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flyinghome-againstthewind · 1 year ago

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Beside the Seaside: Ch 8

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Chapter 8

Claire reached out to feel the girl’s forehead, and though Jamie had already told her Faith was running a fever, she was alarmed by just how warm she felt. She had a thermometer in her bag that she would use to get an accurate reading, but no wonder Jamie was distressed.

Faith suddenly shivered with her whole body. “Oh, darling girl…” Claire breathed out. “How long has she felt ill?” She directed this question to Jamie.

“Just since this morning. I’ve kept her back here all day.” He gestured to indicate the space of rooms that belonged just to them, their home within the inn. “She didnae even fight me on it, that’s how I kent she must be feeling bad.”

She had Jamie give her a rundown of Faith’s symptoms and how much she’d had to eat and drink while beckoning Jamie to follow her while she went to put the tea kettle on in his tiny kitchen.

“I’ve been running back and forth all day to check on her, but…” She caught the edge of regret in his voice, the panic.

“Hey.” Claire gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “You did just fine, Jamie.” Nothing in life had made her feel more vulnerable and ill-equipped for life than being a parent, so she knew what might’ve been going through Jamie’s head just then, but practicing medicine… that was something Claire knew how to do, something she was quite useful at. And she wouldn’t leave him alone in this.

“Maybe in the morning, we can see if Mrs. Fitz can make her some soup. Or at the very least, run out for the supplies for us.”

“Oh… aye, that’s a good idea. I can make a list for her.”

She felt her heart squeeze at the still-frazzled look of him, but he latched onto the task for all that it simply gave him something to do, to feel useful in his own right.

“Steady on, soldier. We’ll get through this.”

----------

“Ms. Claire?”

“Hi, darling girl.” Claire brushed the girl’s hair from her forehead and felt a rush of tenderness and sympathy as Faith leaned into the touch.

“I dinnae feel good.”

“I heard. I just want to take your temperature before I give you some tea. Can you keep this under your tongue? There you go.”

Faith was docile as lamb, doing whatever Claire asked of her, though Claire knew a good part of that was due to how poorly she was feeling. When a few minutes had passed, Claire took the thermometer and read the results, stepping away to speak quietly with Jamie.

“Her fever is very high. I’d like to give her a bath in tepid water and see if that helps bring her temperature down.”

“Aye. Of course. I should ha’ thought…”

“None of that now, Jamie Fraser,” she chided softly. “It won’t help Faith any to beat yourself up over every little thing.”

“I ken, it’s only… I’ve never seen her this sick before.” He swallowed roughly, his gaze shifting past Claire to the little girl behind her. “But I’ve also… I’ve missed most o’ her life up until this year. So maybe it’s no’ just that she’s that sick, but that I… I dinna ken how to care for her.”

Claire floundered a bit, at a loss for what to say to such disarming honesty. She’d had a front row seat these past few weeks to the confident and wholehearted way that Jamie loved his child. She knew, of course, that he’d lost several years with her because of the war, but seeing the two of them together, one would never be able to tell.

“It’s not just you.” She reached out and patted his arm, trying to put as much comfort and confidence into that one little touch. “It’s… Well, it’s bloody well terrifying being a parent, isn’t it?” That got the hint of a smile out of him, and she felt a small thrill over the victory. “All you want is to keep them safe, but some things are always out of our hands — they get sick, or they run off… Of course you’re scared. I’d be more worried if you weren’t, if I’m being honest.”

Jamie nodded, and stood a little taller. “Alright… Aye, a bath. Come wi’ me.”

Faith didn’t particularly want a bath, and Claire couldn’t blame her, but her medical kit hadn’t exactly been primed for dealing with such an illness — she felt a slight, sudden pang of loss for the small garden of medicinal herbs she’d left behind in Oxfordshire, and pushed all thoughts of that away. She would have to make do with what was on hand, and kept a running list of what she would send Mrs. Fitz out for in the morning. But there was still the long night ahead of them if Claire couldn’t at least make Faith comfortable enough for the girl to get some much-needed sleep. She didn’t want to consider what that would do to Jamie, given the state he was already in.

After Faith’s bath, Claire had Jamie find the lightest nightgown for her and stripped the girl’s bed of the heavier layers of blankets.

“Ye should try and get some rest, a leannan,” Jamie was murmuring to her, his head bent low over the girl’s, when Claire reentered the room.

Faith shifted onto her side, towards the edge of the bed, as if she might’ve been drawing closer to Jamie, only to promptly vomit over the side of the bed, right at his feet.

Jamie’s panicked eyes sought out hers, and, Christ, it was going to be a long night.

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“Ye should get some rest.”

Claire shot him a sideways glance. “I could say the very same to you.” She shifted in her chair, uncrossing her legs and recrossing them the other way. “No, I’ll be alright. I don’t want to go all the way back up to my room, in case either of you need anything.” She bumped his elbow with her own, wanting to ease the lines of worry on his face. “Shouldn’t have put me all the way on the third floor after all.”

His sharp exhale of breath was as close to a laugh as she could get from him. It was enough. “Ye can stay in my room.”

There wasn’t even a hint of seduction in his tone, and yet his words, in his quiet, exhaustion-worn voice, made her stomach flip at the possibility of his suggestion. His eyes widened just slightly. “On yer own. I wasnae—”

“I know what you meant. And thank you, but I’m alright. You should go, though.”

He settled back into his own chair, his gaze returning to his daughter, who was sleeping what appeared to be a restless sleep. “No. I’ll stay.”

----------

In the morning, the doctor came.

Faith’s sleep had been fitful during the night, disrupted by her cough or upset stomach or the way the fever made her body ache and rattle. And the fever never waned.

Claire had sat down on the sofa — the one where she had sat with Jamie and told him about Frank — at some point during the night and managed to catch an hour or two of unintentional sleep before the sound of Jamie helping Faith to the bathroom woke her again. Jamie, to her knowledge, hadn’t had even a wink of sleep.

Dr. Fentiman’s visit was short, but in that time, Claire formed an opinion of him that was not entirely flattering. She’d known plenty of doctors like him, of course, who weren’t bad at their jobs but still managed to make a fool of themselves with their arrogance. In short, he treated Claire as he would any concerned mother instead of the trained nurse she’d introduced herself as, and still managed to arrive at his own conclusion that aligned with Claire’s suspicion — Faith likely had the flu.

The notion of which had Claire’s thoughts turning towards her own child. She hadn’t seen any signs of illness in him, but there was still a chance he had been exposed before Faith started showing symptoms. And if he hadn’t been exposed, she didn’t want to do so now by going to him.

“I’ve asked Mrs. Fitz to look in on the lad, make sure he’s fed and see to it if he needs anything else. She’ll come find ye if he starts feeling unwell.”

She startled abruptly at Jamie’s words, turning to find him in the doorway after seeing Dr. Fentiman out. “How on earth did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Know exactly what I was thinking.”

He smiled slightly, looked like he was about to speak and then hesitated. “Ye had the look of a concerned parent is all.”

“And how are you holding up with all of this?”

He took a deep breath and let it out slow. “I dinna ken. Ask me again tomorrow?”

“I can do that. Jamie? It’s going to be alright.”

He made a sound of acknowledgement that wasn’t at all convincing.

“Mrs. Fitz has our list, then? She’ll be able to run into town for us?”

“Aye, she will. And Hugh has said he’ll take care of the room cleaning and the laundry for today, so I’ll just need to handle any check-ins and check-outs. Front desk duties, ken.” He said this with a sigh, which spoke more to his physical exhaustion than anything else. Hugh’s help would be invaluable today, as Jamie looked nearly dead on his feet, but it would still be a rough day for him.

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Faith was able to keep down some porridge in the late morning. Her temperature dipped to a low-grade fever, and though Claire couldn’t convince Jamie to get some rest himself, she did watch as he crawled into Faith’s too-small bed with her, and read Peter Pan aloud. When Faith drifted off, and then Jamie after her, curled protectively around the girl, Claire left them to their sleep.

Jamie inevitably emerged, splashed cold water on his face in the bathroom, and went to monitor the front desk. Faith didn’t sleep nearly as long as Claire would’ve hoped, and when she woke, it was because her fever had spiked again and she was feeling miserable once more. The morning bled into afternoon as Claire tended to Faith, keeping her comfortable and trying to coax the girl to drink enough liquids, and did her best to keep Jamie from wasting away — he was so focused on Faith that she worried he would forget to care for himself too.

She convinced him to sit and eat lunch with her in his kitchen, Mrs. Fitz having brought over soup for Faith and food from the lunch menu for the two of them.

“Will she be alright, Claire? Truly?” He spoke low and didn’t look up from his plate to see how she took the question, so Claire had a moment for the unexpected emotional blow to land before she could answer. She thought suddenly of a nurse she’d worked with during the war, whose sister’s children had all come down with the flu one winter… the youngest, a little boy, had died.

That won’t be Faith, the thought came, stubborn and insistent.

She put her hand on his arm, and only then did his gaze meet hers, bracing for the worst. “She will, Jamie. She’ll be alright, you have to believe it.” His eyes stayed on hers for a beat longer before he nodded slightly and looked down at his food again.

“Has she ever had the flu before?”

“I dinna ken. She was sick a few times as a bairn, and it always made me fearful. Faith was born early… so small. Did I ever tell ye that?”

Claire shook her head. “Only that your— that her mother died during the birth.”

They’d never really talked of Jamie’s wife, but Claire had a sudden, sharp flair of curiosity for the woman. Wanted to know and didn’t want to know, really, but it seemed as though Jamie needed to speak of it.

“She—” He broke off and seemed at a loss for words, and she wondered, knowing Jamie, if he’d ever told the story before. “It’s a miracle I even have Faith. Kirstin and I were young, hadn’t been married even a year before Faith was born. I didnae ken what to expect, but I… I wanted to be a father.”

That tender admission wasn’t a shock to Claire; she’d seen him with Faith, after all.

“And then I was a father before I was ready — or as ready as ye can be for such things. Kirstin started bleeding, and I rushed her to the hospital, but it didn’t—” He swallowed thickly and didn’t speak for a moment. “Next thing I knew, they were telling me my wife was already gone and I had a wee lass but that she was verra small and weak, and would I like to name her so she could be baptized, just in case?”

“Oh, Jamie…”

“We hadn’t even thought of names. That’s how early she was.”

“So you named her, then? All on your own.”

“Aye.” Jamie looked down at his hands, his gaze turning contemplative. “Faith, because it was what we needed the most of at that moment, she and I. And… I gave her one of my own middle names for hers as well because I wasnae sure I’d ever be able to give her anything else as her father, if she didn’t live long.”

“One of your middle names?”

Jamie only smiled briefly at that and didn’t elaborate, though his smile turned a bit sad before he spoke again. “And Margaret, because it’s a family name on both her mother’s side and mine, and it means pearl. The first time I saw her, when I couldn’t even hold her yet, her skin looked so delicate, like light on a pearl. And Ellen for my mother. She’s… verra stubborn, my mother.” He smiled again at that, fondly this time. “I thought Faith could use some of that. O’ course that has backfired on me, for Faith is still the most stubborn wee thing.”

“What’s her name in its entirety?” Claire asked — for he never said which of his — apparently multiple — middle names he’d given her.

“Faith Alexandra Margaret Ellen Fraser.”

“That’s beautiful.”

“Aye. It’s served her well, I think. She came home from the hospital, after all.”

Claire squeezed his hand. “She’s a strong girl,” she reminded him. “That’s the Fraser in her.” Under the table, her foot tapped against Jamie’s, and he swallowed thickly, nodding.

“I hope it’s enough.”

She understood better then, why he’d been so worried — even as Fergus grew, she still saw the wild boy of seven she’d met in a military camp every time she looked at him. But when Jamie looked at Faith, he still saw the tiny baby girl fighting for her life.

----------

“Ms. Claire?”

“Yes, darling?”

Faith didn’t speak any further, simply caught a fistful of Claire’s shirt in her hand and held on. Claire got the hint, and knelt beside the bed, brushing the damp hair away from the girl’s face. “What is it, darling?” she tried again.

“My da calls me that,” Faith murmured, her eyes drifting shut, though Claire knew she wasn’t likely to fall asleep just then.

“Does he?” She was a bit surprised by that, having never heard it from Jamie at least — and caught herself before she said it outloud. She wasn’t privy to their day-to-day lives, only what she saw from the other side of the front desk.

“A leannan means ‘my darling’. It’s Gaelic.”

“Oh,” Claire smiled brightly. “Yes, I’ve heard him call you that many times.” In a matter of seconds, she had somehow become entangled there, with Faith shifting her head to rest on Claire’s arm, a warm and heavy anchor to the girl’s small bed. It was late in the afternoon, and Jamie hadn’t been able to avoid the responsibilities of the inn with the arrival of new guests, so it was just the two of them for the moment.

“Would you tell me a story? A fairy story?”

“A fairy story?” Claire echoed, smiling slightly in her confusion. “Oh, because this is Fairy Hill, is that it?”

“I had a dream once that I flew with a fairy up to her house in the trees. Can you fly, Ms. Claire?”

“Can I—? Faith, I’m not a fairy, silly girl. I’m plain Claire Beauchamp.” But even as she said the words, the memory of a conversation from weeks ago came flitting back through her mind; “Faith has a… a wee fairy, did I hear that right?” Jamie laughed abruptly, and she waited to be let in on the joke. “Aye,” he said at last, shaking his head a little. “Aye, she does. And she adores her, ken, to the point where I think I’m starting to feel a wee bit jealous.”

“Can I go with you?” Faith went on, as if she hadn’t heard Claire. “Only, I think we’d have to bring my da, too. I cannae go without him. Told me once… I couldnae go alone.”

I’m the wee fairy, she thought, feeling something soften in her chest. Faith’s fevered gaze found Claire’s eyes, and she placed the tender skin of her wrist to the girl’s forehead. Would that fever never break? Claire swallowed roughly and moved to extricate herself so she could grab the thermometer, but Faith’s hold on her tightened.

“No. Stay,” the girl pleaded.

“I’m just going to—”

A coughing fit overtook Faith before Claire could make any progress. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. I mean— nevermind what I mean, actually. Here, darling, drink some more tea.”

With that, she gave up trying to retrieve the thermometer. What would it tell her in that moment besides what she already knew? Faith wasn’t getting any better. Instead, she slid her arms under the girl’s slight form and lifted her into her arms, settling back into the bed with her back against the headboard and Faith in her lap. “How’s this? Are you alright?”

Faith simply turned her face into Claire’s chest and relaxed into her. Her whole body was a furnace in Claire’s arms, and for the first time since Jamie had come to fetch her, Claire felt a sense of panic seeping in. What would she do if Faith’s fever spiked? If it dragged on for more days? This precious little girl who had wormed her way into Claire’s heart and hadn’t let Fergus’s guarded walls be any sort of deterrent in making friends with him… Claire had the image in her mind now, too, of a younger Jamie thrust into fatherhood, so terribly alone as he picked out the name he thought his little girl needed. Jamie would never forgive Claire if she— No. She couldn’t let that happen; she’d never forgive herself either, if she did.

“Ms. Claire?”

“I’m here,” she murmured, her voice tight, and rocked slightly with the girl. “You wanted a… a fairy story, but I don’t know any. I’m quite terrible at telling stories, anyway — you can ask Fergus.” Claire brushed the wayward strands of Faith’s hair away from her face. “But how about… a song?”

Faith nodded against her.

“Right…” Claire breathed out, wondering why that idea had seemed less daunting in the moment than a story; Fergus never asked for songs, either. Maybe he would have if he’d been allowed a normal childhood. “My mother used to sing this one to me. Maybe you know it too. It goes:

“Oh! I do like to be beside the seaside!

I do like to be beside the sea!

Oh I do like to stroll along the Prom, Prom, Prom!

Where the brass bands play, “Tiddely-om-pom-pom!”

So just let me be beside the seaside!

I'll be beside myself with glee

and there's lots of girls beside,

I should like to be beside, beside the seaside,

beside the sea!”

She swayed with Faith in her arms as she sung, her voice barely above a whisper, and as the girl melted into her, she felt her throat tighten. Faith let out a raspy sigh, and it was all Claire could manage not to burst into tears. “I do like to be beside the sea… with you.”

“Ma?”

Claire’s heart leapt to her throat and looked down to catch Faith’s fevered gaze.

“Are you… my ma?”

“Yes, darling,” she agreed — for what else could she say in that moment? — and smoothed a hand over Faith’s brow. “How are you feeling?”

“M’tired.”

“You need your rest, so you can feel better.”

“Then we can… go to the beach?”

A tear spilled down Claire’s cheek, dropping into Faith’s hair. “Yes,” Claire whispered tightly.

“Need sun lotion…” Faith murmured, so seriously that Claire couldn’t help but laugh, though the sound came out wet and startled.

“Yes,” she pressed a kiss to the crown of Faith’s head. “We have to protect you from sunburn, dear one.”

----------

She managed, somehow, to put a tight lid on her fear for Faith by the time Jamie had been able to step away from the front desk for the day. Another night of facing the unknown with Faith’s illness stretched before them. It felt at least that they were in this together; Jamie trusted her and followed her lead, but he’d also listened whenever she explained the reasons behind her care of Faith — brewing willow bark tea to help with pain and fevers, or which foods would be easy on Faith’s stomach, which would help her replenish the fluids lost — and began to put those things into practice.

Mrs. Fitz also brought them supper, knocking on the door that led out to the inn.

“Claire?”

She looked up from washing the ceramic tea cups Faith had used that day to see Jamie standing by the cracked-open doorway.

“Fergus wants to say goodnight to ye.”

She busily dried her hands and went at once. She’d caught a glimpse of him earlier in the day, curled up in the study with a book, and that had been enough to assure her he was fine and not falling ill without anyone’s notice — and she knew Mrs. Fitz, grandmother extraordinaire, would keep him in her care — but she had still felt her son’s absence all through the day, a physical ache blooming in her chest every time her thoughts tugged in his direction.

He was waiting on the other side of the front desk with Mrs. Fitz, and she squeezed the door handle to keep from running over to him and hauling him into a hug. “Salut mon chéri,” she murmured, and felt her insides turn to mush with his smile. Oh, she’d missed him, and she told him as much. He acted offended when she asked him if he was minding Mrs. Fitz, and promised he hadn’t been up to any mischief.

