#it's not even particularly sexy to anyone but me to be in a marriage of convenience scenario where you get to fuck all you want

[cosmic--marmalade]

Oh oh the most self indulgent Horny Dustin bullshit, my love of historical bullshit makes me sound insane I am so sorry under the cut

Like a mini continuation from the tags off that last post:

Maybe he IS a mountain man stranger at the ball, maybe he IS looking for a little wife, the company would be nice. Help would be better. I am not shy to the idea of either.

Maybe through shenanigans we get married, he takes me up to his cabin. It's a well kept thing, warm and clean, and I don't mind how really truly alone we are out here. He's been giving me kisses all the way home, sweet, near chaste stoops of the head to reach me.

Though alone, outside we pretend to have some propriety, but when he lifts me through the doorway it dissolves. Simply carries me to the bedroom, no discussion needed, we're both too giddy with the thought of it. Exchanging kisses that last longer, start to lack a certain containedness that desperation from not touching another person has, than any of our others. The bed is soft, well made, new maybe? Or recently redone. I shed my outer layers quickly, matched only in speed by Dustin also stripping. He gets about as far as throwing his suspenders off before I'm pulling him back on me. See, the best part of dresses from the 19th century back? No pants, no underwear, just skirts. He wouldn't need to bother with whatever my stays/corset situation would be yet- easy access🥰

Kissing him, in his little cabin (with warm quilts under my back), and his hands on me like he wants to be careful (like he chose me so he needs to take care of me to keep me), is so easy. Running hot the way the top of a woodstove does, warm, woodsy, tactile in a way that makes my mouth go sweeter (my thighs spread wider.) His hands run along my legs as iron brands, rough and warm. It's intoxicating the way he's touching me, so much so that I almost don't notice him pressing his cock into me💖 I feel him bottom out though- I'm eye flutteringly full, and breathing slowly to adjust. He leans down to kiss me, mouthing along my neck to my lips.

I'm easy, I'm so so easy, meaning when he actually starts to fuck me I feel as if I might fall apart. I cling close, unable to control all the little noises that come out of me, his cock pushing a space into me that feels like only he might ever fit. We exchange quiet pleas and praise as we fuck, breathless and heady, till I beg him to take me out of my stays/corset. Fucked fingers fumble the laces and the closures but removal doesn't take long, not when I have his help. I'm down to my last two petticoats and chemise, they go quick while I finally get him to take off his last layers too.

Skin on skin for all the rest of the afternoon, into the evening, we take a night time dinner after he's [redacted] me for like the [redacted] time. Cozy, naked, and sated in bed while we eat stew, he even sets a pot of water on the fire so we can take a hot bath later.

I get to wear one of his big flannels since we didn't unpack yet, he puts on my discarded bonnet ("It's only fair, besides don't I look so pretty?" He bats his eyelashes and pulls a stupid face to make me laugh, it works and all I can think is 'Yes you are pretty, haven't you figured that part out yet?'). I have no illusions of an easy life, I have no expectations beyond surviving in care, but I look at him laughing... It's easier to kiss him than to think. It's easier when I have hope that our future together will be lighter than our pasts.

Hnnnnnnnggggg anyways moral of the story is

[beautifulplaceofyouth]

JJK FF | ROYAL GUARD

CHAPTER THIRTEEN | SERIES 

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Ch. 5

Ch. 6

Ch. 7

Ch. 8

Ch. 9

Ch. 10

Ch. 11

Ch. 12

Ch. 13

When you keep bumping into your personal royal guard by accident not knowing he is your guardian angel

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook!fallen angel!royal guard! × fem!reader!virgin!princess 

Word count: 2.2k

Rating: 18+

Genre + warnings: Fluff, angst, paranormal romance, historical fanfiction, Kook being cold and mysterious, and just being his sexy self. Possessive over his princess. Y/n parents disapproves of their marriage but they still going with it so a little ceremony is prepared. Happily married, they make love under the stars and maybe there's pregnancy going on 👀. The story isn’t real, just my imagination running wild so just enjoy reading!

a/n: I was on hiatus for a long time because of some private stuff but here it is. This is a little short because we are making to an end for the series so I hope you still enjoyed it!

Your father was hesitant to walk you down the aisle to the one creature powerful enough to destroy everything in his path so you understood his concerns as he held your arm in a deadly grip, feeling his discomfort for allowing his only daughter to marry a dangerous being.

As you saw your mother standing at the first row of pews, your heart clenched painfully when you saw her expression.

A mixture of sadness or even disappointment and fear crossed her face before she turned away with an expression that told you that there was no way you would ever see her again if you keep going with this marriage.

Your father's fingers dug into your arm even harder when he felt it as well but nothing else mattered when your eyes locked with your soon to be husband.

His gaze held a promise of full life of pleasure and happiness. His love for you was like an endless and eternal obsession which would never fade.

The ceremony went on smoothly, the priest saying words about the power of heavens above to bless your union and wish your happiness until death. The vows were exchanged, rings were placed on your fingers and it was time for the groom to kiss his bride.

Jungkook didn’t even wasted a second to lean in and press his lips against yours. His tongue danced against yours in a way that sent shivers through your body. It was slow yet passionate as if he had all the time in the world to make each moment count.

Pulling away, the throne room was silent after the kiss you shared and your king’s eyes were only focused on you.

“Now you’re really mine …” he murmured, pressing another kiss but this time on your forehead, “...for eternity.”

The only thing which bothered you was how your parents looked at you now, like they’d seen a monster rather than their daughter who has fallen head over heels in love with this man who could do such things with her mind.

They were disappointed because they thought that the king is just using you but you knew better. He loved you like you were the moon, brighter and brighter each day until finally, you shine more beautifully and brightly than anyone can ever hope to achieve. You knew that he loves you like you are someone special and someone he doesn’t want anyone to take from him but still, you couldn't shake off how your parents looked as you walked out of the throne room to start your new life together.

The same night after your wedding, you were sitting in the beautiful garden under the moonlight. Your dress sparkled in the moonlight while the grass was illuminated by its glow. The garden wasn’t particularly big but it was beautiful nonetheless. It overlooked the lake and the mountains surrounding it with the forest beyond.

In a soft cushioned swing you were sitting in your husband’s lap, his strong arms around your waist and his wings wrapped around the two of you protectively.

Nuzzling your neck, his deep voice rumbled softly in your ear,” How are you feeling, my love? Are you still sad?”

“A little, but not for much longer. I have you to make me feel better and you’ll always remind me of everything we’ve been through.” You replied softly, resting your cheek against the soft fabric of his cloak.

“It will be hard at first knowing my parents are against our relationship but I hope they will forgive me and accept you as my husband. I hope you’re not upset about them,” looking up at him beneath your lashes, you caress his cheek, his eyes glowing in the dark when he met your gaze.

“It’s cute that you think I’m upset over what they think of me. What matters now that your officially mine and even your parents will never stop me for having you,” before you can worry about his possessive tendencies, his lips brushed yours softly before continuing, “I can’t wait to make love to you every single night, darling.”

You flushed and leaned back against his chest with an embarrassed chuckle. “You just can’t say that, Jungkook. It’s not very gentlemanly for the king to speak in such a manner,” giggling shyly as he pressed light kisses along your collarbone.

Feeling his smirk, his hold tightens around you while his wing cocooned you both protectively and he murmurs,“It sound like you’re challenging your king to try something inappropriate to you.”

Before you could reply, he rips your dress open and you feel his warm fingers on your bare back. You hear a low amused chuckle behind you,” No bra?

Embarrassed and breathless from his bold moves and remarks, your skin feels hotter when Jungkook pulls the dress down over your shoulders till you’re bared to the cool air. Now you were naked from your neck to your hips, the poor wedding dress pooled around your waist while his large hands explore your back.

“Jungkook, someone might see us…” you whisper in a warning but still let him trace his touch along your waist until it reaches your breasts.

Taking them in his hands, he thumbs the small pink buds gently, smiling as you groan at the sensation, his thumb brushing across the nipple teasingly.

Reaching your waist again, he rips the dress completely off of you when it falls from your legs to the grass beneath you and the swing you were both sitting.

Gasping from the sudden cold, his wings shield you from the wind, the feathers tickling you gently when he spreads your legs to touch your clit with his fingers.

“Oh God,” you moan in delight, the wet friction creating goosebumps all over your skin. His fingers were gentle and slow at first until he starts stroking faster, adding heat to your already burning flesh.

”Ah...” you cry out when his teeth sink into your shoulder, biting down to leave a mark.

Your hips buck into his hand without your consent and you' sure that he could taste your arousal when his tongue licks your tender flesh.”Jungkook -ah….”

He pauses in between kissing you and nibbling lightly on your neck. You feel like you’re floating with him and you know it was probably the adrenaline that coursed through your system.

“Do you want to please me, mate?”

“Mate?” you question with wide eyes when you glance towards him.

Smiling with a glint in his eyes and his lips still covered with your scent, he replies, “My mate, of course. Don’t you know?”

Staring deeply into his black orbs, you nod slowly,” Like a soulmate,” you breathe out shakily with a blush forming on your cheeks.

Jungkook laughs, his lips curving into a sexy smile when he realizes your excitement.

Before he continues with what he was doing before, he kisses along your shoulder and neck, giving your mark his full attention when you feel it glow in the dark.

“Why does it light up like that when you touch it?” you ask quietly.

His fingers pause when you mentioned your mark for a moment as he looks at you with a strange expression but his tone remained gentle,” The magic that connects the two of us forms a sort of bond that only mates can share when touching a mark or marking each other like this. This mark proves that you’re mine and everyone who will see it, will know it too.”

Your heart beats rapidly when his long finger traces your inner thigh. It takes all of your willpower to stay as still as possible instead of moving closer to him to feel his heated touch.

"If you get hurt," he whispers huskily while nipping on one of your shoulders and then the other. "This mark will show it.”

Your breath hitches when he starts sucking your shoulder with his hot mouth.

"Jungkook…." you whimper as your back arches.

"Shh, my love... don't move. Stay still."

His hands roam your sides, fingers playing with your breasts until you're panting with desire.

“Do you want my cock, Y/n? Do you want to feel it inside you?" His words sent chills down your spine and made your body tingle with need, the butterflies fluttering around you making you giggle nervously.

Breathing out heavily, you tilt your head to the side, your gaze fixed on the stars above,”I want to do anything and everything, my king.”

Feeling him unzipping his trousers, you gasp sharply when you feel his thick length pressing against your ass.

You can’t even scream when he inserts himself in you with one rough thrust, sinking inside you so deep that you see another kind of stars above you.

That night all you did was chant your husband’s name on repeat.

Two Weeks Later

It was raining in the morning when you woke up in the big bed next to your husband.

He was still asleep, his handsome features relaxed without any trace of stress but you knew that it would change if he knows the truth about you.

It was five days before when you got the news and now keeping it from him like a secret made your stomach twist uneasily, your mind wondering how he’s going to react.

With a sigh, you slowly sat up and rubbed your tired eyes with the palms of your hands. Looking down at your naked body, you smiled sadly when you felt your body ache and wanted nothing more than to take a nice bath right now.

Bringing your hand to your stomach, you rubbed your belly gently and smiled softly but sudden feeling of sickness caused you to jump from the bed to run to the bathroom.

Throwing yourself at the toilet seat, you dropped on your knees and dry heaved for what seemed like hours with your stomach hurting like hell. Your eyes sting with tears as you tried to keep yourself together and when you’re finally done throwing up and you’re left alone in the bathroom, you collapsed onto the floor next to the toilet.

Letting your head fall back against the wall with a sob, you heard footsteps approaching and quickly wiped away the last few streaks of tears on your cheeks, forcing yourself to stand up and meet Jungkook's concerned gaze with red rimmed eyes. You couldn't bring yourself to look him in the eye.

“Baby? Are you okay?” He crouched in front of you, frown deepening as he noticed the tear tracks streaking down your face.

Sniffing as your nose ran and he held out a damp rag which you gratefully accepted, you wiped your face carefully with the cloth. When you were certain that you were presentable enough for him, you glanced back at him through hooded eyes and offered a weak smile.

“I’m okay. Just feeling sick,” you lie with a shaky voice, looking down ashamedly when he raised an eyebrow at you.

“You’re the worst liar in history, sweetheart,” his eyes darken when he steps closer to you.

Pulling you into his chest, his wings springs out of his back, protecting you while tucking you into his embrace.

“I feel my seed inside of you. You can’t avoid me forever. You know that I can feel our bond and everything what is going on with you,” he whispered huskily, nuzzling the crown of your head affectionately.

You feel like your heart stopped at that moment,” And what is going on?”

“You’re pregnant, darling. You can’t keep that as a secret from me anymore. I would know because we are bonded after all.”

You bite your lip to stop the crying,” You’re not mad?”

“Mad? Why would I be mad? You are carrying our child!” he exclaims happily, wrapping his arms tighter around you.

You can hardly contain your joy now that Jungkook knew the truth,” Do you really want this?”

Chuckling in disbelief, he kissed your mouth without any care that you just vomited all your previous night’s dinner so with a sharp intake of breath, you feel his hand wrap around your delicate throat.

“Do I want this? You silly girl, of course, I want you and our child. I didn’t breed you just to reject you,” smirking at his words, your mouth falls open.

What he said sounded so wrong coming out of his mouth.

Did he mean…

No way.

“And knowing that you smell even better with my baby’s scent inside of you, it makes me want you more,” growling low in his throat as his free hand slips behind your head to grip both of yours tightly,”So tell me, sweetheart; why would I not want our baby?”

Tears started rolling down your face when he lifted one of your hands up to place a kiss on your knuckles while staring deeply into your eyes.

“You really mean it,” you whisper with wonderment filling your body as he nods and kisses your knuckles again.

“I really mean it. Now come here,” he murmurs with a soft grin before pulling you on top of him and burying his face into your hair.

“I should take a bath…I stink,” you grumble against his bare skin.

“Not to me.”

God, this man will be the death of you.

Be continued…

p.s. All images and gifs are not mine, some of the edits are mine edited but not every picture. All the credit goes to their rightful owners

DO NOT REPOST THIS WORK AS YOUR OWN BECAUSE THIS IS THE ORIGINAL OWNER’S STORY

If you like, please reblog or like the post so I can post the next chapters :)

Taglist: @lepau123 @the-princess-of-mischief-1998@11thenightwemet11 @khadeeeeej @almosttoopizza @jiminismine4ever (If you want to be tagged, please message me)

🅒 All rights reserved

[dilfguzzler]

john price headcanons!

back with my favourite old man! mr. sir captain john price

no pronouns, mention of lingerie as clothing so i'm going to say gn!reader

requests: open

A: Affection (How affectionate are they with a s/o?)

very affectionate behind closed doors. he's not big on pda and wouldn't be all over you in public (unless he's a bit drunk and feeling clingy)

but at home, in your own little space, he loves being close to you. he's loves to just sit on the couch, you reading or on your phone, him watching the match or doing paperwork. he loves to drag your legs over his lap, feeling your presence just knowing you're there spending quality time together

B: Breath (What can their s/o do to take their breath away)

taking care of his boys. he was hesitant to bring you anywhere near his work, but he and his lads are as close as family and he spends the majority of his time with them, so it felt wrong to not introduce you all.

he didn't expect for you all to get along so well. he loves when you invite them for dinner, or make them drinks and snacks when they come over to watch the football. you even put up with their noisy cheering and for that he's very grateful

(he's particularly taken aback with how close you and simon are. he wasn't sure he'd ever see anyone who could take him out of his shell a bit but you two have a great bond.)

