear." viktor sighs, burying his face into your neck. you bite back a sob, hugging viktor tightly as you rest your head upon his shoulder. "thank you..." you whisper the words as if they were a mantra, a hand slipping up to cup the back of his head as the other clutched his back. viktor soothes you with hushed words and gentle kisses, wrapping his leg around one of yours to pull you closer.

"you are so, so, so precious to me, my love. i couldn't imagine life without you..." viktor admits, kissing your pulse softly. you sniffle, pulling away a little and allowing him to wipe away tears, pressing your forehead against his once he finishes. viktor sighs gently through his nose, kissing you gently every time your lips brush against his. "ah, shit- the food..!" viktor gasps, sitting up and scrambling over you, grabbing his cane. you can't help but giggle as viktor rushes to the kitchen, listening to him fussing.

luckily, viktor manages to save the food, coming back with two plates. you accept yours with a smile, kissing him gently as he sits next to you. "thank you, darling." you mumble, kissing his cheek, neck and jaw a few times each. "don't worry, i get it. eat your food, my love." viktor chuckles, kissing your lips sweetly. the two of you begin to gossip as you both eat, laughing and smiling as viktor shares an embarrassing moment that happened to jayce when you were away.

viktor smiles fondly at the sight of your happiness, simply staring as you giggle. "don't look at me like that." you protest jokingly, and viktor chuckles. "i'm afraid i don't understand darling, like what?" he teases, and you laugh. "like you're a lovesick puppy." you reply, kissing him gently. "hmm... is that how i look?" he mumbles, admiring your lips. "totally..." you whisper back, kissing him again. "i'm not sure if you're complimenting me or insulting me with that." viktor teases between a string of kisses, smiling against your lips. you shrug, a hand coming up to cradle his neck as your lips moulded against his perfectly.

seemingly done with dinner, the two of you clean up the dishes together before putting them away and heading to bed, or at least you should be. viktor was in the bathroom when you slipped out of the bedroom and onto the balcony connected to the living room, sitting upon the railing in deep thought. once viktor finishes his routine, he leaves the bathroom, freezing as he immediately notices your absence. panic slowly freezes over his body, and he feels sick as he practically runs, dropping his cane. he checks everywhere in a panicked frenzy before finally spotting you sat on the balcony, practically deflating as he limps over.

"you scared me, my love. come inside." viktor beckons, the cold air of piltover biting his exposed skin. "i will in a moment, darling. i'm just thinking." you sigh, lowering your head slightly. "hmm... for some reason, i don't believe that." viktor closes the door behind himself, walking over and hugging you tightly, his chest pressing into your back snugly; as if it were made to be there. your lack of response worries him as he rests his head upon your shoulder, gazing up at the stars. "is it about us? about how you think i 'deserve better'?" he asks, kissing your neck gently.

"no... maybe..?" you sigh, head lowering sheepishly. "am i right in thinking that you were considering leaving right here?" viktor's voice is quiet, soft. "maybe..." your own voice is barely above a whisper now, shame flooding through you. viktor lets out a small sigh, arms squeezing you tighter. "don't..." a quiet request, it makes your knees weaken slightly. "i... i could be putting you in danger. if any rivals find out-"

"please don't go..." he practically begs, a few tears wetting your neck. you freeze at the feeling, viktor hasn't cried since his mother's death; yet now he was willing to cry over you because you thought about leaving. "viktor..." you turn, looking at him; watching him wipe his eyes meekly. "we promised to stick together. you said you wouldn't leave me..." viktor looks away, and you feel guilt eating at your heart. "i'm not going." you assure him, hugging him tightly.

"good. you don't get to just walk out... not after everything." viktor half heartedly scolds, and you sigh. "til death do us part, love." you whisper, kissing his cheek. viktor presses his nose against your jaw, clinging to you tightly as his leg begins to ache from lack of support. "c'mon, love. let's get you in bed." you pull viktor from your neck, kissing him lovingly before helping him walk back inside.

as soon as the two of you are in bed, viktor latches onto you; tangling every limb with yours as he nuzzles into your neck. "i wouldn't leave you, viktor. i'm just scared that you're going to get hurt because of my profession." you whisper, fingers running through his hair over and over again; you were practically petting him. "then talk to me. you can't just get up and go..! if you left, i don't know what i would do." viktor replies, matter of factly, and you squeeze him tightly.

"i'm sorry." viktor sighs, kissing along your neck. "it's alright, my love. please, sleep. we'll talk about your worries in the morning. for now, i want to hold you." you smile, pressing a loving kiss to his lips. viktor sighs, nuzzling into you further as he gets comfy. "i love you." he yawns, and you smile once more. "i love you too, viktor."

#arcane viktor #viktor #arcane viktor x reader #viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #http:// gllamours

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that-foul-legacy-lover · 3 years ago

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I'd also love to see the thing of Foul Legacy Childe going feral to protect the person he loves 👀

*coughs* well, if you insist >:)c again, i'm not good at fight choreography but this one seems ok to me so i hope it's alright for you too!!

~ * ~ Abyssal Ballad

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Angst Warnings: Injuries, gore, pain, blood, broken bones, mentally snapping, fear, potential death

~ * ~

You had never known much about the Abyss. How could you, as an ordinary, magic-less human, who toiled away at a standard researching position in the Liyue industry? While Celestia was often praised as being home to the archons and gods above, a sanctuary for only the finest heroes and the origin of elemental Visions, the Abyss was dark and mysterious, full of vicious creatures and an endless ocean, disturbed only by glassy waves and cold, twinkling starlight. While both held their infinite secrets locked tightly away, they were seemingly opposites, forever battling against each other in a plane the people of Teyvat wouldn’t dare reach. Fairytales and journals and books all held the same message: Celestia is day as the Abyss is night, and each will consume you, for better or worse.

The Abyss had always been “for worse”, something you had found difficult to believe when Childe reappeared. You had known him before, when he was a ginger-haired, Delusion-bearing Harbinger of the Fatui, but you knew him even better now as your fluffy and affectionate roommate, with endless curiosity and a love for dozing in the sunlight. You were cautious at first, but every time he curled up next to you for cuddles or pressed his forehead to yours with a happy trill, your hesitation waned, and it seemed every day grew brighter in this eternal summer.

But the Abyss never relinquishes anything it once kept.

It had been cloudy that day, rain looming on the horizon. But you, ever persistent, had set out with an umbrella, a report to deliver, and a mothlike monster by your side. He didn’t have to come with, but he insisted, something you found sweet and kind of him to do. The citizens of the city had gotten quite used to you and Childe, some even greeting you as you left for Wangshu Inn, just out of the Harbor and towards Mondstadt. The clouds looked suspicious, but remained a teasing gray instead of pouring rain onto you.

The walk was peaceful and quiet, only broken by Childe’s rumbles and your quick responses to them. Your umbrella was long enough to be used as a cane, and it tapped merrily with every step you took, never out of sync. The Inn was close, a faint outline in sight at the end of a winding path, soon to be reached by you and your companion.

It only took a moment.

Like all bad things, it happened at the first chance, quickly and efficiently.

Childe liked sparkly things, as did you. A couple of magpies, you often joked. A crystalfly had caught his attention, and he jumped up to chase it. He’d be back soon, as he always was.

Two minutes.

He was gone for two minutes, and two minutes was all it took for someone to grab the collar of your shirt and pull you back, immobilizing you with a simple yet effective hold. They whisper to you, and more whispers join them, ordering you to show them where “the monster” was, to do it, do it or else, because pain would be delighted to meet you. Unfortunately, for both them and for you, fear has never easily gotten a grasp on your senses, and you simply choke out a command for these people to leave you alone. They laugh, and take your right wrist between their fingers. They give you a choice: tell them, or have your wrist broken. Should be an easy choice, no?

There’s a sudden yelp of alarm and they turn, dragging you with them, towards the sound. Childe stands there, tense and furious. The person behind you laughs again, and someone moves closer to Childe, only to stumble back when he hisses at them. The grip around your wrist tightens, and they address Childe instead of you. Either come with them willingly, or your bone breaks; it’s his choice now. From your position, you subtly shake your head- don’t give into their demands- and he hesitates.

There’s an awful cracking sound as your wrist is harshly yanked to the side.

You grit your teeth from the pain, before whipping your head down and biting, biting hard, on your captor’s wrist. They yell in surprise and release you, and you scramble to get away using only one arm.

Then someone hits you with a blow to your ribs, and your breath vanishes as you fall.

Something in Childe snaps. There’s a deep, guttural growl, building slowly from his throat, before he leaps on your attacker, tearing off their head with horrifying accuracy.

Your captor’s companions hastily begin backing away, holding their weapons with trembling hands, pitiful little sticks that Childe easily flings away with a swipe of his talons. He lets out a shriek, a harrowing sound filled with rage and a terrible, eager anticipation, springing up and clamping his jaw onto someone’s arm to dislocate and rip it off.

Your vision swims as you blink, the edges of everything gray and fuzzy. Someone’s screaming- everyone’s screaming. It’s loud, so loud, and you wince in pain as howls of pain make your ears ring. There’s a stabbing sensation in your chest, and you vaguely wonder if one or more of your ribs are broken, the sound of bones crumbling beneath sharp, vicious fangs in tune with your thoughts.

Blood splatters on the ground, the tang of it making you nauseous, and there’s the sound of flesh being torn to shreds while you can almost hear a mocking, maniacal laugh.

You’ve heard that laugh, so long ago, in the fiery walls of a house of gold.

You close your eyes, letting your mind slowly go blank in a valiant attempt to ignore the cries and pleas of people before they die at the claws of the Abyss. The pain in your side remains, pestering you to stay awake, but quickly fades into the background as your mind detaches from reality, dulling your senses and thoughts.

Then everything falls silent.

The lack of noise hangs thickly in the air, deathly quiet and stagnant. The pond of eerie serenity ripples, heavy footsteps pressing the grass as they approach you, and a claw sticky with blood nudges your side. You tilt your head back, ever-so-slightly, and are met with an Abyssal gaze, filled with nothing but ice-colored stars; a cold, unfeeling anger.

And you.

Childe’s stare warms as he lays next to you, carefully draping an arm over your torso. There’s a wet sensation on your cheek, and you realize he’s licking the cuts you had unknowingly received on your face in an attempt to soothe you. He licks your wrist as well, despite the lack of open wounds, and your fear settles as you focus on breathing. You suck in a gulp of air, only to cough when your chest twinges in pain. Childe noiselessly tucks you closer to his side, supporting your head in the soft, blood-crusted pillow of his fluff, and your coughing lessens into sharp gasps for air. A warm liquid fills your mouth, the taste of metal and consistency of sticky syrup. Your vision becomes hazy, and the gray around everything turns to black. You think you can hear humming, a gentle rumble from the throat as a monster drowns in midnight waters.

Music plays, and an old ballad sings. Celestial skies and Abyssal waves, eternal twins, consuming the heart and mind forever.

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littlefreya · 4 years ago

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Penny Dreadful

Summary: Sherlock is cold, troubled and upset, his mind is fixed on cracking an unsolved murder. It’s the worst time to disturb him. But his hot-blooded little succubus wants to drag him into sin.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x OFC (First-person POV)

Word count: 2.5K

Warning: 18+, smut, teasing, bratty behaviour, ass-smacking with a cane, slight cane play, primal play, unprotected rough sex, biting, slight size kink, MaleDom, drug use. Lots of curly hair descriptions.

A/N: Not canon to books Sherlock, obviously, but seeing the photos and teaser Henry as Sherlock just sets up the vibe. So I had to. Many thanks to my beta @agniavateira !! Sorry for the ugly cover art :D.

Title: Penny Dreadful

Sherlock’s study was a bleak, musky chamber deprived of heat, notwithstanding the many candles that burnt at every corner. Perhaps it was the pristine heaps of snow that piled on the ledge of the window, or maybe it was his sullen mood that gave the room a sense of icy wilderness.

Fumes rose from his mouth, vaping into the air. The tawny light kissed his thick mane of luscious, chocolate curls while he stood at the fore of his desk and leered at some parchments that troubled his brilliant mind for whatever reason.

Fist seizing the golden tip of his cane, his thumb stroked the engravings that embellished the metal. Cases that he couldn’t crack often left him frustrated to the point of madness. Those wicked, sly obsessions made him even more irresistible.

My nails bit into the wooden doorframe. Consumed by yearning, a blaze licked up my soul with its monstrous tongue. I often wondered how something so pure as love could be dangerous, to which Sherlock would reply,

“Love is the greatest villain of them all.”

Unlike him, I didn’t care for evil.

The detective unclipped the small chain he kept fastened to his vest and opened the silver locket, gathering a wisp of white powder on the tip of his pinky finger and pressed it to his nostrils. A small grunt escaped him, his eyes turning glassy. The “fairy dust” tended to sharpen his perception and elevate his stamina.

I dropped to my knees at his sight, crawling on the floor. The black silks of my dress made a brushing noise as it dragged on the Persian carpet; my breasts peeked as my corset shifted with every move. Sherlock often said we must imagine ourselves as animals once we let desire play our strings.

Accepting my inner wildness, tonight I was a cougar stalking her prey.

By nature, his senses were sharp as blades, though the substance that streamed through his veins made a more heightened grip of the reality that surrounded him. He noticed and yet ignored me, letting his hot-blooded harlot crave for his attention.

If I was to be the feline predator, Sherlock was the hunter who pursued me for sport. An unfair game, yet nevertheless my favourite.

Bathing in my own little fountain of mischief, I allowed my fingers to sneak toward his cane, brushing up and down the mahogany in slow, languid motion. My slender digits licked along the shaft and my bosom followed, pressing against the hardwood. I dragged myself up slightly to glimpse at my master from below: my Sherlock, always a sight for a famished girl; a colossus, intimidating, and breathtaking. Like a moth to a flame, I inched closer dazed by the light, wanting to bask in its radiance.

The muscle in his cheek tensed, thick brows furrowing. A little squared wrinkle appeared above the bridge of his nose as he brushed through his dark locks with agitation.

“What ills that glorious mind of yours?” I hummed, playful fingertips climbing further up at the length of his cane.

“Something I can’t grasp,” he spat, not giving me the time of day. But I knew he noticed every detail of my wanton behaviour, it was evident by the way his breath swiftly became heavier. Sherlock might have solved crimes by profession, but all women were natural detectives; evolution granted us with a definite survival instinct, learning to read men between the shadows.

“You can possess me,” I offered, fingers scraping over his thumb as it pressed onto the cane’s golden tip. My voice dropped to a whisper while my hand left the cane in favour of his thigh. The muscle flexed and twitched under my sinful touch, the fabric of his breeches stretched as his cock grew with its natural need to fulfil the wet, convulsing void in me.

“You’re distracting me,” he warned, voice low and stern. His lashes hardly even fluttered to my direction.

Every delicate little hair stood up at the sound of alarm yet instead, I inhaled the soot of peril, allowing my hand to travel further and meet his hungry girth. It rose to my touch with gratitude, flinching even harder at the clutch of my claws. The flavour of desire was honey and salt on the tip of my tongue.

The low animalistic vibration of his voice wavered through his solid form. I felt it shudder all the way down to his swelling cock. A cautious man, Sherlock was measured and forbearing to a point that made me wonder if he even liked women at all before we fell into the vicious pit of decadence and violent delights.

It was the contrary that was true: Sherlock loved women very much, his desires were simply… of a certain quality.

His groin was warm and firm against my cheek. The crystalline-blue glare finally graced me with a sight so brooding my bones clattered.

“Later, I need to work.” By the drop of his voice, I knew there won’t be a third warning.

“Later, Later…” I taunted, rolling my chin over his aching need. “All work and no play…”

The gasp that pushed out of my lungs nearly whisked the candles off as Sherlock hauled me up by his hand and bent me over the desk.

“Should I teach you how to respect my time?” He snarled, throwing the skirts of my dress over my head like a cape of the midnight sky. Stars collapsed under my skin at the sensation of his touch exploring the curve of my bare ass. Talons ruptured the tiny blood vessels, squeezing with the affirmation of his ownership.

“No undergarments?” Sherlock growled dangerously while his thumb brushed over my silken entrance, toying with the rich elixir and smearing it further down my anticipating petals. I answered with a deep moan, stretching on this desk with a succumbing plea.

“You came here aimed at disturbing me while I work.”

Settling onto the surface of the desk, I reached forth one arm lazily and chuckled. “You are a great detective, I… oh!”

Something cold and solid caressed my dripping lips, driving between them in slow, calculated strokes. Throwing my head over my shoulder, I noticed Sherlock holding his cane against my sacred cove, staring at it as if I was yet another piece of evidence to be explored. The golden arched-tip pushed-slightly between my petals and entered just enough to make me hiss. For a mere second I wondered if he was going to fuck me using nothing but his cane.

“Look away; this is going to hurt.”

I hardly had time to protest when the first smack hit the pillow of my cheek. A wheeze of disgrace shot from my throat, husky and embarrassing, but not as degrading as the sting the metal left at my burning backside.

“Bad girl,” Sherlock ticked his tongue and lifted the cane midway in the air, a flare of noxious desire bursting in his pale-blue orbs. This time I turned away and shut my eyes, gripping the edge of the desk until my knuckles turned dead-white. If only it did anything to dull the pain, the sting was even more prominent, shooting all the way up to my spine where it coiled and forced a strident yip from my clamped lips.

Yet the throb in my cunt was unmissable.

Sherlock knew very well that the hurt allied with pleasure, enhancing it even, like his powdery magic dust.

Another smack and my nails scratched at the wood. Like a sinner nun indulging her own beating, I rode the waves of pain as they broke onto shores abundant with pleasure. There were hidden cracks in our public figure, the place where I burnt and Sherlock ascended as we pried our claws into mortal deadly sins. My senses rose to conflict with every smack and Sherlock took joy in every involuntary squirm of my body.

Tongue pressed between his lips, he hummed as he admired his handiwork, painting my ass in obscene hues of violence. “Had enough? Or want to see which will break first, the rod or your arrogance?” Sherlock chided and pinched my sore cheek to further increase the pain.

Embers whispered beneath my flesh, my legs jolted from the intense beating and by god, the trickle of my juices rolling down the back of my thighs made even a sultry woman such as myself drown in white shame.

Sherlock’s breath was a heavy guttural waft. His cane dropped to the floor and I heard the sound of metal clicking as he fumbled with his belt. I would be damned if I let him fuck me from behind. To have those eyes look away as he entered me was a vice I wouldn’t stand.

“No!” I yelled, bracing on my wobbly elbows as much as I could and turned to face him.

Sherlock’s glare widened, a chill of ice blew through his eyes and his pupils dilated like a crazed feline. “You’re saying no to me?”

“Yes!” I heaved and reached my hands to cradle his skull, pushing myself against the hardness of his body and forcing my lips on his. My kiss was feral, bruising the plush skin on and around his mouth, nibbling and biting until we tasted iron on our tongues. It was not long before I was shoved against the wall, our mouths still united, sharing one breath.

Or rather stealing it from one another.

We were pleasingly unequal. Sherlock was all iron and stone; a bulky, tall man who could tear me apart with his bare hands. I was a little lush thing, so tender, so easily bruised. Despite his power, the desire to claim the tiny wet hole between my legs was unquenchable, reducing him to a savage thing that spoke in raw inarticulate sounds.

He tore his mouth from mine and swept me up from the ground, hiking the skirts of my dress urgently to expose what he coveted the most. I felt the supple velvety texture of his hardness grind against my thigh, smearing the pearly drops of his arousal onto my skin. We both moaned at the sensation and moved to the rhythm dictated by our most primal instincts.

“You want my cock?” He growled and gnawed his teeth at my neck, biting deep enough to break through the skin. I whined in pain, my voice rising a pitch as I writhed against him to ignite the smallest of frictions and serve the demon of desire in me.

“Fuck me!” I begged, sliding my fingers through the mass of soft curls and tugging them with need.

Answering my plea, Sherlock speared into my unruly cunt, brutally spreading me open like he would tear the petals from a flower. I yipped into his luscious hair, my nails tearing into his nape as his intrusion claimed everything my body had to offer. I always found it odd how my flesh would resist and beg for him at the same time, my succulent canal fighting to push him by instinct yet he only further rutted into me. He reached his hands to my sore ass to squeeze my cheeks apart.

“Such a tight little harlot,” he groaned, engulfed by my garden of mysteries. Moaning so loudly, our duet reverberated through the corridors of the house. His lashes fluttered with ecstasy as he pulled back only to force me down on his imposing cock, attempting to rip through my denial. Or it was to tame me as I clenched around his girth, accepting and resisting him at the same time. I was nothing but a vessel for him to fill, and he did so with a fiery passion, glaring straight to my eyes while thrusting deep and hard into me.

Books fell from the shelves nearby as we battled against the wall, my legs sliding up and down his waist, spreading helplessly in the air until my boots pressed into his arse. One of his hands reached for my corset, tugging on the ludicrous outfit to expose my breast. Ravenous, he licked his bloodstained lips, giving me a stare that made my cunt clutch him harder before he sank his fangs to pierce cavities in my tit.

“No!!!” I cried out and gasped as he thrust deeper to punish me for my protest. His heavy cock hit a spot so deep inside me that tears instantly emerged and fell down my cheeks, the pang bringing through a spasm of odd relief.

Blood and saliva smeared along my cleavage as he dragged his lips further, licking and then kissing every patch he bruised. I moaned breathlessly, throwing my head back against the wall as his nimble fingers surveyed my neck, laying small threats to show me how easy he could simply suspend my very basic need.

But my survival instincts already flew out the window the moment he penetrated me.

His lips hovered above mine as he fucked deep into my body, our cries creating an obscure symphony as he continuously slammed into my hilt, harder and more urgent with every plunge. The tears that fell down my cheeks were tainted with the conflicting aphrodisiac that pain brought through. In that instant I was whole, gratified by the friction created of the collision of our wet organs.

“Do it!” I gasped and nodded through glossy stares, swallowing hard to gesture what he already knew. With a swift snap of his hands, his fingers were bruising on my neck and he slammed into me at a furious pace, giving no care for my broken screams.

Euphoria tore through my soul, crashing like hot waves of eternal fire. I came apart around his thick rod crying for God and Satan at once. Sherlock never slowed down, not even as he felt the tightening of my ring around him. It only made him fuck me harder, burying his face at my collarbone, chasing his own rapture at a punishing speed, grunting like a beast. Finally, he shuddered and pumped me full of his thick, silky milk. The muscles of his behind flexed and he ground his hot load into my warm cavern, making sure I received every drop. My hands reached to squeeze his taut ass as my legs clutched him still, wanting to keep him inside me.

As if he had any intentions of leaving as he moaned and spasmed inside me.

Smoke filled the room as few of the candles died; the scent of ash and the musk of our sex seeped through our noses while we remained entwined, shaking in each other’s grasp. Breathless and damp with sweat, Sherlock lifted his face from my neck and glanced at me looking so vulnerable, almost appearing lost. I moved my trembling hands back to his face, my thumbs caressing his sharp cheeks.