“I read and I practiced chess today, Maman, that is it. Oh, I did go for a walk, but Mrs. Fitz made me promise to stay in sight of the inn.” He said this last part as if it was a great trial to be looked after, and as if only weeks ago, he hadn’t disappeared for several hours.

“Well, thank you for appeasing her, darling,” she muttered wryly, and Fergus beamed at her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you today.”

“Is Faith going to be alright?”

Claire felt her breath snag in her throat. “She’s pretty sick, but we’re taking good care of her.”

Fergus nodded solemnly at this. “You will make her feel better, Maman,” he said, as if there wasn’t any doubt. “Tell her,” he then said, in slow, halting English, “I hope she feels better soon.”

Tears spilled silently down her cheeks, but she smiled through it and nodded to him. “I will tell her you said that,” she agreed, also switching to English, and didn’t miss the way Mrs. Fitz was surreptitiously reaching for her handkerchief to dab her eyes.

“Don’t stay up too late, and make sure you have a bath tonight.” She couldn’t help the fussing — the only thing she felt like she could do for him at the moment. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Maman.”

She blew him kisses through the doorway and watched as Mrs. Fitz brought him into the dining room, where he would undoubtedly get his fill to eat and likely extra servings of dessert too. He was alright — and would be alright; she didn’t need to worry over him. And he’d intentionally spoken in English for the first time in months, with the promise of his message to Faith that the days of a friendship through a language barrier would be behind them once she was well — and she would be well, there was no other choice. Claire’s vision misted over, and she pushed away from the door to share that message with Faith.

----------

Late in the night, Faith’s fever finally broke. The girl had roused from sleep to use the toilet and seemed rather more alert than Claire had seen her in days. She darted out a hand to feel the girl’s forehead, bracing for the burn of her skin that felt so familiar by now, and instead felt only an ordinary, unalarming warmth.

“How do you feel?”

Faith sighed a bit impatiently. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Of course,” she said quickly, breathlessly, holding back a laugh, “I’m so sorry, darling. Go on.”

Once the bathroom door had snicked shut, she looked at Jamie, and the laughter slipped free from both of them — delirious, sleep-deprived, relief-infused laughter that almost had Claire falling out of her chair and into Jamie. His arms came out to steady her, and held on, even as the laughter died down. She didn’t pull away.

When Faith returned, she crawled back in bed and let Claire take her temperature, just to confirm their hope. Claire saw the level holding firmly at 97.8 ℉ and felt positively giddy from it, but it was nothing compared to the visible joy on Jamie Fraser’s face, as he tucked his daughter back into bed, kissed her little face, and murmured a prayer there against her cheek. “Get some sleep, a leannan, so ye can feel even better in the morning.”

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Claire woke in an unfamiliar room with no memory of falling asleep in the bed she was currently sprawled in. Where she had fallen asleep was in the uncomfortable chair at Faith’s bedside, out of necessity. She curled onto her side and turned her face into the pillow with a sigh. She hadn’t the slightest clue what time it was, foggy and disoriented from how little she’d slept the last two days, but as she breathed in deep, the sudden knowing that this was Jamie’s bed — it smelled like him — triggered the hazy recollection of being carried by sturdy arms, and leaning into the warm wall of the man, smelling just the same as the bed linens.

She blinked slowly against the bright sunlight. Jamie had carried her to bed. She had slept still dressed in her blouse and skirt, but she caught sight of her shoes placed neatly on the floor by the foot of the bed. An image popped into her head, unbidden, of Jamie carefully removing her shoes before tucking her in.

Jamie, who had been out of his mind with worry for his daughter the last few days — the kind of fatherly love that still poked at a raw wound in Claire just to see it.

Jamie, who still had the presence of mind to care for her in the midst of that.

Jamie, who made her heart simply ache sometimes.

Claire threw the covers off and sat up, her gaze sweeping over the sparse but tidy room. The house — the inn — was quiet, and she thought that to be a good sign. No doubt Jamie had kept his vigil over Faith even after her fever had broke during the night, and if she’d taken a turn for the worse, Jamie would’ve come to wake Claire.

She still felt the tug to go to them and see for herself that all was well, so she slipped on her shoes and visited the washroom to relieve herself and splash cold water on her face.

Faith was still sleeping soundly. Next to her bed, Jamie had somehow managed to fall asleep in the chair not made to comfortably accommodate his large form. Claire doubted it was at all a restful sleep that he had found.

She tiptoed into the room and sidled up to Faith’s bed, careful not to disturb either Fraser, and laid a gentle hand on Faith’s forehead. The girl was warm from sleep but not alarmingly so. Relief bloomed anew in Claire’s chest. She eased away and then froze when she caught Jamie’s gaze. He was still wound tight with concern, and she wanted to reach out and smooth the worried crease from his brow.

“She’s alright,” she whispered and then nodded her head towards the door. He followed her quietly out of the room. They lingered in the doorway, each leaning on a side of the frame, and Claire felt almost giddy with relief now. “We’ll keep an eye on her, she might spike another fever, but I think she’s through the worst of it. And it’s good that she’s resting now. Her body needs it.”

“Claire…” His voice broke on her name and she felt her whole body orient towards the sound. She folded her arms tight across her chest, but wanted very much to reach for him. “I cannae— I cannae thank you enough.”

“You don’t need to thank me for anything. It’s—” She stopped herself from saying it was her job, because that wasn’t quite true. But Jamie didn’t need any clarification to understand, it seemed.

“Well, maybe no’, but I am grateful to ye then. I’m grateful Faith had such a skilled healer at her bedside.”

Claire felt a slight thrill at that word — healer — and smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks. “I meant to tell you… when Mrs. Fitz first arrived and I extended our stay here — I want to start working as a nurse again. I’ll need a way to support Fergus and myself, but I—I don’t see why I couldn’t do that here rather than back in England. I thought I might use these next few weeks to try and secure work here, and then a more permanent place to live if that—”

She stopped abruptly when Jamie’s warm, calloused hands gently framed her face, his whole body suddenly crowding into her space. Claire had just a moment of recognition for what was about to happen. Her breath hitched in anticipation, and then Jamie’s lips met her own.

#outlander #jamie x claire #faith fraser #fergus fraser #outlander fic #beside the seaside #my fic

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theharrowing · 1 year ago

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Revisit Thoughts:

chapter 12 was the point at which i began to outline. i had a shadow of an ending in mind (no plan for a sequel yet!) and i was really seriously thinking about the ending. at the time it would come out to 20, but thanks to the addition of chapter 15 and splitting 17 into two parts, the count is currently at 22. (more on that when we get to 15 and 17.)

this chapter was published just after new years day and it is now November and i have not finished with this fic. i need a moment of silence for all of the sanity i have lost.

...

ok let's get into this chapter.

reading the warnings, i see that this is the chapter where the audience learns what Jungkookie got up to in his pov chapter!!! fun, funnn!!! and a part of jimin's.

i love this chapter opening because i really wanted to sort of hint at a looming sense of danger than will be present throughout the rest of Collateral (and much of Reconciliation.)

mc nicknames: darling, sweetheart, dove, wolf, lamb, cub.

please don't ask me to explain why mc, who has never watched most things, knows about Naruto ok.

"Wh—" You begin to wonder who in real life, in their right mind, even thinks to do that. But then you remember that Jeongguk was most certainly not in his right mind.

HAHAHAHAHA this entire scene is so delightful. i love gossip girl Felix.

“One of the details I overheard Taehyung tell was that in his pocket, Jeongguk had a bloodstained mouth guard. Imagine that sight. Jeon Jeongguk, high out of his fucking mind, covered in blood and sweat, wielding kunai knives with this wide, plastic grin. Maniacal.”

just..............obsessed with the visual hahaha of my own insane creation akfhasklfjasljflasjf.

something that feels most evident here is the vagueness of time and uncertainty of whether these are still always consecutive days or if an amount of time has gone by. mc adjusts fast but sometimes it almost feels as though more time has to have passed. since she has not been keeping track, i have also been curious about dabbling with making the reader also feel that potential disconnect. of course, there are still events that happen "tomorrow" all throughout but i have no idea how long she has been in that mansion. weeks? months? (i'm sure i could go back and make a timeline but i haven't felt like it.)

i love that i didn't make them get dressed before drinking wine and eating Chinese food and making out. we know Namjoon had a towel on still, but what about mc and Yoongi? i suppose you can decide if they were nude or not haha.

ooh "large doors"! i brought back Yoongi having two bedroom doors lmaooooo. we love to see it.

ooohhhh i found an error!!! i don't think anyone has noticed it *quietly edits it* (it relates to the position of everyone's house.)

HAHAHAHA OH MAN THE AUTHORS NOTE WHERE I SAY I HOPE TO HAVE THINGS WRAPPED UP IN THE NEXT FEW MONTHS. AND THEN HAEGEUM CAME OUT 4 MONTHS LATER AND COMPLETELY CHANGED THE TRAJECTORY OF EVERYTHING. (i'll talk about that when i get there.)

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm i have no ideaa which song to add to this post (and i am going to go to sleep and think about it in the morninggg.)

(it is now the morninggg.) decided on "Mmmh" by Kai. what's funny is that most of the songs i have been choosing for chapters are new additions to the playlist hahaha. it keep getting longerrr.

wow ok i have to get ready for class haha. this revisit took me 12 hours (but i slept most of them.)

Collateral 🗡️ 12: Loose lips sink ships

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

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🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon 🗡️ word count: 11.6k 🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+ 🗡️ chapter warnings: the return of our favorite gossip girl Felix, graphic descriptions of violence (use of incendiary device to start fire, use of kunai knives and glass to stab & slit throats, use of drugs to force an overdose, smothering), sleep paralysis nightmare, fingering and face-sitting in the garden, joonbug is a real softie, 2seok are up to something. 🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin! <3 🗡️ posted on jan. 2023 | read on ao3 🗡️ note: happy new year, friends! so excited to kick off 2023 with a chapter of my beloved Collateral! this chapter was fun to write, and it is introducing so many things that will be important for the rest of the story. the descriptions of violence in this one are pretty wild, so please be ready!

Light pours into Yoongi's bedroom, and you grumble as you stretch your arms over your head, feeling the final dredges of sleep wash away to wakefulness. The bed is empty, and the light pouring in is still soft with hints of pink, signifying dawn, so you assume that the men had gotten up much earlier and probably will not be back until afternoon.

Feeling hunger pangs in the pit of your stomach, you grumble and concede to getting out of the warmth of the giant, lonely bed, to make your way into the kitchen for something to eat. Perhaps Felix or Changbin will be around to join you—though you still feel put off by the latter's behavior the last time you saw him, you would still welcome his company.

As you push the heavy door open, making your way out into the balcony, you find two bodies sitting on the bench outside your bedroom door. However, neither are the men you expected.

Seokjin sits tall in a burgundy three-piece suit with one leg crossed over the other, holding his phone as if he is watching something on the screen. Beside him, Hoseok is dressed in his standard black garb with his head on Seokjin's shoulder, smiling at whatever he is looking at. Suddenly, you feel exposed walking out in only one of Namjoon's oversized black shirts and panties, and you take a step back to rethink your attire and consider putting on some of Yoongi's sweatpants.

However, before you can make it back into the safety of the master bedroom, Seokjin looks up and, with a grin, clicks his phone off and keeps his attention on you.

"Well, well," he mutters, "if it isn't the wolf cub we were hoping to see."

You rock on your heels, still deciding whether or not to excuse yourself into Yoongi's room, but Hoseok sits up straight, and Seokjin stands, both with their eyes fixed on you.

"Come," Seokjin says, slipping his phone into his front pocket while holding out his free hand. "I have something I would like to discuss with you."

"Oh," you mutter, reluctantly stepping forward and padding over to the men. "Okay."

"Before we begin," Seokjin says, moving into your personal space and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. Seokjin wears an expensive-smelling cologne—woody and musky with fruity and floral notes; more feminine than you would expect. "This proposition I have for you...it has to stay between us."

"What do you mean?" you mutter as Hoseok stands before you with a pointed stare.

"We have devised a plan to spy on the rival family," Seokjin says.

"Yoongi's ex," Hoseok adds, though you already know.

"But in order for this plan to work, Yoongi mustn't know."

You hum, already feeling trepidation over doing something behind Yoongi's back that involves mafia activity. Especially considering the Shin family is all the way in Busan; how would they suppose you can spy on them?

"We have a little bird on the inside," Hoseok continues, "but he is afraid to get too close."

"We were thinking," Seokjin says, "that if we could get you into her home, you would be able to get a lot more information."

You shake your head. Into her home? Absolutely not. Not to mention—

"How would we get me into her home without him knowing?"

"Deception on both sides, of course," Seokjin answers as if it is nothing. "Yoongi gets word that you are feeling suffocated and cooped up, and you need to take a vacation. I offer to set everything up—as I am wont to do—and we send you to Busan."

"And Ryujin?" you ask incredulously. "She has already seen my face. How would we get me into her house?"

Hoseok shrugs. "Someone leaks information that you are being abused and need somewhere safe to hide from the Min family. She's a softie; she'll take you."

The thought of framing Yoongi as abusive to win his ex's favor settles like a brick in the pit of your stomach, and you tense in Seokjin's hold, clenching and relaxing your fists at your sides. In an attempt to play it off, you shrug and scoff, rolling your eyes as you glance from Hoseok to Seokjin.

"A softie? She sent men to beat your boxer to death, and to attack Jimin. I would hardly call her a softie."

"Compared to what your hubby does," Hoseok snarls playfully, "that's nothing."

A shiver runs through you at the word hubby. Something about it stirs your insides in all the worst possible ways. Setting that aside, the plan seems foolish. How long do they expect you to feign being on vacation? Getting to know someone well enough to spy on them is something you imagine would take months, if not a year, at least.

"This plan is terrible," you respond, turning away from Seokjin and letting his arm fall away from your shoulder. "I can't imagine I will be able to gather as much intel on her in the timespan of...whatever a getaway is."

Hoseok shrugs. "So we tell him you're on sabbatical."

"It won't work," you insist. "Yoongi is far too clingy for that."

Seokjin hums, and you turn to find him studying you with squinted eyes.

"If I revise the plan and make it more believable, would you reconsider?"

There is a part of you that wants to say yes, if only as payback for what they did to Jimin. But there is no way someone as possessive as Yoongi would let you leave. And even if he were foolish enough not to see through the lie, you doubt that Namjoon would be.

"If it is actually a believable plan then yes, I will reconsider."

Both men smile, and Seokjin reaches to pat you on the shoulder. He shares a knowing glance and says, "Loose lips sink ships," before turning to walk down the stairs.

"See you soon, little cub," Hoseok sing-songs, following close behind.

You sit on the bench outside your bedroom door, feeling the soft upholstery on your thighs, and wait for them to get enough of a head start before making your way to the kitchen. Part of you hopes that Yoongi has been around all along, rendering the whole conversation moot so you can all move on and forget about it altogether. But, when you finally do make your way downstairs, toward the kitchen, the main hall is empty, and the mansion is quiet.

After a small breakfast of cereal and fruit, you walk into the main hall to find Felix at the entrance, kicking off his shoes. You fail to hold back a squeal as you run through the hall, and Felix looks up with a wide smile, holding his arms wide to catch you.

"Hello," Felix beams in his deep voice, Australian accent adding unnecessary consonants—something you have missed dearly.

"Poolside!" you shout as you step out of the hug. "Champagne and catching up! Don't say no!"

"I wouldn't dream of saying no," Felix responds, rubbing a palm over the top of your head as if you are a child. To his credit, you are still running around in nothing but a giant t-shirt and underwear, which seems like something a child might do.

With a mock-offended groan, you swat Felix's hand away and turn, running for the stairs. Although Felix follows behind, his footsteps are much slower, taking his time. You slam your bedroom door open and jet into the closet, tugging Namjoon's shirt off as soon as you are safe around the corner of the walk-in, and fling open a drawer that contains bathing suits.

Grabbing a black two-piece, you hardly give it a glance as you hop out of your panties and into the suit, then you yank the first baby blue sun dress you see from its hanger and unceremoniously pull it over your head, spinning it several times around your neck before your arms line up with the correct holes.

Felix appears in the doorway in swim shorts and a tee.

"I wore the trunks here knowing you would wanna swim," he says as you pad over.

"Of course you did," you mutter in response, delighted by how predictable you are, and the two of you bound down the stairs.

The moment you step outside, the bartender approaches, and you wonder if the poor guy ever takes time off—what must his hours be like? At least he has the wherewithal to leave the open bottle behind right away, saving himself a trip. It only takes two glasses of bubbly before your lips are too loose for your own good—ignoring Seokjin's earlier advice.

"Is the mansion bugged?" you ask as you hold your champagne flute to your lips.

Felix's eyes widen, and he stares unblinkingly for several seconds. "Why do you ask?"

With a shrug, you mutter, "Just curious."

"Are you having conversations you don't want master Yoongi to hear?"

With a scoff, you shake your head and mutter, "Please do not call him that," making Felix laugh.

"On the contrary," you continue, "I may have overheard a conversation that I wonder if he should know about."

You do not want to divulge what Seokjin and Hoseok said to you up on the second-floor balcony, and attempt to separate yourself from the conversation. All good lies come from a place of truth, after all.

"But you don't want to snitch," Felix suggests with a grin.

"Of course."

"Because snitches get stitches."

You chuckle as you say, "So I have heard," then you gulp back the rest of your champagne. Felix finishes his, as well, and takes your glass to refill it.

"No," he continues as he pours, "the mansion is not bugged, save for the dining halls, I believe—rooms where meetings with outsiders may take place. But, as far as I know, those systems are only switched on when needed."

You nod and accept your full glass, taking a sip.

"Yoongi trusts his men implicitly. So if the conversation you overheard was between two of them, then you may want to sow some seeds of discontent, making Yoongi investigate on his own. Or record any future conversations they may have."

"Do any of the family men need Yoongi's approval to enter the mansion when he's not here?” you ask, eager to sway the conversation.

Felix shakes his head. “The family men have twenty-four-hour access. And the retina scanner pings Yoongi’s phone so he always knows who is coming in and going out.”

“I suppose you also have access, since your room is upstairs.”