C: Cuddles (Do they cuddle? If they do, how and when do they cuddle?)

YES. Mr. man is a big cuddler. Especially at night, he will literally sleep on top of you. He claims it's for safety but you think it's because he's a big, ol' koala bear who can't bare to not be snuggled up

D: Dream (What do they dream of doing with their s/o?)

I think he's quite the traditionalist and wants the whole nine yards of marriage and kids. he doesn't know so much if kids are in his future, but he definitely wants to marry you.

E: Effort (How much effort do they put into a relationship?)

a lot. he knows that it's a lot to expect someone to put up with a partner who's gone so frequently so he is always doing his best when you are together. expect lots of effort and love because he needs to show you how thankful he is for you

F: Fear (What do they do if their s/o is scared? How do they handle it?)

he does what you do for him. provide support in whatever form that looks like. time spent together doing mindless stuff, talking it out, reassuring you, cuddling you until you are overheating, taking a nap. literally anything he can do to help you, he will do.

G: Gifts (What type of gifts do they give their s/o? Do they want a gift in return?)

he doesn't ever expect anything from you. you already give him so much.

he definitely gives me practical vibes, in that most of his gifts are things you need. you want a new mixer for the kitchen? ok, no probs. you have a new hobby and need stuff for it? here you go.

some sexy as shit lingerie? well, i suppose that's more for him. but whatever

H: Hugs (Do they hug their s/o? How often?)

big hugger. and he's quiet as fuck, so when he sneaks up on you in the kitchen and wraps you up in a bear hug, he gives you an extra tight one to apologise. even though he'll do it again lol

he loves hugs

I: Intimacy (How romantic are they? Do they have problems with intimacy?)

he's a romantic old timey guy. loves a romantic dinner. loves kisses and hugs and i love you's. he just loves you and has no issues with showing you

J: Jealous (Do they get jealous? How do they act when jealous?)

i think so, but not from a place of mistrust of you, but of other people. i think he's just extra affectionate and more outwardly possessive. like he'll pull you into his side and kiss your cheek while eyeing up the other person

K: Kiss (Are they a good kisser? Do they like to kiss? How often do they try to kiss you?)

yes good kisser, his beard was a big adjustment at first though because damn can it poke you. but he loves kissing you, could spend his whole day kissing you.

big on good morning kisses, loves a bit of a make-out session before you go to sleep.

L: Love (When do they say they love you? How often do they say it? Do they prefer to say it or show it?)

i think he says it when he's like leaving the house, if he's missed you after a day at work, before going to sleep. he definitely prefers showing it though. he's always trying to find new ways to show you how much he loves you

M: Marriage (Do they want to get married? If so, what kind of ceremony?)

yes he wants to marry you. he doesn't care about what kind of ceremony, so much as he cares about who's there. he obviously needs the boys there, and his close family and anyone you want there. he doesn't want a huge wedding though, definitely only those closest to you both.

he also wants a bit of a party after, just so he can show you off

N: Night Out (What type of dates do they like to go on? How often do they like to go on them?)

he likes nights at the local pub the most. they do a banging roast and he likes to have a few drinks with you just catching up together.

O: Out of the Ordinary (What’s something they don’t normally do for/with their s/o?)

he HATES shopping. can't stand going around the shops, surrounded by people and crap on the shelves. it bothers him. so he leaves all the food shopping to you, and if he needs new clothes or anything he leaves that to you.

if you want to drag him to the shops, he expects lots of loving in return for making him suffer through that

P: Playful (Are they playful in a relationship? If so, how do they play around/mess with their s/o?)

yes i think so. he doesn't exactly seem playful on the outside, but he's a big dry-ass, dad joke maker. also, god does he like to tickle you a bit just to hear you laugh. he just can't resist it

Q: Questions (Do they ask their s/o their opinion on things? Do they share theirs?)

yes. he really values your opinion on things, especially on things you know more about than him. he loves to talk to you, ask you things and have you ask him things. it's one of his favourite things, just having chats with you

R: Random (How spontaneous is their relationship? Do they do things on the spot or plan ahead?)

i think he would like to be a planner, but with how randomly his job can take him away and how often he isn't sure when he'll be back, things end up being more spontaneous than he likes.

S: Sleep (How do they sleep with their s/o?)

as said before, he tends to sleep on top of you for "safety". however, if it's too hot, you will sleep on your own sides of the bed with something touching whether it be hands or knees or backs. always wants to be touching you

T: Trust (How much do they trust their s/o?)

he trusts you the same amount he trusts his boys. he has no doubt in your trust and knows he can trust you with anything and everything

U: Unique (What makes them unique as a s/o?)

his beard.

V: Vulnerable (How long until they can be vulnerable around their s/o? What are they like in this state?)

i think it takes him awhile. it's not a lack of trust, but more so that he's a captain in the SAS, he doesn't often get the chance to be vulnerable so he doesn't really know how to let that side of him show.

he's most vulnerable after a hard mission, or a nightmare. he just wants you near, to know you're safe when he's like this. he kind of just has to work his way through it, but has to know that you're there

W: Wild Card (Random Headcanon)

he loves woodworking. like if you need a new shelf or something made, he will do it in his free time. your current kitchen table was made by him, and it's the most gorgeous kitchen table you've ever seen

X: X-Ray (What would they do if their s/o got injured?)

he'd be calm and reasonable. his job doesn't allow time for panic and that is how he functions in his personal life. he would assess the situation and what needs to be done, and do it.

Y: Yuck (Do they have any pet peeves about their s/o? Are there any habits that might bother their s/o?)

he's a neat and clean guy, it's trained into him, so if you're messy that can get to him a bit. he likes things in order

i wouldn't say it bothers you, but damn can this man eat. like if you try to make a meal to last two days, bad news, he will eat it all. it's kind of fascinating.

Z: Zeal (Are they passionate as a s/o? Do they want or like passion?)

he's crazy about you and he knows you feel the same about him

[salisburyliam]

My WORST to BEST ranking for Heaven's Secret 2 LIs

Oh boy I finally did it!!!! never want to read this book ever again, lmao

NOTE 1: We all know that HS2 has its flaws —S1 feels like a fever dream— but personally one that really irks me is not being able to choose whether or NOT you want to marry your LI. I mention this because many LIs routes are (negatively) affected by this sudden marriage imo

NOTE 2: Winchesto you deserve so much better than Rebecca.

7. Dino - He's never been a character I've been particularly fond of, but at least in HS1 he had some narrative importance (the dynamic with Lucifer was a lot of fun too). His relevance in HS2 is, well, zero & I personally don't feel the chemistry between Vicky and him at all. That being said. Of all the LIs, the only one with whom the wedding makes absolute sense is with Dino - he's 100% husband material.

Being good should not be equivalent to being boring… but in Dino's case, it is. 4/10

6. War - His dynamic with Vicky is… okay-ish? I guess??? They are a hot couple (I personally love his design & his laugh is sexy af) but the connection is lacking & there is no emotional intimacy whatsoever. They keep saying they're in love but are theeey? You don't know each other. Also, if you decide not to k*ll him and don't romance him later in s2 he's literally just a background character. 

I don't think this man is ready to be a husband - he should get therapy first. 5/10

5. Hunger - If it were a matter of rating characters, Hunger would be in the top three. His first appearance is one of my favorite scenes in the book along with the board game moment, lmao. But if it comes to rating him as a LI… The relationship feels rushed, to say the least. Marrying a character who appears halfway through the second season makes no sense at all - their wedding scene is just weird.

You guys met like five episodes ago. How about we start by dating first? 6/10

his smile is unsettling lol 4. Malbonte - Replaying this book so many times has made me really appreciate Malbonte. A soldier who will do whatever it takes to win. I love how everyone assumes that he always, always, has a plan (he usually does). But as a LI? His main emotion is rage and pure indifference. As a husband for life, I don't understand how that could work: I can imagine Vicky asking him how his day was and Malbonte's only response being '….' 😐🙄 Go boy give us nothing!

Seriously though. I really love him as a character, but he needs to join War in that therapy thing. 7/10

3. Astaroth - The first interactions are awful & personally his sprite doesn't help either (he's literally a male M*ley Cyrus) but he has so much chemistry with Vicky, it surprised me. Their relationship feels organic as you progress, but just like the rest of the characters that appear in the second book, it all feels rushed. The wedding option should ONLY have been available for characters that appeared in the previous book - with new ones it just feels unearned.

Still, it had potential. 8/10

2. Mimi - The only female LI (how's that legal) and one of my favorites. tbh I think she's TOO good for Vicky??? lmao. A character who is impossible not to adore (even judgy Rebecca gives her approval), in-laws anyone would love to have, and a route that is equal parts endearing and passionate. I confess I kinda miss her sprite from the first book tho

The only reason she's not at the top of the list is the motherf*cker below. 9/10 

1. Lucifer - Simply put, they feel like soulmates (he was my LI in the first book so that also plays into it). I haate his behavior in S1, but even with that rocky start the dynamic between Vicky and Lucifer is, and will always be, one of my favorites. They have everything: chemistry, banter, passion, vulnerability moments... I love the contrast of the Lucifer from HS1 with the Lucifer in the final episode. That's growth.

I sincerely hope the third book focuses on their married life and, hopefully, Lucifer being a girl dad 😍😍 10/10

CREDIT

[thebindingofpillo]

hi, for that ask game. 8, 11, 12, 14, and 18 for bethany (sorry)

This came out SO MUCH LONGER than I expected I’M SO SORRY anyway

8 - Favorite food: these are the kind of questions I can never answer because I literally never think of my characters’ fav foods and whatnot. BUT. I’d say that living with Lazarus (who cannot cook to save his life) and mostly subsisting on ready-made meals, instant ramen and coffee made her incredibly appreciative of anything homemade. Currently she doesn’t know how to cook that well (just enough to not die) but she’d love to learn once she’s done with her studies and won’t be as stressed.

If I had to pick a favorite food above all else… probably something comforting and warm like stew or potato soup, earthy and spiced with lots of meat. Or some other comfort foods like fries or chicken nuggets, but those are for when she’s really down and in need of a pick me up. Dino nuggies, even. I also thought she might like ice cream in some gross artificial flavors like blue raspberry or bubblegum because I think it’s funny.

11 - Biggest fear: Probably being left alone and being singled out as an outcast like it happened in her childhood. She’s spent basically all her elementary/middle school years with only her brother’s company, and while Lazarus did his best to entertain her, he was still 11 years her senior and couldn’t always be there for her. This is also where her faith helped her the most, since she felt that God never truly left her alone. It wasn’t much but it helped push through. Another big one is coming across as fake, more on that later huehue.

12 - Biggest fantasy: OKAY so. This is going to sound hella stupid but Bethany is a hopeless romantic, and being so young she lived right through the YA supernatural paranormal romance craze. She still has a huuuuge collection of books about sexy angels and demons turning into angels and falling in love with pretty human girls. While she’s an adult now and recognizes that many of the tropes used in such fiction were often problematic at best, Bethany still thinks about them and rereads her favorite schlocky books from time to time. Oh to be swept off her feet by a handsome angel man who will love her unconditionally and be united with him in lawful marriage…

Being fiercely catholic, this was also a way for her to explore her desires in a safe space without feeling guilty all the time. She might also have written fanfiction about the Bible but that’s a period of her life she’d rather be buried forever. She’s never let anyone read them (something something catholic guilt about rewriting a sacred text) not even her brother knows about it.

14 - Biggest regret: probably enrolling in university in a major she doesn’t like. She actually really loves learning but she chose in Medicine because she felt the “need” to help people like her brother, not because she was particularly inclined or interested in it. In fact, she’s quite squeamish, and while I don’t actually know if dissecting corpses is part of any medicine curriculum, she’d die if she had to do that. But now she’s in, and she can’t possibly drop out now, not after her parents told her how proud they were and already told all her relatives she’s going to be a doctor, right? That would be such a disappointment, and she’s always been the golden child! Man, I sure hope she doesn’t suffer a major breakdown that will make her rethink her life choices!

18 - Biggest insecurity: oof, she has many. First, the fact that she’s actually quite introverted, but doesn’t want to be “a bummer” so she usually hides it behind a bubbly facade. She’s not really that good with people but dammit, she tries her best. And this usually turns her into a bit of a people-pleaser. The only people who really know her are Lazarus (her brother, 11 years her senior, looked after her since she was born) and the twins (Lazarus’ best friends, basically extra brothers to her) with them she can truly let go and be silly stupid.

Also: her body. She’s had a massive growth spurt during puberty which turned her into a beanpole. She’s around 5’8’’ and flat as a board, which garnered more ridicule in her formative years, so she’s quite self-conscious about how she looks. She tries to play it casual and wear comfy clothes to not drive attention to herself, but deep down she doesn’t really like her body.

ALSO ALSO: she only has male friends. Gee, I hope she doesn’t latch onto Maggy the first girl who shows her a modicum of kindness! She needs some girlfriends.

Last thing, and this is a bit more serious: Bethany is extremely judgy. She’s thoroughly convinced she’s the Most Righteous Person Of Them All, but usually keeps it very well hidden. She’s the type of person to laugh with you while at the same time despising you and she HATES IT. She knows, objectively, that she’s not more right than anyone else, so she tries to act accordingly and not be a bitch, but she still feels those feelings bubble underneath the surface, and she’s deathly afraid her friends and family will see her for the horrible person she secretly is (spoiler alert: she’s not a horrible person. She just has a lot of catholic guilt to work through and will have to learn that just thinking bad things doesn’t make her a bad person. Maggy will probably help her through it, once Bethany takes the stick out her ass and accepts her best friend is poly or something. I promise I have thoughts, it’s just late and I want to get this done sdlkjfhslfkgh)

[unhetalia]

Hetalia sexuality headcanons:

Tumblr ate an ask that was sent to me? I have no idea where it went, only that it was about Philippines/Ningning being aro/ace. Anyway, I wanted to do headcanons for Hetalia characters I talk about often/will probably talk about.