“I know I am harsh…” he murmured, his eyes digging into my heart with nothing but a gaze of despair, “but please don’t ever leave me.”

My face fell at the sound of his words, my lips parting with awe. My detective could solve the most outrageous crimes, and yet he couldn’t realise I was shackled to him for all eternity.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill fanfiction #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes x ofc #henry holmes #sherlock holmes

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shootthemessenger · 4 years ago

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her eyes and words are so icy, oh, but she burns [w.v.]

wilhemina venable x fem!reader

requested: the, usually ruthless, wilhemina has a soft spot for the reader [anonymous]

disclaimer: strong language, sexual nature, two brief instances of smut

The first time Wilhemina thought about marrying you:

Long before the apocalypse brought about the end of times, Wilhemina worked with two numb-skulls which she had spent a lot of her time complaining about while you spent your work days cleaning the messes politicians left behind in their wake of lies and manipulation.

You fumbled into the apartment that one night; hair messy and unkept from the pure frustration of the day, cheeks flushed in anger and slight embarrassment in yourself, and nearly falling over in your uncomfortable shoes.

Before even taking the chance to look at you, Wilhemina began to tease just as she did most days. “My, my, my; what do we have here?” She asked, face curling up into a wicked smile. That was, until she looked up from her book to meet the glassy look in your eyes rather than your usual smile. “Mina,” you whispered, your voice broken and low as if you didn’t know what else to do.

Without a second thought, she used her cane to push herself off the couch and shuffled quickly towards your side with her hand already reaching to cup your face in her gentle palm.

You practically collapsed into her arms as your work bag hit the floor with a hollow ‘thud’. Your hand clutched tightly at the thin purple dress that hung from her waist.

She wrapped her free hand around the back of your head and soothed the frizzied hair. “It’s okay, sweet girl.” She began to sway with you tucked tightly between her arms, holding you close to the hallow in her neck where she could feel your heavy breathing.

Her heart ached as she met your gaze once again, watching you wither underneath her and blink back the tears which persisted at pooling in your eyes.

She took your face between her hands and pressed her lips to yours softly before guiding you to sit on the couch she had been keeping warm as she waited for you to return home.

“Relax, kitten.” She lowered herself onto the floor in front of you, despite the discomfort in her spine, and began to unfasten the heels from your feet.

You watched her curiously as she kissed the base of your ankle with soft lips.

Then she moved up your calf, feeling the muscle flex underneath her gentle kiss and glanced up just in time to see your eyes flutter closed and head fall back against the couch.

When she reached your thighs she admired the way they instinctively parted for her, allowing her access to even the most intimate part of you despite sex being absent from her mind in that moment.

She looked up to meet you, admiring the soft features of your face under the light seeping in from the kitchen. “You’re so deliciously beautiful.” She mumbled against your skin before nipping playfully.

And as you blushed and giggled she thought, briefly but definitely there, what it would be like to have you like this every day for the rest of her life.

The second time Wilhemina thought about marrying you:

Wilhemina had officially moved into your apartment some months after that night and began to make the space something you could both share.

This way, you’d have everything you needed for your baking hobby without worrying about the availability of ingredients or appliances at her apartment. And she’d have all of her books without having to remember to bring the ones she was working through to your apartment.

But neither of your minds were focused on baking or books in that moment as Wilhemina’s hand tightened around the locks of your hair that she had fisted roughly.

Moans poured from deep within her heaving chest as she fell apart underneath you, mumbling your name between desperate gasps for air.

She did her best to praise you through shuttering breaths and twitching limbs. A single, strangled ‘such a good girl’ fell from her parted lips.

You looked up at her from your place between her thighs, watching as her eyes fell open and glistened with something soft. Her lips broke out in a smile and she beckoned you to kiss her by guiding you with the, newly-gentle, hand in your hair.

She shuddered as you kissed your way up her abdomen, deliberately paying more attention to the skin around her sensitive nipples.

When you finally leveled your faces, she held yours between her two hands and let her lips tangle with yours in a frenzy of appreciative passion. “So good for me, kitten.” She let her hand fall between your legs before you grabbed her wrist.

“No baby, tonight was all about you, Ms. Venable.” Your tongue poked out between your teeth teasingly as you addressed her so formally and she glanced down your body as you moved to cuddle into her side.

She nearly wanted to cry. Sex with you didn’t make her feel dirty like it had with others. In fact, she felt empowered, freed by the vulnerability of it all.

It felt so nice for someone she trusted to have control over her body.

She could have savored that feeling for the rest of her life and she imagined that’s what it would have felt like to be married to you.

The time Wilhemina didn’t get to marry you:

With all such time to panic and little time to prepare, Wilhemina found quickly that she had been fatally unprepared.

It had been such a long time since she had cared for someone in the way she had you and it caused her to forget to take into account how she was going to keep you safe once the apocalypse actually did render the world unbearable.

So when she had lost you in the balze of explosion and fiery heat, it hardened her; forced her into a cold, dark spiral that she only continued to sink into with each passing day.

She banned everything that had once brought her joy with you; sex, love, she even frowned upon the friendships the survivors were beginning to take up couped inside the outpost.

And then there was that one night, just as dinner come to its conclusion and the survivors shuffled off to their respective rooms.

“Only a matter of time.” She listens to Mariam mumble beside her as they watched the survivors disperse. She let a crooked smile twitch against her lips, “In due time, they’ll enjoy their sweet apples tomorrow night and we’ll enjoy shelter from the nuclear storm around us before anyone even knows what happened.”

She watched the shorter woman shuffle into the direction of her room and dismissed the remaining few with her cane.

She began her short journey down the corridor, listening closely for sun commotion from any particular room just as she did every night.

All was still and silent, she presumed that most were bubbling with excitement for the only bit of fun they were getting to have since the world had withered away.

When she reached her bedroom, the tension inside was uneasy. She figured it was only her nerves at the risk she was about to take with the lives of the survivors.

Her cane echoed through the still room as she eased herself into the chair at the foot of her bed. Despite her confidence around the outpost, her back was beginning to ache and her feet were an even worse story.

Without warning, Wilhemina felt the cold end of a blade pressing against her throat, an arm hooked around her neck. She froze under the pressure, letting the smallest gasp escape from her parted lips.

“Don’t. Move.” The voice behind her ear was sharp and demanding, even without the knife pressed into her skin she probably would have obeyed. “You make a sound and I will slit your throat before anyone even has the chance to hear you, do you understand me?”

Wilhemina ghosted a nod, feeling the blade press further into her delicate flesh.

“Now you’re going to stand up and turn around. Slowly.” The force behind the blade loosened and Wilhemina shook slightly as she pushed herself to her feet.

“Turn.” The voice instructed and Wilhemina could feel the presence of the knife at her back. She slowly moved around, facing the source of the voice.

A black cloak covered the figure in front of her. Everything was covered but a set of eyes which were wide with shock. Wilhemina furrowed her eyebrows at the sudden weakness of the presence.

She didn’t dare move, though, closely watching the knife pressed into her torso. But the stranger did not move the knife into her skin, instead they reached up and began to unwrap the cloth around their face.

Slowly, you revealed yourself to the older woman as the pieces of your face began to click together with the memories in her head.

“Y/n...” Her voice was nearly too quiet to be a whisper but still you nodded, not daring to move towards or away from her. Her eyes softened as she examined your face, looking for anything to indicate she was dreaming or hallucinating even.

But as her palm pressed against your cheek she gasp softly as the feeling of your flesh which fit just as perfectly into her hand as it always had.

“Oh, kitten.” She exclaimed, pulling you into her tightly as you nearly collapsed against her body. “Wilhemina.” You mumbled into her shoulder, holding her back just as tightly.

The time Wilhemina decided to marry you:

Wilhemina watched over the edge of her book as your head nestled against her thighs. One hand played with the delicate skin of your ear as the other held her book just above your head.

She watched the fire bathe you in a warm glow and fought the smile twitching at her tired lips. “Darling,” she hummed for your attention and set her book onto the bed.

Your head shifted in her lap until you were looking up at her, “Mina.” You answered, toying with the lace on her nightgown. She watched your fingers move around the fabric then let her eyes flicker to your face which looked up at her expectantly.

“I want to marry you.” She couldn’t stop herself from blurting it out, the thought pushing at the edge of her brain and rolling itself off the tip of her tongue.

Your face broke out in shock and she tensed, god fucking dammit. And then your eyes relaxed, a smile found its way onto your face. “I want to marry you too.” You assured her, sitting with your arm anchored over her lap.

She chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to yours lips. “I can’t wait.”

The time Wilhemina actually married you, in her own twisted way:

It was becoming impossible for Wilhemina to decide how she was going to marry you when there were no churches or priests or even courts for that matter. You had assured her that eventually the two of you would settle on something but there was no rush for now.

Wilhemina didn’t know what had come over her that same night - watching you drown in the soft satin sheets of her bed, wearing nothing more than your own naked skin - forced a hunger to bubble inside her chest.

She had only been detached from your lips long enough to unzip her dress and let it pool at her ankles but, still, she was aching to touch you again.

She lunged forward, capturing your lips between her own. It wasn’t soft like usual, it was hungry and needy; a chaotic frenzy of clashing teeth and bumping tongues.

She breathed against your face, inhaling sharply as her nails dug into the skin on your hips and pinned you against the matress.

There was something about the way you whimpered and squirmed underneath her that only fueled her on even more. She was feeling a want in her stomach that was unlike any other time she had taken you.

Sure, she had used sex with you as an outlet for her anger after a particularly bad day at work on many occasions and had gotten just as worked up. But this was different; there were no punishments or teasing. There wasn’t even talking between the two of you; no praising or filthy compliments falling from her lips.

She was only focusing on one thing; ruining you. Forcing you to fall apart over and over again underneath her, at her complete will.

When she finally did pause, with her head settled between your thighs and dangerously close to your heat, she took a second to meet your desperate eyes.

With the fire across the room reflecting in your eyes and bathing you in a soft orange glow, she couldn’t help the moan that fell from her lips. It startled even herself.

Without spending much time thinking about it, she reached down and pulled one of the thick rings off her finger, using her mouth to suck a bruise onto the inside of your thigh.

Blindly, as she moved to your other thigh, she found your left hand and slipped the ring onto your ring finger. “I do.” She announced, a wicked smile on her lips before she leaned forward and delved between your folds with her tongue.

Taglist: @mssallymckenna , @proudnlittle , @coxmicbabygirl , @sapphicpaulsxn , @its-soph-xx , @fand0m-obsess3d-g33k , @paulsonix , @madamevirgo , @saucy-sapphic , @kikaykimkim , @billiedeansbottom , @d14n4ol

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luciusmalfoysimp · 4 years ago

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Using Your SafeWord For the First Time With Lucius Malfoy (one shot)

this one shot is going to be nsfw, and it will involve mentions of poor mental health/depression and anxiety. if you are in fact struggling with either of those two, please know you are loved by so many people. message me anytime :)

this is gonna have a dom!Lucius (of course) and a relationship involving bdsm.

warnings: impact (ie spanking and more), restraint, mentions of poor mental health

Your cries of pain rang through the air and echoed against the walls as you received another harsh strike to your rear. You currently found yourself bent over your partner’s bed, your hands harshly tied together behind you with a thick, dark green rope, a piece of black silk covering your eyes, and your ass red, sore, and exposed to Lucius, who stood behind you, staring at your state.

The past few days had been incredibly rough for you mentally. Your mind was filled with all sorts of intrusive and unhealthy thoughts, plagued by depression and anxiety. As much as you wanted to open up, your anxiety only told you that Lucius didn’t want to hear them, as he already had enough stress with work; he didn’t need to be concerned about you.

Your mind was getting so rotted and poisoned that you needed a release. You decided to turn to your partner in a different way, and asked him to just let you have it, hoping the physical pain he’d inflict on you would drown out the mental.

Ragged breaths shook from your body as you anticipated your dominant’s next move. You could hear his quiet footsteps as he paced back and forth, and you could practically hear the smirk on his face. In a condescending voice, he asked you if you were enjoying yourself, and you replied with a hoarse “yes, sir.” The fluttering of the tassels on the flogger in his hand was a noise you were all too familiar with, and you wondered when his next strike would be. You shivered as he chuckled quietly and you heard him walk away. What is he grabbing now...

Your question was quickly answered as you felt the cold metal of your dominant’s cane lightly rub against your flesh. Beneath the blindfold, you felt your eyes widen as you realized what tool he would be using next on you. Can I really handle his cane today...? No, I know I can... Despite what you told yourself, you could feel a pang of doubt in your stomach. A hand suddenly gripped your hair and you felt Lucius’s hot breath on the shell of your ear.

“I’d prepare yourself if I were you...” His voice was a seductive snarl, and your only response was a quiet whine. As he backed away, you could feel your already sweat-slicked palms get damper from anxiety. Your heart began to race as Lucius intentionally stood still, leaving you to wonder when he’d at last begin the torture.

It almost seemed like slow motion. You could hear the air being cut by the sharp swing of the cane, and then the white-hot pain spread all across your rear. Instantly, you let out a voice-clawing yell of surprise and pain, and you felt tears fill your eyes. You couldn’t see it, but Lucius smirked down at you with pride. He loved seeing you so vulnerable and completely his.

Another shriek left your throat as you were hit again, and you gritted your teeth, letting a groan out through your tightly clamped jaw. You didn’t want to cry, you were too strong for that. You needed to focus on the pain...

Even though you told yourself this, you felt your mind wander to the thoughts that clouded all things positive. As you were struck a third time, these thoughts seemed to amplify in volume, with words of not being good enough and feelings of unworthiness getting louder in your head. The silk against your eyes started to dampen, and the shockwave of pain coursed through you, this one being much worse as Lucius decided to put his whole arm into the swing.

Your reaction was instant, as you screeched from the incredible ache on your already burning backside. You instinctively pulled against the ropes restraining your wrists as you felt tears slip from beneath the soft fabric of your blindfold. Internally, you hoped that the next impact would be lighter, but to your horror, it quickly became apparent that he put the same amount of strength in this hit as the last one. You went to scream but no noise came out, only an inhale. Lucius hadn’t put much time between his strikes, and the sting from the last was now more intense.

That’s when your mind began to explode. Hurtful phrases towards yourself began to just completely rip through your brain at what seemed a million miles an hour. Everything became 100% more intense as you began to go into sensory overload. Lucius’s breaths and footsteps from behind you sounded like it was being played through a concert amp at full blast, the light you could vaguely see through the blindfold suddenly was in competition with the sun, the blanket beneath you became course and uncomfortable, the light saltiness from your tears was suddenly the same taste of sea water...

And Lucius struck again.

I can’t fucking do this, I can’t fucking do this...

This phrase drowned out the rest of your thoughts, and with a deep breath...

“WHIPLASH.” You sobbed, your body completely trembling.

This had never happened during a scene before, and Lucius’s then sadistic mindset completely shattered at the raw desperation in your voice. It completely shook him, actually confused him at first, and it took only a split second to ground him and melt from his current headspace. In an instant, he threw the cane to the side, the clattering of it hitting the ground unknowingly frightening you and making you shrink into the mattress, bringing your bound hands closer to your head to protect yourself in some way. Instinctively, you began to repeatedly say your safeword in a hoarse voice, tears flowing faster.

It nearly broke Lucius to see you this distraught. He grabbed his wand and with a flick of his wrist pointed towards your tied hands, the rope loosened. You shuddered as you felt him quickly pull the rope away from you, and despite him removing your blindfold, you kept your eyes screwed shut. Lucius pulled your torso up as he sat in front of you, his hands going to the sides of your face while you sat on your haunches.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” His tone was so soothing and you could feel yourself calm ever so slightly. The warmth from his hands left your face momentarily and you heard some rustling of a soft blanket nearby. Kitten-soft fabric wrapped around your bare shoulders and went down your back, warming up the fabric from your thin black camisole. You gripped the blanket and pulled it tight against you.

“My love, please look at me.” Lucius’s voice was as soft as the blanket, you allowed your eyes to open. His face was clouded by tears, but you could make out his rare worried expression and his beautiful hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. The tears flooded and your sight was cleared better.

His expression, which was usually cold as ice, was one that you’d only seen on a few occasions, usually when you’d accidentally get hurt or when you got separated from him on Diagon Alley for a good fifteen minutes. His brows were furrowed, his piercing eyes glinting with concern, lips slightly parted as he awaited your response.

Opening your mouth, you went to explain yourself, only to be overwhelmed with emotion. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t get a word out as your crying took over you, your body shaking with each sob. When you looked at Lucius through your tears, all you could see was an expression of heartbreak on your lover’s face, and you buried your face into your palms, trying to hide your hurt.

He truly was heartbroken as he watched you completely break down in front of him. All he wanted to give you in life was joy, pleasure, and safety. The thought of you experiencing any kind of negative emotion honestly slightly scared him. He’d always hoped to see you content and full of smiles. Of course he knew that you were human and you experienced other emotions than happiness, but seeing this intensity of utter distress and sadness gave him a cold pain in his chest.

You felt his hands move to yours, lightly gripping them and prying them away. You hesitated, but let him remove your shielding hands as you sniffled, your throat burning as you tried to keep yourself from crying any further. All you could do was stare at your hands in your dom’s, trying to avoid eye contact as much as you could. This attempt failed as one of his hands left yours to grasp your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up and eventually meeting his incredible blue-green eyes.

“My love...” His tone gave away his concern as well. There was a slight tremble to it that you picked up on. “Please, tell me what is going on.”

Taking a deep breath, you slowly began to express your recent painful thoughts to him, instantly tearing up again. You told him your hopes of coping with his sadism, hoping that the pain would overshadow your thoughts, and how when he used his cane, it only amplified everything: your thoughts, your senses, and your pain. A flicker of regret could be seen in Lucius’s eyes as you said this. Lastly, you told him how you didn’t want to burden him with your struggles.

The entire time you spoke, Lucius never broke eye contact, and would stop you to make you look at him when you’d look away. He wanted you to know you had his complete undivided attention and that you yourself wouldn’t get distracted in anyway. As you spoke, his hand ran up and down your shoulder, a reassuring gesture that he was there for you. His other hand lightly wiped your tears away and cupped your face, another soft action to help you feel secure.

Once you’d finally finished your explanation, your dominant pulled you into his lap, his arms around your waist. You put your arms around his neck and buried your face into his shoulder, enjoying his warmth and closeness. His left hand came up from your waist and cupped the back of your head. The two of you sat for a minute in silence as silent tears went down your face.

“Darling...” Lucius’s rich voice broke the silence. “You never, ever need to fear that your feelings can’t be shared with me. I need to know when you are unwell. I absolutely adore you, and I want to make things better for you when you’re hurting.” You felt his embrace tighten. “Let me take care of you...”

And with that, the two of you stayed together for a bit longer before he insisted on you taking a warm, comforting bath, which you agreed to. He gently brought you to his master bathroom, which had a luxurious jacuzzi tub, and sat you on the edge as he waved his wand and the taps turned on instantly, warm water filling the tub quickly.

As the tub filled, you vacantly stared into the water, feeling out-of-body in a way. Your mind felt heavy yet empty, like TV static. While you stared, Lucius was quick to grab a few of your favorite essential oils and drop some into the tub, the water becoming silky. He noticed your vacant gaze and walked over to you, cupping your chin to make you face him. His other hand tugged at the hem of your camisole, asking to take it off. You hazily lifted your arms and allowed your partner to take off your last piece of clothing, throwing it aside. Once the bath was filled (which didn’t take very long), you sank into the warm water and allowed yourself to relax.

Lucius’s hands ran down the back of your neck and landed on your shoulders, which he lightly began to massage. You closed your eyes in bliss at the magic of his hands, which were able to find every knot and tense spot and diffuse it quickly. As he did this, he brought his lips to your ear, whispering nothing but sweet praises to you.

“You’re alright.” “I’m here.” “You’re safe.” “You took everything so well.” “I’m so proud of you.” “I’m so lucky to have you.” “I’m so glad you’re mine.” “You don’t have to worry anymore.”

Each time he spoke did more to ease your mind, and you eventually found yourself crying quietly once again, but tears of relief. He was right: you were safe. Lucius would always be there to protect you and be right by your side.

At last, the water of the tub started to get cold. Lucius helped get you to your feet and wrap you in an incredibly soft towel. As you stood before him, towel covering you from your chest to your knees, your tearstained face finally dry, Lucius couldn’t help but to pull you into a quick embrace, his lips solftly touching your forehead.

“Would you like to get changed into anything, my pet?” He asked in a soft voice. You nodded and Lucius sat you on his bed and left for a minute. When he returned, he produced a long nightgown (or a matching pajama shirt and pants if you’d prefer) and slowly eased you into them.

Usually, when your naked form was in view of your dominant, he couldn’t help but just absolutely salavate at the sight, wanting to indulge you in nothing but utter pleasure until you were seeing stars. But in this moment, your nudity wasn’t anything sexual to him. He didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable after all that you’d endured.

Finally dressed, you were brought to his bed and you climbed in, allowing yourself some peace. After lighting a fire in the fireplace from his wand with a mutter of a spell, Lucius changed out of your view into a simple black pair of elegant silk pajamas and then got into bed behind you, his face going into the back of your neck as his arms went around your torso. You turned over as he held you and buried your face into his chest, your arms returning the embrace. You ended up falling asleep to the blissful sound of your lover’s voice quietly praising you, the fireplace cracking in the background, the warmth of his body against yours, and his hand lightly petting your hair.

Once he noticed you were asleep, Lucius sighed quietly to himself, content to see you at ease. He closed his eyes, thinking to himself how lucky he is to have you in his arms at that moment, and with that, he fell into a peaceful slumber beside you.

#lucius malfoy #lucius malfoy x reader #lucius malfoy x you #lucius malfoy one shot #x reader

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ppersonna · 5 years ago

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repentance - knj | m

now, let's imprint my name on that trophy and come back home - come back home, BTS

↳ summary- your boyfriend, Kim Namjoon, doesn’t like it when you flirt with other guys

↳ rating- explicit / 18+

↳ word count- 6k

↳ pairing- namjoon x reader

↳ genre- smut, this is all smut, there is nothing but smut here, there is no god in this chili’s tonight. this actively takes us further from the light.

↳ warnings- very hard BDSM, name calling, degradation, humiliation, spitting, caning/spanking, collaring, bondage, squirting, overstimulation, impreg kink lmfao, face fucking, Namjoon is a v sadistic dom but he is still sane, after care is important,

↳ a/n- well folks. here it is. The fic that pushed me past my comfort zone lmfafskadf. i am 100% grateful to @sombreboy for assisting me with this and being silly as fuck in the google doc. i could not have done it without his guidance lmfaooo. this was requested by anon and i hope i did it justice and i rly appreciate getting sent things that make me write things i normally wouldn’t! thank you for believing in me lmfao. pls feel free to interact with me however u want bc i love you all. Thanks for reading! namjoon if ur reading this pls forgive me

“I hope you had your fun, doll,“ Namjoon whispers harshly in your ear as you walk with him away from the dance studio. You’re covered in sweat, hot, and still you’re shaking like a leaf at the tone of your boyfriend’s voice.