Felix blinks at you several times as if confused, then chuckles and shakes his head.

“We only occupy that room when Yoongi wants constant watch over someone. Changbin and I live elsewhere, on a nearby property.”

“Oh,” you mutter. That explains why you have not seen either of them in a while.

“And we do not have constant access. Yoongi sends us a code for the door that changes daily, so we can only come in on days when he wants us to.”

You suppose you should not be too surprised that Yoongi is paranoid even of his security staff. He is, after all, more powerful than even you still realize, but something about it is a bit unsettling…though, what that something is, is hard to put your finger on. You decide, instead, to sway the conversation a bit.

"And the parties that used to take place out here? Which have all but stopped."

"Mostly Jeongguk and Taehyung's doing, as far as I know," Felix responds. "But ever since the whole ecstasy fiasco, they stopped letting people over. And with Jeongguk getting stabbed..."

Felix trails off, and you find yourself biting back a smirk. It is, of course, not funny that Jeongguk got stabbed, but whenever you remember a very exasperated Seokjin carrying him over his shoulder while Jeongguk was high out of his mind, you cannot help but feel amused. He is fine, after all.

"What...was all that about?" you ask, wondering if Felix can even tell you. "Namjoon and I met up with Changkyun once to beat some information out of a couple of guys, but I haven’t heard Namjoon or Yoongi mention it since.”

The surprise in Felix's voice takes you off guard. "Yoongi never told you?"

You shake your head and shrug. "No, but, to be fair, I never asked. And we have had other things come up, I suppose."

After a pause, Felix asks, "Are you sure you wanna know?"

You nod, wide-eyed and eager, and you must really look silly because Felix chuckles and shakes his head.

"The whole thing feels like a scene from a movie, honestly; it was so weird hearing about it that I almost didn't believe it was real. Even while I watched it, myself, it felt too insane."

Anticipation hangs, and you watch as Felix stares at you with a grin. You kick his shin and urge him to continue.

"Alright, alright," he says. "But it gets pretty...gruesome at times. So stop me if you need to."

"I'm a big girl," you tease, "I can handle myself."

"Yeah?" Felix challenges with a raise of his eyebrows. "Do you know how many men Jeongguk killed that night?"

Until this very moment, you were unaware that Jeongguk had killed anyone that night. You shake your head as your eyebrows knit—the concern written on your face only seeming to delight your friend all the more.

"Fifteen," Felix says slowly, drawing out each syllable.

"Fif—what?"

With an eager nod, Felix takes a gulp of his champagne and begins. "Apparently he had these ecstasy pills that were laced with meth, and he popped two of them, drank down a bunch of whiskey, snorted a pile of cocaine and just went ape shit on a room full of men who were linked to the one guy who ripped him off."

Your mouth hangs around words like who and what and how but nothing comes out.

"I watched the security footage, so everything I am about to tell you is the truth. And you need to believe me when I say it is the craziest shit I have ever seen. At one point, Jeongguk reached into his shirt and pulled out a kunai knife that he twirled on the end of his finger. And over the course of the fight, he pulled out several more, so I don't know if he had like a bandolier of them strapped to his chest, or something."

"Kunai?" you ask in disbelief, and when Felix nods, you add, "Like, from Naruto?"

This makes Felix double over, spilling some of the champagne from his glass.

"Yes!" he shouts as his head hangs between his knees. "Like from Naruto!"

The idea is so funny that you join Felix in laughter; you know that kunai is a real weapon, but you have never actually seen them used outside of television. Of course, the fact that Jeongguk used these knives to at least kill some of the fifteen men is hardly funny, but the visual is just ridiculous. What kind of person is Jeongguk? This is a question you find yourself thinking about often. What goes on inside his head?

"Okay," Felix says, sitting up with tears in his eyes. "I will spare you all of the gory details, but basically, Jeongguk orchestrated a gathering of these fifteen men—including the one who had stolen from him, Jae."

The name Jae rings a bell from when you accompanied Namjoon to beat those two men with a baton.

"They were at some dingy bar that Jeongguk owns, and Jeongguk showed up, told the outside door guard not to let anyone out, and bid the bartender farewell. Then, he hopped over the counter and began constructing a molotov cocktail."

Already, this sounds like a fever dream, and you take a gulp of champagne, feeling tipsiness begin to swirl in your chest and head.

"So," you inquire with a raise of an eyebrow, "he grabbed a bottle of..."

"Vodka."

"Right, of course," you respond, biting back a grin. "Then he shoved a rag into it and what? Lit it on fire?"

"Exactly."

"Wh—" You begin to wonder who in real life, in their right mind, even thinks to do that. But then you remember that Jeongguk was most certainly not in his right mind.

"Then, he hopped up onto the bar with the incendiary and chucked it over the crowd of men so that it smashed against the ceiling, raining fire down on them."

Again, you attempt to ask questions that never form, only finding yourself able to mutter, "That...sounds fake."

"It was honestly incredible," Felix beams, perhaps a little too excitedly. "Fire rained down on these men and they began to panic. Only one man caught fire to the point of needing to stop, drop, and roll, but the commotion it created was precisely the type of chaos that someone like Jeongguk feeds off of.”

You imagine men running around frantically as their hair and clothing burn, and although the imagery is cartoonish in your mind, the idea makes your stomach churn.

“Jeongguk managed to isolate the Jae guy and restrain him to a pipe,” Felix continues. “It’s an older brick building, kind of industrial, with some of the pipes coming out of the walls and snaking back in, and I believe Jeongguk used handcuffs to restrain his wrist. Then, he went to town on the other fourteen while Jae watched.”

“What do you mean by he ‘went to town’ on them?”

“With the kunai,” Felix responds as if it is obvious, then he screws up his face in thought. “Mostly by stabbing the tips into the men’s necks, or slicing their throats open. A couple men attacked with punches, and he would use one blade to punch into their arms, blocking their swings, while advancing with the other kunai into this jugular. Some got headbutted before throat-gauged. It was a mess. At one point, there was so much blood on the floor, and vodka from the Molotov, that a guy slipped and broke his head open on all the broken glass.”

Suddenly, you do not think you want to know how the situation escalated so much that Jeongguk got stabbed. Though, considering he was outnumbered and the floor was covered in broken glass, you can wager a guess.

“And he only got stabbed once?” you ask incredulously as you remember all the substances in his system while he fought all these men.

“Twice, technically, but from the same guy. He most likely got cocky. He was facing Jae—saying his final words, I assumed, judging by how he stood—and a guy who must have been playing dead before gathered two large pieces of glass and first tried stabbing him in the guts under his ribs, but only really managed to get him between the shoulder blades.”

“And, let me guess,” you deadpan, “he got a kunai to the throat?”

“Two to the stomach, I believe. He was already bleeding pretty badly, though from where, it was hard to tell.”

“And I assume Seokjin found him somehow and brought him home?”

Felix nods.

“Luckily, Jeongguk had the wherewithal to call Seokjin before it all went down and tell him he would need a ride home. Unfortunately for Seokjin, however, Jeongguk failed to mention he had driven his bike into town.”

A scoff rocks through your chest as you try to imagine Jeon Jeongguk—dressed head to toe in his standard mobster black attire with his pupils dilated into black disks—riding a bicycle like a carefree child.

“And this bike,” you inquire, failing to hold back a smile, “what does it look like?”

Felix beams. “Oh, it’s the cutest thing! Mint green with a little brown basket on the handles.”

“You’re lying,” you mutter in disbelief.

Felix shakes his head. “It has a bell and everything! He pulls up to the house and brrring brrrings it with a shit-eating grin.”

Now that is something you would pay to see.

“Wait, so Seokjin brought him back here on a bicycle?”

With a hum, Felix says, “He must have a luggage rack over the back wheel, because Seokjin complained about him sitting behind him, leaning hard into his back while his feet kept slipping from the pegs and bumping into the tires.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Good thing I befriended Jimin and not Jeongguk,” you mutter.

With a knowing grin, Felix leans forward and says, “According to a little bird, Jimin recently orchestrated a murder, too.”

“You’re lying,” you gasp as you chug back the rest of your champagne and begin to refill your glass.

Felix shakes his head and holds his empty glass for a refill, as well. “Well, I think technically, Seokjin finished the job. Jimin is by far the biggest softie of the group.”

"And the least soft one is Jeongguk, I presume?" you mutter jokingly.

Felix's eyes widen, and he says, "That would be Taehyung."

You cock your head to the side, pointing an ear in his direction, as if you may have misheard. "Taehyung?"

A grin tugs at Felix's lips, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Taehyung didn't become a doctor because he likes to help people. He became a doctor because the human body fascinates him, and he enjoys ripping them open. He just happens to be very good at taking care of the select few men he has no desire to rip open. Evidently, the man has a stare so deadly, it makes even Jeongguk cower. But this is all conjecture; we do not dare talk about Taehyung's personal life unless he tells us something directly."

“This is too much information,” you grumble as you top off Felix’s glass and set the empty bottle onto the small table between the heads of your poolside beds.

You definitely want to know more about this situation with Jimin, but after Jeongguk’s murder party, you have heard enough; you cannot even begin to fathom what goes on behind Taehyung's closed door. Instead, you store the information away for later, chug the remaining champagne, and then ask Felix if he would like to swim.

You must have fallen asleep poolside after returning to the padded bed, feeling a little too drunk and quite a bit tired. The last thing you remember is Felix continuing to swim and convincing the bartender to strip down to his briefs and join him.

Although your eyes are open, everything poolside seems strange. It feels muted and still, and although you can hear the gentle sloshing of the water and several distant male voices, you are unable to detect any movement. Like an abandoned movie set, closed up, and left for the night.

A shadow looms over you, and you wonder at first, if you are imagining it. It looks huge—great enough to fully engulf and crush you if it wanted to. You attempt to close your eyes or look away, but you are stuck, paralyzed as the shadow hovers closer and closer. In the recess of your subconscious, you recognize that you are still dreaming and that you need to wake up.

Although you open your mouth to scream, nothing comes out. You thrash and claw at the cushion below, but it is useless as the shadow creeps closer and closer. It does not even touch you—does not have to—yet it pushes the air from your lungs until they burn, desperate for oxygen.

Warm hands touch your shoulders, and you hear a familiar voice.

"Hey, sweetheart? Are you having a nightmare?"

Namjoon—an anchor in a storm—gently pulls you from hell, and you sit up, eyes wide and pouring tears as you gasp for breath. The sun is still up, and although you are in the shade, everything is incredibly bright, causing you to squint. You feel dehydrated—mouth dry with a headache blooming in your temples. A product from day drinking in the heat.

"Fuck," you mutter under your breath, overwhelmed and out of sorts. "How long have I been out here?"

Across the pool, Felix is asleep under one of the awnings, curled up like a child and gripping onto a bottle of champagne. You cannot help but snicker.

"Long enough," Namjoon responds sweetly as he sweeps hair off your seat-sticky face and leans in to place a kiss on your cheek. "Are you hungry? We were thinking about grabbing dinner after a shower."

You do not have to ask who we is, though you do wonder where the other half may be.

With a smile, you nod and mutter, "Sounds perfect."

Namjoon stands and twists, then scoops you up, carrying you into the house. Your sundress is still discarded on the end of the pool bed, but you decide not to bother with it at the moment and curl against Namjoon's chest, breathing him in.

"Did you have a good day?" Namjoon asks, deep voice vibrating from his chest to yours.

"I did until the nightmare," you admit sheepishly.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Concern laces Namjoon's voice, making you feel so giddy, you bury your face into his neck and shake your head.

"Just sleep paralysis."

"Glad I came to find you at just the right moment, then."

Gently, slowly, you press a kiss into Namjoon's skin. Then two. Then three.

"Me too."

Upstairs, you enter Yoongi's room to find his shower is already running. Namjoon takes you straight into the en suite and sets you down beside the sink, then turns to the linen closet to grab more towels. You begin to strip from your bathing suit and tiptoe toward the shower. It feels like ages since you have seen Yoongi—even though you fell asleep in his bed last night—and you want to surprise him.

Namjoon, however, stops you with a firm hand around your bicep.

"Hey Yoon," he announces loudly. "We're here to join you."

"Perfect," Yoongi grumbles, voice sounding uncharacteristically low.

"Best not to surprise a mob boss," Namjoon mutters into your ear, giving you chills. "Even a shampoo bottle can become a weapon."

You clear your throat and nod, forcing a smile. Suddenly, you feel apprehensive to find what kind of mood awaits you. However, when Namjoon steps ahead and pulls the shower doors open, you find Yoongi standing below a stream of water with his head back, rinsing off with a small smile on his lips. Suds fall from his nearly jet-black hair, running down past taut muscle, deep scars, and pretty pale skin.

Yoongi straightens out and rubs the water from his eyes, then fixes you with a soft, happy smile.

"Darling, come," he says with his hands outstretched, and you realize you had been standing and staring from the doorway the entire time.

Namjoon makes his way past Yoongi, grabs a rag, and lathers it with liquid soap. You enter slowly, closing the door behind you, and let your eyes flit between Namjoon and Yoongi, feeling the dizzy, shitty sleepiness from napping after day drinking as you approach Yoongi and let him pull you into a hug under the warm stream of water.

"I only saw you this morning, yet I missed you all day," Yoongi mutters softly against the side of your head.

You chuckle and hug him tight, letting water pool in the space between your cheek and his chest.

"I was asleep," you tease, and Yoongi responds with a soft, "And looking so precious all bundled up."

Seokjin's proposition from this morning comes back and sends a chill through you. The thought of deceiving Yoongi and leaving him feels impossible, and you decide that even if he does come back with a convincing lie, you will turn him down again. And again, and again, as much as it takes.

"I always miss you," you admit quietly.

Yoongi kisses your temple and pulls from the hug, so you drop your arms to your sides and glance up at him, taking in his sullen expression. Even with his lips tugged into a smile, you can see sadness in his eyes, and you reach up to stroke his cheek and neck.

"Everything alright?" you ask softly.

You do not miss how Yoongi's gaze flicks to Namjoon before he glances back at you and gives a smaller, less convincing smile.

"Everything is not alright, but we are working on it."

Dread pools in your tummy, and you swallow a lump that's suddenly formed in your throat.

"Oh."

"Nothing you need to worry too much about," Namjoon says as he begins gently rubbing a sudsy cloth over your back and arms. "Jeongguk and Jimin made a couple of messes that we have to...clean up."

Your conversation with Felix returns, and you nibble on your bottom lip.

"I may have heard something about that."

"Did Felix tell you?" Yoongi asks, voice stern but steady. You worry that perhaps Felix was not supposed to tell you and that he might get in trouble, but as you nod, Yoongi's expression softens. "I was hoping he might. It probably came out a lot more playfully than if one of us explained it. And, although Jeongguk's mess is not yours to worry about, it does affect what happens under this roof, so you have a right to know."

"And Jimin?" you ask before you can stop yourself.

Namjoon washes your legs and taps each ankle so you can lift your feet one after another, making this conversation feel so out of place during such a domestic moment.

With a sigh, Yoongi's gaze falls.

"Jimin found out the man he was dating was sent here by Ryujin to spy on us. Allegedly, according to Jimin, Jiyong said that he stopped performing his duty when he and Jimin got serious, which caused Ryujin to send someone to shake Jiyong down, but rather than following his order, he ended up booking Jimin at Paradise and attacking him. You saw the aftermath of that."

"Jesus," you mutter under your breath. Your heart aches for Jimin—for how he must have felt to find out the man he may have loved was working for the enemy.

"So, Jimin drugged him with the intention of killing him, but he called in reinforcements when it didn't go according to plan."

"Seokjin," you mutter, remembering the smug way he regarded you this morning.

"Gotta hand it to Jimin," Namjoon says as he turns your body to face him and rubs the cloth over your chest and stomach, "his plan was extremely tidy. Mixing triazolam and codeine into cocaine with the intention of forcing an overdose is some black widow shit. I would have just left a bullet in his skull."

The thought of Namjoon shooting a man in the head makes your blood turn cold, and you wrap your arms around your chest.

"What did Seokjin do when he arrived?"

"Smothered him with a pillow," Yoongi answers simply, and your eyes fall to the tile floor. You feel bad for Jimin, who must have been pretty heartbroken to be unable to complete the task without help.

"The men Jeongguk killed are more or less nobodies," Namjoon adds as if to assuage the tension that suddenly hangs. "Only one of them has a family who might come looking, so Yoongi is going to make them an offer and pay them off."

Yoongi adds, "Jimin and Seokjin's target is a little less of a ghost. When word travels back that he was killed by our men, Ryujin may retaliate, so we need to prepare for that. And find out if any of the people who Jimin met through Jiyong can also be bought."

"Sounds complicated," you mutter as Namjoon approaches the line of bottles and squirts more liquid onto the cloth to clean himself.

"It's not, really," Yoongi says. "Men care more about money than pretty much anything else. But, this will take me away for a day or two. I want to meet with everyone as soon as I can, while making a bit of a loop through the city to find out whether anyone may be trying to tail me. Gonna stay at one of my hotels and pretend to lay low."

"Oh," you mutter, turning your gaze from the spot on the wall that you had spaced onto, to Yoongi. "When?"

"According to the terror twins, the brother of the man Jeongguk killed has accepted an invitation to House of Cards tonight at 11 PM. If all goes well, I should be back tomorrow night."

"The terror twins?" you ask, glancing between Yoongi and Namjoon, who both crack a smile.

"It's what we lovingly call Taehyung and Jeongguk," Yoongi says, and Namjoon adds, "Behind their backs only."

You suppose that after everything Felix has told you, the name makes sense. Overwhelmed by the thought that Yoongi could be putting himself in danger by meeting with these people, you wrap your arms around him, pulling an oof from his lips as you slam his chest into yours.

"Darling, I'll be fine," Yoongi assures you as he lifts his arms and gently drapes them over your shoulders. "Namjoon will be here with you. I'm sure that with all the attention he is willing to give you, you will forget that I am even away."

Petulance overtakes you at Yoongi's candor, and you release the hug, giving his chest a playful shove as you pout, "Not funny."

"Alright, no rough-housing in the shower," Namjoon says as he takes you gently by the arms and pulls you into a stream of water to rinse off all the soap that he has so kindly covered you in.