America, aka Alfred F. Jones: Gay demisexual. As I've mentioned before, this man does Not really think about sex because he's so busy Doing Stuff. Probably a virgin. Or like, has had two sexual partners in 400 years. It depends on my mood.

Philippines, aka Liwanag "Ningning" Dalisay: Cis woman, aro/ace. Has a lot of fun talking about hot people and giggling over abs and strong thighs and so on, but it's all just talk. More interested in other people's romance than her own.

Taiwan, aka Lin Yi Ling: Cis woman, bisexual. Low sex drive. She has dated and had sex, but very infrequently, and almost with an air of "I need to see what this is about I guess".

South Korea aka Im Yong Soo: Trans man, bisexual. Pretty complicated relationship with sex and has therefore become pretty avoidant of relationships. More interested in other people's romance than his own.

India, aka Devi: Cis woman, straight. Has been in love with the same man for hundreds of years. He happens to be her ex boyfriend. It's Complicated. Frequent complainer about having had no sex and "drying up", but will take no action to change it and will in fact run from any situation that looks like it might lead to her having sex.

Japan, aka Kiku Honda: Cis man, bisexual. Has been in love with Alfred for a long time, but doesn't want to pursue it. Outside of his feelings for Alfred, he's quite aro, so he only pursues sexual relationships (and he tends to go for humans, who won't gossip and who he wont run into 100 years from now).

Mexico, aka Maria Soledad Hernandez Xicotencatl: Cis woman, complicated aro/ace. It's not that she hasn't fallen in love or isn't sexually attracted to anyone. In fact, if we go by her feelings alone, Maria is a straight woman. However, her early experiences of men - Arthur, who took her brother away, and Antonio who colonised her country, translated into a deep inability to trust men who aren't her brothers. In fact, Maria has spent time as a nun in the past in order to escape notice as a single woman, and it was fine, though deeply boring.

Canada, aka Matthew Williams: Cis man, I see-saw between straight or bisexual depending on whether or not I'm writing darker Matthew or not. My general Matthew is straight, but my darker Matthew has feelings for Alfred, and is therefore bisexual at least in that instance. General Matthew FUCKS, he is not like Alfred or Maria at all. I have a soft spot for Matthew and Ukraine together, so they're endgame, but he had a history of sleeping around before that.

England, aka Arthur Kirkland: Cis man, bisexual. FUCKS FUCKS FUCKS. He fucks to the point where Francis feels threatened. Those two have competitions. His sex drive is CRAZY and so is his stamina. And he is DAMN good at sex, plus he's a perfect gentleman in the morning. Will return anything you leave in his hotel room. He gets five stars on sexy Yelp.

Russia, aka Ivan Braginsky: Cis man, gay. He's... complicated. He uses sex to let out steam, but also dislikes sex without feelings. Even more so hates looking for sex knowing it will be an empty act. He pays for sex a lot in order to avoid having to explain his lack of passion and also so that he doesn't have to go through actually looking for a partner who may have expectations. Very good at sex, something he's worked on as an almost apology for everything else.

Prussia, aka Gilbert Beilschmidt: Cis man, exclusively Austria-sexual. This man fell in love at first sight and has never ONCE strayed.

Austria, aka Roderich Edelstein: Trans man, bi/demisexual. Was very used to using sex and marriage for politicking (until Gilbert got his act together). Before Gilbert, it was all very much a chore that he didn't particularly love doing. Didn't even really believe in love? And didn't really enjoy sex? Mostly he was unable to experience falling in love because everything was about treaties and etc., his romance with Gilbert was such a slow burn of being enemies to friends to lovers. He NEEDED friendship first in order to fall in love, and he needed to be in love to find sex interesting and fun and good. He gets there.

Belarus, aka Natalya Arlovskaya: Cis woman, straight asexual. At times sex repulsed, weary towards romance in general. Distrusts any man who expresses attraction towards her, even if she reciprocates their attraction.

Ukraine, aka Kateryna Kozak: Cis woman, straight. I tend to pair her up with Canada.

Belgium, aka Laurel Dupont: Cis woman, straight. I tend to pair her up with Scotland.

Scotland, aka Alisdair Kirkland: Cis man, straight. I tend to pair him up with Belgium.

Wales, aka Alwyn Kirkland: Cis man, aro/ace.

Northern Ireland, aka Aidan Kirkland: Cis man, gay.

Ireland, aka Erin Morgan: Cis woman, lesbian.

France, aka Francis Bonnefoy: Cis man, bisexual.

Hungary, aka Erzsébet Héderváry: Trans woman, bisexual.

[guzhufuren]

Sorry if it’s question you’re not willing to answer but do you actually believe that ZeeNuNew are dating? It’s genuine question, personally I believe in them, they even kissed (on the lips) during Nunew’s concert!

nope 👍

first, i'm not into rpf, or stanning real life people too much even just one single person on their own. getting deeply into actors and celebrities freaks me out and affects the state of my brain. i went frankly insane with gay rpf and stanning when i was 15 and now i'm actively repulsed by it and immune to it. i enjoy celebrities' personalities as entertainment, sometimes i aesthetically lust for their faces and bodies, but that's it. i don't want to go to fanmeetings, i don't want to get pictures with them, i don't care if they are dating their costar or not. i care about how enjoyable their show is for me personally (of music, or wherever else form of art)

rare joking exceptions of rpf: when it's sexy or funny (Assad Zaman/Eric Bogosian, mosbank)

rare exception of wanting to meet someone: Lee Taevin to thank him, myatb team members to thank them and express my admiration of their work

thai ql fanservice went into unprecedented depths. in the last ~5 years various actors have said they were dating, they publish anniversary posts that might confuse a fresh untrained mind, they kiss on stages, they kiss in interviews and bts, they go as far as humping each other for an audience of fans. it's a way to get money and keep their fame burning. sometimes one month after a thing like that they already have a new fixed acting partner

not that it particularly affects me or i care about it, but right now i will only believe a fixed bl or gl couple is dating is if:

1. they make a press conference specifically to announce that and don't giggle during it even once

2. they make a straightforward, relatively long post on social media. nothing in their words hints at it being a joke

3. they share a picture of a marriage certificate (post legalisation). even then i would have doubts that it's a prank

4. they are caught by paparazzi being romantically intimate or affectionate. yikes. i hope this doesn't ever happen to anyone again

probably other scenarios, but that's all i can think of right now typing this reply

[mermaidsirennikita]

I absolutely adored Out on a Limb! Once you’ve finished it, if you have any other oops baby/pregnancy recs, I’d love to hear them!

I hope you don't mind me publishing this as a rec post! I feel like oops baby books are so hard to get right, but when they're right... I love them.

And I reeeeeally enjoyed Out on a Limb, would totally recommend it to anyone looking for a character-driven romance that puts the emphasis on heart.

Heart. And face sitting.

So, as far as oops baby books (where I'd say the oops is like, the main push, versus a part of it) go, I'd recommend:

Contemporary

Deep by Kylie Scott. One of my favorite "the oops baby kicks off the plot" books. The hero is the bass player in a famous rock band, the heroine is the drummer's new sister in law, she's a good bit (nothing crazy, around 8 years) younger than him and kind of doggedly pursues him... and then they have a one night stand that ends in hurt feelings. Until! Six weeks later! BABY!

There's also one of my favorite things in these types of books, where the pregnancy makes her super horny and he's like I Must Take Care Of It

A Holly Jolly Ever After by Sierra Simone and Julie Murphy. The heroine is this good girl former child star who's doing a Christmas movie (but sexy) with a former boy bander who's famous for his recently viral sex tape. (In which he, a man who owns a pizza chain, flips the woman over to fuck her from behind, slaps her ass, and goes "And THAT'S how you toss the dough". I find this to be such a selling point of this hero.)

Anyway, she's been married but has like, never had an orgasm (at all, I think, not just with a partner) and he basically teaches her to loosen up and enjoy sex, but it's supposed to be casual/educational... until............. baby happens.

Jana Goes Wild by Farah Heron. This is kind of the fallout of the oops baby. The heroine and hero have this passionate fling and fall really hard really fast... and then she finds out he's married. And THEN she finds out she's pregnant. Fast-forward five years and they're equal co-parents who are both great with their kid but barely interact outside of her. Until they happen to be in the same destination wedding together. And obviously, it's all a bit more complicated than "he was a cheating bastard".

Historical

The Recruit by Monica McCarty. My favorite Highland Guard book! The heroine is a widowed mother, and Robert the Bruce wants to arrange a marriage between her and one of his Boys. She and that boy have a fling, but he doesn't know who she is (and there's a particularly hot moment wherein they first meet when she stumbles upon him fucking this random lady, and they make eye contact, and that's what gets him there). Anyway, because he doesn't know it's her, he casually mentions that they can continue their thing after he gets married... So she's like oh. He's a fucking cheater. And turns down his proposal.

Except.... Months later... They run into each other again... And he accidentally feels her belly and realizes that she's With Child... And no child of Kenneth's will be a bastard!!!!

(Even though she's like, comically resistant to marrying him lmao.)

The Music of Love by S.M. LaViolette. The heroine is the hero's music teacher (her husband was supposed to be it, but he died and she grabbed the job because she needs the cash) and there's this immediate spark between them. They give in to it and fuck at the stables (after watching some horses fuck, it's great) aaaaaand pretty quickly she realizes she's pregnant. Naturally, he insists on a marriage. But it's all very gothic and there are tons of secrets. And they're prone to bickering, but bickering makes them both HILARIOUSLY horny.

[aurorawest]

Reading update

Best Men by Sidney Karger - 3.5/5 stars

Man. When I started reading this, I was positive I was going to rate it 5 stars. The first third or so was hysterical, often to the point of me not being able to breathe because I was laughing so hard. Ultimately though, the romance fell extremely flat. There wasn't really enough development for it, and I don't think it boils down to a marketing issue—the romance is too big of a focus to say, "Oh, this was just general fiction they wanted to market as a romcom." It really was an issue with the romance just not being very well written. Another issue I had was that at times, the writing was very...cringey. Like, I couldn't tell if the author was trying to keep Max's voice (which was funny) or if he just can't write genuinely heartfelt scenes. The big, romantic sex scene could probably be added to that one post with the collection of horribly written sex scenes.

There were also some weird inaccuracies about Midwesterners that of course bugged me as a Midwesterner. We call soda "Coke?" No we don't. It's pop. Maybe there's some southern creep into the Midwest but I've N E V E R heard anyone say Coke when they meant pop generally. Also, Midwesterners like pools? I mean I guess, but we learn to swim in lakes (as opposed to the ocean).

In case you're wondering, I knocked an entire star off for the Midwest inaccuracies.

Mountain Ghost Stories and Curious Tales of Western North Carolina, edited by Randy Russell and Janet Barnett - 3.5/5 stars

I picked this up at one of the visitor centers in Great Smoky Mountains National Park on our trip there last fall. Most of these are more like folk stories than ghost stories.

Timberdark by Darren Charlton - 5/5 stars

What if the real dystopia isn't the zombie apocalypse, but "normal" life?

I was going to leave it at that but NO, I have more to say. Why aren't these books more popular? Why isn't everyone screaming about how gorgeous they are and how this is what YA should be? Why do they not have a US publisher? Why are they not all over freaking BookTok tables at bookstores?

I honestly don't even want to say that much about the Wranglestone duology because I want everyone to read them and experience them. Wranglestone and Timberdark are genuinely a couple of the most gorgeous books I've ever read, Timberdark in particular.

Road of Bones by Christopher Golden - 3.25/5

Immaculate vibes and incredible setting. Not much more to it than that.

Ravensong by Carla Fay - DNF

At 4 pages in. I hated everything about this book immediately and I don't have a good reason.

Maelstrom by Jordan L Hawk - 4.5/5 stars

BODY SWAP.

A Pocketful of Lies: Collected Stories by KJ Charles - 5/5 stars

5/5 stars for Masters in This Hall alone.

If I See You Again Tomorrow by Robby Couch - 4.25/5 stars

Considering this is billed and marketed as a romance, there was surprisingly little romance in it. It was good, though. Robby Couch is one of my favorite queer YA romance writers.

Eleventh Hour by Elin Gregory - 3.75/5 stars

OMG they were mission partners! Interwar period gay spies in London, hard to go wrong.

Out in the Open by AJ Truman - 3.75/5 stars

Truman has this habit of describing sex scenes in bizarre and not particularly sexy ways ("I sucked his cock a thousand times harder than a vacuum cleaner" is an actual real comparison from this book), but his books are funny with endearing characters, so I give him a pass. I also think it MIGHT be something he does when he's writing younger characters, because the other time it was really pronounced was in The Barkeep and the Bro, where one of the characters was in his mid 20s (Out in the Open is a college romance).

Winter's Orbit by Everina Maxwell - 5/5 stars (reread)

This book was as good, if not better, the second time around. Kiem is so funny and lovable and Jainan's history made me even more sad. I really love how well Maxwell handles the fact that Jainan was in an abusive marriage for five years while still writing a slow burn romance that doesn't span multiple books. This book is an inspiration to me and is pretty much my perfect book—gay and sci-fi. On this reread I could really see its influence on my own writing, haha. Which is cool to know that I can still be influenced in a major way even this far into my writing life!

Anyway if you haven't read this book, I honestly don't know what you're waiting for. Read it read it reeeeead ittttt.

A Veil of Gods and Kings by Nicole Bailey - DNF

DNF at 15 pages. The main character was annoying and the author took 'show don't tell' a little too far. Everything was described in flowery, overwrought purple prose. Seriously, it's a road. You can just say it's a road. Also I never want to see 'Artemis' shortened to 'Temi' ever again. Please just no.

[darkpoisonouslove]

Erendor/Samara because I’m interested 👀

And Marion/Oritel purely for self-indulgence 😇

Lmao sticking to canon is going to be a challenge considering how little screen time they have. And I mean both couples here.

Erendor x Samara:

1) I'm going to go with an educated guess here and say that they probably had an arranged marriage considering their stance on Sky's engagement to Diaspro and the fact that arranged marriages are totally still a thing as we've seen. I like that about them because they're clearly not head-over-heels in love but they seem very compatible (both in 2x14 and later in s5). Arranged marriage is one of my fave tropes and I think all iterations are interesting. Usually, though, my ships fall into the "hate at first sight that grows into begrudging love later" but they are a more middle-ground version. They're not bursting at the seams with love but aren't also particularly uncomfortable with each other which works very well for them as characters, I think. That would tie perfectly into their insistence on the marriage between Sky and Diaspro because they've grown to feel content in their marriage (so Sky should too) while at the same time they don't understand his passionate feelings for Bloom (because their situation is different).