So maybe you broke the rules. Maybe you danced with Jimin at practice a little too intensely, a little too provocatively. Maybe you grinded up against the blonde harder than you should, making the dancer sport a tent in his pants.

And maybe you did it in front of your boyfriend, that man who loved and dominated you.

Is it too late to say oops?

Namjoon is silent on the drive home. His face is expressionless, but his eyes give it away. He looks a touch angry, a touch excited, but he mostly radiates possession. If there’s something that Namjoon hates, it’s sharing you.

Your playful flirting with Jimin had been just that—playful. Jimin was your dance partner going on 10 years now, ranging from ballroom to jazz and tap, to contemporary and international. Jimin was always your go-to guy, best friend, and occasional fuck buddy. Namjoon knew this, knew the history between you two, but still allowed you your freedom in dancing and competing with the blonde. Sometimes it was just so easy to fall back on old habits, when you’d grind on Jimin so hard that he’d rip your shorts down and take you against the hardwood floor of the studio.

Even though you were quite happy in your relationship with Namjoon, it was hard to re-route the synapses that led elsewhere when you were dancing.

But you loved Namjoon, and you had for a long time. It was something you were working on, the flirting and the carelessness. Namjoon was supportive, loving, and a natural caretaker.

He was also a sadistic Dominant.

Where Namjoon was sensitive, sweet, communicative and giving in the streets, he was disgusting and filthy and downright heinous in the sheets.

And you loved every single aspect of it. There was nothing that thrilled you more than the control he wielded on you, the power in his gaze and in his hand, and the possession he took of you.

It was the reason none of your relationships worked out before him. Sure, there had been pleasant guys and excellent fucks like Jimin. But Namjoon was the entire package, plus some. You trusted him with your entire life, your whole being. He grew up alongside you, and you knew the man would rather injure himself than ever cause you harm.

It’s what made the punishments, the pain, even more delicious. He took you to your breaking point, sometimes even further, because he knew you could take it. And you trusted, loved and adored him for it.

But that didn’t mean it was easy.

No, while the punishments and pain were fun in the long run, they still sent a thrill of fear down your spine.

It’s been awhile since you got your boyfriend this worked up. Things had been pretty smooth sailing for the last few months. Sure, he was still a maniac in bed, but it was the scripted and practiced scenes you both knew by heart. Schoolgirl, nurse, secretary.

But this was real. Tangibly real. You could feel the tension rolling off his toned body, the heat of it ensnaring you, tying you up tight.

You want to apologize, open your mouth and begin the litany of sorry’s and I didn’t mean to’s, but your throat felt dry. You knew it was useless to try now, and the act might make him more upset.

The punishment he would inflict upon you would absolve you, baptize you of your sins. He’d sacrifice your flesh to be remade.

The car pulls into the garage of your shared home. Namjoon parks, closes the heavy door behind the car, then sits in the car staring straight ahead.

He’s silent for a moment. It puts your nerves on edge and he knows this, knows you hate the silence more than anything else.

“You are going to get naked. Right now.” He orders, still not facing you. He focuses his eyes on the wall of your garage. “You will leave your dirty clothes outside where they belong. And you will crawl from the car into the house.”

You nibble at your lip, waiting for more instructions. He turns and levels a look at you, and your body lights with fire.

“I want you to retrieve your collar and the handcuffs and bring them to me in the bedroom. You will get in position for me.”

He looks at you once more, seeking your eyes for any sign of fear, anything to tell him he’s going too far.

While your heart races, you nod and swallow tightly. You’re scared but not enough to stop him. You have a safe word for a reason but you haven’t needed to use it yet and you trust Namjoon more than you trust yourself.

He takes stock of your agreement and exits the car, leaving you alone as he trudged up the stairs leading to the house.

It takes one shuddering breath before you step out of the car, peel your sweaty workout clothes off, and slide down to your knees. There're cameras in the garage for security, and you know he’s watching them to ensure you’re listening to his orders.

The floor of the garage is dirty. You take one movement forward and look at your hands to find they’re already covered in black soot from the dirt and oils of the car tires driving in and out. You make a face but quickly pull out of it. This is your punishment.

You crawl up the steps and gingerly open the door, then make your way to your linen closet where your collar and handcuff remain when you’re not at home.

Namjoon gifted you with a home collar and a public collar. The public collar is a beautiful diamond circle pendant that hits right at the hollow of your throat.

The home collar, however, is made out of a study leather material, embedded with gorgeous diamonds. It’s heavy against your throat when you wear it. It’s a constant reminder of your subservient relationship to your Dom, your boyfriend.

The handcuffs hang from their specified hook. Black leather with chains connecting the cuffs. They’re strong, incredibly so, and the thought of being locked up makes your core tighten in excitement and fear.

With the items secure in your grasp, you return to your kneeling position and continue crawling towards the bedroom where your boyfriend awaits. Something inside you bubbles fiercely—what does he have planned for you? It’s been awhile since you’ve been quite literally at his mercy.

Namjoon is standing in front of the bed, arms crossed over his chest as you enter the room. You keep your eyes down, not making contact until he instructs for you to do so. You can feel the power and heat oozing off him, surrounding him like a cloud of authority. You approach and sit in front of him, knees spread wide and sat back on your heels. Your hands offer up the collar and the cuffs, palms up, as you avert his gaze.

“Look at you,” he tuts. “Filthy...” He removes the collar and cuffs off your hands and gazes at the black soot remaining from the dirty garage floor,

“But it suits you perfectly, doesn’t it?”, his voice was almost mocking you, ‘’A dirty slut.’’

Quite literally.

Namjoon sets aside your collar on the edge of the bed before crouching in front of you, a lopsided grin curling on his lips as he grabs your wrists as to inspect them,

‘’Even your pretty little hands are soiled, angel.’’ he tsked in disapproval, the mere sound of it making you feel smaller, eyes still fixed on the floor. After all, he hadn’t told you to look at him as of yet.

You don’t know why you thought he would ask you to wash your hands, but you quickly threw aside your anticipations as it catches you off guard with what he does next.

‘’Palms up, angel. Show me your hands.’’

A confused second passed, but you obliged nonetheless, raising both of your hands, palms up to him as if you were begging for something.

The mere sight was absolutely gorgeous to Namjoon.

Without a word, Namjoon collects enough saliva in his mouth, grabbing your wrists to pull your hands closer, letting his spit drip from his tongue down to pool in your hands. Your eyes widen as they stare at the floor, arms twitching instinctively at the foreign sensation.

His grasp around your wrists tightens, ‘’Stay still… Be a good girl, yeah?’’

You nod, relaxing your arms. However the muscles in them feel tired from holding them out for him like this. He knows, he can tell, but says nothing about it. He loves to watch you struggle, adamant to please him.

Besides, you deserve it, don’t you?

Once more, Namjoon spits in your hands. This time, it has a degrading intention; a harsh spitting sound as it lands in your hand. He stands up again, the angle even more delicious from above as he watches you obediently hold his pooled saliva like it was the most precious gift from him.

‘’Go on... Clean up.’’

You bite your lip as the slick saliva spreads in your hands. Your body thrums with humiliation and desire, mixing to make your legs quiver where they kneel before him. You clasp your hands together and rub your boyfriends spit in your hands, attempting to remove as much of the dirt as possible with what he’s given you. It’s messy—the spit is black from the soot. His eyes take you in, the image of you cleansing yourself with him, accepting his spit like the dirty whore you are, that he loves. It makes his cock throb in his jeans. Nothing gets him off quicker than putting you in your place, seeing you accept his degradation with pink cheeks and frightened eyes.

He pulls his shirt off his body and throws it to you carelessly.

“Use it to dry your hands,” he orders.

You comply, wiping the last off you with his shirt.

“Let me see.” You hold your hands up for him to inspect and he smirks, ‘’Good little slut.’’

His hands open the collar wide and you jerk slightly as you feel the pressure of it on your neck. Namjoon pulls it tight around you for a moment, cutting off your air supply, before he releases and secures the collar to sit high on your throat. The ‘O’ ring sits at the center proudly, a place he often uses to leash and drag you around like his pretty, perfect pet.

He moves away from you and towards the armoire at the side of your bedroom. Your heart gallops wildly. The armoire is full of his toys, punishment and reward alike. The unknowing of what he’s getting out to use on you has your cunt dripping with desire and fright.

There’s silence as he gathers his tools, then returns and places them on the nightstand.

“Look at me.” His voice is firm, unwavering.

You let your eyes flick up to his and your breath catches. He looks incredible. Shirtless, tight pants straining with the bulge of his cock, power exuding from his very pores. Your eyes dance on his chest for just a moment, soaking in the refined lines, then settle at his eyes. They’re darkened with lust, with intention. He looks at you like you are his next, and final, meal.

“I want you to bend over the bed. You will spread your legs and push out your pretty little ass. I’m going to cane you for what you’ve done today.”

Your eyes widen, and he relishes in the fright lingering. He hasn’t used the cane on you in a long time. It’s the most intense tools of impact you own—the one you’re most frightened of.

“You know your safe word, don’t you?” He asks.

You nod.

He tsks. “I asked you a question. Don’t make me open up that mouth for you. You won’t like what I’ll do.”

A shiver runs through you as you weakly open your mouth. “Yes, sir. My safe word is orange.”

He nods. “Good girl. Let’s hope we won’t need it and you’ll take what you are given, hm?” Another nod from you. “Now, do as you’re told.”

You hop up quickly, knees painfully red and sore now, and move towards the bed. You arch down, sticking your ass out towards your boyfriend and spreading your legs shoulder-length apart. He can see all of you, slick folds weeping with desire and anticipation, legs shaking in fear and arousal.

It’s intoxicating to Namjoon, the way you behave and listen. He loves the fright inside you, the way it soaks your cunt for him. He knows the cane is on the verge of being too much, he knows you’ll be weeping both from eyes and pussy at the end of it.

The wood is heavy in his hands. The cane is only a bit longer than a paddle, but it packs an even more intense blow.

“Tell me what you did today. Why do you deserve my cane?” He asks, allowing the cane to tap at your cheeks lightly. It makes you jerk and clutch at the blankets below you.

“I—I was dancing with Jimin, sir,” you murmur, voice tight with anxiety.

“Ah ah, you weren’t just dancing,” he corrects. “Don’t pretend to be innocent. You know what you did.”

As you open your mouth to speak, he brings the cane down at the tops of your thighs. It cracks heavily on the skin and makes your knees give out. The sting is like white, hot fire on your thighs. It burns, and makes your cunt clench around nothing. Tears spring at your eyes as you try to answer him.

“I was grinding on him!” you cry as your legs return to standing to accept the next blow.

“You were being a little. fucking. slut.” he intones, then punctuates his words with another whip of the cane—right at the center of your ass. The sound of it hitting your flesh echoes in the bedroom you share, and it makes you cry out in pain. Your knuckles were white from the grasp of the blankets—tears flooding you and spilling onto the duvet. “Say it!” He orders.

You whimper through your words. “I was being a slut, sir!”

‘’That’s right, you were being a filthy, horny cockslut.’’ He snarls, another whip echoing in the room as it falls harshly on your skin, ‘’Horny for Jimin’s cock with the way you were grinding on him, by the looks of it, isn’t that right?’’

He laughs mockingly, landing another whip on the same spot he previously caned, it would definitely bruise. But you didn’t care. And neither did he, he fucking loves your cries.

‘’Tell me, who’s cock are you really a whore for?!’’

He holds the cane high, anticipating your answer.

‘’Y-yours, daddy-- p-please!’’ You cry out, clawing at the sheets, legs quivering.

‘’That’s right, but apparently, you didn’t remember that today, angel.’’ He says with an awfully calm voice, cane still held high.

He ends his caning with one final blow, and it makes your vision black out with the intensity. You’re sobbing now, weeping into the blankets as your legs shake.

It’s the most intense pain you’ve ever felt, ever been dealt from your loving boyfriend. It forces you to understand just how upset you made him, just how angry watching you attempt to seduce another man makes him.

“You’re my little cumslut, you hear that? Mine!”

His hands smooth over your reddened ass, harsh burgundy lines marking where he punished you thoroughly. It makes you whimper through your cries, his warm hands simultaneously soothing and agitating the marks.

He only remains for a moment, ensuring the flare of pain is soothed. As sadistic as he is, he remains sane enough to ensure your safety. Your whimpers have slowed slightly, and he takes it as his opportunity to move on.

He reaches for the handcuffs and takes advantage of your prone position, bent over the bed. He works them around your wrists, tightening them just enough to leave you helpless. He pulls you up and presses his back against you, face at your ear.

“You took your first punishment well,” he encourages as he licks a stripe on your throat, right above the collar that symbolizes you as his. “But I’m not finished with you,” he sighs. “Little cock whores like you are never satisfied with just one little punishment, aren’t you?”

You sniffle and nod. “No sir, I n-need more.”

He chuckles—it’s dark and ominous.

“Dirty fucking slut.”

He turns you to face him and he kisses you roughly, no sign of the sweet and sensitive boyfriend. It’s the Jekyll to his Hyde; the sadistic Dom now kissing you cares only of getting off and making you take it.

His mouth is fiery—teeth biting at your lips and growling when he slips his tongue in your mouth.

“Gonna make you remember who the fuck you belong to, baby girl,” he warns as he pulls away. He urges you down to your knees and you’re easily complying.

His hands are at his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping and making your mouth salivate in anticipation.

He steps out of his jeans, and you’re rewarded with his thick cock springing free from the confines of his jeans. You should have expected your boyfriend to go without boxers, but it’s a pleasant surprise nonetheless.

“Look at you,” he notes. “So desperate for my cock.” He grips it and teases it in front of you. You want to lean forward, capture it in your lips but you refrain and wait for the order.

“You think you deserve this? You think I should let you suck my dick after that little show you put on today?” He gives his length a stroke and it makes you nearly whine with need. “Little fucking bitch wants any cock she can get, why should I let you have mine?”

Your eyes shine with tears, still lingering from your caning and refreshing now with wet, hot desire for him.

“Beg.” He orders, holding his dick in front of your face tauntingly.

“P-please, daddy. Let me suck your cock,” you blubber. “Let me show you that you’re the only cock I need.”

He hums and strokes himself. Watching you nearly weep with want and beg to suck him off has his head reeling. The power rushes through his veins like a drug.

“I think you can do better than that,” he sighs. “Why shouldn’t I just jerk myself off and cum on that pretty face of yours?”

Tears freely spill down your face now. “I want you to use me, I want to let you fuck my throat raw, please, sir!” You sound completely gone and Namjoon feels his impossibly hard cock flex at your needy tone. “Please fuck my throat like the cock whore I am!”

“That’s fucking right,” he grunts. “Open that fucking mouth for me.” Your mouth opens and he’s leaning down to spit harshly at your waiting tongue. It makes you jerk, but you reserve yourself and accept it. “Filthy little bitch.”

He moves forward and sets his cock on your tongue and almost groans at the feel of your hot mouth, swirling with his spit now.

“Make me cum with your mouth, you don’t get to use those hands today.”

He wastes no time on shoving his length into you and down your throat. He gives a few precursory thrusts and sighs as he feels your throat gagging around him and hears your desperate, wet sounds. Tears flow freely—your mascara is smearing down your face as you look up at him, mouth stuffed full. It’s the prettiest sight he thinks he’s ever seen. You’re desperate, absolutely fucked out for him. Saliva dribbles down your mouth and he fucking loves it when you become a mess on his cock.

“Pathetic.’’ He murmurs. But truly, he thinks it was beautiful—the way you desperately take his cock down your throat, the needy look in your teary eyes and the muffled whines vibrating in your throat at his fake disapproval. It makes you work harder, eager to make him feel good.

You bob your head, keeping your eyes locked on Namjoon—he loves it when you’re giving him your undivided attention. It’s sloppy, and you’re loud. Namjoon fucking lives for when all your inhibitions are gone and you’re wanton and horny like a porn star desperate for work.

“Fuck, such a good throat,” he drags a finger up it as he forces his cock to the back of your mouth. He can feel the ridge of his cock through your neck and he nearly cums from that alone. “Taking it so fucking good.” He grips your head and desperately fucks into your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut and will your gag reflex away, let him use you as he sees fit. You egg him in with licks of your tongue as he thrusts in and out, and by the filthy noises you make with each press.

Saliva is dropping out of your lips, and his it covers his cock. Namjoon feels his balls tighten impossibly and knows he’s close.

“Does my cockslut want daddy’s cum? You want me to coat that little throat with it?” He keeps his pace and you nod through your tears. He grunts his approval and picks up the pace, only to explode through his orgasm soon after. His cock pulses as he emptied himself into your mouth and throat, and you suck harder as if thirsty for it.

He pulls it out a moment later with a sated sigh. “My little cum dump,” he smirks as he runs a finger over your lips. “Swallow it all.” You nod and visibly swallow his load, then hold your tongue out to prove it.

“Shit—so good. You’re such a whore you could drink my cum all day, couldn’t you?”

“Yes, daddy,” you whisper. Your throat is rough and sore from his thrusts but you can’t find it in you to care, not even a little bit.

You remain on your knees and he puts a finger under your chin and lifts it higher. “Doing so good, angel. Making me proud.”

It makes your heart nearly implode. Namjoon is sadistic and thrills in your anguish, but loves you all the same. He knows you’re not just able to take it, but you’re desperate to take it. You trust him to never hurt you in a way you couldn’t handle.

“Still have more for you, little one. I don’t think you quite understand who this body belongs to.”

Your eyes shine with excitement and Namjoon can’t help but to smile at it. He uncuffs you and you look perplexed. He never lets you out early.

“Up on the bed, on your back,” he states as he ignores your questioning look. You know better than to deny his order, so you rub at your wrists as you move towards the bed. Your knees are still throbbing from the pressure and you heave a pleased sigh as you melt into the mattress.

“I wouldn’t feel too comfortable,” he chuckles. “It won’t last long.”

In Namjoon’s hands is red shibari rope. It makes your stomach flip. It’s been so long since he’s trussed you up and it thrills you to see the familiar smooth bindings.

“Thighs to your chest,” he orders. “Spread them wide, show me this needy little cunt.”

You do as he says, pulling your thighs up to meet your chest and spreading them open. He stares at your core, it’s dripping now. It drips down you and stains the comforter. Namjoon tuts. If you’re this wet already, he knows he will need to change the sheets after he’s done with you.

“Look at you,” he intones. “A dumb little slut, open and ready for any cock she can get.” He drags a finger up and down your thigh.

Namjoon gets to work. He loves the way he loses himself in the art of tying you up. He loves watching your chest rise and fall and the little squeaks that come out of your mouth as he knots you up. He loops the rope around the left thigh, then draws in your left calf to tie it in. You’ll be spread open, unable to stretch your legs out until he gives you permission.

He glances up at you every so often as he continues, checking to make sure he’s not cutting off any vital circulation. As cruel as he is, he doesn’t intend to actually maim you. You never show a sign of pain, just the glazed look you hold as your body gives in to your subservient intuition. It makes Joon smile and his heart clench in his chest. He really fucking loves you.

You’re soon tied up completely from the waist down, both legs tied together and spread open with pussy on display. Your hands are free and just as you’re about to relish in it, Namjoon is looping more rope to tie each wrist to a bedpost. He grins as you gasp. You’re completely tied up and at his will, and you’re embarrassed at how open you are in front of him, how dripping wet you get from being tied up and useless.

Namjoon is moving around and you suddenly hear a vibration and it gets closer as he approaches you.

“Gonna make you cum for me, babygirl... Gonna play with you until you fucking squirt everywhere.”

Your legs clench together as you notice he is holding a Hitachi wand in his hand. You know the power it wields. It brings you to your finish nearly instantaneously. Which means Namjoon has decided your next punishment will be denying you any orgasm and continually bringing you to the edge… or making you cum so much your cunt hurts. You don’t know which is worse.

He notices the look on your face and grins. “Yeah, you know what this is, don’t you?”

Namjoon places the bulbous head of the wand on your cunt and you cry out instantly. He drags it up and down your drenched slit and you’re already feeling so close to the edge.

“You better fucking scream, don’t hold back,” he orders. “Remind this whole fucking neighborhood who gets you off. Make sure Park fucking Jimin hears it.”

He stops rubbing it up and down and lets it sit right on your clit and watches your face contort as your tied legs struggle against the wrappings. It’s too much, it feels like you’ve been lit up. Namjoon gloats in your struggle. He sees your cunt dripping with increasing fervor, can tell you’re squeezing those walls around nothing. He can’t wait to bury himself inside you once and for all and coat your walls with his cum.

“You know you better fucking ask permission to cum,” he reminds you. “You better not cum unless I tell you.”

Your tear-streaked face is twisted in pleasure, in pain. You feel yourself unwinding, increasing towards your finish like a bullet.

“D-Daddy! Please! I need to cum! Please!” You’re begging harder than you’ve begged in your life, you’re certain. It feels like the string inside you will snap any second now and you’re holding off the orgasm as hard as you can. Without the use of your legs, you find yourself unable to slow the inevitable.

“No,” he states firmly. “Fucking take it. You can keep going.” He growls his words and watches as your cunt is helpless. “Little whores like you can fucking take it.”

It’s useless, you’re falling apart at the seams. You’re pleading with him to let you cum, legs now completely convulsing in their restraints. It snaps, the coil inside bursts and you’re careening towards the end. You whine and cry helplessly as your pussy pulsates around nothing and oozes out your arousal. Your face burns in shame as you come down-—you know exactly what you’ve done wrong.

“S-sorry! I’m so sorry, Daddy!” Tears fall harder and you’re gasping for his forgiveness, for his mercy. “I’m so sorry!”

‘‘Tsk, tsk.’’ Namjoon tuts. “My little slut couldn’t even follow her one and only instruction.’’ He removes the wand for just a moment. “You better fucking listen this time.”

Your body feels overstimulated. The pleasure is bordering on painful and you yelp as Namjoon places it back on your overworked clit.

“You can make up for it if you squirt for me,” he grits. “Maybe I’ll stick my fingers in this tight cunt. Always so desperate for Daddy’s help, aren’t you?”

You whine at the thought of him filling you, but it’s overtaken by the feeling of the wand back on you. It’s painful, but it feels so good. Your body is held back by one single tripwire, ready to snap at any moment. Namjoon knew that restraining your arms and legs left you completely helpless to slow your own orgasms. He wanted you to fail, wanted to punish you for cumming when he knew damn well you wouldn’t last a fucking second under the wand’s vibrations.

“P--please!” your whines are breathy. You feel as if you’ve just run a marathon and you’re desperate for air. Your entire body is singing with rapture, with pain. You feel a deep desperation to feel him inside you. “I need you! Need your fingers!”