"Let's unwind with takeout and a drink before I go?" Yoongi offers once Namjoon has finished washing himself. You find Yoongi fixing you with a devious grin, and you feel the last of your frustrations melt away.

"Fine," you concede, pouting once more, though less convincingly.

Namjoon is the first to exit, and he dries off, wrapping the towel around his hips, then he grabs a second towel and holds it open for you to step in, draping it around you with a kiss to your forehead. He does the same for Yoongi, and you watch in awe as Yoongi momentarily melts in his hold, then searches for you with a smile.

With several hours to spare, you return to the bedroom, to the large couch while Yoongi and Namjoon exit the room for several long minutes. They return with a bottle of white wine but no glasses, and you pass the bottle around and enjoy slow, sloppy makeout sessions with both men until a pile of Chinese takeout is delivered to the room by a very drunk, very sleepy Felix.

By the time Yoongi has to get dressed and leave, you are back to feeling tired, and you curl against Namjoon's naked chest, doing your best to avoid the erection beneath his towel. Perhaps later, when it is just the two of you, you will work him up again just to help him out.

"Feel free to have fun without me," Yoongi groans against your lips as he pulls you to your feet and kisses you goodbye.

Rather than respond to his invitation, you lean in for a kiss, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with worry.

"Please be safe. Come home in one piece."

Yoongi smiles against your lips.

"I will, darling. I promise."

Namjoon walks Yoongi out, muttering to him while thumbing through his cell phone, and you hang back and pad over to Yoongi's closet for some clothing as a shiver runs through you. Although you are certain that Yoongi has gone on missions that are far more dangerous, you fear for the worst.

The conversation that you, Yoongi, and Namjoon had about love has been playing on repeat, thawing a part of your heart in a way that you never expected it could, and it serves only to ramp up your anxiety. You grab an oversized tee from the section of the closet that Namjoon has begun filling with his own clothing, and a pair of sweatpants from Yoongi's side, slipping into each garment before making your way back to the far side of the bedroom.

When it is the three of you, the size and shape of the dark blue sofa is welcoming—an invitation. But alone, you feel small and uncertain, and you bring your knees to your chest to sit in a ball and move your fingertips along the soft blue fabric while you wait for Namjoon to return.

It does not take long, and when he steps into the room and closes the large doors behind him with a smile on his face, you relax and allow your lips to tug into a gentle smile of your own. You twist and sit high on your knees, resting your arms over the back of the couch as Namjoon approaches.

"Oh, sweetheart," Namjoon drawls, "don't look so worried. Yoongi is in good hands." With a playful raise of his eyebrow, he sits beside you and adds, "And so are you."

"I know," you respond softly, suddenly embarrassed by the surge of emotion that feels almost overwhelming and difficult to parse.

"What would you like to do in the meantime? We can eat some more, watch a movie, go to bed early...I think we have a stash of Jeongguk's molly if you wanna get real weird."

You let out a boisterous laugh, feeling the mood lighten.

"I think I'm good not dipping into Jeongguk's ecstasy stash after the story Felix told me."

Namjoon laughs and shakes his head.

"That shit Jeongguk had sucks. It came from America, laced with meth. The stuff we actually put on the streets and do ourselves is pure, not laced with anything. Just a clean, euphoric high."

That actually does sound nice, and you imagine how adorable Yoongi and Namjoon would be while rolling.

"Maybe when Yoongi is back," you concede.

Namjoon chuckles as he says, "Deal."

"A movie might be nice. I haven't seen anything in ages."

Namjoon reaches for a remote that sits on the small table and turns on the large television that must have been installed on the wall at some point while you were passed out poolside. Every streaming service you can imagine—and some you have never heard of—come up, and you watch as Namjoon scrolls through and chooses one, then surveys the options.

When you finally settle on a film that came out earlier in the year, that Namjoon seems excited to watch, you curl up to his side, suddenly feeling the weight of everything dragging you down. Perhaps you should have opted to sleep, instead.

Namjoon fiddles with some controls that are nestled between the various cushions, causing both your and his sections to recline, with the bottom of the couch becoming an elevated footrest.

"Is this good?" Namjoon asks with his lips pressed to your temple, adjusting to wrap his arms around you. "Do you mind if I stay here and watch the movie?"

"'S nice," you mutter against his naked chest—he still wears only a towel.

Draped over the back of the couch is a soft, tan blanket, and Namjoon grunts quietly as he twists and yanks, making his best effort to grab it without jostling you around too much. Your lips tug into a lazy smile as you wrap an arm and leg over him while he covers the two of you and pulls you close. You do not make it past the opening scene before you are sound asleep.

Briefly, you wake to the feeling of Namjoon slipping out from under you and removing the blanket. You groan from the sudden cold, and from being pulled from your slumber, as Namjoon scoops you up and carries you to bed. The sheet and blanket are cold beneath you as he sets you down on your back, and you roll in toward the center, curling into a fetal position as the mattress dips behind you and Namjoon's warm, strong arm wraps around your waist, cradling your back against his chest.

"Sleep sweet, beautiful," Namjoon mutters into your nape.

"You too," you grumble, drifting back into the dark, warm heaviness of sleep.

You are not sure if you imagine Namjoon whispering he loves you or if he really does, but you think you might say it in response if you were more awake. You think that, perhaps, you could come to mean it the way he wants you to—the way you think you would like to.

"Yoongi expects to return sometime tonight," Namjoon reports as he steps out from the bathroom with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, wearing a plain white tee and black basketball shorts.

You nod and use the palms of your hands to rub the sleep from your eyes, then stretch with a long, deep yawn. Sunlight fills the room, dappled by dark blue curtains, and you let your hands fall to the mattress, to your sides, as you adjust to being awake.

"Alright," you mutter in response as Namjoon leaves the room to rinse his mouth. The sink runs for a moment, and you hear him swish and spit, then shut the faucet off.

"I was thinking maybe we could walk around the gardens today?" Namjoon offers as he returns.

He grins as he climbs onto the end of the bed on his hands and knees and begins to crawl to you, and you cannot help but smile back with affection blooming and bursting behind your ribs.

"That sounds nice," you respond as Namjoon places his arms on either side of you, hovering close and caging you in. He nuzzles his nose against your neck, and you giggle, attempting to push him away with one hand to his shoulder, groaning, "Why are you like this?"

Namjoon chuckles—voice as deep as the ocean—and you lift your shoulder to your chin, attempting to stop his breath and lips from tickling your skin, which breaks out in goosebumps.

"I like you," Namjoon responds playfully, nestling his face deeper into the crook of your neck.

Every nerve is on fire, and you feel jumpy from the sensation. You begin to swat and shove at Namjoon, leaning back, uselessly.

A giggle rocks through you as you complain, "It tickles, you jerk."

Namjoon only presses further, and when you fall back against the pillows with a huff, he hovers over you with a devastating smile before leaning down to slot his lips against yours. Once more, you begin to swat at him.

"I have morning breath," you attempt to say with your lips sealed as tightly as possible.

With a wide, mischievous smile, Namjoon licks a long stripe across your lips, leaving a minty scent in its wake.

"Have some of my mouthwash."

You squeal and attempt to shake your head from side to side as he licks over your lips once more, in the other direction.

"You're a monster!" you shout, giving him one more shove with both hands.

Namjoon collapses beside you with laughter, leaving you to lie dazed, staring at the ceiling ahead with your lips covered in minty spit. In a last-ditch effort to have any control, you swing your arm to the side, smacking Namjoon square in the chest with your palm while you mutter, "What is wrong with you."

Your hand is caught between both of his before you can pull it back, and Namjoon yanks you gently until you comply and roll toward him to settle with your head against his chest.

"You love it," Namjoon grumbles, a vibration you can feel better than you can hear.

You hum in response and close your eyes. Namjoon smells like a fresh bouquet on a spring morning, and you breathe his scent deeply with a smile, muttering, "I guess so," while nuzzling your cheek against his pec.

"Shall we get up and have breakfast?" Namjoon asks with a gentle squeeze of his arms around your middle and a kiss to the top of your head.

"Soon. Wanna stay this way for a little while longer."

"Alright," Namjoon responds, wiggling slightly as if to get comfortable. "We can stay this way for as long as you would like."

A dangerous proposition, you think, as you consider the pros and cons of never getting out of bed again.

Breakfast consists of omelets that Namjoon nearly burns. Despite his efforts, it comes out delicious, and you beam from across the kitchen counter at the blush that reddens his cheeks while you take another bite.

"It is hard to reconcile you being this domestic while also being the guy that beat those two men with a metal baton," you mutter with a mouth full of food.

Namjoon smirks, but something dark, possibly sad, flashes over his eyes.

"I've done much worse than that."

You hum and nod; you suppose he has, but you are not so sure you feel like asking what he means, exactly.

"Does it bother you?" Namjoon asks, sounding somewhat apprehensive.

With a shrug, you say, "I'm adjusting," then take a drink from the large glass of orange juice shared between you. "On one hand, I'm used to the lifestyle. Growing up on the streets, watching people die, finding bodies....killing a man."

The memory sends a chill through you, and you take a deep breath, then continue.

"I thought that I could escape it and make an attempt at a normal life—date a normal dude and all that. But it seems that I was always going to return. Perhaps I was never as far away from it all as I thought I was."

When you lift your gaze to Namjoon, his eyes are on his food, but he does not move to eat.

"Yoongi would have wanted you no matter what," he mutters.

All you can bring yourself to say is a soft, "Yeah."

It is a thought that has haunted you for some time.

No matter how far you would have run, Yoongi would have brought you back to him, if that was his goal all along. If you allow it to, the thought will easily consume you—make you feel suffocated and at a total loss of control. But, as you come to settle into his home and get to know his family men better, you find yourself becoming more at peace with it, as long as you do not allow yourself to overthink.

Better this than living on the streets. And if Yoongi really does come to love you the way he says he would like to, then you will be protected. At least, you allow yourself to believe that there will not be a permanent crosshairs attached to your back—you allow yourself to sleep at night with the belief that his men will keep the two of you safe.

The rest of breakfast is eaten in silence, and Namjoon excuses himself to answer a phone call as you finish up. You decide to clean, taking your time washing and rinsing the handful of dishes the two of you used and placing them in the large metal drying rack.

When Namjoon returns, he seems distracted, but he takes your hand and guides you to the pile of shoes by the front door where the two of you slip into some sneakers, then you walk down the narrow hallway, to the large glass doors that lead out to the garden entrance.

You walk much the same path that you had taken with Felix during your second or third day at the mansion, but it is nice to see everything once again. The statues and fountains feel alive against the backdrop of the clear blue afternoon sky, and birds flit around overhead.

Although the weather is warm, you are glad that you chose to wear a sweater and sweatpants from Yoongi's closet, feeling a slight chill to the air and wanting comfort. Namjoon is in blue jeans, a white tee, and a soft brown cardigan, looking perfectly huggable and not at all like the mobster you know him to be.

"I don't know why I don't come out here more often," you mutter with a sigh.

"Yeah," Namjoon responds. "I used to come out here a lot more, but lately, I haven't found the time."

"Is your home nearby?" you ask, turning to watch Namjoon, who looks to the east, nodding his chin.

"Just over the fence, in the next house over."

A smirk tugs at your lips. "Never too far away."

Namjoon tongues the inside of his mouth and smiles widely for the first time since breakfast.

"Indeed."

"And the others?"

Namjoon points as he explains.

"Taehyung lives behind this garden, and Jimin is just past my house, in between the two. On the opposite side is Seokjin and Hoseok's house, and just past them is Jeongguk. There are small roads that lead to each property so you don't have to exit the gates and use the main road, and they all lead directly to Taehyung."

"Makes sense," you respond, imagining that the doctor would need to be easily accessed.

Gently, Namjoon takes your chin in one hand and strokes his thumb over your lip.

"You're welcome to come to my home any time, you know. I can show you the path that leads there."

You tilt your head down slightly, parting your lips to take Namjoon's thumb gently between your teeth and flick the tip with your tongue. Namjoon groans and bends, standing face-to-face.

"Use your words, sweetheart. What is it you want?"

Until this moment, you had not had anything on your mind, but the gaze in Namjoon's eye is exciting, and the prospect of him putting his hands on you out here, in the garden, appeals to you. You suck on Namjoon's thumb, then release it with a pop.

"I want your hands," you respond sweetly.

"My hands?"

You hum and nod your head.

"What would you like me to do with my hands, sweetheart?"

With a smirk, you say, "I want you to touch me, silly."

Namjoon rolls his eyes and takes you by the hand, pulling you past the Greek statues to a stone bench just inside the shrub maze. He unbuttons his cardigan and shrugs it off, placing it down on the bench and tugging your hand in its direction, a silent order to sit down. Namjoon gets on his knees in front of you and runs his hands up your thighs, sending a shiver through you.

"The one time you don't wear a dress," he teases as he reaches up, slipping his fingers below the waistband of your borrowed pants and pulling.

You angle your hips upwards, lifting yourself off the seat as you allow Namjoon to pull them down, past your hips and thighs. He rubs his hands over your bare skin, up and back down, then begins to pull the garment over your knees. You help expedite the process by lifting your right leg and pulling your foot free, and Namjoon leaves the sweatpants around your left calf.

Namjoon stands and joins you on the bench, pulling your right leg over his lap and rubbing his hand up your thigh. Between Namjoon's touch and the gentle breeze, goosebumps break over your skin, and a shiver tingles down your spine.

"Is this how you want me to touch you?" Namjoon asks, leaning to brush his lips across yours.

You let out a soft, satisfied sigh and close your eyes, nodding your head.

"This is a good start."

A deep, sweet chuckle ghosts warm breath over your skin.

"A good start, you say? What can I do to make it better?"

"Touch me higher."

Namjoon brushes the tips of his fingers up your thigh and hip, and then higher, under your shirt to circle your belly button. You huff a scoff of frustration and amusement, and shake your head.

"Lower," you whine, "in the center."

With a deep hum, Namjoon nuzzles his nose against your skin as he moves his hand down, over your panties, leaving featherlight touches across your labia. The gentle contact makes you whine, sending a rush of arousal through you.

"Namjoon, please," you moan, spreading your legs further.

"Use your words, baby."

A shattered exhale leaves your lips, and you tilt your cheek toward his face, suddenly feeling shy to voice what you want.

Your voice is soft and weak as you beg, "Touch my pussy, daddy. Please."

"That's my good girl," Namjoon groans as he presses against your clothed lips and rubs his fingers up and down.

The wave of pleasure that rushes through you is abrupt, and you arch your back, moaning and shuddering from the sensation. Namjoon twirls his fingers over you several times, then he drags his hand up slowly and pushes it past the waistband of your panties.

"Does my baby like the way I touch her?" Namjoon asks as his fingers separate your lips and graze over your clit, down to your entrance, and back up, slick with your arousal. It feels heavenly, and you nibble on your lip and whimper.

Namjoon's voice is stern and low.

"Be a good girl and use your words."

"I love the way you touch me, daddy."

Namjoon spins his fingers over your clit in slow, steady circles, building you gradually as heat flushes over your skin.

"I'm dying to taste you, baby," Namjoon groans, sucking a spot gently into your skin and licking over the mark. The sensation of him teasing your neck makes you tremble and moan as you imagine that talented tongue between your thighs.

"Then taste me, daddy," you gasp.

Namjoon's hand leaves you, pulling from your panties and letting the elastic waistband snap gently against your skin. You whine, desperate for his touch once more, but he moves your leg away from his lap and gives your hip a gentle slap.

"Stand up," Namjoon instructs, and you sigh as you follow his order, watching as he stands, picks up his cardigan, and rolls it into a little ball, then places it on one end of the stone bench. Namjoon sits, then lays back with his head cushioned by the shirt, and pats his shoulder with one hand commanding you to, "Sit."

"Sit?" you ask incredulously.

"On my face," he specifies with a raise of his eyebrows.

You approach and swing your leg over the bench, kneeling on the cold stone as you place your hands above either side of his head and lift your other leg. Yoongi's sweatpants dangle from your ankle, and you reach down to yank it free over your sneaker, then lift your leg, hovering above him.

Namjoon places his hands on your ass and pulls you forward, craning his neck as you settle, and lapping his tongue against you. His tongue is warm and wet, instantly building your arousal once more, and making you moan. One hand slides away from your ass, reaching between your legs to press two long fingers inside you.

"Fuck," you moan, feeling your arousal rapidly build from the stretch. "That feels so good, daddy."

With a deep, muffled groan, Namjoon licks hungrily at your pussy as his fingers steadily pump in and out. Your hips tremble and gently grind against him as he alternates licking and sucking your clit.

Yoongi's voice pops into your mind, teasingly groaning, "So easy," as you feel yourself quickly reaching the precipice of pleasure.

"You're gonna make me cum, daddy," you whine as your hips grind a little harder. "Please don't stop."

Namjoon picks up his pace, fucking his fingers into you relentlessly, and you begin to dissolve, vibrating from head to toe as the dam breaks. A sob rips through your chest as you peak, orgasm pulsating through you, and Namjoon does not slow down, pulling wave after wave out until you can no longer take it and begin to shutter from overstimulation.

"Please," you whine. "It's too much, daddy."

As his fingers and lips slow, you continue to tremble, feeling sensitive and fucked out. As soon as Namjoon pulls completely out, you sit on his chest and lean forward on your hands, caging in his head.

"You're so good to me," you purr as you attempt to get your bearings enough to stand. Namjoon lays patiently as you slide haphazardly, placing one foot on the ground and swinging over the other.

"Of course I am," Namjoon finally responds as he sits up.

You gather the sweatpants and step out of one shoe and into the leg hole, sliding into the shoe as your foot breaches the end, then repeating with the other side, wiggling your hips as you pull the pants up. Then, you approach Namjoon, slotting a leg between his and grabbing his face as you bend to leave a soft, chaste kiss.

"I like you a lot, Joonbug," you mutter against his lips.

Namjoon wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, licking into your mouth with a moan. You melt against him, tasting heady hints of your release.

"I like you a lot too, sweetheart."

"Let me take care of you?" you ask sweetly, reaching for his erection, but he shakes his head softly and says, "Later. This was just about getting you off."

You tilt your head back to get a look at Namjoon, endeared by his soft gaze and dimpled cheeks.