2) Honestly, I've kind of grown to find how horrible they are funny. Like, Brandon and Bloom (in particular) don't deserve the dismissal and downright resentment that they get from Erendor and Samara but their intolerance and entitlement can also be quite funny. Especially since they've both had a couple more graceful moments which just means that they choose to completely suck about 98% of the time. Those better moments in particular are what makes them work as awful people for me because it feels like it was a deliberate choice made for their characterization. I am aware that it most definitely was not. Their characters specifically are literally just what works for the plot but the show of positive traits makes them feel more nuanced. It feels like there's something that could be explored with their characters instead of them just being hostile to Bloom simply to amp up the drama with Sky's arranged marriage. With good writing you can actually make them feel like complex people.

3) I LOVE the implication in Magical Adventure that Erendor just felt so guilty for betraying his alliance with Domino and the consequences this would have for the relationship between him and Samara. In 2x14 she's actually the one who's more antagonistic towards Bloom so I don't imagine she is fond of anyone from the Domino family. Having Erendor walking around like he's a ghost himself just because of his broken promise to Oritel would have probably annoyed her heavily to say the least. But then on the other hand, there's the fact that Samara is pretty much the only sane person in s5 (which was certainly A Choice) and she's the one who's more understanding of Sky and Bloom's relationship. It doesn't lead to tension between her and Erendor but I love the idea that it could. That is to say, their good character traits seem to be in total disharmony which leads to the funniest fucking implication that the only way they can remain compatible is to be on their worst behavior, always. Which, in turn, supports the idea that they are in love because, as I already pointed out, they are totally awful at least 98% of the time.

Did you expect all three points to come together in an essay-like meta because I did not?

Marion x Oritel:

I'll try to be short here because I put too many brain cells into the previous ship.

1) Love that Marion is the one with the Dragon Fire while Oritel is barely implied to have any magic. Extremely sexy of them. (Also, when the maids referred to them as "Your Majesty" and "Your Highness" in SotLK, they were talking to Marion first and she's who they referred to as "Your Majesty" because Oritel is just a consort even if they call him a king; you can't change my mind.)

2) Having a baby during a magical war? Iconic. On a serious note, though, I'm 100 000% certain that that was extremely hard on them both from an emotional and tactical point of view. It adds a lot of depth to their characters (or would if they had fucking bothered to give them any attention whatsoever) to know that they weathered the stress and dangers during the pregnancy only to then sacrifice themselves to save the Magic Dimension. Like I said, iconic.

3) Okay, this actually pretty directly goes against canon (5x12) but who can tell me that they aren't totally in sync in battle and practically know what the other one is thinking? Just try to convince me that that's not the case. They are totally battle mates and a power couple and their teamwork is pretty much unmatched. They are absolutely NOT each other's weak spot; in fact, the only way to defeat them is to separate them because their love for each other just gives them too much power.

Would you look at that? I can actually keep things short!

send me a ship and I’ll tell you three things I like about it

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

When the Longing Returns (Phantom of the Opera 2004 Fanfiction) || Erik x Christine

Ch. 2 Author's Notes

Read the Fic here on tumblr or read a spicier version on AO3

◇ I specifically refer to the carriage here as a barouche, because I was tired of using the word carriage. I couldn't call it a coach because a coach is fully enclosed so I went and did my research and it's definitely a barouche. Which is to say a four-wheeled horse-drawn carriage with a collapsible roof. They may have one or two rows of seating. The one used in the movie has only one.

Fun fact, a barouche is specifically mentioned in Leroux's novel, though it's not the carriage that Erik actually takes Christine out in, which is a Brougham.

◇ Let's talk about Gerik and the gloves. Has anyone else noticed the fact that movie!Erik has gloves and stage!Erik does not? So the whole first part of the First Lair he's touching her sexily WITH LEATHER GLOVES, and not actually making any skin contact. Of course there are the BDSM tones there, but more importantly this could be read as him keeping a barrier between them, either out of fear or respect for her or both?

The skin on skin occurring for the first time in the graveyard when he holds her hand to give her his ring is pretty significant, but it was overshadowed by the even more significant fact that he's just put his ring on her finger. So a bare-hand face touch registers even more for the both of them because he's touched her face before, but only with gloves on.

My Reylo bitches out there will understand my love of a gloves-on-gloves-off runner, I'm sure. Once again, Joel Schumacher and Alexandra Byrne doing me a solid.

◇ I did say we'd be getting more of the ring, and you know what there's even more details forthcoming. The ring is my favorite character, I guess.

It's very, very important to me (as I said in the notes for chapter 1) that this ring be one of his own rings. I really wanted it to be personal to him, something that is part of his every day attire. This way, when he gives it to Christine, while it does stand in the conventional role of the wedding ring in 19th century France as a visible claim of ownership (bride bought and paid for--it was not uncommon for only brides to have wedding rings, so there was no indication of mutual belonging, either), but also subverts and transcends it.

This ring is not one he bought and paid for solely to stake his claim on her, but something he owned already, something that is his own posession, and symbolizes not just that she belongs to him, but that he is entrusting to her and giving her possession of himself and everything that is his, both emotionally and in terms of his worldly goods. In a time when good men of society (like Raoul) for all intents and purposes legally owned their wives, this extra-legal promise of spiritual marriage being sealed by the man giving his property to the woman to keep for her own seems particularly impactful and very stirring to me. It also seems like exactly the type of thing Erik would do, since everything about him exists outside of convention and the rules of society.

This all likely stems from my obsession with old fashioned Anglican wedding vows--which were ironic because in England, too, men legally absorbed all their wives' possessions and were capable of cutting off the wife's access to her own money if he chose to, but read:

"With this ring, I thee wed. This gold and silver I give to thee.

With my body, I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods, I thee endow."

And while I can slide that right into my Twilight OC fic where the OC in question was the daughter of an Anglican vicar, I can't do the same with my PotO fic, so I have to sneak in little homages wherever I can.

Also I just cannot get over the idea of Christine wearing what is obviously a man's ring as her wedding band. Every time she looks at it she's going to think first and foremost, not "Ooo, sparkly" but "Mm...dark sexy man..."

◇ "Christine hid the surge of indignation she felt at his use of the epithet, fighting to keep it from breaking into her face, but she couldn't prevent her grip from tightening, harder than she even thought possible of herself."

This is very reminiscent of the moment in the novel when Christine, in a moment of confrontation with Raoul, grips his arm with a strength "no one could have suspected in a creature so frail". This is demonstrative of the power and independence Erik has instilled in Christine by awakening her sexuality and maturity. Interestingly though, I did not write this as an homage to that moment, because I hadn't even read the book yet.

◇ I don't know about you guys, but I love historical fashion. So when I'm reading historical romances written in the modern day, it really gets up my nose when clothing descriptions are fumbled with or glossed over using terminology that sorta sounds old-timey. You might think you're being vague enough to get away with it, but not with me you're not.

   It really takes me out of the mood in historically set smut when it talks about the man just undoing the buttons on her dress and she's not wearing anything underneath. No corset, no stays--no chemise. Hate that shit. Unsexy. (Glares at Julia Quinn)

And on the off chance that she is wearing some foundation garments, they're usually handled all wrong.

So I'm gonna take a self-congratulatory moment to talk about the little clothing things here that I did to make sure we're feeling fully authentic.

Christine undresses in the dormitory and she's described as "loosening" her corset laces, not "unlacing" her corset because corsets of this period didn't need to be fully unlaced to get them off. Really, few corsets after the romantic era did.

Emmy Rossum's corset in the movie is *fine*, as Hollywood corsets go,

but if you want a good idea of what a real, functional corset from the early 1870's would look like this is it.

Note how the shape is slightly different.

Also worth noting is the fact that i have Christine crawling into bed in her chemise after undressing. The chemise, for anyone who doesn't know, is the basic undergarment throughout basically the whole of modern history, from the medieval period right up to the edwardians. They were a bit like a slip and were essential for keeping your nasty sweat and body oils OFF your good outer clothes and also your first line of defense against corset chafing. Madame Giry is seen in an excellent example of period correct corset and chemise. (And the corset even looks like it kind of fits her) They also doubled as your nightgown unless you were rich. Christine obviously has a proper nightgown, but I figured that she would probably not bother to put that back on for a morning snooze.

Now as an aside, the movie (which is my primary basis for this fic, though I'm bending some things and taking some liberties) begins in 1870. Christine's silhouettes are straight up mid- 1860's. About 1865, if we wanna get specific. Her gala dress is DIRECTLY inspired by this portrait of Empress Elisabeth "Sissi" of Austria, which was painted in 1865. So that's a problem in Canon.

◇ Writing this chapter from Erik's POV for the first time was basically me with the Big Book of Insults for Young Men open beside me and it was so much fun. I loved letting him revel in Christine playing Raoul like

And frankly that was me as well, and I hope all of you.

[adamwatchesmovies]

Sleeping with the Enemy (1991)

Say what you will about a film like Friday the 13th Part III, but at least it has no delusions of grandeur. Sleeping with the Enemy has this veneer of class with Julia Roberts as its lead actress but the abusive husband might as well be Jason Voorhees. At the end of the day, this movie has nothing to say about domestic abuse. It’s just a thinly written thriller that takes forever to get to the point.

Laura Burney (Roberts) lives in a beautiful home by the beach with her rich and handsome husband, Martin (Patrick Bergin). You’d never guess it from a first look, but she lives in perpetual fear. Martin is abusive, manipulative, cruel, and paranoid. After faking her death and escaping from the prison that is her marriage, Laura starts a new life. She even befriends a sexy drama teacher named Ben (Kevin Anderson) but wherever she goes, she cannot escape the feeling that Martin is not far behind…

The problem with this film isn’t the subject matter. Yes, it’s about a topic that makes you feel icky but anyone who says that art or movies needs to be “nice” is wrong. The important thing is for a movie like this to generate emotions like nervousness, hope and fear. That’s what it aims to do and unfortunately, it fails. As soon as you figure out that Martin is abusive - which takes no time at all - and that Laura fears him - which only takes a few moments longer - you know she’s going to run away from him. Now, all you can do is sit and wait. When is she going to enact her plan? How much longer until she gets away?

Think you’re out of the trenches once Laura fakes her death? You’re wrong - but you knew that already. Martin is presented as so evil, so obsessive, so resourceful you realize it’s only a matter of time before he shows up again, at which point the question you constantly ask is “When is Martin showing up again?”

In another movie, those questions might transform into white-knuckle nervousness and thrills. To achieve this, the movie would only need to offer you something else, a sort of emotional break to let your nerves recover so the stakes can be raised once more. Director Joseph Ruben attempts this by giving us a romance between Laura and Ben. Too bad every scene with the handsome replacement husband are nothings compared to Bergin’s ridiculous performance. Well, no. Maybe it’s not his performance. It’s the screenplay. Martin isn’t able to track down Laura because he’s good at what he does; he begins closing in on her because the planet is populated entirely by idiots. The man is 80% evil, 20% charming, which makes him more handsome than Freddy Krueger, but less likable. I don’t know what kind of old folk’s home leaves a blind woman alone with someone she’s never met, particularly when this someone has been asking a lot of suspicious, very angry questions to the staff - maybe Laura didn’t like her mom that much after all if she picked that place. In the name of "tension", Martin is free to go around doing whatever he wants. Hiding in the back of cars for hours so he can threaten people at gunpoint, gaining people's trust even from those who notice the unusual bruises all over Laura’s body, and getting information about anyone - as if it’s as easy as getting a chocolate bar from a dispenser in the lobby. He’s such a one-dimensional creep it might distract you from the fact that Ben is sort of a creep too! The dude sneaks into Laura’s house unannounced even after she’s told him how scared she was of the previous man she was involved with. What a moron!

Don’t get me wrong. Even if this picture starred nobodies, Sleeping with the Enemy still wouldn’t be any good. Because it stars the ever-charming Roberts (who I say does an ok job here but recovers from her traumas way, way too quickly), I have to dock extra points. This movie has the power to convince you that it IS good, classy, etc. It isn't. Don't get fooled. (June 10, 2022)

[foxilayde]

The Putz and The Perv [professor!Jonathan Levy x Fem!Reader]

Summary: Showing off your anatomy in the anatomy lecture hall. 

Word Count: 8.2k 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Warnings: Exhibitionism, age gap, infidelity, drinking warm Jack Daniels like a true college gurl, taking the Lord’s name in vain, 1[one] singular use of the word “cunt”, whoops now there are two cunts. Okay now there’s three. Penis in hand, penis in mouth, penis in love?? Your immersive experience may be hindered if you speak yiddish and or have a cashew allergy.

Authors Note: Heh, anatomy, get it? I think I’m clever. Validate me and I’ll love you forever. Also don’t you ever, don’t you dare, don’t you even wish to dream to think to send me requests for shit. Because this is what happens. This is from the Scenes From A Marriage universe, but can be read as a standalone thot piece. 

You’re a pervert. You’re fucking disgusting. You tell yourself that it’s harmless, this thing you’re doing, but really, the only people who would agree with you on that are other perverts. 

You should have dropped this class weeks ago. It doesn’t even line up with your major anymore. You’re still undecided- flitting around the disciplines, last semester it was Art History, this semester it’s Psychology. So you took a somewhat safe bet with Anatomy, thinking it’d be a nice, neutral choice while you figure out what it is that you really want to do. This shit isn’t safe, or nice, or fucking neutral. It’s nuclear, and you’re making it worse every fucking class period. Look, anyone can teach you anatomy. There isn’t a specific skill to the memorization of the origins and insertions of each muscle. You just have to sit down and memorize them. Any teacher would do. And, fuck, it is just so inappropriate of you to be doing what you're doing. You should leave the poor man alone. 

But, god, why- why is he so sexy? Without trying to be? How powerful is his magnetism that his outfit of loose corduroy trousers and Costco Dad sneakers does nothing to mitigate your attraction? It’s objectively fucking horrible. But there’s something hot about it too, like, the fact that he doesn’t care how fucking hot he is. Or, more like, he’s treating his hotness with great responsibility. Not flaunting it or accentuating it with tailored looks, but putting on the first outfit he grabbed at a goodwill in an attempt to bring gravitas to the thing that he’s teaching. He’s going to have to find much baggier clothes for that to work on you. Like a monk’s robe, maybe. No, no, not a monk’s robe. Now that’s opening up a whole new can of worms, of vows of celibacy, forbidden attraction, and, yeah let’s not go there-

Also, yes, okay, you see the ring. Of course you see the ring, you fucking pervert. Because of fucking course he’s married. He’s married and probably very happy and fulfilled. In any case, he definitely doesn’t need you sitting in the front row of his lecture hall with your short skirt, flashing him your lack of panties. Pervert.

At first it started out as an accident. You were wearing an above the knee, black business styled flared skirt for a career fair at the library. You wore that outfit all day with no trouble, until you got to your anatomy lecture. You sat in your usual seat at the front of Levy’s class, the front row, still raised a good two feet or so off the ground. And to be fair, you were wearing panties that day. Bright red panties. 