Namjoon groans at the sound of your whines. It’s his favorite, when you’ve finally snapped past a breaking point and he pushes you beyond. The way you’re desperate, begging and crying for him is pathetic. He fucking loves it.

“Fuck, listen to yourself,” he comments. His cock is raging again, hard and ready to bury itself inside you. But he waits. He’s nothing but patient for you. “You sound like a little fucking whore. Are you Jimin’s whore?”

You blubber a cry and shake your head, feeling the oncoming orgasm approaching again. It feels even more intense.

“No! I’m yours! O-only yours, Daddy!” The simple crying is turning into sobs and you both can tell you’re nearly on the edge.

“That’s fucking right,” he snarls. “This pussy belongs to me. Not fucking Jimin. Not even you. I own you.” His words run cold through your body, it feels as if your veins have iced over. You’re absolutely under his spell and control, and you’ve never loved anyone more.

“Cum for me, filthy slut. Let me see you get Daddy nice and messy.” He shoves two fingers inside you, and curls them to reach the spot that has you reeling. He knows he’s made it when you’re arching on the bed and screaming through your sobs.

“G-gonna cum, oh god--” you’re gasping for air, greedy for it. “There, f-fuck!”

The orgasm that hits you is stronger than any before. It feels like your cunt turns into a vice and you’re squeezing around his fingers so hard it makes Namjoon hiss. Your body spasmed and trembled as you came, and finally Namjoon is rewarded when your cunt gushes all over his fingers, dripping down his hand.

“Holy shit,” he gapes as you finally return to earth from your skyhigh completion. “Dirty fucking slut. You did so good.”

Namjoon’s cock is pulsating. He’s sure if he doesn’t get inside you, now, he’ll shatter.

“Nasty whore is going to get one more. You’re gonna cum on Daddy’s cock, aren’t you?”

You’re nodding weakly. You’re far gone, mind so dizzyingly high and body exhausted. “P-please, need you.”

He takes no care to line himself up or take time. He’s pressing against your hole in one moment and is buried to the hilt the next. You’re so wet it feels like he’s drowning and he throws his head back in bliss. Even after two explosive orgasms you’re tight around him, molding around each ridge of his cock.

“Oh, god--” he groans. “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever been in.” The praise doesn’t last long, so you soak it in while it lasts, ‘’Gonna pump you full of my cum, angel-- f-fuck..’’ You’re crying and whining as he pumps into you. It feels so good.

‘’Gonna have you nice and swollen with my child, so everybody knows just who the fuck this little whore belongs to.’’ His thrusts are so powerful that it’s almost as if he’s trying to fuse with you, he’s no longer holding back any reservations. His hips bump against you as he stuffs you full, chasing his end. He drops a hand to your clit, knowing it’s battered from the wand but can’t find it in him to care anyway. He wants you to orgasm again, and he’s going to get it. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To be so plump and pregnant that everyone will know what a depraved, little bitch in heat you are for me.”

Impossibly, you feel your belly tighten and tug and you’re edging closer and closer to yet another orgasm that Namjoon will wrench out of you. You’re crying out, only able to whine and sob his name. He’s fucked the ability to talk right out of you, and you can only think about Namjoon and his fat cock drilling into you and filling you up as if his life depended on it.

Namjoon loves it when you’re fucked out completely. He can tell he’s close, and nearing closer as he watches your sobbing face, smeared with mascara, cry and gasp for his cum. He could cum from watching you beg alone, and now as he pounds into your juicy cunt he’s surrounded in pleasure.

“I’m going to cum--fuck. Gonna fucking fill you,” he hisses as he thrusts so hard it’s nearly bruising. His grip on your hips tighten, blunt nails digging into your skin as he lets out a loud and guttural moan as his cock desperately throbs inside of you. He keeps his power, but the pace dies down with each thrust. He fucks his cum deep inside you, and rubs at your clit punishingly. His warm seed jammed inside you snaps everything and you’re crying pathetically as you reach your high, walls contracting and milking him. Your vision is black and you only hear the rush of your blood in your ears.

It takes a few stuttering breaths to finally come to, and your vision returns to normal. Namjoon remains buried inside you and he’s panting just as hard as you. You’re both dripping in sweat and covered in your combined juices. He cups a hand on the side of your face and smiles at you as you both attempt to return to normal.

“That was good, wasn’t it?” He asks with a chuckle. He slowly pulls out of you and you’re wincing at the loss. You’re sure you won’t be able to walk, let alone even stand.

You nod gingerly. “Really fucking good.” you whisper. Everything is sore, and it’s a feeling you can’t compare to anything. It’s a burning ache that reminds you of Namjoon, of your love, of the trust you willingly hand over to him and the bliss he gives in return.

“Let’s run a bath,” he states as he leans down to kiss you, pressing his lips on yours in a sweet kiss. The Namjoon you love is back, the sweet and compassionate lover who cares about every single aspect of you.

“I would love that,” you sigh. “But, could we maybe untie my legs before I lose any more circulation?”

The both of you erupt into laughter as his hands work over the intricate knots. He winks.

“Needy little whore.”

#bts fic #bts smut #bts imagine #bts namjoon #hyungsmutsociety #ksmutclub #bts rm #namjoon smut

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whump-tr0pes · 4 years ago

Text

Honor Bound 5 - 15

Honor Bound 5 - 15 (Public Execution/Torture) - @badthingshappenbingo

Requested by anon

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Content warning: forced nudity (shirtless only), death threats, intentional mis-naming, caning, blood, suicidal thoughts (to escape torture), dehumanization (of someone not present), sex mention

“N-no,” Gavin rasped as the guards dragged him to his feet. “No, no, no no no…” He yanked against their hands, nearly out of his mind with panic as they dragged him to one of the cells. They threw him to his knees in front of it and forced his arms out in front of him. Tears blurred his vision and he thrashed against them.

His heart pounded in his chest as he remembered the agony of the cane – the fiery sting of the blows, the dull, crushing ache of his bruised ribs for weeks after. Sweat prickled on his skin as he strained against the guards, whimpering as they held his wrists against the icy bars and securely zip tied them there.

“N-no,” he sobbed, his chest heaving with panicked breaths. “Schiester, no, sh-shit, if you’re g-going to kill me please just kill me, please…”

“There is no if, Gavin Stormbeck,” Schiester said evenly. “Your death in not in question. As I’ve told you, you have already been sentenced. Your remaining time on this earth serves as penance for your crimes, since I cannot kill you twenty— Well. How many playthings have you killed?” He wrenched Gavin’s hand back with a vicious grip on his hair.

Gavin whimpered wordlessly through his teeth as Schiester craned his neck back. The plastic zip tie cut into his wrists. The three guards stood back, behind Schiester, watching impassively.

Schiester jerked Gavin’s head back further and Gavin cried out. “How many?” Schiester growled.

“Please, please, twenty-three!” Gavin sobbed. “I’ve, I’ve k-killed twenty-three playthings, please…” He felt every single one of those deaths, like knives in his heart.

Schiester released his head and stepped back. Gavin sobbed against the bars. “I’m assuming that means you’ve killed more than just playthings, Gavin Stormbeck,” Schiester spat. “God knows how many—”

“My name is GAVIN URIAH!” Gavin roared. The basement echoed with his broken voice until it faded away to stunned silence. Gavin could barely breathe as he quivered on his knees, waiting for the pain. Waiting for a bullet in his head.

Gavin shivered as he felt, more than heard, Schiester take a step closer. He flinched as Schiester placed his hand gently on the back of his neck. Gavin swallowed nervously as Schiester slid his hand across his throat and tilted his head back, pressing his thumb and forefinger in on each side of his windpipe – a warning, and a threat.

Schiester clicked his tongue and leaned over Gavin. “No, it’s not,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk and deadly quiet at Gavin’s ear. “Your name is Gavin Stormbeck. You were born a Stormbeck. You killed people as a Stormbeck.” Gavin’s stomach lurched with terror as Schiester��s hand closed, just slightly, around his throat. “And you’re going to die a Stormbeck. Right over there, on my gallows.”

“P-please,” Gavin whimpered. Tears ran the corners of his eyes and back into his hair. He shuddered at the cold on his bare skin.

In one smooth movement, Schiester released Gavin’s throat and stepped away. “What was it I called this back in January? Meager justice?” He laughed once, a cold, cruel sound. “I should have dragged you from that fucking family kicking and screaming and put you to death that day in the sight of the entire north. People should know how Gavin Stormbeck meets his end. Still. This is the cost of my work. It goes unnoticed, unthanked, and uncelebrated.”

Gavin glanced back behind him and sobbed desperately as he watched Schiester strip off his coat and hand it to one of the guards. Another guard passed a long rattan cane into Schiester’s hands. Schiester took his stance behind Gavin, adjusting his grip on the cane.

Gavin ground his forehead against the bars in front of him. His breaths were coming so fast his fingers were starting to go numb. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, please, please, please, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“Ah,” Schiester scoffed. “There it is. The Stormbeck son is sorry.” He wound his arm back and brought it down on Gavin’s bare back with a snap.

Gavin screamed. Fire shot across his back, piercing down into his very lungs. He slumped against the bars, gasping for breath, his head spinning with the pain. Before he could draw in a full inhale, the cane struck him again.

Gavin wailed against his arm and yanked against the zip ties on his wrists. He sobbed and clenched his hands into fists as he strained, desperate to break free. He rocked forward with the next blow. His scream rent the air of the basement.

Another strike. There was nothing to hold on to. At least if he could clutch at the bars he could hang on until it was over, but he couldn’t twist his hands enough to reach them. His hands remained clenched, and empty. Sam wasn’t there to take his hand and guide him through the pain, like before.

Another blow. Gavin scrambled against the floor, frantically trying to push away the pain. He froze with a scream when Schiester struck him again.

Schiester hits harder than Isaac and Gray did.

Of course, he would. Even through the agony of the lashes in January, Gavin had known Isaac was pulling his punches. Gray struck harder than Isaac, determined, perhaps, to spare Gavin further punishment. Or maybe Gray really did hate him, then.

The thought shattered under another lash. Then another, and another, and another.

Gavin panted, and his throat burned with thirst, a weak pain compared to the fire on his back. “H-how…” he croaked. His voice twisted in a scream as Schiester struck him again.

How many is that? Gavin’s mind was a cacophony of pain. His entire body went rigid as the cane came down on him again. Sweat poured down his back, dripping down his temples, stinging in his eyes. His mouth gaped open as he gasped for breath. He saw a flash of white as the cane came down again.

“Sch-Schiester, please, I— ahh!” he cried with the next blow.

How many? His head spun.

Brilliant pain split his mind with the next blow. He shivered as his sweat and blood dripped down his back, wetting the waistband of his pants. His stomach churned with the sickly metallic smell of it.

He sobbed with abandon with the next lash. His voice was a twisted, broken thing to his own ears. It echoed off the walls and pierced into his brain. He screamed himself hoarse with the next.

Through the roaring in his ears, he could hear Schiester breathing hard behind him. Schiester grunted as he swung the cane again. Gavin felt his flesh split under the blow.

“Isaac, please,” Gavin breathed. His throat was too tight to make a sound. “Isaac, please, please, Isaac, please…”

For a moment, the blows stopped. Gavin sobbed with relief. It couldn’t be over, surely it wasn’t over? He thought that was maybe twenty. Maybe. He turned his head to look behind him, shaking like a leaf.

Schiester stood with the cane at his side, staring at Gavin with bemusement. There was an ugly flush on his cheeks, and his eyes shone in the cold, sickly light overhead.

“What are you saying?” Schiester said as he arched an eyebrow.

Why couldn’t Isaac have just killed me after we escaped? Gavin thought with despair. I begged Vera to kill me. I begged her.

Gavin wet his lips and heaved a sob. “N-nothing,” he croaked. His throat felt scraped raw with his screams. He could distantly hear his blood dripping on the floor. The smell was thick in his nose, chasing away the very memory of Isaac’s smell.

Schiester wound up and struck Gavin again. Gavin screamed against the bars of the cage.

“What are you saying?” Schiester ground out, punctuating the words with blows. Gavin gasped and sobbed against the pain.

“I w-was…” Gavin’s lips trembled, and he sagged against the bars, dizzy. “I… please, I was—”

The cane struck him with a crack that reverberated around the room and was swallowed by Gavin’s scream. “N-no, no, please, I-I—” He threw his head back and screamed with the next blow.

“These all count, by the way,” Schiester said softly. “I’m not an unfair man. Now. What were you saying?”

Gavin’s skin was slick with sweat. “I… w-was begging… Isaac.” He whined and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to conjure up Isaac’s face. The pain shoved all other thoughts away.

Schiester barked out a cruel-sounding laugh. “Begging his plaything,” he muttered. “Unbelievable.”

“H-he’s not my plaything,” Gavin whispered. He braced for another crash of pain. It didn’t come. He heaved a sob.

“In my experience, playthings that are released never return to the world fully human,” Schiester sighed. “But take comfort however you like. You can pretend the man who fucks you loves you of his own accord.”

Shame flooded through Gavin. He loves me, he thought. Or… he did. He doesn’t love me anymore. I’ve broken that. I’ve ruined it. A tear streaked down his face and he whimpered weakly.

I love you, but you can’t keep anyone safe.

Sorry things had to go this way, but I got what I wanted.

That would break Isaac. Right now, a hundred and thirty miles away, Isaac was awake, burning with hate for Gavin. He knew it.

Gavin’s shame blasted apart with the agony of the next strike. His torn and broken skin seared with pain as Schiester brought the cane down hard again. Then again, harder. Harder.

Gavin writhed and twisted against his restraints. “Please!” he shrieked. Blood smeared on his wrists, looking almost black in the cold yellowish light. Again, Schiester struck him, and again, and again.

Gavin’s chest heaved as he sobbed. “P-please, please, no, please…”

A guard cleared his throat. Gavin had forgotten anyone else was here. “Sir, should I gag him, or—”

“No, let him beg,” Schiester replied. “We always let them beg, Ziegler.”

Another blow. Gavin’s head spun dizzily. His hands were numb. He wasn’t sure which way was up.

Another blow. Gavin slumped against the bars, his head lolling. His wrists strained against the zip ties. Gavin gasped and screamed and blinked sweat out of his eyes. His back was on fire. Every breath was agony. The world was ripped apart by another blow.

His body shuddered with the next strike. He flinched, blind with pain, his blood roaring in his ears. Schiester lashed him again, and his throat made a broken, animal whine. He couldn’t feel his lips. The room seemed to tilt around him.

He wondered, faintly, if they would keep beating him if he lost consciousness. If they would break his body with the cane, even if he wasn’t awake to feel it. Somehow, he doubted he could escape that way. His eyes rolled back and he prayed for oblivion.

He jerked with another strike. He shivered, hot, cold, shattered. His muscles quivered with strain as he struggled against the restraints. Sweat stung the broken skin of his back.

“Pl— Ahh, pl-please…” he mumbled through numb lips.

“We’re almost finished, Gavin Stormbeck,” Schiester said gently. “Card, please fetch his other restraints.”

“You mean… Yes, sir.”

Boots clicked on the cement floor. Gavin couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from. His voice broke his scream with the next strike.

Gavin’s stomach heaved at the next spike of pain, and he gagged. The smell of his blood clouded his mind. He tasted bile.

As Schiester struck him again, a black spot appeared in the center of Gavin’s vision. He blinked, his eyes wide and unfocused, swimming with tears. His blood felt like fire in his veins. His heart hammered wildly in his chest.

“Fainting again are we, Stormbeck?” Schiester mocked. The sound seemed to reach Gavin from far away. “Ah, well. I’m not surprised to discover you cannot withstand what you dish out.”

I don’t hurt people anymore, Gavin thought dizzily. His shoulders ached as they twisted. He hung to the side, the zip ties cutting into his wrists. His sweat-soaked hair stuck to his temples. His vision was blurred with tears, growing darker with every passing moment.

A slap rocked his head to the side, and he cried out weakly. He saw stars when he closed his eyes.

“That didn’t wake him up at—”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m almost finished. I said fifty lashes. I didn’t require him to be awake.” Schiester seemed to be breathing hard. Gavin felt a flash of pain, heard a scream. Tears streamed down his face.

His throat felt torn, with his next broken scream. The lights above him were fading. Is someone diming them on purpose? He jerked as the cane came down on him again. He couldn’t breathe through the pain.

At the edges of his consciousness, he felt an encroaching blackness. He’d felt it before, when Isaac beat him in the square all those months before. He clawed away from the pain, writhed when Schiester struck him again. He choked on a scream as fire flashed across his back, but fading, fading. As if he was sinking under the surface of a lake. His head spun, his mouth gaped open as he desperately gasped in another breath.

A red slash of pain cut across his vision again. Then Gavin’s eyes rolled back, and he felt nothing.

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @whatwhumpcomments, @cursedscribbles, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word, @justwhumpitwhumpitgood, @justplainwhump, @moose-teeth, @whumpywhumper, @finder-of-rings, @inky-whump, @thatsthewhump, @orchidscript, @insanitywishes, @this-mightaswell-happen, @newandfiguringitout, @whumpkitty, @pretty-face-breaker, @cinnamonflavoredhugs, @pebbledriscoll, @im-just-here-for-the-whump, @endless-whump, @grizzlie70, @oops-its-whump

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bella-caecilia · 4 years ago

Note

Hey, so your latest edition to the settee chronicles made me need a fanfic from it 😂 so please may I request Violet sitting down on a settee only for it to mysteriously break and Cobert barely being able to contain a smile thank you xxxx love your stories so much 💕💕

Haha, so this refers to this post (x) and I finally wrote a fanfic about it. It is set somewhere s1-ish or slightly pre-series, idk. Thank you for the prompt, anon! I hope you enjoy it!!

Revenge on Mama

The Dowager Countess was coming for tea and the family gathered in the drawing room. One by one they descended the large stairs. Cora was glad that everyone was present before her mother-in-law arrived. It was best to offer as little target as possible. The girls were already seated and engaged in light bickering. Mary leaned back on an armchair, rolling her eyes at Edith who told Sybil about some tragic novel she had read lately. Cora’s strict raise of her eyebrow made Mary rise from her lounging position and take on a straight posture. Robert and she were standing near the fireplace, talking in soft voices. Carson already advised the footmen to arrange the tea service on one of the tables. He left the room, no doubt to return with the Dowager Countess only minutes later. Cora used the opportunity of a moment without anyone’s attention on the two of them to whisper something to Robert.

“I enjoyed our encounter earlier. A lot, if I daresay,” she spoke in a hushed tone and leaned to him slightly. Robert’s eyes inevitably snapped to the vacant settee next to the armchair Mary sat in. He coughed quietly and didn’t dare to look at his wife’s face. He knew the badly suppressed smirk that definitely showed on it.

“Yes, so I gathered,” he replied wishing he’d have a drink at hand. He liked that kind of banter, but he couldn’t deal with it outside of their bedroom. Perhaps he should have kept the referred activities in the bedroom, therefore. But Cora had been very tempting and convincing today. He just couldn’t help himself against better knowledge.

It had been a highly risky undertaking but Cora had assured him, heavily breathing between fervent kisses, that it was unlikely for someone to enter the drawing room at this time of the day. The girls had been occupied and as long as Robert and she wouldn’t ring no servant would appear. Much more than her words, that came out in a staccato, it had been her wandering hands that had convinced him. The way her slender fingers found a way to his bare skin at his waist without undressing him completely had made it very hard to think clearly. Her fingers had crept underneath the waistband of his trousers, loosening an edge of his shirt and tracing the slit of exposed skin. The soft coolness of her fingertips had sent a shiver down his spine, and he had let go of the control over himself he’d desperately tried to hold on to until then. He had changed their positions, pressing her back with gentle firmness, until her back had hit the armrest of the settee they had reclined upon. The rest was history. Thrilling history.

The risks Robert hadn't calculated earlier the day, though, were Cora's cheeky comments on the incident. If she would keep talking about this it would be hard to stay calm and casual, and additionally, it would make his thoughts wander until the presence of other people in this room would become highly uncomfortable.

"I am glad we did it," Cora whispered and for a moment Robert forgot his intention to keep his eyes away from her. He turned his face to her and noticed the happy gleam in her blue eyes. "I was afraid you wouldn't approve of the audacity of this undertaking," she admitted. Now her pearly teeth sank into the plump flesh of her lower lip, and Robert tore his eyes from her as he had to gulp.

"It was rather daring," he spoke, his tone unaffected. "But you didn't really think I would reject you after your seducing arguments, did you?" He didn't hear an answer and turned to her again, taking in the pretty blush that was answer enough.

"The Dowager Countess," Carson's voice boomed into the room, much louder than Robert's and Cora's hushed conversation and interrupting the girls' bickering. The inserting silence was giving full attention to the confident and well-known click of the cane. With head held high, Violet strutted into the drawing room, directly approaching a seating with determination.

Even though, the old lady's eyes were fixating a point on the wallpaper they seemed to take in everything that was amiss instantly.

"Sybil! Knees together," she chided before lowering herself onto the settee next to Mary. Cora held her eyes locked on her mother-in-law as she sought a seat herself.

"Cora, I regret having to tell you this," Violet went on and Cora was sure Mama wasn't sorry at the least. "But Sybil is at an age where I shouldn't have to point out the proper behaviour for a young lady anymore. I can only assume it is a result of negligent breeding since Sybil is a rather good-natured girl." Mama cocked her head, sending Cora an inquiring look.

Did she really expect a response to this?

Cora briefly watched Sybil who had adopted the demanded posture immediately and directed her gaze at her lap now, uncomfortable with the chiding of both, herself and her mother. Cora was particularly irked by Mama's statement today because there hadn't been much wrong with Sybil's pose. Yes, she could have sat more sideways automatically locking her knees with that, but her behaviour hadn't been improper or common. Mama's reprimand was wilful and only serving the cause to degrade Cora in her aptitude as Countess and mother, or more fundamentally as a proper English lady herself.

The momentary irritation with Mama served to distract her attention from what she had actually noticed seconds before. But when Mama shifted in her seat slightly Cora remembered. Mama had sat down on the settee, which had witnessed other activities - much more improper than what she was rebuking - hours before. It hadn't been slow and gentle lovemaking on this settee. No, Robert had taken her impatiently and frantically, and Cora had already known, when her legs had clutched his hips, that a new sofa was due soon.

And now Violet sat on that particular settee, not finding a comfortable position and constantly shuffling in her seat. Cora didn't answer Mama's jabs and only smiled to herself when Carson handed her a cup of tea. She didn't dare to seek Robert's eye contact across the room. She had sensed how he had approached the tea service when Mama had entered the room, certainly still affected by their conversation that had been interrupted.

Mama had to be in a foul mood today and she seemed to stop at nothing, now muttering something depreciating to Thomas who served her tea. Cora stirred her cup while she considered if she should recommend another seat to Mama. She looked up and found Robert sipping his tea as he stood behind Mama. His gaze, which had been directed away from her, now met hers.