"Show me your house, then? I want to learn more about you."

With a grin, Namjoon nods and says, "Let's go."

Namjoon stands and takes your hand, lacing your fingers between his.

"If we continue past this part of the garden, there is a path that leads from Tae's property to the backs of the homes, but I want to show you the more direct road from the mansion."

You hum and nod, following Namjoon's lead through the garden the way you came. Just before the driveway, there is a path that leads through trees and a clearing in the garden wall, which opens to a wide gravel area that narrows into a road. With each step, the earth crunches, and you take a deep breath, letting out a contented sigh, holding Namjoon's hand while you walk in comfortable silence.

As you continue down the road, a large brown house comes into view, partially surrounded by trees. While the home is smaller than the mansion, it is still far too large for just one person, and you frown as you imagine Namjoon returning here alone in the past, knowing he would rather be in the mansion, with Yoongi.

"Once you've been in my home, you're more or less been in them all. They were built from the same mould. Except for Taehyung's place."

"Is his bigger?"

Namjoon hums. "His is massive. It might even be larger than Yoongi's place."

"Why?"

With a chuckle, Namjoon gives your hand a gentle squeeze. "Discussing Taehyung's personal life is something I do not allow myself to do. But I will just say that the man has some interesting hobbies, in addition to his various examination and surgical rooms."

"Not cryptic at all," you tease.

Felix's words return, and you shudder at the thought of him ripping people apart in his big, state-of-the-art hospital-slash-mansion. You hope that he was trying to intimidate you by exaggerating.

Namjoon's property is surrounded by various trees and bushes, and he has a garden of his own, though it is much smaller, with more greenery and fewer statues, on the side of the house. A large black sedan sits outside the garage, looking identical to those the rest of the family men drive, and you wonder if his Porsche is inside the garage.

As you approach the large, brown two-story home, Namjoon releases your hand and steps up to the thumbprint and retina scanner, then punches in a long code before his front door clicks open. You follow his lead inside, sliding your shoes off beside his large, chaotic shoe stash. A set of stairs lead up along the nearby right wall, and the house opens into a large living room, with what appears to be a dining area past the stairs, to the right.

Namjoon takes your hand in his once more and leads you into the living room. Everything is earth tones, reclaimed woods, and leather, and you are pleasantly surprised by the number of paintings and sculptures he has displayed throughout the space. One cozy brown leather chair is surrounded by a large pile of books, and he has a small stack of art and photography books on his coffee table.

"I don't know why I'm surprised to find all this art, considering our museum date," you tease, turning to Namjoon and finding his gaze soft and sweet.

Namjoon smiles, giving your hand a delicate squeeze.

"We should do that again, sometime. Minus the torture pitstop."

"Yes," you agree with a laugh. "We can skip the torture next time."

Gently, Namjoon tugs on your hand, pulling you toward him, and you step in close, rubbing your palm over his soft brown cardigan. The room smells of his musk with earthy hints from the many plants that sit atop furniture and shelves, and it feels much more like home than Yoongi's mansion.

"It's been so long since I've brought someone here," Namjoon says, gently taking your chin in his free hand. "It feels nice letting you see me a little bit more."

"It's nice being welcomed to see you a bit more."

Namjoon leans forward, and you tilt your head up, expecting a kiss, but he leans and rests his forehead against yours, closing his eyes with a smile.

"I like you a lot."

Your tummy does a swoop, and you wrap your arm around his neck, playing with the hairs on his nape, and give his hand a tight squeeze.

"I like you a lot too, Namjoon."

When Namjoon opens his eyes, his expression is hungrier, and he tugs his lips into a smile. Then, he drops his hand from your chin and stands up straight, eyebrows knitting as he reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone, which is vibrating. One glance at the screen, and he answers the call.

"Yoongi-hyung."

Excitement and anxiety pool in your tummy at the mention of Yoongi, and you watch Namjoon as his gaze flits to you, then he nods his head.

"She's with me. We were walking through the gardens and I decided to show her how to get to my place. … Nah, I was just about to give her a tour and bring her back home, but we can cut it short and come back now. … Sounds good, I'll see you in a bit. … I love you too."

He does not take his eyes off you as he ends the call, and you feel another more powerful swoop in your guts when he speaks those last four words. Heat rises to your cheeks, and you do your best to hide how affected you are by it, keeping your expression flat while he slips his phone back into his pocket.

"He's home much sooner than expected; shall we head back?" Namjoon asks, leaning in to slot his lips against yours.

You reach for Namjoon's shirt, just above his pec, and gently gather the fuzzy material between your fingers as you lean into the kiss and let out a groan of satisfaction. Even the faintest kiss from Namjoon is so sweet and soft, filling you with warmth and adoration, and you lean into him, letting your lips slowly open and close against his—languid and saccharine.

When Namjoon releases the kiss, you open your eyes with a smile.

"I suppose we shall."

He nods as he says, "I'll give you a tour next time."

Namjoon leads you back to the front entrance, and you slip on your shoes, lamenting having to go back so soon, but eager to see Yoongi. It hasn't been long since you said goodbye, but you find yourself missing him more and more whenever he is away.

The walk back to the mansion is quiet, and Namjoon holds your hand as he hums softly to himself. You enjoy these calm, peaceful moments with him, and gaze around at the Japanese maple trees that line the area. Soon, their leaves will begin to change and become a pretty bright red.

Rather than taking you back toward the garden, Namjoon leads you along a path that opens by the driveway. Leaning against the garage door is a mint green bicycle with a brown basket on the handlebars and a slender luggage rack over the back tire, and you smile to yourself, knowing that it is undoubtedly the bicycle that Felix had described.

"Ah, Jeongguk is here," Namjoon mutters. "I wonder if that means Taehyung is, too."

"Do they often travel as a pair?" you ask.

Namjoon clears his throat and gives your hand a squeeze before releasing it.

"Sometimes."

As you approach, the front door swings open, and Seokjin walks out, dressed head to toe in black and tapping a pack of cigarettes against his palm. When he turns and meets your gaze, he grins.

"My, what a pleasant surprise. And just what were the two of you up to?"

Although you are sure all of the family men must know about the state of your relationship with Namjoon, you feel anxiety bubble under Seokjin's scrutiny.

"Going for a walk," Namjoon responds.

Seokjin hums and nods his head, then pulls a cigarette from the pack and places it between his lips. As he fishes a lighter from his pocket, you and Namjoon step past, into the door, which has been left open by a crack. The main hall of the house is empty, but you notice movement out by the pool. You step out of your shoes and wait for Namjoon to do the same, then follow him toward the back door.

"Ah, there you are," Yoongi calls from the top of the stairs as soon as you are near the landing, and you turn to find him smiling widely with his hair wavy and overgrown, wearing a black tee tucked into black slacks.

"Going to change," Namjoon mutters to you, leaving a kiss on your forehead. "I'll be back."

Yoongi begins to make his way down the stairs as Namjoon walks up, and you stand and watch as they meet in the middle with Yoongi one step higher and slightly towering above Namjoon, smiling as he pulls him into a kiss. They mutter between them, then Yoongi continues down as Namjoon walks up, in the direction of the bedroom.

"Darling," Yoongi calls sweetly, opening his arms as he reaches the final steps.

You approach, and once he is on level ground, you wrap your arms around him, burying your face against his shoulder as you squeeze him tight.

"Miss me?" Yoongi rasps, deep and oh, so sweet.

Your voice sounds breathy as you respond, "I did," releasing the hug just enough to gaze up into his eyes. "How did everything go?"

There is a twitch in Yoongi's jaw that almost goes unnoticed, and when he responds, "I handled everything," his tone is completely changed.

"I'm glad."

Footsteps come from upstairs, and you look past Yoongi to find Namjoon dressed in his standard black button-up and slacks. Yoongi draws your attention with a kiss to your temple and an invitation.

"How would you feel about joining us at a gun range?"

The question feels somewhat random, but it is something that has crossed your mind, especially living in this house with the goings-on that take place.

"Alright," you respond, clearing your throat, which suddenly feels dry. "That would probably be a good idea."

"Taehyung, Jeongguk, and I used to go on a fairly regular basis, and we have been discussing starting up again, this week. I talked to them about having you tag along and they seemed receptive to it."

You are unsure if going to a shooting range of all places with the terror twins is an exciting prospect or a frightening one, but you do not argue. You are certain that Yoongi wouldn't intentionally put you into a dangerous situation, but being that you do not know either of them very well, you have no idea what to expect.

The glass door leading out to the pool slides open, and you turn to find Taehyung entering shirtless with his wet hair swept off his forehead and a big white towel wrapped around his hips. He looks stunning with his sly boxy smile and the droplets from his hair streaking his golden skin.

"Are you excited for tomorrow?" Taehyung asks with his gaze fixed on you.

You hum and turn to Yoongi, who says, "I thought we would start shooting right away."

"Oh," you respond, eyes wide as you look back to Taehyung, who asks, "Have you shot a gun before?"

You nod; you have done shooting practice with cans and other trash, but never had to put a bullet through another person. "I have, but only a little."

"Good," Taehyung says with a smirk. "I can't wait to see how you handle it."

Yoongi gives your shoulder a squeeze, and you attempt to keep your breathing level and steady, but there is something in those sharp, cold eyes of Taehyung's that unsettle you. You glance past Taehyung through the doors to find Jeongguk standing, towel-drying his hair with a deep, unmistakable frown, and you force a smile, swallowing down a ball of anxiety as you turn back to Yoongi.

"C-can't wait."

(Mm-mhm)

숨을 내쉬고 뱉어 like (Mm-mhm) Breathe out and еxhale like like (Mm-mhm) 경계를 넘어서 like (Mm-mhm) Bеyond the boundary like like (Mm-mhm)

내 품에 널 안아 like (Mm-mhm) Hold you in my arms like like (Mm-mhm)

다른 생각은 하지마 Don’t even think about other things

🎵 visit the playlist

are we having fun? i am so sorry the updates continue to be spread out, but i am not undertaking so many side projects this year, so hopefully we can get this story wrapped up in the next three or four months. i am excited to show you more of taekook. they are a trip!

as always, please don’t be a silent reader! feedback & reblogs do so much to help content creators! and likes are always appreciated.

a seokjin pov scene takes place during this chapter, where we follow him through a typical day. you can access his pov here (or learn parts of it in later chapters from the reader’s perspective!)

tag list: @afangirllikeme-blog, @angel-121, @artgukk, @btsiguess-kpop, @bts-ficreviews @che-er-ful, @codeinebelle, @dasexydevitt13, @giriiboyy, @illnevertrustmyselfagain, @jalexad, @kissme-ornot, @leanimal90, @likeshatteredrainbowglass, @m1sss1mp, @mayeolorie, @mwitsmejk, @openup-yourmind, @sleepilysworld, @stocking221, @spookyminyunki, @thirstyforjoon, @valhallawhispers 🗡️ comment or dm to be added!

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#memory lane: collateral #author revisit & notes #fic: collateral

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re-writing-h · 4 years ago

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Satan in your eyes

When you called, I came.

Whatever you asked, I answered.

But in the end, I’m Satan in your eyes.

Bitter end to our story.

All promises, you broken them.

And you hurt someone, very dear to me.

After all, you put your blame on me.

The praises change a beating.

I’ve tried to explain all the time.

I’m not God or a hero.

But now, I’m Satan in your eyes.

When in the reality, I’m only a piece of humanity.

#poetryportal #poem #poetryblr #writerscreed #writeblr #poetry #re.h poetry #re.h #the long lost lamb has comes back quietly

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wcrriorhearts · 2 years ago

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rhea's words cut her and rhaenyra averts her gaze, letting it rest on the little boy, that seems lost and anxious in the big armchair by the fire. is she sacrificing her life too quickly? hasn't she given enough? there will never be peace, for as long as she lives, for the greens will never stop hunting her. but without her in his life, aegon might live and that is all she wants. for one of her children to make it. she has lost so much in the span of two years, how can she live on? there is nothing for her left in this life, other than to ensure that her little one is protected, when she can no longer shield him anymore. but she has failed all of her other children, so his fate hast to remain in the hands of allies, not her own. everything she touches turns to ash.

"i am tired", the queen says quietly, without looking at rhea. "i have buried my father, my only daughter, four of my sons, my sister and my husband in less than two years. everyone hates me for my sister's fate and i can never sit on the iron throne again, nor should aegon, who is entirely ill suited to be king. the last sacrifice i can make to ensure my son's safety is die and take my half brother to the grave with me. i will greet the stranger like an old friend when he comes for me. my loved ones await me beyond the veil."

it hurts her to leave aegon behind, but rhaenyra is beginning to understand her sister's choice of throwing herself from the highest tower at the keep. some pain is just intolerable and she can no longer bear it. every loss has made her colder towards the world and her heart has turned into ice. grief has turned into a leaden, soul crushing tiredness, which never ends and torments her daily. all she wants is to close her eyes for the last time and find peace. "i cannot say. aegon, jaehaera - perhaps baela or rhaena. it is not in my power to make assumptions. maybe the time of the dragon rule over the seven kingdoms is over altogether. it would not be the worst thing." as much as she had always loved her bloodline, she knew they had been flawed to the core in many ways. almost all dragons were dead and dragons had made them kings. so what was left of the great house of targaryen? two frightened little children and many graves.

silence settles between them for a moment, before rhaenyra pulls a satchel out of a hidden pocket in her dress. it is old, worn by years of carrying it close to her person and as she opens it in her lap, several items of jewelry appear in its belly. "i never thought much of it as a child, when i took it from my mother's room, while her corpse still rested in her blood soaked bed. she had always told me that no one, but me, was ever allowed to have it, should anything happen to her. back then it was just jewelry to me, but i understand now, why she held it so dear. all of it is made from bronze. you gave them to her, didn't you?" her gaze rises for the first time to meet rhea's, as she holds the satchel out for her. amidst the bracelets, earrings and bronze rings also rests a little wooden figurine of a lamb.

the weapons are not rhea's concern — it is the information that may have slipped the queensguard while travelling that rhea has to watch out for. similarly, if the queen or the prince himself have spoken about it to anyone, rhea would not have it risked. if worse comes to worst, rhea knows house royce will not let the greens capture the queen they have vouched for if that is what they will ask. this house will burn first before it ever retracts the oath its taken to the rightful heir — even if the notion sickened rhea to consider how very little they would get in turn, no matter the amount of sacrifice her bronze family had extended.

this was the keep, after all, that daemon had shunned; the same keep the peaceful king viserys had more than once fashioned into a prison of exile for her once lord husband, driving a further wedge on an already barren and disastrous marriage. for all the good burmstone hall have provided its kin, have provided this land, have given shelter and aid and protection during troubling times — for the targaryens, it will ever only amount as another tool, or another obstacle, for they to lay claim of, or to discard once the use is done. though rhea says nothing of this. the result remains the same: she will keep queen rhaenyra safe, because it is her vow.

because house royce's words are we remember, and it is both an honourable curse, and a terrible blessing.

❝ you are quick to forfeit your life. ❞ rhea cuts through once the explanation is given. in the corner of her eyes, she sees the young prince fidgeting; perhaps nervous to be a distance away from the mother, even if they remain in the same room. the lady of runestone is not unkind enough to merely summarise his behaviour as cowardly; the reports were clear, after all. the raiding of the red keep is infamous, and the deaths it has brought, even more so. paranoia runs high, and desperation — it seems — runs just as deep. she looks back at her once-niece, or is it still her niece, her blood, if aemma's own runs in the queen ?

oh, dearest aemma. what will she say of rhea now, if she would witness how cold her cousin has become, how there is very little grace she could give to her only daughter ? the daughter rhea once cradled and held, too. the daughter rhea had once hoped would be a fine queen, would be a kind one. would be better than whatever her forefathers had been. instead, in her wake, just like rhea's lord husband, she had left blood. all of them did. ❝ who shall sit on the throne then, if we are to speak plainly, your grace - if not you, nor the green king ? ❞

#ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ sᴀᴠᴇ ᴜs ᴍʏ ᴀᴛʟᴀɴᴛɪs ᴡᴇ ғᴀʟʟ ( House of the Dragon ) - Rhaenyra Targaryen #ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟʏ ʙᴏɴᴇs ɢʀᴏᴡɴ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴀʙsᴇɴᴄᴇ ( queue )

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messwriting · 4 years ago

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Written for the Whorehouse Compilation [RAW DOG 1080p] (Try Not To CUM) Collab: Masterlist.

Open wide: the Doctor is IN

Shirabu Keijiro x Female Reader

Doctor Shirabu gives you a very special treatment on your first appointment.

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Note: I’m sorry for being this late to the party. The cursed porn search we all have looked at least once (some... lots of times hehehe). THANKS TO @dymphnasprose for the little porn search bar i love them so much ;-; <3 My (very) late contribution to the Whorehouse Server CUMpilation. Thanks for letting me participate Miki! Doctor Shirabu is ready to see you now.

Warnings: POSSIBLE TRIGGERING CONTENT. CONSENSUAL NON-CONSENT. DOCTOR/PATIENT. MEDICAL PLAY. INAPPROPRIATE TOUCHES. WRONG GYNECOLOGICAL EXAM. Breast exam but not really. Corruption Kink. MEDICAL KINK. Use of medical equipment in inappropriate ways. ANAL PLAY. Established relationship clarified at the end: role-play. Poorly researched medical stuff. Overuse of Good Girl.

Word count: ~4.4k

You’re such a cute little thing.

Sitting on top of the big, pristine examination table, waiting for him while wearing an easy summer dress, square heels dangling from one side to the other as your hands fumble with your own fingers on your lap, eyes flying to him immediately as he enters the close space - big, bright eyes shining in the dull white hospital room, framed by beautiful eyelashes and soft makeup. Your tempting lips are almost deployed of lipstick from as much your teeth have punished the plush flesh.

“Hello.” Shirabu greets you with an easy smile, one that he doesn’t really use despite the little effort it takes.

“Oh, hi Doctor.” There’s an anxious smile on your lips and Shirabu feels a tingle start on his fingertips, climb his arm, spread down his back to burn in his guts. You’re so pretty when you’re nervous.

“How are we today? You can come and sit by the chair first.” Shirabu moves calmly, closing the door behind him; carefully turning the key without bringing attention. He’s still testing the waters but he can gather that you’re a trusting one, waiting to hear from him what exactly you need to do and then do it.