You’re a good student, and you’ve also got a big fat crush on him, so of course you were paying attention to him, and of course you saw the moment he saw them. A slight glazing of the eyes, gaze suspended momentarily between your knees, followed by a small rapid head shake and pink cheeks. You weren’t really sure what was going on at the time, but then- then he came up to your desk at the end of class. 

- - ~ - -

“Don’t forget to have those actions and insertions memorized! Particularly the SITS of the rotator cuff, because after next week, we are moving onto the lower body!” He calls to the class as they gather their notes and make their way up the stairs of the tiered seating and out the door at the top of the hall. 

“Hey”, he raps a knuckle on your desk, You pause packing away your textbook and look up at him. He’s covering his mouth with his hand as he says your name, his eyebrows are furrowed and he strokes his beard, looking at the floor. He is adorably nervous and isn’t meeting your eyes. “I want to talk to you about something that might be a little bit sensitive,” he glances around to make sure no one is in earshot.

“Okay, yeah, shoot.” You lean back in your seat and set your packed bag on the desk. You don’t know what it could be that is making him this jittery, but his proximity and unsureness is making your tummy twist. I mean, if anyone says ‘I want to talk to you about something’, regardless of context, it’s full on alarm bells and fight or flight chemicals.

“Your um, your… clothing choice.” He waves his hand in a circular motion as If you’re supposed to understand what he’s talking about with such a vague thing. As if “your clothing choice” would be a lightbulb moment or something. 

“Uh, sorry?”

“Not that you don’t look very nice today, you do!” He amends with vigor and shoves his hands in his pockets, waiting for you to speak.

“Oh… kay.”

He takes a big breath and whispers very quickly to you, even though you’re the only two people in the room and he doesn’t need to speak as covertly as he does.

 “It’s just, you know, certain items of clothing combined with the way the lecture hall is set up. It’s uh- it can be a little bit revealing. And I know you don’t normally wear skirts, so um, just a something to keep in mind for the future, yeah?” He meets your eyes then and you go a little fuzzy before his words catch up with your brain.

Oh… ohhh! 

He’s beet red and he clears his throat uncomfortably, doing a tiny bow before retreating back a few steps looking completely lost. He turns around at that point so you know he doesn’t see your smile. God, he must’ve gotten a real good eyeful of your devil red panties for him to be this flustered.

“Thank you for letting me know, I truly didn’t realize. I promise to be more mindful about… that.” You say it calmly, not seductively or anything. Looking back, you probably decided in that moment, what it was exactly you were going to do about this situation. Pervert. You stand and lift your bag strap over your shoulder. “Have a good evening, professor Levy.”

And you kept true to your word. You had been more mindful. You started wearing skirts exclusively, and stopped wearing panties to his lectures entirely.

The next class, you are bold and brazen and downright shameless. You lean back, parting your thighs and see the exact moment he clocks it, your bare pussy. It’s instant. His lips part drunkenly and he swallows thickly before turning his eyes on yours. You give an innocent smile and a nod. 

Weeks now, this has been going on for weeks. You do wear panties most of the day, you aren’t a complete heathen, buuut right before Anatomy 220, Tuesday Wednesday Thursday; you head to the bathroom on the second floor, remove them, store the flimsy briefs in the outer pocket of your pack, and willfully expose yourself to Professor Johnathan Levy. 

Pervert behavior. No getting around it.

Has he said anything about it since the red panties day? No. Have you caught him staring, going pink in the face? Losing his train of thought? Yes. 

You think he tries to be covert about looking, trying to hide the way his eyes strain all the way to the side with his cheek propped on his fist during attendance. 

Its kind of fucking exhilarating. Giving your married professor a full on peep show while you’re in a crowded room of people. You’re totally innocent to any onlooker; quietly taking notes, raising your hand if you have a question or answer. You sit in his front row and he’s got a front row spot to your little show. The only eyes on you are the eyes everyone else is looking at. It’s wrong, it’s so fucking wrong, but god damn if it isn’t a thrill. You even linger slightly after class. You don’t address him, you don’t bat your eyelashes as you say goodbye or ask if you can do anything to earn extra credit. You’re just seemingly very careful with packing up your book, your notes and your water at the end of the lecture. You take each step deliberately, making sure you’re the last one out. Letting him check out your ass if he feels so inclined. And you never turn around to catch him in the act. 

It’s a fucked up game you're playing. If the tables were turned, if he was treating you the way you treat him, you’d think you were losing your fucking marbles. Because the only salacious thing you’re doing is not wearing underwear. An inherent lack of action. Which places the act of looking all on him. What you’re doing is considerably more egregious because you’re kind of forcing him to be a pervert too, since you don’t lead him on with anything else, no addresses of invitation; you’re forcing him to feel dirty and perverted, you just know it. He’s got to be doubting his sanity. And boy is it fucked, you know it’s fucking fucked up; but just thinking about his conflict, the way he attempts to covertly sneak glances towards your open thighs, the way he licks his fucking thumb to grab your quiz and place it on your desk, the way his palm lingers flat on the surface for a second too long before moving onto the next student. You’re devious. You’re a monster. And it feels so good. The little notes on the top of your quizzes, red felt tip pen markings 100% A+, ‘Excellent!’ ‘Fantastic!’ ‘Well done!’ Well done, indeed. 

Most days he arrives to class with the same lively animated entrance, same stainless steel travel mug, and leather laptop bag slung over his shoulder. On Tuesdays he asks the class how their weekend was. He smiles and puts up the warmup quiz on the projector. You can tell he enjoys his work. He loves teaching. But today? This particular Tuesday, he wanders into class like a zombie. He’s got his bag, but no mug, his clothes look particularly worn as if he slept in them the night before, and he doesn’t smile. His hair isn’t tamed- grey curls are sticking up and out like he’s been pulling on his hair in frustration. And instead of setting up the projector and timer for the warmup quiz, he just sits down at his desk and looks lost, looks like he hasn’t slept at all last night.  

Most of the class is chatting with each other, some are working on other homework and no one notices that he’s a total zombie. You cross your legs because he doesn’t look in any kind of receptive state to be entertained by the show between your thighs. 

After a minute he shakes his head from his zone-out and looks over to your crossed knees and up to your face. Oh my god, he’s got the most pathetic puppy eyed red rimmed stare imaginable. You raise your eyebrows and point your pen at the projection screen and mouth “quiz?” 

He inhales sharply as if being woken from a dream. The breath propels him upward and he makes his way to the little projector table to put on the quiz. Even his movements are sad and unwilling, like each button he pushes costs him a grand amount of life-force. He doesn’t say anything to the class, but he doesn’t have to. Everyone knows the drill. The routine of it doesn’t appear to have fixed him, it’s just there to buy him more time so he can sit back at his desk and stare into the abyss. Jesus. He is not okay. 

The quiz goes fine, he bumbles a bit through the answer key and ultimately forgets to collect them at the end of the warmup, so Kendall has to bring them to his desk. The lesson isn’t much of a lesson at all. He plays an animated youtube video about the parasympathetic nervous system. The lights are off and and he’s resting his head on his arms. Once the video is over he doesn’t stand up from his desk, doesn’t move, and the whole class hears him snore.  A few people snicker and Kendall takes it upon themselves to turn the lights back on. It’s five minutes till class is over and Professor Levy is asleep at his desk. The snickering continues when he snores a second time and everyone shrugs at each other, placating different iterations of “class is almost over anyway…” and they all slowly make their way to the exit. You do not. You’re transfixed, taking in his horrible defeated posture,  light snores emitting from the pillow of his forearms. Fucking hell. You can’t leave him like this. There’s gotta be another class that comes in soon. You step down the few feet to the floor of the lecture hall and approach his desk with uncareful steps, hoping that the noise of your feet might rouse him. It doesn’t. You perch on the side of his desk, examining his form and staring at him the way you only stare at someone who’s unaware you’re looking.

“Pssst!” You make the noise loud and close enough to his ear to alarm him.

He shudders as he rouses, head on a swivel, glasses adorably askew. And looks up at you like you’re the last person he expected to see after a nap. 

“Where is everybody, what happened? Did I fall asleep?” 

“Uh, yeah, and now the whole class knows you snore.”

He scoffs, “fuck.”

“It can’t be that much of a surprise to you. Hasn’t your wife informed you how loudly you saw logs in your sleep?” The comment is supposed to be funny, the intention was to make him laugh, dammit. Mission failed. His face falls even more, if that’s possible, and he groans. 

“Fuck.”

It doesn’t escape your observation that his expression shattered at the word ‘wife’. Marital problems, then. Nothing a little Jack Daniels can’t temporarily solve.

“You need a drink.”

“What?”

“You need a drink. A strong one. I can tell. I know a place.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“Only the length of that weird movie you showed us. Really phoned it in today, huh Levy?” 

“Then it’s 4pm.”

“Correct.”

“4pm is too early for a drink.”

“4pm is entirely acceptable to drink. Especially if you never fell asleep last night. If you miss a night’s sleep, technically the whole next day is just one long afterparty.”

“How did you know I didn’t sleep last night?”

“Uh, the sawing logs, for one. And you look like garbage.”

“Thanks.”

“C’mon Rip Van Winkle, let’s get you some booze and you can tell me all about it.”

“Are you even old enough to drink?”

“My ID says I am.”

“Is it a fake?”

“That is between me and the great state of New York.”

“Woah, I am not-“

“I’m joking. Yes, I’m old enough to drink. Up, up, up. Lets go.” 

You hand him his book bag with the laptop inside. He looks at his desk worriedly. “Where’s my mug?”

“You didn’t bring it today.”

He cocks his head, “Wait, what day is it today?” He tugs his hair and looks at you wild eyed. 

“Tuesday.”

Jonathan sighs in relief, smoothing his hands down his silver stained beard. 

“Good. No more classes today.”

“Great. Because I don’t think you could literally handle another moment of undiluted consciousness.” You make your way up the tiered room’s aisle and turn back around to see him unabashedly staring at your ass. “You coming or what?”

“To do what? Oh, bar. Drink. God, I feel like I’m in a nightmare.”

“I’m going to try to not be offended by that.”

You hear his steps hurriedly behind you and he’s one step below you as he bemoans, “I didn’t mean you, I mean the past 24 hours. Complete nightmare, I can’t believe-“

You interrupt him, “No no, save it for Jack Daniels. He’s a much better listener.”

“What bar are you taking me to? I don’t really feel like running into any students.”

“Scotty’s. Its nearby. And we won’t run into anyone. Its 4pm on a Tuesday, everyone there at this hour is older and sadder than you.”

He chuckles at that. Progress. 

—-

You walk to the bar in near silence. On weekends this place is filled with students, but just as you predicted, in the late afternoon the only other patrons at the bar look like they could tell you stories about cattle wrangling and ‘the good ol’ days’. You take two stools at the end, far away from the meager crowd and Scotty takes your order of “two Jack doubles. Keep em coming”.

Jonathan looks…uncomfortable. Wether its the rickety stool or the atmosphere, or your company; you have no idea. He’s out of place and time, it’s dimly lit in here, like all shit bars, and the red glow of the twinkle lights that line the bottle shelves are admittedly flattering on his features, softening the dark circles under his eyes. 

You cheers and both take a swig. He grimaces and sets the drink down, rubbing his hands together uncomfortably.

“You… come here often?”

You snort, “You hitting on me, Professor?”

“No! I just, I- you seem to know…” He gestures to Scotty who is doing the most stereotypical thing a barman can do: drying the inside of a pint glass with a microfiber towel.

“Scotty”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah I do come here often. Never this early though. And never with a teacher.”

He nods and attempts to take another sip. 

“So…” you lead, leaning your elbow on the bar, your cheek resting on your fist as you face him fully. “Talk to me. Tell me about this waking nightmare.”

He thumbs the rim of his glass, staring into the brown liquid. “The simple answer is; I’m a putz.”

“A what now?”

“A putz, it’s yiddish. It means I’m a jerk. A loser.” he takes a big sip, face protesting in a grimace. “I thought I was doing alright,” he shakes his head with a scrunched nose that has nothing to do with the alcohol, “turns out, I was a putz all along.”

“What makes you think that?”

He rubs at his tired eyes like he could wipe away this reality and exchange it for another. “I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m taking several psychology classes this semester, had my heart set on psychiatry, hence the anatomy class. Not so sure about it anymore, but I’m a pretty decent listener.”

“My wife has been having an affair.”

“Oh damn. I was afraid of that. Definitely above my pay grade, we need reinforcements. Scotty! Another round stat!” Scotty is lightning fast, god bless him, and you set the fresh cup beside the one he’s got curled in his hand. 

“You were saying?” 

Jonathan downs his first glass and rests his forehead on his palm, “My wife is in love with another man. She’s with him right now, on a work trip. They work together. Halfway across the world. She wants a divorce and my life is… over.”

“That is some shit. But I’m failing to see what makes you the putz in this situation.”

“You should see the guy she left me for,” he whistles and shakes his head, “a global businessman, 6 foot 2, nice suits, private jet, Poli. A real mensch. And me…” He waves his hand, presenting himself from head to toe, “…a putz”. 

“Poli? As in ‘want a cracker’?”

He snickers into his drink, you smile and nod. Laughing, good.

“I was dying to see what this guy looked like. I found him on social media, which I am not on… so I set up an fucking instagram account last night at 3am to find him and I went through the entire thing while Mira slept like a baby. Trust me, compared to him, I’m a putz.” 

You can picture it, him sitting on the floor of a nice bedroom, wife with lovely hair and a silk sleep mask; he’s verifying his email address through teary eyes and then doom scrolling on some fuckboy’s instagram; self esteem being bulldozed and finely ground into powdery sand. 

“You’re not a putz. They sound like the fucking putzes in this scenario.” 

“There were even couple-y photos from months ago on there. Just posted there, online, for everyone to see. I can hear Mira now, ’ Go ahead and post it, Poli. Jonathan won’t know, he doesn’t have an instagram, because he’s a putz.’”

“I’m going to need you to stop calling yourself that. And I’m going to need you to start getting angry at these fucking… schmucks? Is that the right word?” 

Jonathan considers and nods, “Sure”.

“Because these shmucks seem very selfish and gross. Getting played doesn’t make you a putz… or maybe it does. I’d need more time with the language to fully know I guess, but trust me anyway. You’re not a putz. You’re a mensch.” 

Jonathan hums with disbelief “I don’t know about that.”

“Honestly neither do I as I don’t speak yiddish. What’s a mensch?” 