Violet was about to say something but changed her position a little to the left first while adjusting the pillow behind her back. Cora gulped and sought Robert's eyes again. His face was displaying an expression of rising panic as he saw the movements his mother made. Cora couldn't hold back an inward chuckle at his overcharged demeanour. She directed her gaze into the amber liquid and she tried to fully concentrate on her spoon's stirring when Mama finally made the statement that had been sitting on the tip of her tongue.

"Cora dear, your blatant disinterest in your daughter's well future really is indecent," Violet snapped. All heads turned to the Dowager. No one had expected this afternoon to escalate so quickly.

"Mama!" Robert interjected, his expression one of disbelief. He opened his mouth again to defend his wife but Cora lifted her hand in appeasement. Her gesture was discreet but Robert got the hint. He turned away with a huff, bringing the cup of tea to his lips. Once again, he wished for a real drink.

The servants had recovered faster than Robert and were already scurrying around again, refilling the girls' cups who had downed their teas to escape the loaded conversation of their mother and grandmother.

"I am sorry if that is what you are convinced of, but I am committed to all my daughters' futures and I am positive Sybil will do very well as the lady she gets to be," Cora eventually phrased her answer to Mama and gave her a small smile. Her tone was sweet and nothing hinted to the tiniest resentment. Robert turned back around slightly puzzled by the amiability in Cora's voice. How did she manage to stay so calm? But then he spotted a tiny glint in her eyes as she watched Mama turning in her seat once again with a displeased huff.

Cora knew, sure enough, Mama would get her just deserts, so she had decided against a unsettling answer in front of everyone. Mama and she had their extensive conversations without fault when they met for tea just the two of them every week. But that wasn't what she had in mind at the moment.

Robert suspected what Cora was aiming for. He could already hear the dangerous creak of the harassed settee leg. But maybe he just particularly pricked up his ears because no one else seemed bothered. But just as he averted his attention there was a loud snap followed by a surprised shriek. Robert could see on Cora's face that his mother's expression must be priceless. He only saw her hunched form on the lowered corner of the settee. The sound she had emitted was one completely unknown to him. Never had his mother uttered anything near to a shriek.

"Granny, are you alright?" Sybil inquired instantly. And Carson moved swiftly to help the Dowager up and to another, hopefully, safer seat.

"Yes, yes," Violet muttered, brushing her hands over the vast material of her skirts to distract her attention from the bewildering incident. "But it seems not only manners are treated negligently here nowadays. Robert, you should definitely have a closer look at the appropriateness of your furniture."

At this, Robert shot a look at Cora who had her lips pressed together tightly and Robert had to close his eyes for a moment to keep his composure.

"I totally agree, Mama. I will renew some of our furniture. And I am sorry for the discomfort you had to endure."

The conversation finally found another topic when Mary decided to involve her grandmother in a discussion about the impending wedding of a distant cousin Violet was about to attend. Robert was grateful for the easing of tension in the room and he saw at the relaxation of Cora's shoulders when asked Edith's about the novel she had mentioned earlier, that she was also happy about the détente of the situation.

When they left the drawing room afterwards, Robert leaned down a little to Cora's ear so that she was the only one to hear his words. "That came as a well-planned revenge, my dear."

"Oh, I wouldn't have managed without you." She grinned up at him. Robert somehow had expected a light blush at his statement and not the nonchalant coquetry she performed and that showed on her features. He was once again dazzled by his wife's astute adaptability to every situation.

#cobert drabble #cobert fanfiction #terrific fun #settee chronicles #cobert #cora crawley #robert crawley #violet crawley #lady grantham #lord grantham #dowager countess #downton abbey

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jj-ktae · 4 years ago

Text

Sucre D’orge (M)

Banner : Courtesy of the horniest of the horniest aka Jacqueline @jaebeomsmullet !! Thank you !!!

Title : Sucre D’orge (Candy Cane) Pairing : Lim Jaebeom x Reader Words : 1773 Genre : Crack, smut, oral (male receiving), creepy innuendos, overall it’s kinda weird but when is it not when I write smut. Do not read if you’re underage.

Summary : Jaebeom said he would take care of the Christmas dinner and he is a man of honour. That is, until he forgets to get the dessert.

AN : I know I’m late but here is the Jaebeom smut involving Candy Cane I mentioned a few decades days ago. Don’t judge me.

---

Sucre D’orge

Jaebeom knew he felt lighter than he should have when he left the supermarket. Somewhere between the condiments and the vegetables, the thought of getting something sweet crossed his mind - very quickly but it did.

He knew he should have rushed to the area especially made for Christmas delicacies but his eyes caught these amazing sausages on sale and all holiday thoughts left his mind.

What can he do when he has the attention span of a goldfish.

So upon entering his place he knew he’d have to be creative. And creative he is, just not in the kitchen. He promised he would deal with it, that you wouldn’t have to worry about a single thing, that going to a restaurant was too bougie.

Yet here he is, looking at the rotting box of cookies, all as hard as rocks all the while questioning his life choices.

You’re going to tell him that it doesn’t matter, but it does to him.

Jaebeom is a man of honour. If he says he can handle it, he has to handle it.

Rummaging through the pantry brings discoveries Jaebeom didn’t even know existed. None of these are useful enough to come up with a dessert and even if they were Jaebeom is quite doomed.

He has no idea how to bake.

While preparing the food he thinks and thinks, eyes wandering the kitchen as he almost chop his fingers off. Time ticks and so are his nerves, not satisfied with the thought of messing up.

Maybe he should order a cake ?

He has no idea what to do.

In one last attempt at finding something to do, his eyes fall on your baking box, the one containing all the decoration and useless things you buy online because it’s cheap.

When he opens it, an idea comes up instantly.

And Jaebeom is almost sure you’ll like it better than any other pastry out there.

It’s been a long day. A day of dealing with unhappy customers and people rushing to get some last minute presents to put under the Christmas tree. The cold is freezing your bones and numbing your toes, making you rush faster toward your warm home, where Jaebeom assured you he was done and is currently waiting for you.

He is in charge of the Christmas dinner.

Maybe you’re wrong, but the last time you checked Jaebeom had only three recipes in his portfolio, all involving fried rice and stew. When he insisted on making dinner for such a festive occasion, you couldn’t find it in yourself to tell him no, even though you were dying to try that new restaurant next to your workplace.

You open the door and find nothing but silence, along with a neat table. The tablecloth is a deep red, along with golden decorations and it’s so unlike Jaebeom to be this delicate when it comes to anything food-related.

Your fingers scrape the soft material, amazed by the chandeliers and fairy lights adorning the plates and cutlery.

He really did a good job.

And by he you mean Jaebeom, who is nowhere to be seen. Knowing him, he’s supposed to be boasting right now, claiming he can do anything once he puts his mind to it.

But it’s silent, and if it wasn’t for the message you received less than ten minutes ago from him, you’d believe he was asleep.

Well, ten minutes are enough to knock him out anyways.

Carefully, you walk toward your bedroom, where the usually opened door it shut and you finally hear the soft tapping of the cats coming from the guest room.

He definitely locked them up in another room but for what?

You’re full of questions when you open the door, and while you’re expecting your boyfriend to be sleeping like a log after a full day of preparations, you find none of that.

Jaebeom is not asleep.

He is pretty much awake and lying on the bed, surrounded by candles and legs covered. Why is he not wearing a t-shirt ?

Most importantly, why is there a tiny tent under the thin sheet ?

“I thought we’d have some dessert first.” Is all he says, ignoring your shocked face.

Jaebeom must be drunk.

It’s not like he isn’t into that sort of thing, but roleplaying and cringy talks are not part of his sex ritual. You understand he might feel the need to do something unusual as a Christmas gift.

You walk toward the bed, your hands busy as you’re removing your coat and when you sit on the bed he shifts, his lips red and cheeks not their usual colour.

“Where do I start?” You try, eyeing him from head to toes, yet stopping on his middle part which is lifting the sheet so sweetly.

Jaebeom snorts, mildly offended. His hands find their way under his head “How about you kiss me first?”

You lift a brow at his request but still lean on the bed, lips now around his and he instantly becomes needy. His hands leave their spot to trap your head, holding you while his tongue licks your own.

Jaebeom lets you go when you moan into the kiss and leans back on bed, breathless.

“Before you lift the sheet, I’m extremely serious about this. So I swear if you laugh-”

“If I laugh? Why would I?”

When he doesn’t answer you grow curious and lift the said sheet, discovering something that makes you instantly freeze.

In front of you, what was lifting the sheet earlier is now out for your eyes to see. Jaebeom’s dick, unrecognisable, painted like a candy cane...

...with the tip wrapped around a red ribbon and leaking what surely is not sugar.

“Wh-ho-why...huh-” You stammer, head definitely not getting around what is going on.

Jaebeom makes a sound but is definitely too embarrassed to speak, so he just thrusts his hips in the air, signalling you to just go for it.

It’s shocking but not in a bad way. Jaebeom knows your bad taste when it comes to sex and even though he often allowed you to do whatever you wanted with him, he never went as far as transform his dick into a candy cane.

This is exactly what you’d call a Christmas miracle. You love it.

“That’s a cute candy cane…” You muse, kneeling on the floor while resting over the mattress. Your finger teases the ribbon just enough to add pressure around Jaebeom’s tip and he hisses, half-aroused and half-annoyed.

“I wonder what it tastes like. This is the dessert, right ?” You glance up at your boyfriend who is now gripping the bed with all his strength.

Jaebeom nods, biting his lip yet not shy enough to look away despite his reddening cheeks. “How about you give it a lick and tell me?”

“I might just do that.” You conclude, fingers pulling on the ribbon to free his hard flesh. It left a mark but you’re quite sure Jaebeom didn’t hate it as much as he will tell you it did once this is over. “Look how thick…” You moan, grabbing his penis before rubbing it, smearing the edible paint and coating your hand with a mixture of sugar and pre-cum.

Jaebeom hisses when you suck on your fingers.

“Delicious. Where do they sell such awesome desserts…?”

“It’s a secret-” Jaebeom whispers, stopping when you rub him again. “don’t play with food, though…” He tries, making you smirk.

You nod, leaning more over the bed and until your lips are close enough to peck the hot flesh of his thigh, now trembling under your breath. He says nothing and lets you enjoy his skin, becoming obedient even when you spread his legs to move in between them.

He almost hits his head against the wall when you open your mouth to suck on his balls.

You’re taking that degustation theme a bit too far.

He is completely gone when you wrap your lips around his tip to give it a strong suck. He looks down only to find your lips painted in red and white and he feels himself leaking more strings of pre-cum into your mouth at the sight.

It has never been this hard to hold it in.

You rarely deal with such a submissive Jaebeom. He never lets you play for too long, his impatience enough to have him bend you over when he can’t take it anymore.

Today though he only moans and thrusts incredibly slowly. You love it, how he eases himself so sweetly, eyes stuck on the place where he disappears into your warmth and sighing at the feeling.

You caress his skin to tickle his reflexes, nails dipping into the thin skin and scratching painted veins on his hard dick. Jaebeom takes the torture, making all sort of noises and inaudibly encouraging you.

He is apparently praising you to have you unwind yourself on his dick once and for all.

So when you finally decide to descend on him and swallow his dick wholly, he becomes a mess.

You let him go with a smirk, your hand wiping the smeared paint mixed with saliva coating your chin. You look like the most gluttonous bitch out there.

“i’m such a sucker for sweets…” You say before dipping again. Jaebeom doesn’t have the time to answer before you lash out on him, ready to eat all that edible paint and everything else coming from him.

And he wouldn’t mind feeding you with his dick every time you’re hungry.

You speed up and it suddenly is too much for him to handle. His penis is almost clean from the paint, which is now also all around his pubic hair and it’s going to be hell to clean but the orgasm is coming and Jaebeom doesn’t give a shit about anything else but the way he is going to fill your throat until you choke.

And cumming he does, thick ropes oozing out and landing on your chin and mouth while your hand is frantically milking him. Everything is blurry for Jaebeom but not your tongue, out of your mouth and collecting his semen.

It gets too sensitive when you don’t stop moving your hand and even after desperate whimpers, he finds you licking all the remains of his climax.

Jaebeom has no idea why he did this and you will probably make fun of his Christmas candy cane dick for the next decade but when he looks down he finds you, incredibly pleased.

You’re undressing yourself when you say what makes your boyfriend choke on air.

“How about the main course now ? I say stuffed turkey.”

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jingabitch · 5 years ago

Text

His Holy Waters

SUMMARY: You need to be punished to atone for your sins.

PAIRING: priest!seokjin x reader

RATING: E

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

A/N: dedicated to @kpopyandere as payment for services rendered. unbeta-ed because i was too embarrassed to send this to any of my betas lmaooo.

“Father.” Your voice was breathy as you knelt, your head bowed. “Father, forgive me, for I have sinned.”

“My child.” The priest’s voice was calm as he rested his hand on the top of your head, his thumb pressing into your forehead. “What ails you?”

“Father,” you said, looking up at him. Tears of distress pooled in your eyes. “I keep having… indecent thoughts.”

Father Seokjin hummed thoughtfully. “That is a sin indeed, my child. Your soul needs to be cleansed.”

Your eyes closed in relief, causing the tears to spill over your cheeks. “Thank you, Father,” you gushed.

The hand on your head travelled down your face, tilting your chin up. His thumb now pressed into your lips, pushing them into your teeth so hard you worried they’d bleed. Silly, really – by the time Seokjin was done with you, that would be the least of your worries.

“I commend your bravery in coming to me, my child. I will help you overcome your sin,” he said, and you were captivated by the benevolent, calm expression on his face, so incongruent with the way his fingers gripped your face hard.

Truth be told, you knew the drill by now. Father Seokjin belonged to an ancient, secret sect that still believed in the old practices like flagellation. And maybe, just maybe, you enjoyed it a little too much, came to church to confess your sins every week like a good girl.

Father Seokjin knew; he could sense a kindred spirit. You enjoyed the blows that rained down on your body as much as he enjoyed giving them, loved when he was rough with you in the name of cleansing your soul. You were sinful, dirty, perverted – but so was he. In a different life, perhaps, where he hadn’t taken a sacred vow, you could belong to each other, but in this one, all you had were stolen, fleeting moments.

“Thank you, Father,” you breathed, your eyes wide as you stared up at him adoringly. Your Father, your savior.

He smiled back down at you, then pushed your face away from him with a flick of his wrist so your head turned against your will. “You don’t deserve to look at me,” he bit out, the strict, harsh tone causing flames to lick at your insides.

“Yes, Father.” Your voice trembled as you righted yourself, looking down at your lap where your hands were fisting in your skirt. You were dressed, as always, impeccably, in one of your favourite dresses today. None of it mattered to Seokjin, though. The expensive clothes and accessories you loved so much were just another sin in his eyes, and if you were being honest, you persisted in bringing your Hermès bags with you to church because you knew it upset him.

“Strip.” His voice brooked no disobedience, and you followed his instructions almost instinctively, reaching for the zipper on the back of your dress. Seokjin watched you impassively, not making any move to help you. That was normal – you draped your dress over the edge of the pew, listening and hoping that he’d have some sort of reaction to the lingerie you were wearing. You knew the sheer red lace set looked good on you, but if he thought so too, he didn’t give anything away.

Finally, you took off the undergarments as well, pouting a little at his stoicism. When you were completely undressed, you returned to his feet and knelt with your head bowed, your hands resting on your thighs, palms up. “I am ready, Father,” you said quietly.

Instead of answering you, he stepped away, to the nondescript cabinet he kept by the altar. All his equipment was there – the paddles, whips, canes. You wondered if his other followers enjoyed this treatment as much as you did. Honestly, you wouldn’t know, but it did seem that you were the one who came the most regularly.

Humming thoughtfully to himself, Seokjin perused the tools at his disposal before selecting a paddle and a whip. When he returned to you, however, he looked at the whip again before dropping it carelessly on the ground. No, he wouldn’t be needing that tonight.

Instead, he stood over you, the shadow from the altar candles behind him casting a shadow that fell over your body. Hesitantly, you looked up at him, not sure whether you were allowed to, and bit your lip at the way he towered over you.

“Undo my belt.” The simple instruction sent a shiver down your spine, and you were sure you were dripping on the floor. With trembling fingers, you reached up to his belt buckle, looking up at him again for validation. A single quirked brow let you know that he wasn’t impressed with your pace, and you swallowed hard as you undid the buckle, the sound of the leather sliding past the loops and the clink of the buckle loud in the quiet of the room.

When you pulled the belt free from the loops, it lay across your palms, looking so innocuous. You held it up to him, unable to tear your gaze away from his cold expression. There must be something wrong with you, you thought, that his judgmental look made you so hot.

Seokjin picked the belt off your hands, holding it near the buckle with his left hand as he ran his right along the leather. Stepping around you and out of your field of vision, you heard and felt him stop behind you, making the hair on the back of your neck rise.

“Look up at the Lord and repent,” Seokjin snapped at you, his voice low and raspy in the instant before he drew his arm back to hit you with the belt. The cracking sound of leather meeting flesh was almost deafening in your ears, and the pain that exploded across the welt that almost immediately raised across your back made you whimper. Still, you didn’t bow your head or close your eyes, your fingers digging into your bare thighs as you focused on repenting for your sins.

Blow after blow rained down on your bare skin, forcing whimpers and moans from your lips as your nails dug into your thighs. Tears filled your eyes but you didn’t move to wipe them away, even as your view of the altar blurred.

Eventually, he stopped – he didn’t want to, loving the way you shuddered and tensed, and the beautiful way the welts rose up across your skin, red and pink, a maze across your back. But any more and you would bleed, he could tell. The thought of drawing blood excited him like nothing else, but the last time he’d done that you hadn’t come back for three weeks while your wounds healed.

“Get up.” His dispassionate tone belied his arousal, and if you turned around, he knew you would be able to tell. His rapid breathing wasn’t just from the physical exertion, and despite having tucked himself into his waistband earlier to hide his inevitable erection, you were familiar enough with him now that you’d be able to read him.

You knew, of course, that he was turned on just as well as he did, but the pretense was part of the game you played.

As you bent over the pew, using your elbows to brace yourself, he feigned obliviousness to the arousal slicking your pussy, sticking to the unwritten script you both knew by heart.

“You know, you wouldn’t need to come so often if you weren’t such a little slut,” Seokjin told you disapprovingly. You dropped your head, pressing your face against your left arm, as you clenched involuntarily. You loved it when he called you a slut, adored the way the word rolled off his tongue with such disdain, like you were dirty, debased, sinful. The double meaning in his words wasn’t lost on you either.

“I’m sorry, Father,” you gasped against your arm. You had barely finished when he brought the paddle down on your ass, and the end of your sentence turned into a garbled cry.

“You have sinned against our Lord,” he hissed as he hit you again. As the wood made contact with your already inflamed skin, you jolted forward.

“Yes,” you said, blinking back the tears, although whether it was in agreement with what he’d said or a cry of exultation, neither of you knew.

As he continued striking you with the paddle, he continued explaining to you all the ways in which you were a filthy sinner, a disgrace to the Lord, and fuck, did you love it.

When he finally dropped the paddle, your ass was a bright, glowing shade of pink, matching the crisscrossed welts on your back perfectly. To Seokjin, this was the most beautiful he’d ever seen you – your perfect, smooth skin marked up by him.

You’d been punished enough for your sins, he declared, and you returned to your original kneeling position as he stood over you.

“My child,” he said in a soothing tone, signifying a change in the mood from earlier, “I will now cleanse your soul with the holy waters of mankind.”

Blinking up at him, you nodded eagerly. This was always your favourite part, where the warm liquid against your skin refreshed your spirit and washed away your sins. He smiled benevolently down at you, his arms hanging, relaxed, by his side.

You knew the drill – your fingers worked dexterously to undo his trousers, sliding the zipper down with a little shiver of anticipation. Seokjin was hard, as he usually was, and you bit your lip as you drew his erection out.

Seokjin smirked down at you. He knew what you were thinking; you were here because of your lustful nature, after all, and he had a nice cock – long, thick, flushed pink and with a pretty network of veins running down it. He’d give you a treat later, probably, but for right now, there was something else you needed.

“Please, Father,” you begged in that cute, broken voice, so desperate for him to cleanse your soul in the way that only he could. You were almost panting with desire, your mouth open and relaxed. Seokjin reached for his cock, stroking it just once as he schooled his expression so that he retained the serene look he always wore during service.

“Shh,” he cooed at you, his other hand resting on the top of your head, tilting it so that you faced upwards. With a beatific sigh, he relaxed his pelvic muscles and began pissing on you, admiring the way it ran in rivulets down your face and over your bare skin. He could see the impact it had on you, your body relaxing like the urine streaming down your body was leaching away all the stress and pain of your life.

It was almost enough to fool him into thinking that this was why he did it – purely to provide redemption for your soul.

You’d texted him earlier today to let him know that you were coming over, so he’d prepared well for tonight, and there was a lot, forming a puddle where you were kneeling. Halfway through, you tilted your head and opened your mouth a little more, and he aimed into your mouth, filling it up.

With the last bit he had in him, he pressed the tip of his cock to your forehead, drawing a cross right in the middle with the warm liquid. You shivered as you felt it, your eyes falling shut as you moaned. “Please…” you gasped helplessly.

“What is it, my child?”

Instead of answering him, you wrapped your hand around his and tugged slightly, pulling his erection down so you could wrap your lips around the tip of it. You suckled greedily, tasting the last few drops clinging to him and relishing the feel of his cock in your mouth, so warm and hard and full.

The hand on top of your head slipped down past your temple, his thumb pressing into your cheek as his fingers cradled your jaw. “You’re such a good girl,” he sighed, and you released his dick with a little pop to smile up at him.

“Do you feel better, my child?” he asked, and you nodded.

“Thank you, Father, for cleansing my soul,” you said, looking up at him with that worshipful gaze, and he felt his cock jump. You saw it, of course, and barely managed to bite back your smirk. He was so predictable sometimes.

Inevitably, you ended up on your hands and knees, still facing the altar, of course, as he pounded into you from behind. This was something he liked to claim was your ‘reward’ for being devout, but you both knew that it was as much a treat for him as it was for you. It was evident in the way he gripped your hips hard as he slammed into you, making the still-tender flesh of your bottom sting with pain that somehow enhanced the entire experience, in the breathless pants and grunts he couldn’t help but make as he fucked you.

“F—Father,” you pleaded, barely able to force the words out. “More, please.” You were so close, you just needed that little bit more to bring you over the edge.

“More?” His voice was similarly strained, the feel of your hot, slick pussy wrapped around him like a glove almost too much for him. Still, he had a role to play. “Greed is a sin, my child.”

“Please, please,” you mewled helplessly, unable to form more articulate sentences as he was fucking your brains out.

He huffed out a halfhearted laugh. “You’ll need to come back to absolve yourself of your new sins, child,” came the halfhearted admonishment. You both knew you’d be back next week anyway.