“Ahhh, um… I’m good, just came for my annual checkup.” You say while taking a seat on the chairs, only risking one look up at his face, then lowering those eyes onto his coat, clearly reading his name. Your expression seems surprised… but pleased. Is it because he’s young or because he’s attractive? Shirabu can’t decide, but there’s a clear smile in his lips as he looks you over, then circles his way to sit behind the table.

“Is this your first time here? If not, when was your last appointment?”

“Actually,” Your eyes meet his when your head angles up and you scurry them down as if you’re embarrassed. Your lips are once again suffering under your teeth before you free them and speak, “It’s my first. Like, ever.”

“Oh,” Shirabu let’s slip with a breath. There’s too much joy in that little sigh and in his tone when he asks, “Really?”

Your head goes up and down first, fingers fumbling, then you seem to remember that you need to speak with him, “Yes.”

“Do you have a medical file here already? Any complaints I should know?” Shirabu covers the usual bases first, calmly checking his agenda and time, how much he can have with you and how he can extend it.

“Hm… No complaints, except…” You fall silent for a moment and Shirabu can feel the burning in your face all the way through the table.

“It’s okay.” He’s quick to tranquilize you, “I’m your Doctor, you can tell me anything.”

“I think my birth-control is… uh, how can I say this? Making me… a little numb?” You tell him in a low voice, a hint of worry slipping through as you try to send him a little embarrassed smile as if you’re worried he may feel bad about it.

Shirabu is quick to smile back, so pleased at how you relax and melt back into yourself at the sight of it. He can’t help but think you’re such a good girl. “You didn’t answer the first question, though.”

“It’s my first time in the clinic as well. A friend of mine recommended it to me.” You give a precious little giggle as if your nervousness scrambles your train of thought and Shirabu thinks it’s endearing, especially the fact that you’re a pretty little thing who doesn’t know best and you’ve ended right on his lap.

Well, he plans to make the most of it.

“Hmm, understood. So, Miss… Is it Miss?” Shirabu sends you a charming smile, one he knows it’s good, and your eyes seem to flash with something at the sight of it, your throat bobbing right before your lips split in a little smile.

“Yes,” you giggle his way with a little roll of your eyes, as if it’s obvious and he makes a surprised face along with another dazzling smile. Shirabu has smiled more in the last ten minutes than n his whole week and he’s face will soon protest.

“Really? You’re so pretty, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone had already planted a ring on your finger.” God knows he would, and as fast as he could, too.

You bite at your lips to avoid a smile planting itself in your face, eyes fleeing from his as your hands fist your dress and you left a little breathy laugh out. As if he’s being ridiculous.

“Okay Miss, so since it’s your first time doing this check-up, I’ll need you to do a few things for me, okay?”

“Sure, Doctor.” God, that shouldn’t mess him up as it does, the hairs on his arm standing on edge at the delicious sound of it in your voice.

“I’ll need you to go to that bathroom right there, strip all your clothes including underwear and change into the paper gown that’s right on top of a cabinet there. Leave the opening to the front and then come back to sit at that examination table right there. Can you do this for me?”

“Of course, Doctor.” Warmth spreads from his body, rolls thick with his blood around his limbs and starts concentrating south. Jesus, you’ll be his demise like this.

“Good. Now go.”

Once you’re out of sight, Shirabu makes arrangements. And when you come back, clad in nothing but a paper-thin gown that leaves little to the imagination, he buttons his coat as long as it goes. Just to be sure.

His eyes thread carefully over your barely concealed body, enthralled by how your breathing comes in quick puffs of air, goosebumps rising on your skin under the cold temperature of the room. Pressing against the warmth of his palm at the slight touch of his fingers on your shoulder.

“You can sit at the examination table. We’ll start with a breast exam before you lie down, okay?” Shirabu knows his voice is sweeter than usual; carefully built in a trusty tone, words rolling off his mouth a little deeper, a little low - all just so he can assure he has your attention.

“I’ll start with a breast exam and then you can lie down.” He explains his steps one by one, so when he opens the front of the barely existing paper gown, all you do is take a sharp breath and slowly let the air out. So nice. Such a good girl for him.

He carefully brings his fingers to glide over the outskirts of your breasts, pressing on your flesh with steady, slow to warm digits. Shirabu feels as you fidget slowly when he circles the flesh once, slow and deliberate with the pressure he applies. “I’m checking for any unusual lumps around the tissue,” Shirabu tells that so close to your face he can feel the warm wave of air your gasp lets out at his words, and he pretends the little taste does nothing for him despite the way his blood boils in his veins.

He does the same circular motion a second time, then a third time in reverse, and all but grin in his self-satisfied way when he notices the shy nub stand to attention. Your brows are furrowed even from such little stimulation, throat bobbing as your mouth sucks cold puffs of breaths inside your lungs.

Shirabu’s digits slide up your collarbone, then press together in a quick motion from all the way up to under your breast, stealing just the slight touch over your erected nipple.

“Please put your hand over my shoulder,” Shirabu says carefully, detached; and is delighted when you push a little dazed “what” out your swollen lips.

He can’t help but smirk; poor little lamb is lost to the wolf around her - and his claws are already in.

“Like this, honey.” His hand takes yours in his, open your palm with his fingers to press it on his shoulder, a wide-angle that gives him better access and provides for a comfortable examination.

“Hm, okay!” You strangle it out, cute and bashful and Shirabu feels his slacks getting tighter.

“Good,” he breathes close to your face and restarts his movements, digits massaging up and down your chest, right side first as his fingertips get together to start to draw patterns from outside until the center in a repeated motion that ends with just a barely-there, butterfly touch over your nipples as he does a careful glide around the circle.

Your shoulders tremble and curve inwards as your abdomen seizes, hints of your pleasure that Shirabu can pinpoint even without his medical expertise. It makes his heart soars; such a little innocent thing that you can’t even speak up about it, just quietly suffering from the need growing inside you until you’ll burst.

His hand stops under your breast to weigh it, palm covering the extension of flesh as his thumb slides in a fond motion to the sides.

“Now I’ll do the left,” Shirabu announces and feels as you tense, eyes looking up at him in a lost haze even as you blink and nod. There’s a small storm brewing inside your eyes clouding them over, as if you’re struggling to catch up to his fingers, trying to fully wrap around his motions and still falling victim of your innocence, agreeable and placid, trained and directed to respect authority.

Dr. Shirabu knows best, you’re probably thinking as you nod once again, hands grabbing at anything they can to hide their trembling. Then he starts his ministrations by rolling your nipple with his thumb, drawing a gasp from you.

“Oh, sorry,” Shirabu says with fake sorrow before he starts the circling massage around your breasts once again.

A humming agreement is all you answer him, lips pressed together as if you’re embarrassed by the noise you’ve left. Oh, poor little thing.

He can’t wait to ruin you.

Shirabu wonders if you can notice how he changes the motions of his fingers this time around, pressing closer to the center and around the halo of your breast as he kneads the delicious mound with his digits.

Your knees are practically pressed together and you’re struggling to hold your shoulders up in a straight line and Shirabu is absolutely delighted at causing your downfall with such little, fickle things as the point of his fingers.

He waits for the moment where your teeth close sharply over your swollen lips, holding both breath and noise inside, and angles both his hands to press under your breasts, upwards motion that is a good excuse for groping - not that you’d know. Your spine curves as your head turn down in waves of burning hot embarrassment at your own behavior and Shirabu simply has to move before he does something bad.

Well, worst.

“All done,” he tells you with a small curve on his lips as he steps back. You wait for him to turn before letting a breath out, but even that sounds sharp in the silence of the room. Shirabu hides his hands from your eyes in his pockets, fingers twitching in the absence of your smooth skin under his digits.

“Now we’ll pass to the examination.” The little tremble in your frame is enough to add twisting fire into his veins, temperature rising even when the air conditioning is running low. Shirabu does his best in making his voice sound unaffected and neutral, walking over to the stirrups and adjacent dressing table where he keeps his medical gloves.

“You can lie down and put your legs over the supports.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

You obey like a good girl, the simple motion already flashing him the precious skin underneath, legs spread wide open and immobilized. Anxious eyes look for his in reassurance, then seem to think better of it as they fall down to watch your open legs. The view making you squirm once again in the padded table.

So precious.

And trusting.

Your hands are clasped over your belly in an attempt to keep them from fidgeting, eyes eagerly fleeting between Shirabu’s frame and the ceiling. He sends a smile your way as he pulls the chair close to the stirrups and your disconcert is practically charming.

When Shirabu walks over to sit between your open legs, his cock strains against his slacks, immoral coil twisted hard at the small peak of heavenly skin, of glistening folds swollen by the blood flow.

If only he could lick it.

There’s a tremble to your form that he can’t pinpoint, but the wide-open arch of your legs immobile over the stirrups clear are involved in; that, and the pulsating arousal in your center, if the way you’re throbbing open for him is any indication.

Shirabu had considered going slow, threading carefully before taking what he wants, but the fortitude of his mind is being challenged by the view alone: You, laying on the table, legs spread and skin glowing. It’s wicked. Shirabu wishes so much to taste, but he’s snapping his gloves on instead.

“Are you sexually active?” He makes small talk, chair sounding loud in the silent room as he finally takes his place on it.

“I’m, uh, not for a while.”

“Any unprotected intercourse?”

“Hm... N-no.” Huh. Shirabu doubts he was able to hide the motion in his lips signaling that the little slip in your tone isn’t lost. “Are you certain? We may need to do a test, just to be sure.”

Your eyes fleet to him, shining in the artificial illumination, flustered expression as you down them for your clasped hands after. It’s rather endearing to watch as your anxious behavior spike, the way you’re unable to twist or move, pinned there by physical barrier more than just his eyes.

“It’s possible.” You answer him, meek, and he tries not to smile. “But I’ve been on the pill.”

“Ok, then. You mentioned numbness. Did you mean during intercourse or just in general?”

“Sometimes general, but normally when I’m… touching… myself.”

Oh well. What a nice little improvement. His eyes bore on yours between the valley of your legs, the air surrounding you both turning thicker.

“Understood. I’m going to be touching you now.”

You nod, and then gasp when his hands actually touch the inside of your open thighs, a light caress to satiate the need to know how soft and plush you feel, and it’s exactly as much as you look. You suck in a breath slowly, and Shirabu lets his fingers slide up to your hot center.

“I’ll start with the pelvic exam. If you feel any pain or discomfort, just say so.” You nod and he starts slowly, two gloved fingers carefully threading over the swollen labia with acute precision, circling motions as he caresses the underside of your most sensitive place and downwards, rounds the dripping wet entrance, and sliding back up, fingers opening in a “v” motion, a small twirl around the engorged nub above it all. “I’m making an exterior exam, any numbness?”

You nod your negative. Eyes barely holding themselves open, teeth sunk on your lips. “Tell me if you either don’t feel anything or feel anything hurting.”

“Okay,” it’s mostly a whine, breath leaving your mouth as soon as you open it. He descends a third finger over your sex, up and down circling motions that rip a groan from your throat.

“Does anything hurt?” Shirabu’s voice is collected, calm, a stark contrast to the throbbing length in his pants. “Numb?”

“I...don’t think so?” You’re trembling, voice breathless as the stirrups squeaking under the strain of your thighs and Shirabu’s other hand comes up, palm planting over your pelvis, feeling the soft skin and then pressing his palm on it.

“Doesn’t seem like you have a problem with sensibility.” He tries to reassure you as his fingers thread to your entrance, indicator slowly tracing the tight circle pulsating in front of his eyes. You’re dripping wet, soaking his gloves and all he can think is what a delicious little patient.

“I’ll be entering you now, okay? There’s no need for the speculum, so I’m performing a touch exam.”

“Oh-kay, doctor,” comes your little gruff voice, putty under his hands and opening up nicely for his fingers when he presses inside. You’re tight, wonderfully so, clinging to his gloved fingers. Shirabu angles them up and deep, your blistering warmth spreading from his digits to his arm and then his whole body.

He’ll have to find a way to “test” you there, as well. He doesn’t retreat his fingers, but he aims the motions of them inside and above, looking for the sensitive place that’s bound to make you-

“Ah!”

There it is. Shirabu chuckles and rounds the place with his digits as your knees buckle inside then angling out, spreading wide. He retreats his fingers, rolling them with a little scissoring, then plunges deeper inside as an excuse of trying to reach your cervix. If only he could use his cock- that’d be way easier.

“And now?” Shirabu asks, wicked. “Any pain? Numbness?”

“N-uhnn-” You try to speak but choke on a soft moan, your hands flying to your face as you swallow and answer him back in a trembling tone, “No.”

“Anything else?” It’s teasing, clearly, but you don’t seem to notice it, dazed eyes searching for him as you wet your mouth before speaking.

“It feels… weird.”

“Really? ” Shirabu spreads his fingers a bit, rolls them to feel around your walls. “Why’s that?”

“I- I don’t know. It’s… good.”

“Hmmm… That’s interesting.” His gloved thumb descends over your labia, rolls over your clitoris with strict precision, fingers angling inside to meticulously hit that special place once again. The table squeaks under the strength of your buckling, open cunt pulsating around his fingers in plain view for his appreciative eyes. “You seem to be a bit oversensitive, not numb.”

“Is that- a problem?” You say between breaths as Shirabu’s thumb rolls over your clit. He’s astonished you don’t question any of his debatable moves, only looking at him with dazed, soft eyes.

“Depends. Do you always leak like this? It can be a condition.” Shirabu presses his palm over your pelvic bone, angle his fingers meticulously and swirl your clitoris with his thumb in firm precision. You moan and immediately recoil in embarrassment, mouth agape in your own surprise. Shirabu scissors his fingers in a rotating motion, inside and out for barely a few seconds and your spine arches off the table, mouth falling in a wide “o” as you tremble on his examination table.

Delicious.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No,” you answer in a breath.

Shirabu palms his length to release the pressure, cock straining at the soft expression of rapture on your eyes. “Everything seems good inside; But maybe you’re sensitive. I’ll keep that in mind for the next exams.”

“Is it… done?”

“Almost.” Shirabu smiles, but it's a be-ready-for-trouble one. “All we need is the ultrasound for the internal exam.”

“I thought you had just-”

“This one was the touch one, the next one is done with the ultrasound equipment. It will be inserted inside and then I’ll be able to take a good look at your uterus health.”

“Oh, okay.”

You seem focused on catching your breath as your stretched hole keeps winking at him, as if begging for more. Unfortunately, Shirabu has to move on. He pulls the equipment table close, moves the screen to the side and at a fairly inaccessible angle for your eyes. The transducer reminds a wand, long, shaped anatomically thin with a slightly larger head, barely two-fingers girth.

“Have you ever orgasmed before? Sensitive dysfunction can make it harder for women to achieve sexual gratification.”

“I… actually don’t know…”

Shirabu slides a condom on it, drops a generous amount of lube over it and then turns to you with a smile. Your legs twitch and your walls clench and he has a strike of brilliance right there as he eyes the pretty furl of muscle under your pleading pussy.

You yelp as he brings a lubed finger to draw rings over your rear, embarrassed eyes quickly searching for his.

“Doctor?!”

“Oh, sorry. The equipment goes in anally. Didn’t I mention that?”

“No?!” You groan, surprised, a soft breath escaping your lips.

“Sorry. I’m just preparing you, passing something to help it.” Shirabu explains, as a liar, and slowly work you open with his indicator pressing inside - carefully, slowly, with clinical precision until his whole knuckle is inside and your breathing is labored, open pussy throbbing for something he can’t give it to you just yet. How precious. “I’m inserting it now. Please tell me if it hurts.”

Shirabu angles the device on the lubed hole and watches, enthralled, as your ass swallows it’s wider head whole with just the first push, the rest of the body following easily as the tight ring presses the overflowing lube out. Fuck. Shirabu’s cock is weeping uncontrollably inside his slacks and he carefully brings a hand to help with the tightness of his pants, opening it enough to allow his thick length to escape free, but still covered by his lab coat.

Then Shirabu presses the device deeper, the angle sharp. He brings the receptor over your belly, presses way to closer to the apex of your sex. “Does it hurts?”

“No,” you breathe out, dazed.

“Does it feel good?”

“...Yes,” you sigh.

“Hmmm, interesting.” Shirabu retreats it, pretending to angle it somewhere else. He moves the equipment a bit more and your knees tremble as your pussy starts to drip on the floor. Jesus, that’s fucking hot. He leaves the receptor over your skin to fly his hand to his cock, slowly pumping it to relieve the throbbing ache. You’re way too lost in your own pleasure to notice his, and that only makes him more feral.

“You can feel something entering you now, but it’s just another equipment,” Shirabu says as he abandons his aching cock to slide two fingers inside your pleading hole, instead. He’s not even sure you understood his warning. Cute.

“Doctor,” you breathe, almost panicked and Shirabu rolls his thumb over your clit to hear you yelp, your ass tight around the transductor as he scissors his fingers on your wide-open cunt.

“Yes?”

“I feel... “ You sound so wrecked and lost, a shiver wandering down Shirabu’s spine as his throat bobs. Your pussy throbs around his fingers, begging for something it can’t even pinpoint. Poor thing.

“Pain?”

“No? Something… else.” Such a cute breathless voice, chest heaving with rabbit-fast beats that Shirabu almost can feel on his fingers deep inside your soaking walls.

“Pleasure?” He offers, fighting the need to smile at how your confused expression, brows furrowed as you try to think of another word but come ultimately short.

“I…” You start but bite your lips to hold the noise at how he aims at your special spot. Then blink twice, still losing the fight against the thick pleasure fog in your mind. “I guess?”

“Wow.” You’re so honest. Shirabu’s surprise is fairly genuine. He hopes his tone sounds more understanding than completely hungry. “Well… It’s not unusual for patients to feel arousal by exams considering their invasive nature. It’s okay, don’t panic.”

“But,” You start, tense and writhing, but Shirabu stands up, the equipment in your ass changing angle but his eyes are finding yours in the distance.

“It’s okay,” Shirabu repeats and you listen, hazed eyes focused entirely on him. “Take a deep breath.”