“Mensch,” Jonathan balls his fist and grits his teeth, “a man, but,” he raises a finger and points it at you “an honorable man. Like my Saba- my grandpa. He was a mensch. Took care of his family, loved them to a fault. When he finally got money, he’d- haha, he would leave the needy families from temple envelopes of money, totally anonymous. Drove my Bubbie crazy. One of my first memories is her, in their living room, cursing up a storm because one of the families told her they saw him dropping the envelope at their door and wanted to repay him. Saba just read his newspaper and ignored her until she was finished with her rant. And then, I’ll never forget this, he folded up his newspaper very carefully, very slowly, and set it on his lap and said, ‘Matya’-that was her name- ‘Matya, do you not have everything you need? Hmm? Has God not blessed us beyond compare? If you want to complain to someone, then pray.’ He- Saba was a mensch.”

You nod thoughtfully. “You’re a mensch too.”

Jonathan scoffs, “you don’t even know me.”

“I know that I’ve been flashing you my pussy for the past month and you haven’t made a move.”

It’s bold, its unprecedented, you’re saying the unsaid thing- and it catches him off-guard mid sip and now he’s coughing up warm Jack Daniels. 

“So you have noticed. I’m flattered.” You smile ruefully and bat your eyes, honestly titillated at the blush creeping up his cheeks. 

He dries his chin with the back of his wrinkled sleeve, ��Noticed? Of course I’ve noticed. You haven’t been exactly shy about it! I thought I was going crazy. But you just… kept doing it and God I’ve been…. Never mind.”

“No!” You slap his shoulder playfully, “you have to tell me! You’ve been what?”

Jonathan cant look at you when he admits, “I’ve been having to hide my erection behind textbooks like I’m fifteen fucking years old!” 

All you can do is smile, he’s embarrassed but he shouldn’t be. He’s not the one who has been brazenly exposing themselves for hours upon hours in a crowded classroom. 

“Why-“ he starts, stopping himself again, “why?”

You take a deep inhale, wishing you had something to occupy your fingers besides the short whiskey glass on the bar when you say, “Let’s just say, I’d never put on that kind of show for a man who I thought was a putz.”

“You have a crush on me.” He accuses with a tired smile. Cute fucking smile.

You waggle your eyebrows, “I do.” 

“Is it the teacher thing?”

“No, it’s more of a you thing.”

“So you’re not doing this to any other professors?”

“Ha! How well do you think that would go over in my Abnormal Psychology class?”

“I guess that would depend on who’s teaching?” He smile is so big right now, his eyes are so scrunched and his teeth show. He even reaches for the mixed nuts Scotty sat down between you. 

“For Ab Psych? Fletcher.”

“Gloria?”

“That’s the one. What are my odds? Think I can pull her?”

“I think you could pull just about anyone.”

“So could you.”

He shakes his head and chews thoughtfully. Clearly having some kind of debate upstairs you’re un-privy to.

“You’re not failing my class. I know because I’ve checked. That first day you...flashed me I checked your grades. 100%. So what’s the deal? Do you need some kind of letter of recommendation? The access codes to the Dean’s office? Are you after my money? Because I don’t really have much-”

“You have codes to the Deans office? His office is coded? Like Star Trek?”

“No, I don’t have codes, I’m just trying to figure out what this is, what you’re doing, cheering me up, hanging out with a-“

“Do not say putz, Jonathan I swear to god.” He puts his hands up defensively, and lowers them again, going for another fistful of cashews. “I like you. I think you’re sweet and sexy and I love the way you get all flustered but you still sneak glances. You’re… endlessly endearing. You’re kind, and thoughtful, and you care about your work. You always grant extensions, which is fucking benevolent. I’m getting wet just thinking about how fucking patient you are. And the clothes. God your stupid clothes. I love them so much. You look comfortable, comforting- like good leftovers. And I know that sounds… not like a compliment, but I am of the notion that Chinese take-out tastes so much better the next day.”

“You should never talk to Mira. You’d have nothing in common. At all.”

“That can’t be true.”

“She’s revolted by me, trust me. You don’t get shoved while you’re trying to hug your wife and not get deemed ‘revolting’”

You whistle at the embarrassing admission, “She sounds like a real cunt, just putting that out there. But she married you, didn’t she? So, at one point she must’ve loved you. And I bet her list of reasons why she fell for you- look a lot like mine. It’s not your fault. This shit just happens with people. We fall in love and we fall out of love, and if we are schmucks, then we destroy everything around us during the falling out portion of the cycle. You ever hear of the 7 year itch?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s science. You’re a good guy, so you probably don’t get it, but for the rest of us animals out here- we are disgusting perverts looking for someone to touch our genitals so we can feel important and loved and sexy, etcetera.”

“You’re not a pervert. You’re… bold, maybe. But not a pervert.”

“Ha! Bold. Good one. Agree to disagree, teach.” You take a few cashews from the bowl and chew as you ask, “so, any plans tonight? Besides getting some much needed sleep?”

“My parents have Ava for the evening, so no. God, how am I going to tell Ava?” He groans and clutches the roots of his hair with both hands, elbows propped up on the sticky bar.

“Who is Ava?”

“My daughter.”

“You have a kid?” You exclaim with a full mouth of partially masticated cashews. “That makes it so much worse!”

He turns his head slowly and eyes you and you know you just said The Wrong Thing. Idiot.

“Uhhh, sorry.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I know. It’s a mess.”

“So, Ava doesn’t know… have you told anyone else?”

“My friends already knew. For months, apparently,” he scoffs and takes another sip, “and I told my parents this morning when I dropped off Ava. I told them we had a fight, I didn’t tell them she’s planning on leaving me.”

“Hold the fuck up. Your friends knew? Jesus Christ, Jonathan.”

“I know. I can’t even commiserate with them because they’re polyamorous and-and that’s fine for them, I’m happy for them, but they just- don’t understand. You know, I’m so stupid, so so stupid- I used to think that they were crazy and unhappy because they would bicker and argue about their other lovers and I, stupidly, thought wow I’m so lucky to have such a stable monogamous relationship and I felt proud of that. Putz, I tell you.”

“Everytime you say putz I’m making you take a shot from here on out.”

Jonathan laughs heartily. Progress. 

You see a lightbulb go off in his head and he slaps the bar. “Dammit.”

“What?”

“I- it’s nothing. Shit.”

“Tell meee, you’ve told me everything else.”

“It’s nothing, I just forgot to pack Mira’s sound machine. She takes it on all her trips, she can’t sleep without it.”

“Excusemewhatthefuck? You forgot to pack? You packed her luggage?”

“Yeah. She was manic, she was having trouble.”

“The luggage she’s taking on her affair trip? The ‘goodbye forever’ bag?”

“That’s the one.”

“Wait, wait, wait;” you push your finger to your temple, “was this before or after she told you she was shacking up with the parrot man who shall not be named?”

Jonathan looks sheepish and admits, “After”.

“Oh dear lord, hallowed be thy name. Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I backed her bags for her yeah.”

He packed her luggage, after she said she was jet setting with her boyfriend. This poor fucking sap. What a mensch. Any other person would have packed up her stuff alright, and then thrown the boxes in the fucking Hudson. 

“You’re a good man, Jonathan. A good husband.” You pat his shoulder. “But there are some things that even Jack Daniels can’t cure and holyyyy shit, are you one of them.” 

He chuckles, “truly a lost cause, I know.”

“No, not a lost cause. But I do have a cure for what ails you.”

“Oh yeah? Let me guess- a bullet?” 

“Oh that was dark. But funny. And, no. I’m not going to murder you, I’m going to take you into the ladies room and suck your dick so hard that the Dyson company will have to revamp their vacuum technology. Think of it as a… karmic consolation prize for getting royally fucked over.”

The shocked look he gives you makes you consider that you might want to keep at the psychiatry classes after all, if only to save yourself some money in the future on therapy for your own perverted mind. 

“Can’t karma only be portioned out by the cosmos?”

Well, that wasn’t the answer you were expecting. He must think you’re joking.

“Oh he’s Jewish and Buddhist now. A man of many hats. I’m serious, Jonathan. I will suck your dick so good you forget about everything for at least…” you pretend to do calculations in you head “… 2 full minutes. And that is a stronger offer than even Mr. Daniels can make you.” 

“The bathroom? Here?”

“Sorry, I called the Ritz and their powder room is booked till next February. Yeah, the bathroom here… Or, second option: we go back to my dorm room. My roommate is cool, Aleesha. You know her from class! She’ll put on headphones and pretend we aren’t there. Lord knows I’ve done it for her enough times.”

“No! Absolutely not!”

“Okay… third option: we go back to your home- you know, the place where your wife ripped your heart out and scrubbed the floor with it? We go there and make love in the bed she’s never coming back to. Hows that sound?”

“First option.”

“First option. Excellent choice.” You down the rest of your drink and slam it purposefully to the rubber mat at Scotty’s station. Tossing a 20 next to it. You stand up and sling your bag over your shoulder, giving Scotty a wink. He just shakes his head at you, unloading the dishwasher. God bless him. 

You hold out your hand to Jonathan but when he doesn’t take it you lean in close to his ear and sing-song “I’m not wearing underwear”

His shoulders un-tense and he lets you lead him like a dog to the off-shooting hallway where you know there’s a single stall ladies room with a lock on the door. Not that you’d need to lock it anyway, there are no other women here as far as you know. But you lock it nonetheless as soon as you’re both safely inside. The walls are red like the twinkle lights at the bar and he looks equal parts tired and terrified.

Jonathan stands there like a blushing fucking virgin on a middle school dance floor, you can tell from the tent in his trousers that he’s raring to go, but all his other body parts seem to be speaking a different language entirely. 

“You going to kiss me, or should I get down on my knees first?”

“Kiss you. Definitely kiss you.”

His hands are purposeful and tender as they cradle your cheeks, the press of his lips is soft and unhurried and ultimately unbefitting the seamy surroundings. He tastes like your favorite cheap whiskey, lips slightly sticky with the sweetness, like the surface of every counter in this dump. 

You’re kissing your professor, absorbing the wordless lessons from his lips and his tongue as it naturally slips into your mouth. He is sweet and shy and searching. At first.

And then, all of a sudden he’s kissing you like he’s got something to prove, like he’s not the man who has been holding back from checking out your ass as you saunter out of his classroom. He is the man who has written tiny encouragements on your quizzes, all graded in red ink, all forgotten and stuffed in your bag, slung over your shoulder like a million secret love notes. 

You grab his messy curls in your hands, telling him with your fingers on his scalp that you’ve longed to do this, that you’ve longed to lick into him with abandon, that it wasn’t a game you were playing, but a long-con; comprised of temptation and adoration. That though you’re sorry he’s going through this bullshit, the timing couldn’t selfishly be fucking better and you invite him in with every suck of your lips, with every flick of your tongue to taste all the things he’s ever denied himself, because he does deserve it, and fuck anyone who doesn’t think so. 

You push his back into the peeling red wallpaper between the sink and the latched door, your lips leaving his lips and traversing away from his heavy breath and fogged spectacles, down the softness of his beard, to kiss open mouthed at his neck. His hands feel like they’re everywhere at once; smooth on your back, rough in your hair, tender along your cheekbone. And the relieved moans coming from his throat serenade you in an encompassing tenor as you unbutton his awful wrinkled top- the one he probably slept and cried in the previous evening. 

You push the objectionable fabric from his shoulders, it falls to the floor, the floor that you know hasn’t been mopped in months, and you kiss your way down, down his unencumbered form; cherishing every new landscape. You read his body like fingers on Braille, like chalk on a board; you go so far south that you’re forced onto your knees and you can see the protestations on his face- because he is a good man. You can read it all like the eye of a projector lens. To him you are too precious for debasement. But it isn’t debased if it is desired, and you fucking desire it. 

The linoleum is harsh on your bare knees and you’re very aware of your lack of underwear at this moment because despite the heat inside of you, your wetness is exposed to the freon cold and the coldness spreads thinly down the insides of your thighs the longer you lick at the trail of hair above his waistband.  

 You unbuckle the flimsy vintage belt from his corduroy pants and chuckle to yourself at how much he compared himself to this Poli fucker. With his ‘good suits’. There could be nothing sexier to you than the exact version of the man stood before you. You don’t tell him this, instead you press your face to his corduroy clothed crotch and inhale deeply. You want to smell and appreciate the lust he’s hidden from you, the hardness he’s kept tame in his pants at the thought of you. All the joys he’s denied himself, you acknowledge and respect. You breathe the musky cravings into your lungs and luxuriate in them.

He smooths his hands along your hairline and you sigh, kissing at his tented hardness. 

“Fuck, you’re incredible.” His lips are parted in awe, eyes half lidded with lust and exhaustion.

“I haven’t even started yet” you say as you unbutton, unzip and slowly pull down his two layers along his firm thighs. His cock bobs out, thick and hard and… uncut? Well, well, well. 

“This is… interesting.” You muse as you stroke him easily with your desperate hand. You revel in the sight of his clear precum dripping over the top of his dark foreskin. 

“I’ll,” he gasps, “tell you all about my parents feud with the Mohel later if you want, just… please, fuck.”

“No skin off my nose…. And no skin off your cock for that matter.”

“Think you’re real fucking cute don’t you?” Ohhh, he’s wrecked, isn’t he? Probably hasn’t gotten blown in a long fucking time and based on his choice of words, some animal within has taken the helm and you couldn’t be more thrilled. 

You smile up at him, licking the bead as it dribbles down his shaft. “I know I am.” 

Before you take him into your mouth you tell him, “Jonathan, I don’t want you to be gentle. Don’t be shy” you kiss the side of his shaft, “not here. Not ever again. Fuck my mouth like you’re fucking my mouth in a dirty bar bathroom. Hold my hair,”  you demand. 

And without a second’s hesitation, his fist comes to curl in the roots of your scalp, he grips tightly when you’re finally on him, enveloping his hardness with your pliant little mouth. His short nails scrape the top of your head and you marvel at how easy it was for him to follow direction this time, where every time before he dragged his fucking feet. But now? Right now? He’s guiding your skull up and down his shaft leisurely, like he’s done this a million times. 

Jonathan’s stunted breathing fills the air of the cramped little washroom and its so different from the controlled expression of his hands in your hair. He is close already. The way is hardness grows ever more substantial under your tongue as he fucks your throat, the pushy rasping of air betrays the calculated thrusts of his hips. You can tell he wants to gallop to the edge, but there’s something about the way he reigns it in that is intriguing to you. Perhaps he doesn’t want it to end. Maybe he is trying in vain to savor every fleck of pleasure, terrified he will never have your soft hair under his fingers again. Never have your pliant willing mouth at his disposal after today. Because to him, today is a fluke, a miscast, an undoing; and every bit of you that he thinks belongs to him, was never really his to begin with. 