“Yes, Father,” you agreed eagerly, and obligingly, he reached around to press his fingers onto your clit, rubbing at it just so, his ability to discern exactly what you needed borne out of familiarity with your body.

“Cum on my cock then, you slut,” he hissed, and the dirtiness of his words, juxtaposed against the sight of the altar looming in front of you and how reserved and composed he’d been all evening did it for you. With a garbled moan, you came, clenching down on him repeatedly as you closed your eyes as the pleasure wracked your whole body.

Seokjin swore as he felt you tightening around him, his rhythm becoming erratic as he chased his own orgasm. “Fuck,” he groaned as it finally crashed over him, and he hunched over your body as his hips worked in half-aborted thrusts to milk out the last of his cum. When it was over, he lifted himself off you and collapsed on the ground next to you, uncaring of the mess he’d lain down in.

“I’m going to hell,” he sighed, looking up at you.

Your lips quirked into a half-smile. “See you there, then.”

#bangtanarmynet #kwritersworldnet #smutcentralnet #magicshopnet #bangtanhq #btswriterscorner #bts smut #bangtan smut #jin smut #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #bts fic #bts fanfiction

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 4 years ago

Text

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 5

Thomas X Reader

2389

Summary: Police interrogation turns to torture.

By: @adventuresintooblivion

While it was still late summer, hints of fall had begun appearing during the earliest hours of the morning. A crispness in the air that didn’t belong to any other time of year sent thrills through Y/N as she set out to find more work for herself.

If she was to become self sufficient she’d need a continuous flow of requests, which usually came from reputation. The only reason she’d gotten to play the other night was because the host there owed her a favor for getting rid of a clingy lover. Now with that under her belt she wouldn’t have to start at the bottom, but it wasn’t much of a head start.

She hopped from dance hall to dance hall. Without references or a traditional music background Y/N wasn’t having much luck. It wasn’t until the fifth stop that someone recognized her.

“Hey, aren’t you the girl who played the violin yesterday? You know, down at the Garrison?” a tall man asked as he sloshed his beer.

The barkeep raised his eyebrow as Y/N replied, “Yes, that was me.”

The man hiccuped, “Best music I ever heard. And I’ve heard lots of music. My mum used to play clarinet for one of those orchestras. You were better than any of those stiff necks.”

Y/N felt her face go hot but she thanked the man regardless. The barkeep on the other hand eyed the two of them.

“Is this some ploy to garner my sympathies?” he growled, scratching his beard.

“No, sir.” Y/N replied. She had considered it but if she wanted to earn a legal wage she’d have to do it on her own.

He grumbled, “Come by tomorrow. If the customers like you then, I’ll book you again. I can’t afford every night, but you’re lucky enough getting this out of me.”

“Understood. Any requests?”

“Yeah, wear something saucy.” He winked at her like the lecher he was.

Y/N replied with a tight smile, her hand closing around the brass knuckles in her pockets. With great effort, she wrangled in her anger and left.

She made it down a couple blocks before her internal alarm went off. Something was wrong. The street that had been packed with people a couple moments before was now empty except for a handful of men.

She froze, head whipping around as she looked for an exit. Residual pain from yesterday made her stiff and she didn’t know the town well enough to slip away unseen, but she had to try. Just as she was about to beeline for a nearby alleyway, filled with crates for cover, the click of a gun stopped her.

“Move one more inch, Ms. Y/L/N, and Thomas Shelby will be tossing pieces of you in the river.”

Y/N lifted her hands in the air, “Well I knew Thomas had friends here, but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

A soft growl answered her, “Cuff her, men!”

The remaining people on the street began to converge on her. It was a practiced formation meant for the thinner streets of Birmingham. Y/N silently cursed as she rolled, bracing herself for the pain.

Her body hit the ground, but the momentum carried her away. The man with the gun hadn’t expected her to run for it and shot off a round a foot above her head. She kicked at his ankle, using her heel to get the most force she could on that one spot. As he yelped in pain she got on all fours and launched herself towards the alleyway.

Two men stood between her and escape, but she didn’t stop. Instead of leaning down and tackling them, she leapt onto a crate. The wood had enough give that she was able to propel herself into the air above their heads onto another stack of crates. She gripped the brass knuckles in her pockets and used her height to her advantage.

She swung, keeping her balance as low as possible. Y/N didn’t aim for the jaw like most people did. She aimed for the nearest man’s temple. Bone collapsed beneath her fist. Another shot fired ricocheting off the brick walls. With one man down she descended. The others were closing in, there was nothing left to do but run. So run she did.

Each step was a knife in her back. It nearly stole her breath away but she needed every ounce of oxygen she could squeeze out of her lungs. Footsteps pounded on the stone behind her. The walls closed in as the alley twisted and curved. Soon her shoulders were brushing the brick but the end was in sight. Crowds hustled by oblivious to the chase they were the key to ending.

A great shout came from behind and something hit her from behind. She fell hard, her hands scraping against the sharp stone. Her head cracked against the hard surface causing bright spots to appear in her vision. Her legs were jelly beneath her. Move. Move Goddamn you!

One of her pursuers had hucked his billy club at her in desperation. It had caught her in the knee forcing her to collapse in on herself. Only one man at a time could fit through the alley way at a time. Rough hands closed around her shoulders and hauled her to her feet. Or tried to. She couldn’t stand if she wanted. Y/N’s head lolled back fighting for consciousness. A groan escaped her as they dragged her back into darkness away from the crowd.

〜

She awoke to the sound of a cane clacking against tile. A black hood had been draped over her head to keep her from guessing the location in transit, but since they weren’t moving she assumed they had arrived. Rough rope tied her hands behind her back. It splintered and dug into her skin all at once making any movement uncomfortable. The chair she sat in had no back and wobbled even as she turned her head.

“Ms. Y/L/N, you know I could charge you with assaulting an officer at this point. Throw you in jail and let you rot. But you’ve faced the jury before haven’t you?”

Her hood was ripped off. A bright light was shining down at her causing her eyes to water. She didn’t need to see him to know the guy talking was the same one who’d pulled a gun on her. She gave a soft smile when she heard the cane make contact with the tile once again.

“No, sir.” Y/N’s voice broke. It felt like hours since she’d last spoken a word. Or had anything to drink.

“Sir? That’s such a respectful word from someone who tried to break my ankle.”

She shrugged, wincing as the rope bit into her wrists. “Well you did pull a gun on me. So I figured fair is fair, Mister…?”

He bent down, his silhouette suddenly a dark mass against the light, “It’s Inspector actually. Inspector Chester Campbell. Matthew on the other hand didn’t have a gun.”

Y/N glanced up, “Matthew?”

“That man whose head you caved in. His name was Matthew,” he growled shoving aside the light.

Now she could get a proper look at him. Y/N felt her stomach drop out from underneath her. This was the man Grace had met at the Opera. Bile rose in Y/N’s throat; now she couldn’t play fast and loose tossing her life to the wind. Now she had to make it out of her and warn Thomas.

Inspector Campbell leaned in close enough Y/N could smell his breath. “Is that shame I see? Or fear? What a pity. I was hoping you were the cold blooded killer your files said you were.”

Y/N tried to clear her throat, “My file?”

“Your military file. Once I realized what your name was, I had every bit of information I could dug up on you. And believe me I almost had to pay an arm and a leg to do it. Nothing creates red tape like military shame.” he slowly paced the room turning his back to her.

He sure likes to hear himself talk. “Find anything fun?” she goaded.

He raised his eyebrow, “Oh, I bet you’re used to people just being stunned that you were able to join. It was a fun story I’ll admit, but that’s not what caught my eye.”

She heard the noise before she felt it. A billy club made contact with her flesh just to the left of her spine. A thunderous crack resounded throughout the room. The sound that ripped out of her mouth wasn’t human.

It felt as if someone had slipped a red-hot hook inside her and ripped her insides to shreds. The world went white. She couldn’t stop screaming long enough to breathe. Y/N’s skin was instantly covered in sweat as she shook.

The men around her recoiled. Some even turned green. Yet Inspector Campbell’s face remained smooth as glass as he watched the aftermath of what his men had done.

When she collapsed, doubled over and panting, he reached down and yanked her head back by her hair. Y/N could barely focus on him in the weird lighting. And quite frankly she couldn’t give two shits about how close he was.

“Look up. Look at me. You killed an officer of the law today, so I can’t just let you go. But don’t worry; you’ll make it out of here alive. I mean sure we’ll have to strike a deal first-”

Y/N spat in his face.

He sneered, letting go long enough to wipe away her saliva. Then he backhanded her with a resounding thud. Her head snapped to the side almost causing her chair to wobble dangerously. Inspector Campbell’s voice was soothing as he spoke, “Now disrespect me again and there will have to be real consequences. I want you to tell me everything you know about Thomas Shelby. Judging by the fact that you put all this work to hunt him down three years after your service ended, I’d wager to say you and he have something special.”

Y/N mulled over her options. She was in a room full of people who would face no repercussions for what they did to her. The only thing that stopped them was whatever passed for morals in a torture session. If war had taught her anything it was that good men gave way to monsters when push came to shove.

“What’s left of my platoon lives here, Inspector. The military let them think I was dead, all because of shame. I came here to tell them I was alive.”

“And now that that’s done I suppose you’ll be on your way?”

She shook her head. “Put a down payment on a place. Gotta job lined up that starts soon. I’m here to stay, my good sir, and I’ll say this is one hell of a welcome party.”

Inspector Campbell tapped his cane on the tile, “Did Thomas bring you in to deal with the guns?”

“I would’ve loved to see that seance.”

The Inspector nodded towards whomever stood behind her. His men recoiled before the blow even landed. CRACK. Pain. Blackness.

Y/N started awake sputtering as water as thrown in her face. She was somewhat aware of a clicking noise. It was the Inspector.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. I thought you were a British soldier, the best of the best. Now why is it that you black out from a couple of switches to the back?” His grin caused nausea to twist in Y/N’s gut.

She didn’t answer, only took slow deep breaths. That wasn’t going to be the last time he hit her. They all knew it.

He circled around her, using his cane to lift her shirt. “You were shot in the abdomen correct?”

When she stayed silent he cracked his cane on the tile floor. She flinched before nodding.

“Then why is there no exit wound? Did they remove the bullet through your stomach?” he continued.

“No.”

His eyes flashed in the dim light, a triumphant smile on his face, “So it’s still there. Tell me, Ms. Y/L/N, do you think old age will get you first or lead poisoning?”

She rolled her eyes. “My own pride is what’ll get me.”

Inspector Campbell opened a small pocket book. “And why do you say that?”

“Well for starters if this is what you call torture you’re fucking awful at it.” She slowly sat up refusing to huddle in on herself any longer. She could see a man who stood opposite her shake his head. He didn’t want to watch what was about to happen. At least someone here is smart.

“Do enlighten us Miss.”

Y/N cackled. “No. This is a beat down. You have limited time before Thomas notices I’m missing. You need to get me in and out with little to no markings as fast as possible otherwise he’ll know I got nabbed.”

He interrupted. “It’s just information we want.”

“Oh, that ‘information you want’, why haven’t you gone to his other war buddies? The town is thick with them. Oh that’s right, cause they won’t tell you jack shit. Think I’ll just spill the beans because I’m a woman? Fuck you.”

His eyes turned dark, “We can do more to you than beat you, Ms. Y/L/N.”

Then he saw it, the wild look he’d only seen in Thomas Shelby until now. A grin split her face as she snarled at him. Her gaze was that of a starving predator that had finally caught sight of food after a long winter.

Her voice was filled with venom as she spat, “Give me a reason to hang your flesh from the good ‘Ol Tower of London.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Inspector Campbell raised his cane and brought it down across her back so hard it knocked over her chair. Her rage filled scream resounded off the walls as the rest of the men closed in on her. Most of them looked sick even as they beat her with their fists, their clubs, whatever they had that would bring maximum pain. Eventually, they stopped to check and make sure she was still breathing.

#tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagine #tommy #peaky blinders imagine #shelbys at somme #adventuresintooblivion

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jessikahathaway · 4 years ago

Text

Into Eternity - Part XIV

Holy shit I’m back. Here’s the next chapter, hope you enjoy :)

Pairing: Jimin X Reader

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Royalty!AU

Words: 5,439

Warnings: Major Character Death

You woke up that morning, warmth covering your back. Jimin’s arm wound tightly around your body.

Groaning slightly, you shifted in discomfort. Your husband truly did a number on you last night.

“Darling...?” Jimin said, moving from behind you at your pained noise.

“I’m fine Jimin, go back to bed,” you said, coughing suddenly hitting your chest hard.

“Y/N?” He said, laying you on your back against the pillows.

Shame crossed his face as he saw the state you were in. Your body bruised from his hands, no doubt between your legs hurt even worse. But what killed him was the smile on your face. It was big and bright, like it always was when you saw him.

“I’m fine, Jimin, truly-” more coughing came from your lips.

“I’ll get you something,” he said, covering you up with the blankets and hurrying to grab his clothes that had sat on the floor all night.

“Jimin come back to bed,” you whined. Your pleading tone made his fluffy head pop up from the other side of the mattress.

“But you’re sick-” he began.

“Sick and tired of waiting for you to get back in this bed!”

“Now aren’t you a little monster, demanding things so early,” he muttered.

“I’m so sore,” You huffed, leaning back into the pillows.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve been more gentle,” Jimin lamented.

“You can always make it up to me,” you teased, rubbing a thumb along his pouty lips.

Jimin’s eyes grew wide at your suggestion, taking your thumb in his mouth obediently. Just as you were about to suggest your less than appropriate plan to your husband, a knock came to the door.

“Highness? Lady Y/N? The morning has broken, we have a witch to kill,” Jungkook’s voice echoed through the room.

The playful air diminished as you looked at Jimin with fear in your eyes.

“Very good, Jungkook. We will be out momentarily,” Jimin answered.

The sound of the head guard walking away made your body tense. Jimin’s palm found your back as you shuddered from the cold. Bringing your body close to his he sighed.

“If only we could stay in this bed all day, my love,” Jimin teased, “I wish I never had to see you put on another gown in my life.”

“Yet you’re the one always buying them for me,” you countered.

Jimin laughed and fell back onto the bed with you in his arms. “We’ll be free after this day, Y/N... Free to live how we want... To rule how we want. The Kingdom is ours once we get back to the Royal Palace... What is the first thing you’d like to do as Queen?” he asked.

“First thing I’d like to do as Queen,” you thought... Your eyes became starry as you pondered all the possibilities. Jimin loved this look in your eyes. So sparkly and bright. He’ll never tire of it as you grow old together. Because this is the look of a woman who has a future. Not the dead eyed look of a woman who was not living her days, but existing within them. Your doe eyes made him chuckle, snapping you out of your stupor.

“What’s so humourous to you?” you asked, raising a brow in his direction.

Jimin simply shook his head, placing a kiss on your hairline.

“Nothing, my love. Nothing at all.”

---

The first time you laid eyes on Morgana was horrifically calm. She wasn’t angry, nor was she stupendously hideous. She merely look like a feeble, old woman. One who should be walking around with a cane and a small smile etched into her aged skin. But, you knew the truth about her. She was a wicked, despicable woman. One who prayed on the weak of will and faint of heart. She had a sliver of ice that had consumed her heart and soul.

Now, as you looked at her in chains, your heart still raced.

Your palms still sweat.

Because you knew she could kill you. And she would given the chance.

Jimin’s hand was interlocked with your own. The pair of you were walking behind the procession. Jungkook was at the front, leading with his hand on his saber the entire time. Father Jin and Hoseok were next, holding Morgana with the magically charmed restraints. Lord Taehyung and Yoongi were behind them, keeping a good distance between you and her.

You looked nervously at Jimin, knowing something was off in the air. You could feel it in your gut, something was wrong.

“Jimin,” you whispered, leaning into his side. He accepted you there, holding you around the waist as the pair of you walked.

“Yes my love?” he asked, kissing your head gently.

“Something is wrong, something doesn’t feel right,” you warned.

“I understand your nerves, we are about to kill the witch that has made our lives hell. You are nervous, as am I... But I know we must do this. This is the right thing,” Jimin stated.

“J-Jimin that’s not it,” you whimpered.

“Y/N? What is it?” he asked.

“I-”

“Up ahead!” Hoseok shouted, pointing to the monument growing in the distance.

“Finally, soon we’ll be free,” Jimin breathed.

Before you in the sky rose four large stone gates that appeared to be facing in the cardinal directions. In the very center was a pedestal, covered in green moss and lichens. You shivered in the chill of the winter air. But how was there life growing upon the rock in this kind of weather?

“Wow, do you feel that?” Jimin asked as the two of you got closer.

“Yes, it feels... Strong,” you whispered back.

“It’s the magical energy of the monument. It was here before my forefathers were born. They performed all of their rituals here during the dark ages. They prayed to their Gods to provide good harvest, to have the women birth healthy young, for the Kingdom to be prosperous. But they gave that up when the frosts started to become more brutal, women started dying as well as the children. There’s a reason the capitol isn’t here anymore,” Jimin explained.

“Morgana, to the pedestal,” Jungkook practically growled.

You stood besides Jimin, gripping his hand as you watched the witch get led forward. Father Jin latched his side into a stone hitch that lay towards the back of the cold slab of rock. Hoseok did the same on his side.

“Morgana, you are here for committing attempted murder on the King and Queen of this Kingdom,” Jungkook began.

“Which one? There’s been many before these little gutter snipes,” she sneered. You cringed as you saw her teeth, cracked and green before you. Jimin held you close, smoothing his hands down your back.

“Silence you putrid hag!” Jungkook yelled.

“I will read you your rights under God,” Jin said, approaching her with a tenderness she didn’t deserve.

“I don’t believe in your God, take pity on yourself and save the breath, you will need it for when your blood curdling screams take off across the snow later,” she smiled.

“What?” Taehyung said.

Her broken cackle echoed across the area, filling your stomach to the brim with dread. You knew something wasn’t right. You knew it, and yet you still followed. You let Jimin come here, and now-

SNAP.

The chains that held Morgana’s hands to the rocks broke, as if made of string. Jimin threw you behind him, keeping you out of her sight.

Jungkook moved to attack, when Morgana moved her hand, sending Jungkook flying into the stone column behind him.

“Jungkook!” Hoseok yelled.

“Now now, Hoseok... Let’s not pretend anymore shall we?” she teased.

Your blood ran cold.

“No,” you breathed, the fog of the word catching in the air in front of your face. But you still found yourself reeling.

“Hoseok you traitor! I’ll never forgive you for this!” Jimin snarled.

“I’ll never forgive you for taking me away from my pregnant wife! From my child whom I never got to hold in my arms. No, I had to follow my Prince’s orders and miss my wife’s delivery... But no matter, they will be back soon enough,” Hoseok huffed.

“Hoseok, they’re gone. But that isn’t Jimin’s fault! It’s her! It’s Morgana’s fault! She’s the one who attacked the village where they were! Jimin had nothing to do with that!” you tried to rationalize.

“He knew she could go into labor any day, and yet he still sent me. Not Jungkook, not my brother Namjoon. Me,” Hoseok stated.

“Hoseok, you were the only man who could do what I asked. You know that!”

“I can’t forgive you Highness... I just... I can’t,” Hoseok whispered.

“Hoseok dear, I believe it’s time for you to fulfill your end of the bargain,” Morgana chuckled.

“Yes, I believe it is,” Hoseok said. He took out both of his daggers, wielding them in the air before running.

Straight for you.

You closed your eyes tight and waited for a blow that never came. But a sharp metallic ringing is what echoed through the air, not your screams. You peaked your eye open and saw Jimin, sword drawn and being pushed against by Hoseok’s daggers.

“I won’t let you touch her,” Jimin growled, shoving Hoseok back hard against the rock.

“You won’t get a chance to say otherwise,” Hoseok rebuked.

The two began to fight. Jimin on the defense while Hoseok came at him again and again. You watched in horror as the two parried and lunged at each other. It was as if they were dancing, each trying to outsmart the other in the way they moved their bodies.

Hoseok was much more aggressive than Jimin. Hoseok had power behind each move, but Jimin had agility. He swooped and ducked, even falling to the ground to avoid his attacker.

But Hoseok was getting frustrated fast. He wanted this to end, and quickly.

“Hoseok, we’re like brothers, why are you fighting me?” Jimin asked, practically pleading in his tone.

“My family was all I had, and you took that away from me... So I��ll take your family away too,” Hoseok stated, lunging past Jimin’s cheek, leaving a cut across the tender flesh there.

“Jimin!” you yelped, moving to rush forward when you were caught around the waist. Taehyung whispered in your ear, pulling you further away from the action.

“Don’t, let them go, they need to do this,” he explained.

“They’re going to hurt each other, I can’t let that happen,” you whimpered.

“Neither of them truly want to hurt the other, but we need to fool Morgana” Taehyung whispered.

“But his cheek,” you gaped.

“It’s all a show, Morgana thinks that Hoseok is on her side...”

“On her side?”

“Hoseok confessed last night. He told us about his plans and what Morgana was forcing him to do. And that it was all based on the promise of his family being returned to him. But Father Jin discovered that Morgana has never possessed the power to reanimate beings, she was lying to get to him. The weakness of his recent loss made him susceptible,” Taehyung said, slowly pulling you away from their fighting.

Suddenly, you felt a force rip Taehyung from your side, throwing you to the ground with the strength of it. There was ice in your mouth as you coughed, your lungs desperate for oxygen. “Enough!”

Morgana’s sharp voice echoed through the cold stone.

“Y/N!”

You looked up from the snow and towards her. Jimin and Hoseok were breathing heavily, looking at each other with fierce eyes. For people who didn’t really want to kill each other, they were certainly playing the role well.

“Hoseok. That little wench over there is still breathing. Why is that?” Hoseok froze.

“He’s not giving me any room to attack,” Hoseok explained, sweat dripping from his brow..

“I have a reason not to lose,” Jimin stated, “I won’t let her watch me fail.”

Hoseok lunged forward, appearing to attempt a surprise attack, but Jimin simply moves to the side with practiced ease. Hoseok’s face flushed with frustration.

“My prince, you are stubborn. I will give you that, but I won’t lose. I can’t.”

Hoseok moved forward again, and this time Jimin moves a second too late. You heard him hiss in pain as Hoseok’s dagger shredded through his jacket and shirt, cutting his upper bicep.

You screamed and Morgana’s eyes focused on you. A shudder ran down your spine, the equivalent to ice water running through your veins at the look in her eyes. It was as if you were the very bane of her existence. As if she hated nothing more in the world...

Jimin gripped his arm, blood beginning to seep from the wound. “You caught me off guard, Hoseok. Revel in that attack, because it will be the last one you land on me,” Jimin teased, hitting Hoseok’s dagger from his hand and kicking him square in the chest. Hoseok’s breath flew from him as he landed harshly against the ground, Jimin’s shoe digging into his tender flesh.

“Hoseok, it appears I have the upper hand. And what do you say to that?” Jimin gloated.

“I say, NOW NAMJOON!” Hoseok cried.