You obey so well, mouth opening as you breathe deep, chest filling even when Shirabu slowly edges the equipment out of your tight asshole. The fingers inside your pussy don’t stop, though, and he brings his other hand, now free, to aid him in wrecking you. “Now surrender to it. Let it wash over you…”

“I…” You whine and tense, but then his two hands are gliding over every erogenous zone on your labia with acute expertise, and you let go, bones essentially melting under his ministrations; letting out a soft, obedient, won over, “Okay.”

“Good girl.” He tells you and rotates his fingers in and out, keeping you nice, wet and wide. You’re close. Shirabu can feel it in how you’re swelling around him. “You’re an amazing patient, Miss. Just do as I say and I’m telling you to cum.” That does it, as your head angles back, hands holding yourself and the table as you take a deep breath.

“Yes, doctor,” You whisper and moan, surrendering to the intense orgasm that pulses suddenly through you and quivers around his fingers. It’s beautiful to watch you come undone, legs trembling sharply as they’re held wide open, pussy fluttering in a wave of wetness that joins the puddle on the ground, mouth open as your tongue slides past it, eyes rolling inside your skull and probably seeing white.

Shirabu never feels tired of it, finally angling himself to bend over your frame, mouth looking for yours quickly as he breaks character.

“Keijiro,” you sigh, pleasure-drunk and Shirabu licks over your open lips, bites on your jaw, sucks the skin to leave his marks.

“Yes, love.” He answers against your pulse point and you lets out a satisfied sigh by his ear.

“That was amazing.”

“You think so?” Shirabu rolls his hips against your bare, soaked wet pussy, and his free cock rolls deliciously between the lubricated folds. “I’m just starting, though, Miss. I think you’ll need a more thorough exam, though. With special equipment too.” He brings his hand to angle his cock on your entrance, eyes locked on yours as you blink and smile, blissed out and pleading. Shirabu presses himself inside and you throw your head back in bliss, hands planting on his shoulders with sharp nails aiming for his skin. “Such a good patient I have. Open wide, love.”

You arch your head back to look up at him, mouth falling open on command, for Shirabu to do as he pleases. You, wide open on his table, for him to do as he pleases. He’s your husband after all and you’ve learned from a long time that what pleases Dr. Shirabu Kenjiro the most is picking you apart piece by piece, white bliss searing your every nerve-end as you fall and shatter for him, drowning under his thumb as he holds you down waves of pleasure, dragging you like the tide - strong and unyielding until it hurts to even breathe.

The mere thought of having more makes your lips fall open in a moan, “yes, Doctor.”

Because you love everything about that.

#shirabu kenjiro x reader #shirabu smut #haikyuu smut #shirabu kenjirou smut #shirabu kenjirou x reader #tw consensual noncon #tw medical kink #tw medical roleplay #tw doctor

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inviouswriting · 3 years ago

Text

Feathers

Simeon x Fem!Reader

Smut.

If you squint a plot is forming! I hate spoiling my content so you have to read it to know where I am going.

Warning below the cut.

Contains - A breeding kink, corruption, shower sex, oral, graphic depictions of said sex. All that good stuff, it is smut~

Feathers.

You feel great warmth behind you, a calm and gentle warmth that you’ve come to love as much as the person that radiates it. Hazy you blink your eyes open, and can hear an incessant buzzing from your DDD, you groan and shift the room a bit colder than you remembered. Making you seek the warmth of the angel beside you. Simeon tightens his arms around you hugging you to him.

The previous night you spent with him, giving a group message to everyone that you would be staying over with Simeon. Everyone had a little something to say, but didn’t argue as you would be back in the afternoon. You take a moment to admire the sleeping face that is Simeon, how he seems peaceful even here. You card fingers through his hair, and seek out his warmth from the cold room.

You reach for your phone to peek at it, Asmodeus has been sending messages along with Mammon. You smile to yourself, but the messages were not the reason you grabbed your DDD, you quietly and carefully tug the cover off of Simeon’s shoulder enough to expose his face. Keeping your phone silent you take a picture of him, to keep to yourself. Or maybe set it as your wallpaper. He looks so serene, and you love that he finds his comfort in your arms so easily.

Another picture wouldn’t hurt, just as you take a picture of Simeon, you catch an eye open looking directly at you. You freeze and shrink down under the covers.

“Where you going lamb? If you wanted to take pictures, you can.” You blush when he rests his head back onto the pillow and gives you his gentle smile. His eyes lowered, to focus on the camera. You take a few more pictures of your angel, before setting your DDD away, ignoring the calls from Mammon. You’ll get an earful for ignoring him later, but here in the blanket of morning with Simeon you didn’t care.

Simeon raises his hands to your face and cups your cheeks, he presses in and gives you fresh and sweet pecks of kisses. You feel those hands leave your face to slip down under the covers to touch over your skin. Simeon glides his fingertips over the softness of your back and down to the top of your rear. You feel him smooth the flat of his hand against your skin and slips it down along your thighs feeling the ultra soft skin of your hip to mound.

“You didn’t get enough last night?” You tease him, Simeon only smiles more, and you part your legs for him allowing his fingers to trace your folds.

“How can I ever get enough of you?” Simeon asks, while moving to strewn one of your legs over his hip. You bite your bottom lip feeling his fingers slip pass your folds and trail circles around your clit, checking to see if you are as eager as he is for a morning romp before everyone else is awake.

“Ah.. Simeon... I...” You catch his eyes with yours, and plead with him, wanting more of his touch.

“Yes love? What would you like?” You wonder how an angel can act so sinful sometimes, even more as those fingers slip inside, you jolt when they curl, slowly very slowly he pumps his fingers. Enough for you to start feeling hot, you raise your head to meet him for a kiss. He picks up his pace with his fingers, and you muffle any moan into the kiss.

Simeon swallows your moans, pushing you onto your back nudging your legs further apart as he shoves the blankets down off you both. You had barely realized how hard he is, judging by how he is already leaking with precum and throbbing from your sighs and moans in his ears and against his lips. Simeon pulls from the kiss to have at your neck until you gently push his head off.

“Lamb?” You look up at him, and give him a smile of your own.

“I want to please you too for a bit. Will you let me?” He is confused until you reach a hand down to stroke his cock. Fingers tracing along the underside making him shiver.

“Only if I can do the same.” Simeon moves to lay on his side, head towards your groin, having you strewn your legs under his arms. You follow the way he is laying on your side and busy your mouth with kissing along his hip down so you can start delicate licks and kisses along his shaft. You laugh a little at how much he responds to your tongue on his tip, feeling it twitch as you circle the head. Your hands go down to pump the shaft and roll the sac below feeling him tense as he is more turned on than he wanted to admit.

Simeon focuses on the sensation of you pleasing him, his fingers pumping slowly into your pussy, even as he lowers his mouth to it, delving his tongue along your folds, spreading them with his fingers so he can push his tongue into you without a second thought. You taste sweet to him, and it takes a few tentative licks before he is pushing his tongue deep, like the manner he does when he kisses you. Swirling his tongue right, and if he didn’t have your legs pinned under his arms, he would have felt them lock around his head.

You trail kisses along the side of his shaft afraid to put him in your mouth in case you bite down. You nibble along the underside of the glands, then sweep your tongue across the tip. You note how dark pink the tip is from the brown of his shaft, you give fleeting pecks over the tip even pressing your tongue to the slit for more beads of precum. You are rewarded with sighed moans against your folds and Simeon thrusting his tongue into you, even with his hands gripping your thighs tighter, his fingers keeping your lips apart lapping at the hole he loves to tease.

“I can do this all day... just hearing you sigh and moan my name.” You hear his voice, and feel your face heat up.

Simeon shifts you both, and sits up, keeping your head to suck on him, while he encourages you to wrap your legs around him. You note the angle makes you take his cock deeper into your mouth, and relax your throat to take him further. You suck while Simeon uses his fingers with his tongue to pump both into you. You had sparked a frenzy in him, and you wonder how much longer before he loses his patience. You’ve only seen him give into his desires a few times that almost got you in trouble.

You didn’t have to wait long after a long lick you place from balls to tip following the veins to the very, very sensitive side of his tip. Simeon tugs your mouth off of him, and you are arranged on your side. Simeon lifts one of your legs, and holds it as he guides his cock into your waiting dripping core. With all the sex you two have had over the previous day half, you didn’t need to adjust.

Simeon thrusts as soon as he feels you squeeze around him, he is wild with his thrusts, you grab for a pillow to muffle your voice, aware that there are others in the Purgatory Hall again. You notice something about Simeon’s eyes as you peek up at his face. He is focused on your face, but his eyes seem hazy lost in pleasure.

“Are you alright Simeon?” Your voice breaks through the fog in his head, and he rests his head against your leg, fingers tapping your ankle as he regards you with a loving look.

“You feel so good, I got a little lost in the feeling.” Simeon lets go of your leg in favor of lifting your hips up to his, his hands finding purchase along your waist pulling you into each thrust he makes. You seek out the pillow hugging it to your face muffling your cries as best, until Simeon pulls it away from your arms, replacing it with himself. He lowers his head down and claims your lips in a passionate kiss.

You wrap your legs around his waist holding onto him, letting him take full charge over you both. Simeon nibbles your bottom lip parting from the kiss, he feels incredible, but almost like his whole being is full of love and warmth. Something different than what he usually felt.

Simeon hears you cry his name in the middle of your kiss with him, he feels different with this session. Like your souls were binding together, you open your eyes to be greeted to the blue eyes that are inches away from yours. He lowers his eyelids as he parts from the kiss with you to press soft kisses over your face. One of your hands seeks his and laces your fingers together.

You feel him move harder, his movements jerky and uneven. He was going to come soon, and you felt eager to feel him do so. You rock your hips up into his thrusts, you tighten your grip on his hand holding yours, he matches your grip. Simeon presses his forehead to yours, and you close your eyes finding his stare too intense.

“Open your eyes please.” You feel your face burning, and you do so. You open your eyes and he thrusts in at an angle that makes your face twist up in absolute pleasure.

“Is... it okay inside again?” His question is specific, and you nod. He sought permission each time before he came inside. You both know there is a risk to it, but you also remember the time you two spent caring for those little demons. How happy he looked caring for children, you wouldn’t mind if it is his child you carry.

“What would happen if I manage to get pregnant from all this?” You catch Simeon off guard with your question, you look up at him shy, and he only kisses you repeatedly. The feel of him a lot different, you felt him twitch from the question. Like he desperately wants to do this, the idea, the possibility. What it might spell for him as an angel.

“I will be by your side every step of the way. Are you afraid of that idea?” You think it over, he had slowed his thrusts down to a slow roll of his hips, almost pulling out of you, if you had second thoughts. You use your feet to dig into his hips to pull him back. He indulges with a gentle thrust in, changing the pace from heated and wild to loving, and sweet.

“It scares me a little... would you regret that choice? I mean.. Lilith..” You are her descendant, Simeon caresses your face and plants little kisses over your face as he loves you more gently now. You arch underneath him, the angle being what he needed to reach even deeper, hitting a spot deep within that makes you tremble in his arms.

“If I fall as a result of loving you. Then I will gladly fall for you, endlessly. I chose love. You ask me if I regret falling in love with you, and creating a life. Never would I regret it, in fact I look forward to it.” Simeon presses his cheek to yours, mouthing kisses till he tugs on an ear with his teeth.

“Does it hurt if you fall?” You never want to cause him pain.

“Only at first, Lucifer and the others said their fallings only hurt during the change. If they were constantly in pain, we would see it right? They don’t regret their choices either.” You smile up at him, and place your hand on top of his lacing fingers from behind his hand. He picks up the pace longer drawn out thrusts, focusing on the pleasure now without worry of whether he was slipping too far away from above.

Your voice drawn out louder till he silences you with kisses, moans between them as he hits just right. You feel him so sure of himself, your heart full and your emotions overwhelm you. You feel tears at the edges of your eyes, a loving pressure in your belly builds till Simeon holds your hips down to keep you from lifting so much off the bed. You hear his sighed moans, he releases more of them as he chases his orgasm. Your hands find his back, you add fine lines to the center of it, you mind his shoulder blades, he had expressed how sensitive they are, you remember they are sensitive. You glide your hands down them and rub them.

What greets you is the sight of the angel lost to bliss, eyes closed as he pants and pushes down harder to you. You reach your orgasm first after a series of thrusts makes you lose control. You rub your fingers into his shoulder blades and earn his voice out louder than you have heard him before. His face flushed pink as he pushes deep and spills his seed against your cervix.

Simeon promptly collapses on top of you, hugging you underneath him, his arms slipping beneath your back to hold you directly to him. You feel him press his face into your neck and nuzzle your cheek with his own. He keeps himself pressed to you, within you, he kept laying kisses everywhere his lips could reach. You keep your hands roaming on his back soothing the scratches you left, he practically is purring with affection. You shift underneath him feeling uncomfortable, but soon realize from all of your rubbing on his back he had gotten hard again.

Simeon moves his head so he can look you in your eyes, your rubbing on his back had done something to him. He wanted a lot more that you had to offer. You offer a grin to him, and he lowers his head to kiss you again. He moves slowly, you are still sensitive to his touches and thrusts. Something felt more intimate when he was tender like this.

“Simeon... shower.. Please?” You ask, and Simeon nods collecting you into his arms. You both could get more wild with water, without the interruption of anyone listening in. You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you and keeps you from slipping out of his arms. He manages it, and you laugh the entire time even as he pins you against the shower wall. A mischievious grin to Simeon’s lips when he turns the water on, you yelp at the cold of the water, seeking out his warmth. He gives you mercy turning to shield you from the spray, as he keeps you pinned between himself and the wall behind you. You roll your hips down, soon lost to his movements again.

Simeon soon tires of the position, mostly trying to keep you from slipping, so he pulls reluctantly out. Guiding you down to your hands and knees. You look at him over your shoulder, questioning him with this position.

“Trust me.” You were about to say something, only to have Simeon push back inside of you; making up for the time he missed. The angle allows him deep, and your eyes widen when you feel him push as deep as he gets. The slap his his balls against your clit sends you spiralling into pleasure even with him grinding a few times. He uses more power in his thrusts this way, and he also might enjoy seeing you bowed before him, though the bowing you were doing was extra sinful as you bite into your arm to suppress your cries.

Simeon keeps it lovingly in his unique way. You never feel sore, but what surprises you is how he leans over the top of your back. Arms wrapped around you from behind as he thrusts. Like he is mating with you now, you became aware of feathers surrounding both of you. You are shocked when you see white feathers with green tips, you made the connection to his feathers from his quill he uses. How you had never seen a feather like that before, now you understood where that feather was from, and Simeon can see the surprise in your face of him showing his wings this way.

You wish you could touch them, would he let you. Simeon can see the question in your eyes, and curls a wing down enough for you to touch a wing. Your fingers thumb through the edges of the flight feathers. You feel your angel though buck harder into you from touching a part of him he doesn’t reveal to just anyone.

Simeon lowers his head to the nape of your neck, he kisses over it murmuring promises to protect you. Placing a love bite directly there; you didn’t realize how close you were to another orgasm until he bit you. Your hands clench, and Simeon takes your hand off his wing to keep you from pulling a handful of feathers out.

“Again... once more.. My lamb.. Once more. I want you to cum for me. I want you to accept me into you...” Simeon trails off in his words as he snakes a hand underneath you both and rubs your clit, you whine at the sensitivity your body is feeling. How alight you feel from his touch alone, you focus on the pressure in your belly, ignoring the water feeling colder as you suck in a breath of air to hold. Simeon’s thrusts are harder, and you feel that swell.

Moan after moan is torn out of Simeon his hands back at your waist, and he had straightened up to have a better angle to work with. His thrusts a lot harder, and a lot deeper, driving himself till the tip of his cock bumps your cervix enough.

“A little more... just a little more...” You hear him sigh under his breath, he is burying his face into your hair, and listening to your moans as they fall from your lips. You scratch the tiles under your fingers as you feel a much stronger orgasm after the short one you had. Your eyes widen and they brim over in tears at the sensation that floods you of feeling so loved by Simeon. You don’t miss the groan he makes as you tighten around him, making it harder for him to thrust in.

Simeon keeps going through your orgasm reveling in how hot and wet you are around him, how you tighten and milk him of his cum into your body. You feel kiss after kiss on your neck and maybe a few bites as he spends himself within you.

You lie there underneath your angel, you reach a hand to his feathers and glide your hand across them, seeing how they sheen under the water and light of the sun peeking into the bathroom. You focus your eyes on the very ends of his feathers, the faint green at the tips meeting white. Beautiful but your eyes focus a little more and see at the bases a touch of grey almost black. You ignore it for now to not bring it to Simeon’s attention during post-coital.

Simeon pulls himself free of your body, and reaches to turn the heat of the water up more as he begins washing you and himself up. You relax as you see him will his wings away, but his halo remaining. He looked every part of an angel, he is an angel. You remind yourself that he is an angel. Something that is supposed to be sacred and revered with reverence. Yet here you are pulling one down the paths of sin and worry about corrupting someone so pure.

Simeon catches your gaze on the halo, and only beams brighter towards you. You finally have strength to sit up, being pulled into his arms, he washes over your hands while you use the foam to touch his face rubbing it and washing him equally. He lets you scrub his back, you snicker at his ticklish fidgeting, even as you are careful over the scratches you left.

When you both finished with the shower itself, Simeon turns the water off and wraps you both into a towel long enough to do so. You bury your face into his chest, and here he can tell something is off.

“Lamb?” You look up to his face, poking your head out of the towel he has wrapped around you both. You shake your head off the thought of the dark coloring his wings were getting. You hoped that was a natural color with him.

Sensing your thoughts, Simeon does something you were not prepared for and flicks your nose. You clasp your hands over the end of your nose, and look up at him indignant about being flicked only to meet a stare you’ve seen with directed at Satan and Beelzebub. A little bit of anger hidden behind his calm eyes.

“You need to stop thinking like I am regretting my choices... I love you... even if it means I can’t return to the Celestial Realm. I choose you. I choose us.” Simeon’s voice has that edge at the beginning. You nod frantic, when his voice softens, he cups your face and keeps you staring into his eyes.

“I know you noticed. I won’t lose my wings. Remember the others still have theirs?” He thumbs away a tear that streams down the edge of your face. When did you start crying.