But he’s wrong, he’s wrong about himself and what he thinks he’s worth; and you tell him as much when you beg him to cum in your mouth, you beg him not with words, but with tongue and lips to taste him- you beg, relaxing your throat and sucking down sweetly with every pull-back, to have his spend on your tongue. You dig your nails into his buttocks, and force your mouth down so hard that your chin gets tickled by his balls. You want it down your throat. In a simultaneously sick and caring way, you want him to be able to walk through the front door of his broken home a changed man- impervious to the jagged edges of the wreckage his wife left behind. 

You want him to think less of her when he thinks of you. Its not honorable, but it is honest. And god you really don’t want to be thinking about his faceless wife as he cums down your throat, but that’s life, baby and you’re beyond caring. If there was ever any doubt of your pervert status, there isn’t anymore. You’re getting your throat fucked by your still technically married professor, in a bar bathroom at 5 o’clock on a Tuesday. They might just put you in the pervert hall of fucking fame. 

He clutches your scalp and you can see the unforgiving way his bottom lip quivers as he shudders and empties himself in the warm give of your pliant mouth. 

He pulsates hot thick semen onto your tongue. It drips down into your belly via your relaxed throat and you suck gently on his lickable foreskin as he braces his strong palm against the sharpie stained bolted mirror. You can make out “Lonnie 4 evR” between his thumb and index finger. His whole hot, sweat slicked body shivers as he flexes over your kneeling form. 

You could tongue him for hours if he’d let you, suckling the shrinking head of his uncut cock, but he pulls out; shaking, sensitive, and self conscious. He kneels on the floor to be at your level, his corduroy pants still covering his knees and shins but he’s bare everywhere else. He embraces you and you cradle him in a ruby red dream, a scarlet ship in the sea of the nightmare that has become his life. In this locked little room, nothing feels real but who cares- who fucking cares about what’s real? Reality is fucked, reality is so much messier than this sticky bathroom floor. He clutches your torso like a pillow and twists his hands in your hair like legs in sheets. 

-

Holy fuck, he thinks. He usually falls asleep after he cums, his body trained through years of fisting himself in the en suite at midnight, and he is so fucking tired he’s worried he might pass out in your arms. You’ll leave him here; he’s certain, here on the floor, unconscious. A student will eventually find him here, trousers at his ankles, and he’ll lose his job on top of everything else he’s lost today. But you’re scratching his back lightly and not budging an inch under his heavy embrace, and he can’t bring himself to worry that you’ll leave him. You wouldn’t do that.

-

You twist yourself within the crush of his gratitude and kiss the tip of his lovely nose. His hair no longer looks like its been pulled from frustration, but from passion; and his red eyes are no longer haggard but dopey with relief. He smiles widely and chuckles with disbelief, planting his forehead on your clavicle. 

“I haven’t gotten a blow job in… I don’t know, at least 3 years?” He sounds giddy and he laughs against your chest. 

“You poor mensch.”

“That was… amazing. You know- I didn’t think this was where the day was going to take me but…. Shit. Honey.” He’s still shaking, pawing at the back of your top and kissing your sternum. “You’re going to make one hell of a psychiatrist, you know.”

You stroke his hair and kiss the top of it and giggle. “If that’s psychiatry, then I want my student loans cancelled.” 

He shakes his head. “That was the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“I’m nothing if not a philanthropist. Now get up and get dressed, we should call you a cab.”

“My car is in the staff lot.”

“And there it shall remain.”

He tilts his head to look up at you, the heaviest eyelids you’ve ever seen behind crooked glasses. 

“You don’t want me to return the favor? I’d really fucking like to return the favor. Been dreaming about putting my head up your skirt for a month straight.”

You rub your palms up the warm smooth flesh of his chest. His offer is tempting, very very fucking tempting. You’re wetter than a rainforest, but he’s so very tired, and there will be other bars, other bathrooms, more anatomy classes. Besides, this was for him. “Keep dreaming, professor. No offense but you look half dead right now and I’m not into necrophilia.”

He blinks slowly at you a couple times before agreeing, “That’s fair.” 

He straightens his glasses and braces himself against the wall to stand. He offers you his hand and he hoists you up. You help him button up his shirt that, thankfully, has no visible stains from the dubious floor. Once he’s all zipped up, you check yourselves in the marked up mirror. You’ve got a bit of smudged mascara and your hair is, well, very tangled at the roots, but you pull yourselves together well enough to not draw too much attention when you exit and make your way back over to Scotty. If anyone noticed or cared about your dual emerge from the ladies room, they sure do play it cool. 

“Scotty, you grabbed his bag, yeah?” You brace your hands on the bar, giving Scotty a winning smile. 

Scotty says nothing but stoops to reach under the bar for Professor Levy’s bag and hands him the leather sack over the bar. Scotty is always on it. What a peach. 

“Thanks…” Jonathan had obviously forgotten that he’d left his bag behind when he followed you to the bathroom. Scotty gives him a single nod. 

Jonathan nudges your shoulder and whispers, “can you ask him if he has my mug?”

“You didn’t bring your mug today, remember?”

“No.”

“Well you didn’t.” You slap a fiver on the rubber mat for Scotty. “One more favor, Scotty, can you call this mensch a cab?” You wink at Jonathan who doesn’t seem to catch what you’ve said. He’s leaning on the wooden top, eyelids curtaining and it seems a miracle that he’s still upright. To most people, especially within the context of the bar, it’d probably look like he was drunk, but you know that he’s nodding and swaying from exhaustion.

You face him and put your hands on his hips, hugging his middle. He raises his eyebrows like that’s going to help prevent the closing of his heavy lids.

“I’d love to stay and see you off, but I gotta go- I have a psych group project and if I don’t leave now, they’re going to put my name at the bottom of the power point. You know that’s the death row. And since, as we established, I’m not showing my chocha to Gloria, I doubt she’ll be as lenient as you might be.” 

He nods and waves you off off of him, “I’ll be fine, go, go.”

You step away from your casual embrace tentatively. “Yeah? Because you look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I was standing before you were born.” He smiles, amused with himself and fuck if he isn’t the cutest thing.

You’re about to leave but then you remember… “Oh- one more thing”, You reach into the front pocket of your bag and pull out a handful of red lace, bunching it in your fist you covertly shove it into the front pocket of his loose corduroy trousers. Not even Scotty saw that move. 

Jonathan eyes you quizzically and reaches into his pocket and when he feels what it is, his eyes go even more dopey, if that’s possible. 

“Thank you.” There’s a gravity behind those two little words that feels weightier than cheap lace panties. 

“You’re welcome. See you tomorrow professor.” You wink at him at him and wave goodbye, turning on your heel, heading for the door- bag slung over your shoulder. You hope to christ you remembered to pack the the ab psych notes for Aleesha or she’s going to bite your damn head off.

With one foot out in the sunlight you turn around to call, “Bye, Scotty! Take care of him, and make sure he gets his cab.” 

Scotty gives you a thumbs up from behind the bar, landline receiver at his ear, already calling the yellow taxi. Fucking champ. 

-------

I tagged people who asked and others who I thought would be interested. 

@roanniom @jedi-mando @santiagogarcia @supernovafeather @paper-n-ashes @veuliee @soyelfuegoquearde @montygirl @wyn-dixie @witchyavenger @writefightandflightclub @isvvc-pvscvl  @picklesgoose @mylifeisactuallyamess  @general-latino @winniedaboo96-blog @youvebeenlivingfictional @aerolanya @tlcwrites @revolution-starter @mariesackler @millllenniawrites @woakiees @dreamingindigital @writing-in-april @nowritingonthewall @waatermelon-sugaar @pumpkin-stars @kesskirata @budcooper @kikis-writing-world @blackberries45 @teacore-hunny  @beepboopyoda @jellybelle @hotchlover-blog  @ophelialoveshandsomemen  @samspade @emilykjh @writefightandflightclub @gottalovethefandom @temptressofwaikiki​ @mstgsmy​ @brandyllyn​ @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @abelslittlebunny​ @moon-kn1ght​

[on-a-lucky-tide]

After a decade of marriage, Lambert's not feeling particularly sexy or wanted. Eskel agrees to a little bit of roleplay.

Warnings: Eskel/Lambert, A/B/O (non-traditional), established relationship, smut at the end, roleplay, present tense. For my friends in the @continentcakeshop.

They've been mated for years, and Lambert is going through a "you don't think I'm hot anymore, do you? you're bored of me, aren't you?" phase, but he's not very good at expressing it. It comes out in fits and starts of temper, and a few barbed comments that leave Eskel feeling a little hurt.

Eskel's looking down at his giant boner and half-filled knot after another night when his usual advances have been rebuffed, not quite understanding where this has come from. Does he need to buy flowers? Chocolate? More dates? More sofa cuddles?

No.

Lambert needs to feel sexy again. He wants the thrill of the hunt, but he wants it to be Eskel. Needs it to be Eskel. In principle, Lambert can't stand knothead alphas who flaunt their made up superiority, but roleplaying it with the man he loves? Someone he trusts will never hurt him? Yeah. He wants that.

So, they agree to a little roleplay: sassy, unmated omega with attitude, picked up in a bar by a strong, dominant alpha that will seduce him and carry him off.

Eskel practices in a mirror. Lambert's whole initial attraction to him was that he was strong and kind; he'd never done the alpha posturing thing other than to strut around their bedroom during his rut, or when he's feeling particularly well fluffed. So, he needs to find a little bit of his inner knothead to get the act right.

They choose a bar downtown. Not too shady, but it's so off brand from their usual haunts that there's no chance they'll be recognised by anyone. Lambert puts on a tight pair of jeans, his nice boxers, and the douchiest, low cut top with the billowing armholes that will show A Whole Tit if it falls right. He tops it off with his usual unlaced docs and a leather jacket, and he's golden. Upon arrival, Lambert finds a prominent seat at the bar, orders The Most Expensive Cocktail because he has Eskel's credit card and Eskel said "treat yourself", slapping his arse with a wink before he left, so it's revenge, really. About half an hour passes, and Lambert has to see off an alpha that gets a bit too close (and doesn't take the mating bite poking out from beneath his jacket as a hint). Then a slight niggle of doubt sets in. This is stupid, right? Eskel probably thinks he's lost his last marble, the fucking barman's eyeing him like he's an escort (nought wrong with that, but Lambert knows a judgemental gaze when he sees it), and Lambert's about ready to leave...

...then Eskel arrives. He's gone all out. Lambert hasn't seen him wear that suit since Geralt's wedding. It's a three-piece number with a jacket that fits his v-shape perfectly. No tie though, his collar's open, and Lambert zones in on that exposed skin, his mouth watering. He's going to bite there. Right there, on that collarbone, and... Eskel straightens his cufflinks as he surveys his territory because it's fucking his now.

The alpha that tried his luck with Lambert earlier skitters out from Eskel's path like he's been struck, and Eskel doesn't even look at him. No, he's looking at the bar, honey-gold eyes fixed on Lambert, the corner of his lips tilted up in a wry smile. He plays it perfectly. Eskel's usually an excitable puppy when he sees Lambert after any length of time: big beaming smile, eye crinkles. Shit, if he had a tail, it'd be wagging.

But not now.

Now, he's a hunter stalking his prey, and Lambert presses his thighs together for... reasons. As Eskel moves between the tables, he makes the whole place look shabby. More people move out of his way, mumbling apologies. He wields his presence so effortlessly, and fuck, Lambert hasn't noticed it before. Eskel's always so accommodating; he holds doors open for old ladies, apologises to the damned cat on his lap when he has to get up to go to the toilet. Eskel is King Soft. Always has been. Lambert loves him for it. Lambert also wants to jump him in the club in front of everyone. He's so enraptured that he's still staring by the time Eskel reaches the bar next to him. He doesn't sit, but spreads his palms out and waits. He doesn't even need to draw the barman's attention; the beta runs over like he's on a string.

"Whisky, hold the ice, and," Eskel's eyes slide left, "whatever this pretty thing's drinking."

Lambert didn't realise he was slurping an empty drink until Eskel ordered him another, at which point he slams his glass down and tries to lean nonchalantly on the bar.

Truth is, Lambert's completely out of practice and he isn't sure how this flirting thing goes these days. He can make a fart joke usually and Eskel will laugh, it's... that's just what marriage is. Fart jokes and memes, right?

He's panicking.

Because Eskel hasn't actually worn any cologne. He's freshly showered, all proper, but it's those pheromones rolling off of him that Lambert can smell, even over the saccharine tang of the cocktail the barman places down in front of him. Eskel hasn't moved any closer. He's not looming, not caging Lambert in, but Lambert's so very aware of him and can't now lift his eyes from the sugared lip of his glass.

"Got a name, pretty thing?"

How can Eskel talk like that? Where has that come from? It's the velvet rumble that Lambert's used to, but there's an edge to it that makes his insides go a little weak. Does he make up a name? He hasn't thought that far ahead. Eskel's too good. They agreed - drink, dance, out, bed - now Lambert's not sure his legs will work. "Lambert," he says, quietly at first, then a second time a little louder.

"Lambert," Eskel repeats, and he savours it, rolling it across his tongue like he can taste Lambert already. "Eskel, it's a pleasure." He offers his hand and Lambert should have expected what came next - the palm was up, after all - but he plops his own hand in Eskel's grasp like a puppy offering its paw, and damn near chokes on air when Eskel places a kiss on the back of Lambert's knuckles, those honey-gold irises almost drowned out by how big his pupils are.

Lambert had forgotten that this was about exciting Eskel too for a hot second there and is doubly relieved to see that Eskel is more than a little interested. Eskel does find him sexy.

This amazingly stunning alpha, with his huge shoulders, his confident stride, his suave rumble, finds Lambert attractive. Lambert feels the shiver run up his spine and takes his hand back slowly. The revelation has given him a little confidence, and he leans back on the bar, elbows propped up. "Little downmarket for someone so prim and proper, slumming it with the little folk?"

"Hoping to find a diamond in the rough," Eskel replies after another of those faint, wry smiles. "I didn't expect to unearth something so precious so quickly."

Fucking. Smooth. Rat. Bastard. Lambert's toes curl in his boots and he bites his lower lip.

"That pick up line work usually?"

"Doesn't matter," Eskel takes a sip from his tumbler and turns to rest his hip against the bar, "it's worked this time."

Oh fuck, because if Lambert can smell Eskel, then Eskel can smell him, and he was wet in his smalls from the moment Eskel sent the inferior alpha scuttling into the corner of the room with a glance. What a basic bitch. But it's Eskel, and he's walking omega-nip, isn't he? He always has been. And he belongs to Lambert. Or will. Usually, Lambert would shuffle his rear into Eskel's lap, demand love and affection, but he can't now. This is a Strange Alpha. He can't break the fantasy; Eskel's doing this for him. And it's... fuck, it's more fun than he had thought it would be.

"Arrogance. Not a very attractive feature," Lambert replies as airily as he can muster, but he has to grip his glass pretty fucking hard to steady his hand. "Might have been that guy who got me all hot and bothered." Lambert jerks his chin towards the corner of the bar where the previous reject lurked.