“Namjoon?!” you yelled.

Then, Morgana lurched forward unnaturally, legs bowing forward as her chest puffed out. Behind her, Namjoon stood bravely. His saber skewered her, through and through.

Tears sprung to your eyes. He wasn’t dead. He survived the Forsaken, and now he was here to fulfill his promise to you and Jimin both.

Hoseok smiled as Morgana cried out, black blood pouring from her ripped skin. Gurgling sounds echoed throughout the clearing, making your stomach churn. Namjoon pressed his foot into her back and shoved her off his sword, watching as she fell into a heap on the ground.

“Hoseok... Y-you traitor... N-Now your family will... be in purga-tory for the... rest of time,” she groaned from the bloodied Earth.

“My family will rest in peace with their murderer dead,” he growled.

Morgana lay there, unmoving. Tentatively, you stood, holding your side.

“Ji-Jimin?” you asked, looking at him with teary eyes.

“Y/N,” he breathed.

You ran over, past Morgana’s body and wrapped your arms around your husband. Jimin smiled as he picked you up and spun you around. Pure elation ran through your veins, burning bright from within you.

“We’re free,” he whispered, kissing your face. You smiled as he set you down, hands locked behind his neck.

“We need to clean your cheek,” you whispered, fingers tracing his wound in a delicate manner.

“We’ll worry about that later, I think someone wants to say hello to you,” Jimin stated.

You turned around and saw Namjoon looking at you, a big grin on his dirty face. “Lady Y/N,” Namjoon greeted, bowing slightly. You matched his smile and ran over, giving him a big hug too.

“I thought we’d lost you,” you whispered, holding him tight.

“I have a duty to uphold my lady. A duty that I will forever follow,” Namjoon declared.

“I’m so glad we wound up not needing this,” Father Jin said, pulling out a small knife.

“What is it?” you asked, taking the blade between your fingers.

“Careful, there is an extremely potent poison placed on the blade,” he warned.

“Why didn’t we just use this instead of Namjoon’s saber, this is more discreet,” you pondered.

“Well it was kind of our last resort. It’s dangerous to wield it as well, because just a nick with this blade could spell death for the injured, I didn’t want to risk anyone’s life if it wasn’t necessary,” Father Jin explained.

“Y/N, you should put it down,” Jimin said, moving forward.

“I’ll be fine,” you said. Looking up at your husband, pure fear trickled down your spine. Morgana’s corpse had moved, standing behind him in a menacing posture.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion.

Jungkook started to run from his place behind the pedestal. Father Jin was thrown backwards, as well as Namjoon and Hoseok. Taehyung remained back where the two of you had been thrown earlier, but his eyes widened in shock. Yoongi took aim from the back.

Before you had time to think, you moved forward shoving Jimin to the ground. Morgana’s blade barely missed his neck... However, it stabbed into your stomach square on. Pain erupted from your abdomen.

Jimin looked up in horror.

His wife...

His beloved wife stood above him, taking a dagger meant for him.

“Y/N! No!”

“I knew you’d protect him. Finally,” she sneered as she twisted the blade in your stomach. You whimpered in pain, feeling your strength begin to sap from your limbs.

“I-I’ll always... protect him,” you heaved.

“Foolish girl, this is what love gets you. Pain and suffering,” Morgana declared.

“No, love has brou-ught me so m-much more than you’ll e-ever know.”

Jimin was frozen to the spot, his heart hammering against his chest. How could he let this happen? He was a failure. He couldn’t even protect his wife from the one thing he knew would harm her.

He failed you.

“Die and know that your husband will fall in love with me, forgetting all about you. All he will know, is me,” she gritted, pulling the knife from your abdominal area.

You collapsed to the ground, blood pouring from your wound. Jimin scrambled to hold you, gripping your face. “Y/N, Y/N look at me,” he panicked, keeping your face level with his.

Morgana grabbed him by the back of his shirt, lifting him into the air with ease. She smiled a black tooth grin at him, making Jimin want to gag. Sniffing around his hair and neck, Morgana licked his injured cheek. She shuddered, seeming to enjoy the sensation of his agony.

“Your despair is so delicious my sweet, and your blood is addictive... God, I can’t wait for you to be mine,” she beamed.

“I-I’ll never be yours,” he fought, kicking his legs and attempting to fall from her ironclad grasp.

As she toyed with Jimin like a cat with a mouse, you saw your opportunity. Reaching forward, you took the knife in your hand and stabbed it directly into her foot.

Morgana shrieked, dropping Jimin onto the ground as she glared at you.

“You little bitch!” she cried, kicking you in the jaw. You groaned in pain, head knocking back aggressively.

“Y/N!” he whimpered.

However, just as Jin said, the poison began to take effect. Morgana’s body seized up unnaturally, twitching and shuddering in pain. “W-What is this?”

“Nightshade poison, mixed with brimstone you unholy demon!” Father Jin cried.

“N-No!” Morgana howled, body crumpling to the ground, continuing to twinge until a few moments later when she finally laid still.

Namjoon rushed over and pushed her over with his foot and took the dagger, ramming in through her skull. Crimson blood and brain matter covered the ground, making your head spin.

The air was eerily quiet.

A soft breeze came over the party.

Jimin scrambled onto his feet, rushing over to your mangled body on the ground. “Y/N? Y/N can you hear me?” he asked, pulling you into his lap.

Your eyes were drooping as you looked at your husband. Your vision was doubling, seeing your husband multiply and then come back to one person made your mind whirl in confusion. “Jimin,” you whispered.

“I’m here my love, I’m right here,” he said, holding your hand to his cheek.

“I-I’m dying,” you stated, weak voice cracking from the strain of speaking.

“No, no Y/N you’re going to be just fine, you’ll be okay,” Jimin said in a pained voice.

He held you close, leaning into your palm that cupped his cheek. Namjoon stood behind him, face grim. Father Jin had come up, kneeling down besides the two of you. Taehyung and Jungkook stood back, looking on with sorrow in their eyes. Hoseok couldn’t bear to watch.

“Keep pressure on it,” Father Jin ordered, pressing his robes to your wounds in an act of desperation.

“Will she live? Father please tell me you can help her,” Jimin pleaded.

Father Jin kept applying pressure to your wound, but you couldn’t feel it anymore... You had gone blissfully numb. You brushed his wounded cheek once more, frowning at the injury with distaste.

“We nee-d, to clean your c-cheek,” you coughed, blood seeping into Father Jin’s robes at an alarming rate.

Jimin felt his stomach drop into the Earth. “Just keep your eyes open, focus on me,” Jimin begged, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. You tried your best, you really did. But your head was swimming from blood loss and pain that it was impossible to complete the task.

“Jimin, we’re... free,” you breathed.

“We are my love, we are free, so now you have to live... You have to live so we can have a family, rule the kingdom together, love each other... forever,” he sobbed.

“I love you... so much, J-Jimin,” you stuttered, vision finally blotting out.

“I love you too, I will love you for the rest of my days,” Jimin cried.

You went limp in his arms, blood starting to stop it’s flow from your wound. Father Jin removed his hands, leaning back and looking down at the ground with tears falling from his eyelashes.

“Father, we must keep pressure on the wound,” he shouted, pressing his hands to your stomach with anguish.

“No we don’t Highness, no we don’t,” Father Jin cried softly.

Jungkook turned his back and was shaking, trying to keep himself together.

“Highness, I failed you, I’m so sorry,” Jungkook weeped.

Taehyung wrapped his arms around the younger male, bringing him to his chest. Taehyung coddled him like a small babe fretting. However, honestly the older man just didn’t want his subordinate to see him cry.

Yoongi covered his mouth, shocked by the proceedings.

Hoseok collapsed to his knees. “I-I... After everything we did, I gave up everything... And she still beat us,” he whispered.

Namjoon moved over to Jimin, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Highness, we must go, the Forsaken still exist, and they will be savage at the loss of their Queen.”

Jimin shook his head, burying his face into your cold neck. “I can’t leave her, I refuse,” he whimpered.

“Highness,” Namjoon urged.

“No! I won’t leave her here, I promised I would never leave her,” Jimin howled. Anguish covered the younger man’s features. Tears ran down his cheeks, making pathways to the earth on his face.

“Jimin!” Namjoon screamed.

The world was rocked into utter silence.

“We all loved her, we all are going to miss her. But now we have to let her go... We have to go, the last thing Lady Y/N would’ve wanted is for you to die with her as well. She died so you could go on living, please Jimin... Please let her go,” Namjoon said.

“Perhaps he can’t,” a distant voice uttered.

Namjoon pulled out his sword, directing it towards the noise.

“Who’s there?” Namjoon called, looking into the distance.

Jimin cradled your body closer to him, hand smoothing down your hair as he cried.

A sliver of blue mist appeared, circling above you and Jimin both. Namjoon pulled out his saber and pointed it into the air.

“Back demons, we’ve already lost so much today, please have mercy,” Namjoon stated, closing his eyes.

“My sweet Y/N,” Jimin sobbed, kissing the tomb of your head. The poor man was broken. The one thing he loved most in this world, taken from him in an instant. He thought the two of you were going to be together forever... But why did forever have to be so short?

“We... are not... demons,” a sweet tone answered.

“This is where we lost each other, and found each other again,” another voice answered.

“Who are you?” Taehyung shouted.

“I am Park Lee Suk, High King of Arcane Kingdom,” one sliver of blue mist answered, transforming into a full apariton. One that looked exactly like the deceased High King.

“And I am Park Lu Na, High Queen of Arcane Kingdom... Or, at least I was supposed to be,” she smiled, sheepish as her body came into view.

“Ghosts?” Jungkook whispered, trying to be brave.

“If you’d like to think of us that way, perhaps it will make it easier,” Luna said, smiling softly at the young male.

“Why are you here?” Father Jin asked, looking at them with interest. He’d never seen spirits before, the Holy words spoke of the dearly departed who can’t move on, whether it be an untimely end or unfinished business that keeps them...

“My poor child,” Lee Suk said, kneeling behind Jimin.

Jimin tightened his grip around you, cradling you close to his chest. “Who are you?”

“You don’t remember me, boy? You look an awful lot like me,” Lee Suk smiled.

“Y-You’re... You’re the ancestor who fell in love with Morgana!” Jimin exclaimed.

“It was not love that Morgana and I shared. She forced me into loving her, placed me under a spell of infatuation. The only thing powerful enough to break that spell, was true love. And Luna here, she set me free. Much like how Y/N set you free as well,” Lee Suk said, giving the boy a reminiscent look.

“Why are you here?” Jungkook asked, coming forward and placing his hand on his sword.

“Oh there’s no need for that.

“Oh, Y/N,” Luna said, coming closing and sitting besides you.

“Y/N,” Jimin whispered, brushing the hair from your face, keeping you within his grasp.

“Tell me, Jimin,” Lee Suk began, placing a phantom hand on Jimin’s shoulder, “Do you believe you could love after Y/N?”

“How could you ask me that? I can’t ever love someone the way I love her... Y/N is everything to me... And now she's gone...”

All beating hearts in the area ached with his broken tone. Jimin looked so utterly torn apart by your passing.

“I want to know you mean it, Jimin,” Luna said, looking him dead in the eyes.

“I can’t ever love someone the way I love Y/N, she’s the love of my life. The only love of my life, and today I failed her... I let her down. When she needed me the most, I couldn’t protect her. It’s all my fault,” Jimin whimpered, hiding his face in your stiff neck.

Luna and Lee Suk looked to one another and nodded before coming towards your body. Jimin tightened his grip around you and tried to keep you away from them.

“What are you doing?” He asked, looking at them with uncertainty.

“Just trust us my child,” Lee Suk said, interlocking his hands with Luna.

“Lay her down,” Luna said, motioning with her head.

“I-”

“Sire,” Namjoon interrupts, “Do as they say.” Jimin gave him a frightened look, as if letting you go would mean losing you forever.

“Okay,” Jimin whispered, slowly lowering you from his iron grip to the soft and white blanket of the snow below.

Your hair fanned out against the beautiful ice crystals made Jimin want to cry harder. But soon, his ancestor and yours went to work.

They started at your head, laying their hands about a foot above you. A piercing blue light emanating from their palms. Jimin could barely keep his eyes open, but he watched on with morbid curiosity. Carefully they pressed on, moving over your neck and chest. As they proceeded Jimin realized they were whispering to each other.

Whether it was sweet nothings or a spell, Jimin couldn’t be sure. But soon, you were starting to rise from the snow, levitating into the air with the same blue aura encompassing you now.

“What’s going on?” Yoongi asked, looking up at you.

“I think,” Father Jin began, “I think I know this spell.”

“Father, what are they doing to her?” Taehyung asked, coming up to hold onto Jimin, who looked ready to collapse.

“They are giving the last of themselves. Their very essence, to bring her back,” Father Jin said,

“Oh God please let this work,” Hoseok said, rubbing his face.

“It has to, what other option do we have?” Jungkook whispered.

You were now at least twenty feet in the air, your body surrounded by this blue light. Lee Suk and Luna were with you also.

“Y/N,” Jimin croaked, reaching out for you like a child.

“Be strong Jimin,” Taehyung said wrapping his hand around his friend’s wrist. Trying desperately to stop his own tears.

“Taehyung what if they can’t bring her back? What am I to do?” Jimin whispered.

“Don’t think like that, this will work,” Namjoon said, coming forward to hold onto his friend’s shoulders.

The rest of the men came forward. Showing their support in the only way they could. By being there, next to their King, whom they adored more than anything. Father Jin came forward and took Jimin’s hands.

“Father?” he asked, looking down in confusion.

“You must say these words with me,” he said, wrapping his hands around Jimin’s slowly.

“What do you mean?”

“I know this spell, and it is difficult and rarely used. They’re giving their life force, their souls to bring her back. And they need our help. We must complete the circle for them. They are trying to do it with two people and it’s not enough. We must help them if we are to bring Lady Y/N back,” Father Jin urged, reaching out for the Taehyung as well. “All of you, interlock hands and repeat after me.”

The men did as they were told, all coming together and joining hands.

“From the blessed light above.”

“To the hellish darkness that consumes all.”

“We ask you take this offering of two souls.”

“We ask you to take this offering of two souls.”

The light above them began to pulsate and writhe as if it were wrapping itself around you in a way that was binding.

“Focus on the words men! Only the words!”

“But Father Y/N-”

“Will remain as she is if we don’t continue!”

“Keep going!” Jungkook yelled.

“Please accept our humble offering.”

“Arenatha hotep, inelex totum.”

“Urelian, mosef Y/N, et illiad terinuman.”

“Urelian, mosef Y/N, et iliad terinuman.”

“So let it be done. On this Earth, there may remain only one!”

The light above turned crimson red. Lee Suk peered down at his descendant. A bright smile crossed his face. “I hope you two are happy, like we never could be. Please, never take her for granted. Always cherish her, and remember us.”

Jimin looked at him, a single tear falling down his cheek and he nodded.

With that, the light burst as bright as an explosion lighting up the sky with its fury. Father Jin turned and looked up at your body still hovering in the air.

“She’s gonna fall! Hurry, get ready to catch her!”

Everyone gathered around, locking arms and creating a sort of net to ensure you wouldn’t hit the ground. Soon your body hit the ‘net’, causing everyone to fall down with you. Luckily the snow was deep and took a majority of the impact. Your skin was still paler than Father Jin had hoped. And your dress was still coated in your blood.

“Get her up on the stone, I need to examine her,” Father Jin said, urging everyone up.

“Father did it work?” Jimin asked, coming closer.

“I’m not sure,” he answered, helping to lift you into the air and onto the slab of stone next to you.

“Father,” Jungkook started. “There are Forsaken in this area, we need to move.”

“Jungkook is right, we can’t stay here,” Namjoon responded, coming forward.

“Is there any way for us to move her?” Yoongi asked, looking along the forest line his bow drawn.

“We can move her,” Father Jin answered.

“Then let’s get her to the carriage and back to the castle. I’ll send for guards to come as soon as it is possible,” Jungkook said, moving towards the stone slab.

“Taehyung get Jimin to the carriage as fast as you can, we’ll get Lady Y/N,” Namjoon said.

“Yes, Jimin come on, we’ve got to go,” Taehyung said, pulling his friend by the wrist.

“Y/N,” he whimpered, softly.

“She’ll be alright, come along,” Taehyung cooed.

Jimin slowly tore his eyes away from you and followed Taehyung to the carriage.

#Jimin #Park Jimin #into eternity #Jimin X Reader #Jimin X Reader Smut #Smut #BTS #Bangtan #Jessika Hathaway #Ficswithluv

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keelywolfe · 4 years ago

Text

FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.9 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch is getting a chance to meet the local Sheriff and to say he is not excited would be an understatement.

Read chapter 9: ‘Addressing the Public’ on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

For his first day off from the grocery, today sure seemed like it was determined to make its mark so he couldn’t possibly forget it. At this point, it was about burned into Stretch’s memory, for sure.

First there was Doris who added her clues into his trick r treat bucket, then the town assholes showed up for their serial killer practice. Then, as a treat, he got to have the double punch of a lunch with Edge, a sweet and sour mixture of possibly flirtatious revelations coupled to an unwanted chat about his own traumas, served warm over some delicious pie.

Now it looked like he was about to get a sequel to the Assholes: Part Deux, the Assholes’ Revenge, in the form of a sheriff filled with blustering indignation and accusations, and all Stretch had was a mouthful of pie to defend himself. Worse, his only witness had already paid the bill and left.

Stretch swallowed his last bite, chasing it down with water when it tried to stick in the back of his throat as he went over possibilities. He could try to explain the situation, but if there was one thing he’d learned from living in Ebott, it was that if a Monster was talking to the cops, it was best to keep it short, sweet, and polite. Don’t try to explain or admit to shit, ‘cause they’d be more than happy to add another line to the list of things to harass you about.

Seriously, he missed being able to shortcut, this whole facing trouble head-on thing wasn’t for him.

The sheriff huffed again, loudly, and it fluffed up his broad mustache like a human-shaped walrus. He propped fists about the size of a baby’s head on his broad hips and growled out, “So? Is that it? You’re here startin’ some trouble in my peaceful little town?”

Stretch looked up into those mirrored sunglasses. If they were standing, Stretch would probably have a couple inches on the guy, but sitting here in the booth the sheriff loomed over him ominously, his own distorted reflection showing back his nervous face.

“no, sir,” Stretch said politely. Stick with the basic, that was good for a start, and hopefully Red would be willing to bail him out if that became necessary. At least Red wouldn’t have far to go.

The rest of the diner was staring, not a single fork was engaged as they watched the latest scene in the town drama unfold. Not that he blamed them, this was probably about the most action they’d seen in weeks, but he did sort of wish someone would be a little concerned rather than eagerly interested. Waiting to see if maybe the local sheriff was gonna slap on some cuffs so they could whip out their phones for a nice tiktok video while he was getting read his rights?

“No?” the sheriff demanded. His sunglasses reflected the overhead light, making Stretch wince back. “I heard you were out there riling up the corn yesterday. And today you were playing dog days with the doggerel boys?”

That was true, except how it wasn’t, and a trickle of sweat was winding its way down Stretch’s spine despite the air conditioning. Before he could wheeze out another ‘no sir’ or any other answer at all, a sudden, booming laugh filled the entire diner, loud enough to echo from the greasy grill before rolling back out to rattle the windows. The sheriff hooked his thumbs into a belt with a buckle so big that could probably double as a satellite dish, guffawing loudly, “Aw, you ain’t in any trouble, I’m just joshing ya, boy!”

Oh. Ohhhh, this was only a little goodnatured small-town hazing, that he could deal with, if he managed to swallow his quivering soul back down where it belonged. Stretch tried on a smile to match the sheriff’s ongoing laughter and found that it fit pretty well, all things considered.

“can’t be joshing, my name is stretch,” Stretch said with cautious humor. “but i guess stretching me would be an entirely different meaning. think they gave that one up in the middle ages.”

The sheriff bellowed out another laugh that practically shook the silverware, actually bending over to give his knee a loud slap. Around them rose other chuckles around mouthfuls of pie and how strange was it that he could feel the difference between people laughing at him and laughing with him. There was a certain fondness in that laughter, in the warm expressions coming his way from townsfolk that he sort of knew; these were people who’d bought their toilet paper and fresh apples from him on any given day, who’d give him waves and smiles when he passed them on the sidewalk and maybe it was an unusual form of kindness, but their humor still made unexpected tears prick in his sockets.

Stretch grabbed his napkin and dabbed hastily at his face as if he were wiping away sweat before anyone could see and misunderstand. How could he explain to them that in all his life, he’d never felt such a wash of overwhelming fondness from anyone except maybe his own brother.

(Not even from the person who’d told him so often and so tenderly that he loved him…until he didn’t, fucking hell, he wasn’t thinking about that right now, he wasn’t.)

The sheriff was obviously no fool and already his expression was softening into remorse, maybe coming up with an apology that Stretch desperately did not want, not for this. Rescue came almost too late and from an entirely unexpected source. Granny Collemore was so short Stretch could only see her steel-gray hair piled up in a messy bun over the top of the booth as she approached, but he heard her hollering well enough.

“Buford, you let that poor boy alone!” There was a smacking sound of a cane hitting flesh and Stretch couldn’t see where the blow struck, but the sheriff, Buford, let out a yelp, hopping on one foot as he frantically rubbed his shin.

“Sam Hill, granny, I was only playin!” he grumbled. He pulled up the leg of his trousers to examine his granny-inflicted wound. There was a reddened welt on the skin, already shading to purple.

“You hush yourself,” Granny huffed, “I’m half-past give-a-shit today and you may be the sheriff in these parts, but you ain’t too old for a hiding!” Granny shuffled into view, her cane hooked over one arm. She reached out with her wrinkled hands and Stretch leaned over obediently to let her to cup his face gently in her palms as she clucked with concern. “Does he look like he’s up for your shenanigans?” she groused loudly, “‘specially since this feller is working over at the grocery with Red, bless his heart.”

“That a fact?” Buford pushed his hat up and offered a crooked smile. “Must be a brave soul, then. Well, you tell that sonavabitch I’m gunning for him this Sunday. He better be there with silver bells on and you tell him that whatever aces are up his sleeves, better make sure they ain’t spades, ‘cause that’s the reverend’s favorite cheat.”

“i’ll do that,” Stretch agreed, a touch bewildered. Hell, he’d thought Red was joking when he said the sheriff was his poker buddy.

That sounded like an exit line, it was starting to look like Stretch was going to make it out of here unscathed, and he might have if Granny hadn’t put in, happily, “Anyhoo, Buford, you just miss seeing Edge. He was here sharing a slice of pie with our new fella.”

Dark eyebrows rose up over those mirrored lenses and Buford hooted a laugh, “Oho, that how it is. On a date with our Edge, were ya.”

Great, that was exactly what he didn’t want getting back to Red. Enjoying a little flirting was one thing, but not if it started the wheels of the gossip train turning. With his luck, it would crash right into a dumpster fire. “uh, no, no dates, just pie.”