He feels Eskel expand. All Eskel does is shift a little, shoulders straightening, eyes narrowing, but he suddenly feels twice the size and Lambert breathes him in, eyes flickering. "And how did he do that?" Eskel's voice is far too level and for a moment Lambert almost believes he feels threatened.

"Laid on the moves, you know," Lambert replies, taking another sip from his cocktail. "I was going to head home with him, unless you can outclass his offer."

The music's low but loud enough to be heard over the murmur of collected voices. There are a few people dancing between the tables, a couple on the cleared space passing from the dance floor. It's late. Most of the patrons are just touching the boundary of "tipsy enough to not worry about looking like an idiot". Eskel doesn't like being the centre of attention; the scars, his size, a general dislike of people he doesn't know. But this version shrugs his jacket off nonchalantly and unbuttons his cufflinks. Lambert watches those thick forearms appear and wants to bite those too. He's so fixated on that familiar scar wrapped over Eskel's wrist that he blinks when Eskel takes his hand.

"Allow me to prove that I'm in a class of my own."

Lambert follows Eskel to the dance floor, watching in awe as the path miraculously clears before them. There's no weaving between tables, knocking drinks and stray elbows, for Eskel. The world bends to his whim. Lambert wants to bend to his whim. Eskel pulls him close, guides Lambert's hands to his chest and settles his own at Lambert's waist. This close, Eskel's scent is overwhelming, that exposed collarbone within range of Lambert's mouth. But those eyes are close too. Intense and bright; wanting and hungry. Liquid fire, Lambert thinks, as they sway together.

Lambert wants to ask whether Eskel's okay. People are watching them. The weight of each heavy gaze is a mixture of jealousy, curiosity and boredom. But Eskel's the most intimidating presence in the whole bar, and the space around them clears. Lambert knows if he asks then the spell will be broken. He scents the air anyway, tries to read his husband's face and eyes, and finds no discomfort. He relaxes into the hands cradling him, holds that intense gaze as one song melts into the next. There's no fear there, Eskel's ignoring everyone else, they're of no consequence. No threat. No interest. The focus of his entire world is Lambert, and Lambert feels dizzy with the thought.

Eskel lifts one of Lambert's hands and kisses the palm, the fingers, the wrist. He nuzzles over the soft skin there and holds Lambert's hand to his face before turning him. A slow spin leaves Lambert's back to Eskel's chest, warm lips finding the space beneath Lambert's ear. Such a light kiss steals his breath away, and he pushes back, encouraging. This is probably too fast for a realistic fantasy encounter, but it's Lambert's fantasy, damn it, and he suddenly wants his Hot As Molten Lava husband on him, in him, over him.

The slow tenderness is making him ache. The way that Eskel slides a hand down Lambert's torso, following the contours of his lean build, mere fingertips hooking just beneath his waistband. It's possessive, his fingers leaving an invisible brand of ownership everywhere they touch, and an offer. Lambert's sure that if Eskel demanded to mount him here, he'd drop and present in seconds; he feels lighter than air, grounded only by the searing heat of Eskel's body, and the soft rumble of an aroused alpha nosing over his neck.

Lambert tilts his head back against Eskel's shoulder, feels another warm palm marvel down the length of his body, and he realises that Eskel's displaying him to the other hungry eyes watching them. He's showing them a glimpse of what they can't have because Lambert's his now. Even in the fantasy of their encounter, Lambert's making all the right noises, moving in all the right ways. Eskel is showing off the beautiful omega he has enticed to him, and Lambert lets out a soft moan. He's that beautiful omega. The one that made Eskel's eyes go like that, made him want to stake a public claim for all to see. This amazing alpha, with his hot-as-fuck body and warm honey eyes wants Lambert. But it's not just that either, is it? Lambert knows how gentle and tender the heart underneath it all is. He lets out another wistful moan and rocks his hips back against Eskel's, feeling the hard length of his alpha's cock through his slacks.

"Don't be makin' noises like that, baby," Eskel says, his voice so low and husky that Lambert can feel it to his very core, "or I'll have to do somethin' about it."

"Yeah?" Lambert tilts his face to Eskel's neck, all but arched against him. "Then do something."

The challenge sparks something in Eskel and Lambert hears him growl. It's so low. Like a summer storm on the horizon; threatening, inevitable. Lambert wants it to wash over him and lets out another soft moan when he feels Eskel's teeth on his neck.

Mine.

Did Eskel say it? Breathe it? Perhaps he kissed the thought into his skin like a brand, and now Lambert knows it with every fibre of his being.

They leave the bar. Eskel snatches his jacket and throws some cash down next to his half-finished drink. His presence must have expanded even further because a cabbie appears from nowhere. Lambert sits astride Eskel's lap and devours him in the ten-minute (read: eternal, never-fucking-ending) drive to the hotel room that Eskel booked. His lips never leave Eskel's neck, and he leaves a bruising kiss on that exposed collarbone.

Lambert wraps himself around Eskel's chest and they stumble through the hotel lobby, past a mystified receptionist and harried concierge. As they get to their room, Eskel nearly kicks the door off its hinges in his haste to get Lambert into the room, onto the bed. The jeans don't last; the button pings off, the denim rips, but Lambert doesn't care. He's too busy scrambling at Eskel's belt, which might as well be a multi-layered Aztec puzzle box for all the luck he has getting it off.

Eskel's hands are everywhere; his lips, his teeth. Lambert winds his fingers in his hair and arches into him, babbling, pleading. And when Eskel finally gives him what he wants, their bodies moving desperately, furiously, Lambert crushes their mouths together until his lungs burn for air and the rest of his body glows with pleasure.

Their skin glistens with sweat, they tumble over the bed, kicking sheets and pillows onto the floor, desperate to taste and touch and have. Eskel pulls his head back, his hips pressed flush to Lambert's body, their foreheads leaned together and breathes, "Mine."

Lambert grins, throws his head back in ecstasy and rolls his body against Eskel. It's perfect, this is perfect. He feels wanted, and attractive - no, not attractive, fucking hot, like he's the finest piece of ass to walk the Continent, and he's won this beautiful, staggeringly good-looking alpha over all the others. Not a consolation prize. Eskel could have had anyone in that fucking club - alpha, beta, omega - they were all watching him. But he chose Lambert... would choose Lambert every time.

The perfect grind of Eskel's cock pushes him into an orgasm that makes his toes curl, his nails biting into Eskel's shoulders, and punches a desperate cry from his chest. When Eskel tries to drawback for another thrust, Lambert's legs tighten and he grips a fistful of hair to drag Eskel's ear to his mouth. "Mine."

Eskel moans, fisting the sheets, and comes. Lambert feels the pressure of his knot as his own body bears down on it. It's another thrill of pleasure and Lambert rocks onto Eskel's prick until they're both shaking and breathless. It's not the last time they make love. Lambert lets Eskel up for a drink of water but pins him down again barely half an hour later. The next few times are slower; they kiss the bruises and the scratches they left behind, and eventually fall asleep wound together, sated and exhausted.

In the morning, Lambert wakes to one honey-gold eye watching him from the pillow next to him. The corner crinkles when Eskel realises Lambert's awake, lopsided smile curling over his face. Lambert's husband is back; the soft-hearted goof with the fluffy hair and soft eyes. "Hey," Eskel rumbles.

"Hey yourself." Lambert stretches like a cat, feels all the aches in all the right places, and flops over onto his side to face Eskel. His alpha's studying him closely, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"How did I do?" Eskel asks.

"Well," Lambert begins, propping himself up on his elbow so that he can stroke the scruffy mop of Eskel's hair. "I don't know where you've been keeping that other dude, but he can visit again some time."

Eskel looks proud of himself and Lambert let him have the victory without teasing. Then that well-earned smugness melted into doubt; a frown tugs at Eskel's lips, and a ponderous hum leaves his chest. "Do you, uh... do you prefer the... um, the other guy?"

Lambert grins and tilts their foreheads together. "Nah. He's nice for a night. Couldn't imagine waking up to him every morning though. Be fucking exhausting."

Eskel sighs, relieved. "Oh thank fuck. I'm exhausted. I think those shoes gave me blisters, and do you know how much I had to suck my gut in to get that waistcoat to fit? Kreve's tits, I thought I was going to need shaping pants."

They both dissolve into hysterics, because the idea of Eskel in lady's shapewear is too much. He's enjoyed a few pints and more than a few full roast dinners since Geralt's wedding, but that's absolutely fine, because Eskel is exactly as he should be. Lambert wouldn't have him any other way.

[universitypenguin]

I can't stop rereading Lloyd and Princess together!

I got some questions if thats ok, don't answer if don't want to

1. Did Lloyd like the reader the second he met her or was it gradual?

2. Did the reader ever like him before? Or their hooking up created the flame of desire?

3. Has Lloyd ever been in a relationship before?

4. Has he ever been in love?

5. When he was drinking was he mad that the reader was that she wasn't really into him and she needed to be numbed in order to interact with him?

Love ur writing and can't wait for the next part! 🥰

Thank you for this ask! It inspired me to write a historical chapter about how Lloyd and Princess first met, which should answer a lot of your questions. But I wanted to go through and reply to them one by one.

1. No. They definitely got off on the wrong foot. For further details, see today’s publication.

How the Princess Met the Lawyer

2. She hated him at first because of how he treated her coworkers, but later realized he wasn’t all bad. When they finally met, the first impression they made on each other was pretty bad. (It was a mutually negative experience, which they find amusing in retrospect.)

There was always a spark, particularly for Princess. She felt something for Lloyd but was cautious because she valued her relationship with him too much. Also, three years ago when they first met, she was intimidated by Lloyd’s reputation. With that said, who can ignore that shredded body and those crystal blue eyes? She has hormones just like any red-blooded woman.

Another factor that prevented her from making a move was the knowledge that Lloyd had a lot of emotional baggage. She didn’t think he was ready for a relationship with anyone. Insecurity factored in as well, because she knew she didn’t have the experience to play on the same field as him in a romantic relationship. Princess is too much of a diva to tolerate an imbalance of power for very long… 😂 we’ll explore that more in later chapters

Lloyd liked Princess quicker than she liked him. He was dealing with a lot of push back at work and she was the one who helped him figure out how to overcome it. Three years ago he was freshly released from prison and struggling to fit in at Bishop & Howard. He had to make it work, since the terms of his parole required him to be employed. Princess’ organizational skills, emotional intelligence, and willingness to learn quickly earned his respect. Lloyd was actually shocked by how much he enjoyed having her around. When her internship was ending, he demanded Bishop hire her and insisted they make an offer she’d be crazy to refuse.

On his side, there was always a level of sexual interest. Princess’ office wardrobe had too many tight skirts and sexy blouses for him to keep his eyes off her for long. But the age gap between them, and her obvious lack of experience, held him back. He didn’t want to exploit her and hurt their relationship. Lloyd’s first real friend back in the U.S. was Princess. He relies on her professionally, and recognizes that in some areas of investigation, she’s surpassed even his abilities.

One of the first skills she developed was reading body language during interviews and figuring out what questions were most important. She’s always been a people person and likes watching how they interact. Plus, she has the innate ability of “women’s intuition,” something he’d never fully appreciated the power of before working with her. Interrogation is definitely something he could see her going into in the future.

3. Lloyd hasn’t been in a real relationship before. He has been in situationships and had casual flings, if that counts. He got quite a bit of sexual experience during his college days, and in his time as a cocaine addict. Unlike a lot of people, he didn’t mind hopping from one bed to the next every weekend.

Side bar: College!Lloyd was a total slut, and he had the free time to enjoy himself.

But he doesn’t want a romantic relationship that includes marriage and children. This is due to his background and what he went through as a child. Very early in his development, Lloyd was exposed to domestic violence. It created a strong core belief in him that marriage is dangerous. It causes vulnerability, and puts you at risk. Another layer to the trauma was that his later, more advanced processing of the trauma, became the idea that, as a man, being married means you’re going to hurt the person you love.

Don’t worry though! We’re going to shatter Lloyd’s core beliefs into tiny little pieces and build some healthier ones. Why else would I be writing this story? Some progress has already been made because of his friendship with Princess.

4. No, Lloyd has never been in love before. Unless you count the fact that he’s in love with Princess, and has been for a while… 😏

5. At first, Lloyd was irritated that Princess didn’t want to be fully present in the experience.

He’s a lot more comfortable with his sexuality than she is, and it took him a minute to realize that she was just nervous. Once he understood it wasn’t about him, but the fact that this was her first time, he wasn’t upset anymore.

Then he decided to spend so much time on foreplay and make her so hot for him that she wouldn’t have the mental capacity to feel uncomfortable.

This is also why he didn’t undress her. Making her take off her clothes was a test, to see how willing she was to take the next step. Had she hesitated for too long, he would have stopped. Then his next suggestion would have been that they spend the weekend getting comfortable with each other and working up to the main event. Fortunately, she was very, very ready to take the leap with him.

[bangtanfancamp]

Champagne Silk | KNJ

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

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

⋅ author’s masterlist

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

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

⋅pairing: mafia!namjoon x reader

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

⋅word count: 15.5k words

⋅rating: mature

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

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“Damn it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Joon.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Not in the slightest.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be such a weenie,” you tease. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For you? Always.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kim Namjoon, is that-?”

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

“How did you even-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh no,” he tsks. “That won’t do.” 

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

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

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

“I- I”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why? Don’t you like it?”

“Of course I do, baby. It’s perfect.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“J-joon, baby.. I-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not… fair…”

He runs his tongue over his teeth as he smiles.

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

His hands dip to cup the curve of your backside,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you didn’t... say anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he does something about it.

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

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

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

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

“What is it, Joon?”

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

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

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

“Yes, baby? What is it?” 

“You. I want you. Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s nothing more you could ask for. 

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

Your eyes go wide. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. Limitless,” you assent. 

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

“Namjoon.”

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

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

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

“So my timing wasn’t—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I don’t understand. Why—“

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

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

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

“But they have tried.”

It's news to you. 

“What do you mean… when?” 

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

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

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

Suddenly, any anger you held vanishes all at once. 

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

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

It’s a sobering thought.

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

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

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

Sniffling, you look up at him through wet lashes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re shocked. “There— what?”

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

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

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

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

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

“But I've hardly seen anyone.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, baby. I’ll take one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Namjoon?”

“Yes, baby?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, you know I am. Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always,” you answer.

And so the morning resets itself. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah?”

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

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

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

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

“Me too.”

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

“Is that what you want?” 

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

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

“Sorry,” Namjoon ducks his head bashfully.

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

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

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

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

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

“Or I could join you in the water.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, ah. I asked you to read to me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you’re good. 

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

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

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

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

There’s absolutely nowhere he’d rather be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you even saying down there?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, love?” 

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

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

-fin.