He did not expect Buford to suddenly look a little offended, those eyebrows drawing down into a frown behind his glasses. “Why in the Sam Hill not? Ain’t he your type?”

“Uh.” Stretch looked around a little wildly, away from Granny and Buford to see the rest of the diner was still watching them with interest. No, not just interest, there was an awful lot of sly looks there and whispering behind hands, along with soft expressions and doe-eyes…

Oh. Oh, shit, it was worse than he thought. They were invested, everyone in this diner was taking sides and they were choosing the romance option, this was bad, this sort of thing was infectious and the last thing he needed right now was an entire town of matchmakers trying to hook him up with the local hottie. It was like an unsolved Agatha Christie took a sudden, sideways turn into a Hallmark Gyftmas movie.

Buford and the rest of the diner were all waiting for him to explain why he and Edge weren’t dating and Stretch was sitting here, fumbling around at the pass.

“we’re not dating, we’re just—” Stretch coughed awkwardly, hesitating. The truth was ‘it’s complicated’ was probably most accurate, although ‘barely met acquaintances’ was a close second, or even the generic, ‘he’s my boss’s baby bro whose ass i am definitely not staring whenever i see him but also his smile is really nice and—' “—friends,” Stretch finished, lamely.

Buford nodded like he’d offered not a nugget of wisdom, but an entire ten-piece with the tangy sauce. The light reflected in his mirrored gaze as he said, kindly, “That ain’t a bad thing.”

Relieved, Stretch let out an unsteady laugh, “kinda surprised you don't think i'm a cousin or something.”

Buford snorted loudly at that, “Son, you boys don't look a thing alike.”

And that there was another surprise to add to his daily total. In Ebott, Stretch was constantly getting mistaken for Papyrus or Sans, even his own brother once or twice. Half the time, people either didn’t know his name or didn’t care to, and Backwater was a strange place, no question, but that sure didn’t mean it was bad.

Buford didn’t seem to notice his shock as he went on, “Now there’s a boy who could use some en-ter-tainment. Works too hard, damned if he don’t.”

Now that was a clue looking him right in the face and Stretch took the Velma leap and pounced on it, trying for a little discreet nonchalance, “yeah? what does he work so hard at?”

A shame Buford seemed to be pretty quick on the draw. He gave Stretch a shrewd look, “He ain’t told you?”

“no, sir,” Stretch sighed glumly. Seriously, he was the worst Velma ever.

Buford went ahead and poured salt into the open wound with another short laugh, ��Naw, I’ll ain’t stepping in that cow pie. I’ll let him talk to ya about that. But see if you can’t get him to slow down for another--” Buford gave him a sly wink and actually hooked his thick fingers into air quotes, “’friend date’, wontcha?”

Then he grunted as Granny Collemore jammed her elbow into his soft gut, tutting loudly, “You never did shake the ants outta your pants did you, Buford! Let those boys alone, they'll go at their own pace.” To Stretch she offered sunny, toothless grin, “Come on, and walk an old lady out.”

“yes, ma’am,” Stretch said. Hey, he might be an idiot, but he was no fool. He stood up, ready to make his getaway, halted only briefly by Buford snatching up his hand and giving it an enthusiastic shake, though his grip was gentle on the delicate bones.

“Welcome to town, Stretch,” Buford told him. For once he was completely serious as he said, low, “and don’t you worry about those boys.” He tapped the side of his nose, his broad finger reflected in his sunglasses. “I know what happened, it’ll be taken care of.”

“i appreciate that,” Stretch said, and he meant it. He turned and followed after Granny, only dodging ahead to hold up the door so she could shuffle out.

“Thank you, sonny,” Granny huffed as she made her slow way through the door. “These old bones ain’t as spry as yours. You should head on home now, there's a storm a’comin'."

Stretch looked up into the cloudless sky in confusion, greeted by endless blue.

“Oh, you can trust me," Granny grimaced and rubbed at her hip, "these joints don't lie."

“i will,” Stretch agreed. After his lesson with the corn, he was taking the townsfolk at their word and if granny said a storm was heading this way, he expected to see clouds blowing in any minute now.

He left Granny to make her way home and headed back to the store. Red only grunted when he came in, didn’t even look up from his book as he hooked an absent thumb towards his apartment. There was a bag sitting on the table and when Stretch looked inside, there was a sandwich neatly covered in plastic wrap, a bag of chisps, and a bottle of juice. He was still full up on pie, but it would make for a nice, simple dinner, good thing he had Red up there looking after him. Maybe he should suggest to Red that he get a tattoo, a nice heart engraved on his arm with ‘Mom’ in the middle, since now he had one.

Stretch took the bag upstairs with him and opened the window. He took a moment to breathe in the already cooling air, a herald to the coming storm.

The book was sitting where he’d left it last night when he’d dragged himself off Red’s sofa, limbs spaghettied from sleep and his mind noodly mush. He’d brought the book along without even thinking about it and now the hardcover seemed to mock him with the necessary knowledge hidden somewhere within those pages.

Welp, there was only one way he was gonna get the info out of it and that didn’t mean beating it against his skull until the words shook out. He picked it up and settled to sit cross-legged on the bed, bracing himself for what might well be hours of boredom as he turned it to the first page.

And frowned. At the top of the page was a family name, ‘Anderson’, along with the date, ‘1884’. There was a short selection of first names beneath it and next to each was what looked like a telephone number and an address.

“what the hell?” Stretch muttered. He flipped to the second page and it was the same thing, only the name was ‘Armstrong’ and there were a lot more first names to go with it, someone was getting busy on the weekends, for sure.

Stretch flipped to the next page, and the next. All of them had the same thing, a last name, then a collection of firsts with a number and an address. Finally, he flipped back to the title page. There, right underneath the scrolling text declaring the book ‘The Informal History of Backwater’ was a tiny addition he hadn’t noticed before, stating in a small, stark font, ‘Municipal Directory.’

For a long moment, Stretch could only stare at it, until the words started floating in his sight. Laughter bubbled up suddenly, fizzing in him like a shaken soda. "sonofabitch," Stretch burst out, snickering madly. The damn thing was a glorified telephone book and Edge had flat-out given him his damned address already, practically gift-wrapped it! And he'd almost refused to take the damn thing! Guy wasn't only sexy, he had jokes and if he wasn't already a treat to the senses, that would have upgraded him to a bone-ified snack.

Address had to be in here, all Stretch needed to do was find it. The book was bigger than he would’ve thought from a small town, but from the look of it, they never took anyone out, only kept adding on. Occasionally next to a name he saw an abbreviated ‘dec.,’ so maybe this was a bit of town history, after all, kind of a family tree, anyway.

It still took him awhile to find their names, flipping through the book. The names were alphabetized, but that didn’t help much when the family he was looking for didn’t have a last name. Finally, under the surname ‘Skeleton’, he found them.

“should’ve tried that to begin with,” Stretch muttered. He read the entry, following along with his finger, only to pause in confusion when it came to the date recorded neatly by their names. It listed them as arriving in town over a decade ago and if that was when they came to Backwater, then whoever printed this needed to proofread a little better, because that was impossible. Monsters had only been on the surface for a couple years, not quite three now, so it had to be a mistake.

Except, Edge struck him as the kind of guy who was pedantic enough that there was no way he wouldn’t bitch until it was fixed; anyone who ate their pie like it was a military maneuver wouldn’t be able to stand such an egregious error. And he’d made sure to give Stretch the book, so he damn well knew he’d be seeing this. So what the hell did all this mean?

What did any of this mean?

Stretch sank back against the wall behind him, tipping his head up so he could stare at the ceiling. There was a crack in the plaster in one the corner, spidering off into a shape like a lightning bolt and that was exactly what Stretch felt like he’d been struck with.

What the hell was this place? Some kind of fairytale, where one day in town was a week on the outside? If he hopped on another bus and made his way to the next town over, would the papers tell him it was next Tuesday or the next century?

It was enough to inspire him to check his messages. Stretch fumbled for his phone, opening the text app for the first time in days. The amount of alerts made him wince but it was the last message that roused that endless ache in his soul back up to true pain.

I understand that you’re hurting, brother. You don’t have to tell me where you are. You don’t even have to call. All I ask is you send me a message every once in a while to let me know you’re all right. Please.

Stretch closed his sockets and swallowed against the sudden knot in his throat. Before he could rethink it, he typed a hasty, i’m all right and sent it, then lurched over to shove his phone into the nightstand drawer, slamming it shut.

Even so, he couldn’t help listening, straining to hear but there was no vibrating buzz, nothing to indicate a return message.

Good enough.

Stretch took a deep, shaky breath, then dragged the book back over and studied the entry again. Red’s address was the store, no surprises there, but Edge was listed under 637 Wood’s End Drive.

Wood’s End. Seriously?

Welp, it was one mystery solved, anyway, even if he’d skipped the meddling kids part. Now all he needed was to plan a field trip.

A sudden flash of lightning lit the room, putting the fake bolt on his ceiling to bitter shame and the sky outside seemed to burst, rain pouring down and pelting through his open window. Stretch scrambled over to slam it closed, shaking away the damp on his hands. All the sunshine from earlier was gone, the sky darkened into angry, swirling storm clouds as the downpour drenched the parched earth.

Yeah, field trip was postponed on account of rain, but not for long. He’d get there and maybe once he showed up on Edge’s doorstep, he’d finally get some real answers.

For now, though, all Stretch wanted was a towel.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #welcome to backwater

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hermannsthumb · 4 years ago

Note

"newt isn’t sleazy and is also too busy wrestling with the ethics of hitting on his hot TA if the guy is 5 months older than him to even notice" pleeeease write this

Anonymous asked: "When I Kissed the Teacher" AU ft professor newt and his hot 5-month-older TA hermann

and coincidentally, this older one

Anonymous asked: i just rewatched mamma mia 2 and was wondering if i could request a "when i kissed the teacher" newmann fic?? love your writing!!!!!!

Ask And Ye Shall Receive. sorry ive been MIA 😔 concept from this post I made earlier this month. idk what class newt teaches that hermann would be qualified to TA for but just like, decide for yourselves

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

Newt’s never been a list-making kind of guy, or--for that matter--even really a planning ahead kind of guy, but certain circumstances have thrown his life more out of wack than usual lately, and he kind of needs the stability the like of things like lists offer. Desperate times and everything. Or, at the very least, Newt is desperate.

So Newt plans, and plots, and deliberates, and he even agonizes a little, but most of all, he makes a list.

On one half of the page, he writes pros. On the other, he writes cons. On top, he writes--what else?--Hermann.

The problem started in late August. Newt knew for months he was going to be assigned a teaching assistant come that semester--it was him, after all, who’d suggested it to the dean in the first place--but the Hermann Gottlieb of extensive, impressive, overachieving CV and overly-former cover letter was a far cry from Hermann Gottlieb in the flesh. Newt expected a dork, frankly. Someone too socially awkward to feel brave enough to thank someone for holding a door open for him. He expected a PhD student so eager to please he’d cater to Newt’s every whim, whether it was grading horrendous freshman lab reports or fetching him a sandwich from the commissary between class sections.

They met for the first time at the campus coffee shop. Hermann was dressed in an oversized pair of slacks, a threadbare green sweatervest, and honest-to-God saddle shoes; the buttons of his Oxford were done up all the way, from the collar to the cuffs, and an ornate cane was settled against his thigh. His haircut was tragic. “Dr. Geiszler,” he said, all clipped and English, and held his hand out to Newt. “Hermann Gottlieb. It is a great pleasure to meet you. I’m an admirer of your work.”

"Sup,” Newt said, and tried to bump their fists together.

Newt knew he was in deep shit then. It wasn’t just because Hermann was gorgeous (which he was, in a sort of weird, frumpy, ripped-outta-1945 way), or that the scowl he proceeded to level Newt with made his soul wither and his heart race a little bit too fast, but both of those things in conjunction with a big one: Newt was, and is, so fucking love-starved. It’s an unfortunate byproduct of being made a professor when he was as young as he was and completing a PhD before he completed puberty. His early twenties should’ve been spent dyeing his hair terrible colors and adding to his already impressive tattoo collection and having questionable hookups with other young twentysomethings; unfortunately, the only young twentysomethings Newt ever seems to come across are his students, and he has a very strict code of ethics. Not to mention it wasn’t like he was getting any action before that as a weird, gangly teenager with peers several years his senior. He was bound to latch onto the first genius hottie who crossed his path who wasn’t trying to flirt their way into bumping that B- to a B+. And better yet, Hermann is five whole months his senior!

The shit only got deeper when the semester started. No, Hermann was not the sort to fetch Newt sandwiches, or coffee, or Aspirin from his office, nor was he the sort to handle the dreaded lab reports (at least not unless Newt handled them with him), and he definitely wasn’t eager to please. Newt, anyway. If anything the opposite was true: he seemed to actively derive enjoyment from undermining Newt at every turn.

“Wrong,” he’d mutter during class if Newt screwed something up in a lecture, or “No, Geiszler, you’re doing it wrong again,” or “How in the blazes did you get three bloody PhDs when you can’t even do simple addition?” and snatch Newt’s dry erase marker away to scrawl his own answers on the whiteboard. It was less like having a TA and more like having...well, a bitchy, annoying co-teacher. Or, God help Newt, a colleague. And boy, did he wave those five months over Newt’s head like a fucking flag. Newt was immature; inexperienced; clearly not as serious about his studies--his completed studies--as Hermann. Meanwhile Newt’s class (bright young twenty somethings, taller than Newt, cooler than Newt, with more friends than Newt) would giggle and snicker, and Hermann would look smug.

It drove Newt fucking batty.

It also made him, like, super turned on.

The two can co-exist. Apparently. Hermann Gottlieb is already helping Newt discover new and existing concepts; what a fucking excellent TA he is. Someone give that man a raise.

So Newt draws up a list, and he writes Pros, and he writes Cons, and he writes Hermann. The pros are regrettably easy to come up with, because Hermann is Hermann, and (bitchiness and undermining of Newt aside) it’s unfair how many he has. Hot. Stupid sexy accent. Stupidly smart. This is crossed out and replaced with so smart he makes me feel stupid (in a good way), because it seems like an important distinction. Glasses on chain. Mysterious. (In a tall, dark, and handsome way. Sort of. Average height--which is tall to Newt, pale, and handsome. He still scowls more than he talks, which makes him feel mysterious. In a Bronte sort of way. Newt can picture Hermann drawing a billowing cloak around his shoulders and stalking some desolate moor in the moonlight, though in this case maybe’s more of a puffy parka than a cloak.) In tiniest font of all is makes me laugh, because Hermann does, goddamn it, with his snide asides and cutting remarks and sarcasm, often not even directed at Newt when it’s just the two of them alone in Newt’s office at night.

The placement of “is my TA” on the chart is acting as a particular annoyance to Newt, entirely on account of the fact that he can think of several pros and cons for that as well, and he’s not sure whether to nestle it between dark eyelashes and once called me a moron in front of my class and I got a hard-on or beneath sweaters smell like sweat and mothballs, has annoying tic of clearing throat when lost in thought, and the dick wins 86% of our arguments. Sexy forbidden fling. Abuse of power. Is older than me so it's not as weird as it could be? I’m his boss. The school’s paying Hermann though, not Newt, and it’s not like he’s going to scurry off to the dean and demand Hermann’s funding slashed if Hermann turns him down (which he’d most likely do). But it still feels like a breach of ethics.

On the other hand, Hermann is exactly the sort of guy he’d try to pick up at a bar if he still did things like that. (Tenure, rather than giving Newt breathing space to kick back and relax a little, has only increased his obsession with his work, and now when he gets a Friday night free to himself he mostly switches crap on the TV and falls asleep with his cat on the couch.) It’s about the experience, the impossible task of seducing someone who--by all accounts--is too straight-laced and tight-buttoned to indulge in something that debase. They were always the best in bed. Tension, Newt knows, has to snap at some point.

He’d like to wrap Hermann’s personal piano wire around his thumb and bang away at the keys until it snaps, too. Ethics, Newt thinks (folding up the list and stuffing it out of sight), his ass.

Newt sacrifices a Friday night with his cat and Unsolved Mysteries in favor of working on a solution to his Hermann Problem. Swamped with work, he tells Hermann over the phone, it fucking sucks, dude, I could really use your help in my office, and Hermann grumbles, and snaps that Newt should learn to be better prepared for his own damn classes, but declares he’ll be on campus in half an hour and that Newt will be ordering him takeaway for dinner as an apology.

The door swings open at half past five. Hermann is bundled in that heavy parka and scarf (which, even for a Boston November, still looks a little too warm), and his hair is damp. “Is it raining?” Newt says, perhaps stupidly, because there’s not a single droplet of water anywhere else on Hermann’s body.

Hermann makes a face at him and pushes the door shut with his cane. “No,” he says, tersely.

“Then why...” Newt touches his own hair.

“I was taking a bloody bath,” Hermann snaps. “I don’t work on Fridays, as you well know, Newton.”

The use of his full first name stings Newt oddly even as the notion of Hermann luxuriating in a bathtub excites him. “That’s Dr. Geiszler,” Newt snaps back, because goddamn it, he’s Hermann’s boss, he deserves respect, and then mentally adds a small, depressing tally to the Cons half of the board. Ethics, ethics.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann says. He throws his scarf and coat viciously at the small couch in the corner of Newt’s office, then takes his usual seat across from Newt. “Well? Where are those papers it’s so crucial we grade?”

Hermann in a bathtub, Newt thinks. Hermann naked. Papers, Newt thinks. “Papers,” Newt says, and he shoves a stack at Hermann with twice as much force as he means to, causing several to flutter to the ground. “We need...to grade them,” he says. Hermann naked, in a bathtub, maybe some candles lit around him, some nice music on, daydreaming about that wretched professor he works for. Damn it. “I have a pen,” he says. “To grade.”

“What on earth are you saying?” Hermann says. “Be quiet. I can’t concentrate with your abominable prattling on.” Then he mumbles something that sounds like incessant, rips the top paper off the stack, and begins to slash at it in red ink. He doesn’t bother gathering the two from the ground.

Why did Newt invite him here, again?

Oh, right. He pushes his glasses up his nose and feigns casualness, pulling out another paper for himself to grade. “A bath,” he says. “Just to, uh, relax? Or...?”

Hermann narrows his eyes. “Or?”

Newt shrugs. “It’s Friday. Were you getting ready for a date or something?”

This time, Hermann’s mouth twists down into a frown. Almost suspicious. “Why do you care?” he says.

“I don’t,” Newt says quickly. “Just making small talk.” God, he could picture some stud of a computer science PhD candidate winning Hermann over with techno babble--or maybe one of his fellow students, ugh, maybe they made a study group together that meets Friday nights, and Hermann was getting all gussied up, goddamn handsome astrophysics grad students--

“I was relaxing,” Hermann says. “You must be aware at this point you cause me a great deal of stress, Dr. Geiszler, on a daily basis.”

“Oh,” Newt says.

He gives up on the small talk after that. Hermann’s promised takeout arrives--a small carton of pad thai--as does Newt’s--a large carton of the spiciest thing they had on the menu--and they eat in silence. They have about three-quarters of the papers to go when Hermann suddenly sits back in his seat with a groan and rubs at his eyes under his granny glasses. “Bugger,” he says. “I can’t fathom this one for the life of me. I’m too tired.”

“It’s getting kinda late,” Newt agrees. “Maybe we should--”

“It’s not that,” Hermann says. “I had a glass of wine earlier, and--oh, it doesn’t matter. Your students need to learn how to write in a way that’s actually bloody legible--it’s like chicken scratch.”

Newt hops up and leans over his shoulder, squinting down at the page. Hermann’s hair smells nice, like something floral, and his skin has a small hint of what could almost be cologne. Why is Hermann wearing cologne? “Okay, let me see it,” Newt says, struggling to keep from getting lightheaded at the close proximity to Hermann. “I’m used to that kind of shit.”

“No,” Hermann says, drawing the paper close to his chest. “I am perfectly capable of managing it on my own.”

“Dude,” Newt says, “let me look at it, seriously. Hermann--”

He manages to tug it away from him. The handwriting is pretty bad, but the math seems to be worse. “Didn’t they do the readings?” Newt mutters under his breath. “That’s not even the right equation for the diameter. I gave them a cheat sheet, man.” They’re junior year engineering students--they should know this shit.

“I know what the equation is,” Hermann snaps. “I can grade it on my own. Give it back.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t know,” Newt says, “I said this kid--”

“It’s the radius squared--”

“Hermann, dude,” Newt says, “I know you’re--”

And that’s when Hermann grabs him by his skinny tie and kisses him, hard.

They stare at each other afterwards. Hermann’s eyes are as wide as saucers; his mouth is hanging open. Newt’s tie slips from his fingers, which then fall limp to his lap. “Holy shit,” Newt squeaks.

Hermann is gone with a swish of his parka and a loud clack of his cane. And with a stack of papers Newt still has to somehow get through. Figures.

Their next few classes together are subdued. Hermann doesn’t interject any of his biting commentary or corrections, or even offer critiques of Newt’s lack of professionalism (when in the past his skinny jeans were such an easy target), and when the period is over, he practically sprints from the classroom before he and Newt can be alone together for even a second. It’s fine by Newt. Whatever. Maybe Hermann can get over it over Thanksgiving break, and Newt can try to get over the memory of Hermann’s strong fingers tugging him down, Hermann’s floral shampoo, Hermann’s chapped, wide lips against his, the little grunt of shock Hermann made as he did it, like he couldn’t believe his own audacity...

It’s not likely.

It’s December, the last week before finals, and Newt’s in his office bundled up in a sweatshirt (because the heat never seems to fucking work in here), revising a draft of an exam, and dreading the thought of trudging home in the snow, when there’s suddenly a knock at his door. Anticipating some overeager freshman here outside of office hours, he doesn’t look up as he says “Come in.”

A familiar clearing of a throat.

Newt shoots straight up to his feet. He knocks a mug of coffee to the floor in the process. “Hermann,” he says. “Uh. Hi. What--what are you doing here?”

Hermann shuts the door behind him, then takes a careful step forward. He’s back in his big dumb coat and big long scarf. “I thought I ought to tell you myself first,” he says, primly. “I’ve submitted a request to the dean to be reassigned to another professor next semester. Our research interests are far more in line, and I don’t imagine our personalities shall clash as much.”

“Oh,” Newt says, pretending his heart isn't sinking in his chest like a hunk of lead. Was he that bad of a kisser? He feels like he deserves a second shot at it--he wasn’t ready last time, you know, he bets he’d really wow Hermann if he had a fair heads up. “Are.. are those the only reasons why?”

“No,” Hermann admits. “They’re not.”

He crosses the room, and corners Newt against his desk before Newt even realizes what’s happening. “They’re not,” he says again, then adds in a murmur (lifting one hand to brush his fingers against Newt’s hair), “Dr. Geiszler.”

Neither of them talk much, after that.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #thxstral

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