“I am afraid.. You'll blame me for it... or others saying y-” You are stopped by that raise in his eyes, his palms on your cheeks. You keep your eyes on Simeon’s not wanting to look away, more you can’t look away. The gentle touches on your cheeks, his eyes betray his emotion, and before you know it he takes both sides of your cheeks and pinches them pulling just enough.

“Not another word about me potentially regretting being with you. If I so much as hear you say otherwise I will not only pinch your face, but I will make sure you know nothing other than my love till Diavolo can hear you scream my name in his castle. If I wasn’t sure about our path together. I would never have been with you from the start. If this means I lose my power to see into the future, I’ll be glad for it. I was miserable... it’s too quiet up there... I’ve grown to love it here with you, the brothers, everyone. I will not have you speak as if I regret falling in love with you. I do not regret it, nor will I ever. Now... understood? Or do I need to keep this up?” He tugs your cheeks again for good measure, and you shake your head no at questioning it further. He lets go only to cup your face and kiss all over it in apology for pinching them.

“Mean...” You pout, turning your head only to earn a kiss against your cheek.

“Strict.” Simeon corrects you. You wonder if he truly means everything he says, about not regretting his choices. People can say it, but meaning it once it happens. Simeon pulls you further into his arms, enjoying the feel of you against him.

“We should get dressed so we can make breakfast, and be decent before Luke bangs on our door.” You move closer into his arms even at his urging to move.

“A little longer like this please. I want to feel you like this a little longer.” You wind your arms around Simeon pressing your face into his chest. The soft scent of mint waifs from the shampoo and soaps he uses. You feel him tighten his arms around you, resting his head on top of yours.

“Just a little longer. Don’t blame me if I want to take you again before we get dressed.” You pinch his hip for the comment, and smile into his chest. He guides you both from the bathroom to his bedroom to sit with you in his lap. Doting affection on your face, and feeling you in his arms.

You both playfully swat at each other when getting dressed. You caught Simeon with a towel, and he got your back with a smack on your rear that will be hard to sit through in classes. You finally pick up your DDD and answer the millionth call from Mammon. Assuring him you are okay, that you were spending time with Simeon without interruptions.

Simeon watches you calm the avatar of greed down with exasperated sighs of whatever he was going on about. You remember to pack the apron you were given by Asmodeus, to return it to him. It had been cleaned thoroughly.

You sit next to Simeon during breakfast, leaning on him in a contented way. Somehow you feel different from the romps you had this morning. Perhaps still riding on the high of all the love shared from the angel. A gloved hand rubs your shoulder, and you look up to Simeon.

He gives you a more reassuring smile as he lets you lean against him. Resting that way in blissful contentment.

“Must be extra tired from all your late night studying.” Solomon teases you both from across. Your face darkens pink along with Simeon’s there was getting nothing pass him. He knew what you two were up to without fail.

“Y-yeah. Simeon kept me awake with a few too many questions.” You play it off for the sake of Luke in the room. You move closer into Simeon’s side to avoid further questions. You were already bracing your mind for the millions coming your way from the demon brothers. Lucifer wouldn’t pry too much without warning you. Asmoedus though, he would be waiting for you on your bed for you to spill every single detail of your nights with Simeon between and out of the sheets. Maybe you could ask to stay another night with the angel.

After breakfast you find yourself alone with Simeon before you would walk to RAD, you had to be sure of something.

“Simeon? May I see your wings again?” You ask him, and he nods closing his eyes, he uncurls them, letting you touch them dry. They were a lot softer than you thought they would be. Almost like eagle feathers but a lot softer. You smooth your hands through them, sitting in Simeon’s lap. You look through them, preening them almost for the angel. Your eyes find the one that caught your attention when you were underneath him.

The one that had a black base to it, you see it had darken a little more. You frown, and look at Simeon. He only regards you with an unwavering smile.

“It’s begun already.” He says, he even looks through some of his feathers noting how some have a distinct coloring. Still greenish blue at the tips but almost gradient between black to white.

“I...” You look down. You hadn’t mean for him to actually be falling, corrupting. You had heard Luke talk of it like it is such a bad thing to fall.

“What did I say earlier? My love? Don’t make it sound like I’ll regret this.” You hear him, and lower your gaze down.

“But you are falling... and it is my doing.” You feel yourself flipped and the surface of the bed below you now. You look up as Simeon hovers over you, his hands on either side of your head.

“And I told you, I chose this path for myself. The only thing that would make this terrible for me, is if you suddenly do not love me as deeply as I do you.” You feel kiss after kiss placed on your face.

“I just... hope it doesn’t end like Lilith.. Where you are..”

“Enough Lamb..” You look up at him. His tone alone makes you keep the remainder of what you were about to say swallowed on your tongue.

“That won’t happen. You know the cause of Lilith and why she was persecuted for her death. She did not regret her falling. Nor will I. Now.. I believe I should make good on my promise. That if you brought this up, I will make you scream till Diavolo can hear you.” You feel your heart full, you still harbor a little bit of guilt, but Simeon chose you. You also wonder how pretty his wings might be, will they still have their tipped edges with blueish green? Will he use one as a new quill.

All thoughts end when Simeon’s hands sneak under your skirt.

“Simeon! The others will hear us.” You plead.

“I don’t care. I have a promise to fulfill, to ensure you know how much I love you.” Any further protest dies out when you feel a kiss along your neck again.

“We’ll be late...” You attempt, and Simeon eyes you.

“I can live with that.” You bite your bottom lip as he breathes a hot breath against your ear, and you feel yourself aching already.

“Besides, I do believe you won’t be able to sit still in class if I leave you unsatisfied. That would be a sin in my eyes.” Simeon only has to press a few more kisses to convince you to slack off a bit more. How can you deny him when he says and does such sweet things to you.

You don’t even think twice feeling him again, or how your hands and fingers dig into his arms as he holds you underneath him. Even as you feel him fill you and all you can do is blush underneath him. You wonder if he truly wants one at the rate he keeps going.

“I am hopelessly in love with you.” You hear murmured into your chest, and Simeon is nuzzling his face into your breasts. You smile noting how cuddly he is after each romp, like he makes up for all the roughness with being as soft and cute as possible.

Only time would tell if he can manage an impossible.

#simeon angel #simeon x reader #simeon x fem!reader #simeon smut #obey me simeon #Simeon #swd simeon #swd obey me

213 notes · View notes

dapandapod · 3 years ago

Note

Dearest Pandolfius,

I have heard that you write excellent stories, so I have come to your askbox to humbly beg for some Lambden content. I'm thinking a Modern AU in which Aiden is a ballet dancer, but in one of his performances he stumbles on stage. Do whatever you want with that hehe.

Love, Jolfius

I am so sorry Jolfius my love, this took way too long to publish. It has been sitting in my drafts for ages because I couldn't think out a crude thing for Lambert to say. But here it is at last <3 (Oh yeah, and let's see if anyone catches my zelda reference ehehe)

Thank you @kuripon for beta reading and @all-hail-the-witcher for helping me do dancing somewhat correct, and @damatris for letting me borrow drunk sheep on a tightrope <3 You are the very best

Warnings: Mentions of serious injuries and recovery. Lambert shows he cares by getting angry, and poor dancing knowledge.

On Ao3 here

Lambert sits in the audience, his knee jumping. It is opening night and the company has been practicing for months. And practicing harder than probably most was his love, Aiden.

He doesn’t have a big part, staying towards the back of the corps sections. Nothing that can be too much. They are really lucky they decided to keep him, but Tissaia always had a good eye towards Aiden.

The curtains open, the orchestra starts, the ballerina on stage breaks her pose and starts her pirouettes and twirls, her complicated leaps and turns, ever graceful.

A man approaches her and together they dance to the trembling violins. It is beautiful, it is painful, it is aching and full of emotion. Two years ago, Aiden had been in an accident. A piece of scenery came undone, the moon literally falling down on stage. Luckily, Aiden was the only one who got hurt.

Nothing lucky about it, in Lambert's opinion.

The worst part of the injury had been the head trauma. He spent two weeks in a coma, and when he woke up, they discovered that he had lost sight in one eye and was suffering terrible migraines. His right knee had also taken a bad hit, and nothing pained Lambert’s heart more than watching Aiden get the news of his injuries.

Lambert had spent many months with him in the hospital, in physical therapy, cuddled together in their pitch black bedroom when the outside became too much.

But nothing, absolutely nothing could keep Aiden from his dreams.

The first time Lambert drove Aiden to the studio, they both were nervous. Tissaia said Aiden would always be welcome back, but they all knew they couldn’t afford a dancer that couldn’t dance.

“You could always become a teacher?” Lambert offered after a long silence, Aiden staring out the side window. “If you are half as good as that twat Vilgefortz, you would run him out of business. He looks worse than a drunk sheep on a tightrope.”

Aiden didn’t reply.

Somehow, Aiden had made it through a gentle training program. He was not the first dancer with injuries, and he wouldn’t be the last. His knee kept up surprisingly well, but his depth perception was fucked up now, so there had been some wobbly landings.

But how Aiden shined.

And here they are, after a long journey. Tissaia finally agreed to let Aiden be a corps dancer, to stand on stage again. Lambert follows the story with mild interest. It is an adaptation of a Polish fairytale about a sorceress, and a man bewitched to be her destiny. Despite being each other's halves, they fight like the sea fights the shore.

It is a lot more complicated than that, but Lambert is not here for them. He sits with rapt attention, and after almost 45 minutes, Aiden steps out on stage.

It is hard to see him, hidden in the third row of dancers on the left side, but Lambert only has eyes for him. They fought about this. Hard and loud and angry.

Lambert thinks Aiden is an idiot for still trying, for not taking a step back, for risking everything all over again. The doctor had said one bad landing and Aiden might not even be able to walk again, yet alone dance.

But as the light shines on his hair, slicked back in a tight bun, his eyes rimmed with kohl, Lambert can see why Aiden fought him. The way he carries himself out here, how in control he is of his own body. He is beautiful. Alive. Happy.

He might never get a lead role, might never dance with the prima ballerina. But being out here is enough. Aiden lives and breathes for his dancing.

And just as Lambert relaxes, Aiden stumbles and winces. It is small, just a light misstep, but Lambert saw the wince, the clench of his jaw.

Fuck.

As soon as the first intermission begins, Lambert goes backstage. Many of the dancers greet him, but he doesn’t have time. Aiden sits with his leg held high, muscles taped and tense. Worry and

anger well up in Lambert, and soon it spills over.

“I fucking told you this was a bad idea!” he spits, and Aiden jerks in surprise, turning to look at him.

“I’m fine, Lambs.”

“No, you are fucking not! I told you and you never listen!”

“Lambert.”

His tone is sharp, and Lambert draws in an angry breath. Holds it.

“Do you trust me?” Aiden asks him, taking his hand and squeezing it.

The anger drains out of him, but the worry remains.

“With my life,” he says quietly. “Just not with your legs.”

Aiden smirks, just on this side of dirty. The things they have done with those legs makes it hard to dispute just how much he trusts them, and Aiden knows it.

“Shut it,” Lambert mutters, and Aiden laughs, deep and happy.

Somewhere behind them, the stage manager yells the five minute warning, and Aiden pulls Lambert down into a kiss.

“I’m fine, Lambchops,” Aiden says against his lips and then he leans back. ”It was just a stumble. It happens, it hurts, but I’m alright. I have a half hour break before the next dance, and Triss will never let me out there if she decides I can’t. It’s fine.”

Lambert grumbles, but finds himself defeated.

He does trust Aiden, and he trusts Triss to keep Aiden down to earth. Aiden pulls him in for another slow, warm kiss, soothing the last remnants of anger and worry away.

“When we get home tonight, I got a surprise for you,” Aiden whispers, dragging his lips gently across Lambert's cheek. Fuck, how he loves this man.

Aiden doesn’t stumble again. His dance is flawless, and Lambert can’t breathe. When they get home, they are both exhausted. Lambert helps him with his night time routine of stretching and massaging.

He is beautiful, aching and full of emotion when he lowers himself down to one knee in front of Lambert. He is alive, happy and full of hope when he lifts a red velvet box and offers the ring inside to Lambert.

Once again, Lambert can’t breathe.

#lambden #modern au #ballet dancer au #the witcher #lambert x aiden #hurt/comfort #mention of serious injuries #supportive lambert #angry lambert #he is a caring boy just in shouty ways #soft surprise at the end #no im not trying to trick you to read it what are you talking about #dapanda writes #laiden

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writinglizards · 3 years ago

Text

Something the Cat Dragged In

Summary: It's been almost a year since Lambert's seen Aiden.

He's likely not interested anymore, even if Lambert had done his best to curb his sharpest edges, keep him coming back. It hurts and he tells himself it doesn't. It's better than the alternative. Better than Aiden hurt...or worse.

Then he finds the cat.

Pairing: Aiden/Lambert Rating: Teen Warnings: None

This is for @contemplativepancakes who asked for a comedy of errors. I am awful at that, but I’ve been assured this is funny, so. Please enjoy!

Read on Ao3

It's been almost a year since Lambert's seen Aiden when he finds the cat.

Or more accurately, perhaps, the cat finds him.

It's been about two weeks since he set out from Kaer Morhen to the clearing where he usually meets Aiden. He hadn't shown last year and Lambert hadn't been able to find him, even keeping an ear out for word about a tall, dark-haired cat witcher too nice for his own good.

He's not sure what he's hoping for this year, or at least he's not comfortable admitting to himself what he's hoping for. He likes Aiden, but they don't need to travel together. He's sure he's fine, he's just...busy.

It doesn't make the ache in his chest any easier to deal with, but he pretends it does.

Regardless, he heads for their meeting spot and sets up camp. He'll wait a week and if Aiden still hasn't shown after that, well.

He's fine. He's just...not interested in Lambert anymore, probably.

That hurts worse, somehow.

-----

The cat shows up the second morning Lambert's camped out.

It's a skinny thing, sleek black with a patch of white on his chest and haunting green eyes.

Lambert wakes up to the creature nestled between his calves and startles, upsetting the cat who mews his annoyance and bites his foot. Lambert shoots out of his bedroll after that.

"What the fuck?" he asks the cat, who eyes him with distaste but doesn't move, and Lambert figures, well. The cat will leave on its own he'll just...wait.

-----

The cat doesn't leave, and it's starting to freak Lambert out, just a little bit.

When he settles down to eat, the cat creeps from his bedroll to sit by his boots and stare with big, green eyes that remind him of Aiden. He shoves that thought from his head as quickly as it arrives.

"Cats don't like witchers," he says, as if the cat might have forgotten, but he doesn't move, just sits and stares at Lambert's jerky.

"Are you just hungry?" he asks, and, after a brief hesitation, he snaps a small piece off and offers it to the cat. The cat, for his part, briefly sniffs the offering before taking it into his mouth only to drop it on the floor and bat it around like a toy.

"Really?" he asks the cat, but the cat doesn't seem to care about Lambert's none too silent judgment, just continues to amuse himself with the bit of food. Lambert only hopes the little creature will move on, and quickly.

-----

It keeps trying to creep into his bedroll.

"You can't sleep here," he hisses, shoving the little creature away from his feet for the third time in as many minutes. In response, the cat hisses and bites, sinking its sharp little teeth into Lambert's calf.

"Son of a bitch." The cat stares defiantly at Lambert over its mouthful of flesh as if daring him to retaliate. Reluctantly, he can admit the little thing has gumption.

"You're mean you know that?" he asks the cat, who, when it becomes clear Lambert isn't going to continue fighting, lets go of its mouthful and steps daintily over his leg to settle between his knees.

"This is only for tonight," he says, huffing irritably, "and only because you're such a little dick." The cat ignores him, settling down and beginning to purr softly. Lambert pretends that doesn't make his heart swell.

-----

Lambert can't bring himself to disturb the cat when he wakes so he just...lays there and lets the little beast slumber.

He tells himself it's because he doesn't want to be bit again. It has nothing to do with the fact the cat is small and warm, and the weight of it against his shins is comforting.

It's fine until the little creatin begins to chew on his toes.

"I thought you were asleep," he hisses, twitching his ankles to dislodge it. The cat only delights in the movement, pouncing after him. Lambert groans.

"When are you going to get lost?" he asks, hauling himself up and depriving the cat of their game. He's not expecting the small thing to sit back on its haunches and merp softly at him. Slowly, he stills.

"You wanna say that again?" he asks, and the cat meows plaintively. Staring at him like this, he's reminded again of Aiden. The eyes, the color of the fur so close to the deep black of Aiden's own hair, and the jagged, mangled left ear, just like--

Something like ice settles in his veins.

"Aiden?" he asks tentatively, and the cat meows delightedly, striding forward to wind between his legs. Lambert crouches to put himself on level with the cat again.

"Tell me I'm not crazy," he begs. The cat just stares at him before headbutting his knee. Without thinking, he raises a hand, running fingers meant for killing back through silky fur. Beneath his fingertips, the cat kicks up a purr again.

"Fuck, it is you, isn't it?" he asks, scratching gently at the base of the mangled ear just to listen to the way the cat--Aiden, it's Aiden--purrs his pleasure, head tipped into the contact.

"What the fuck am I gonna do with you?" he asks. Aiden, too distracted by Lambert's gentle caress, isn't in the least bit helpful with an answer.

-----

If Aiden is here, there's no point in sticking around camp and waiting any longer, but Lambert still feels off-kilter and he did budget a week's worth of resources for camping, so he’ll just...he'll just give it another day or two. Just until he feels a little less like he's losing his mind.

He feeds the cat the bits of the fresh rabbit he caught the night before for breakfast and the cat does eat that, quietly delighted with its little meal. And now that he knows it's Aiden...

"Do you have any idea how worried I was last year?" he asks, petting down his lanky back and enjoying the way he arches into it, purring again, "I thought...uh," he can't quite say it. The I thought you were dead or the I thought you didn't want me, bit. Both hurt.

"Anyway," he mumbles awkwardly, "how long have you been like this?" Aiden just makes a little chirping sound and headbutts his hand again to get him to pet him. Lambert sighs.

He spends the day charting out a path to the nearest mage who might be willing to help. He's pretty sure that would be Triss where she’s been staying in Ard Carraigh, even though she's more than a two-week ride away. She's helped Lambert in the past, he figures she's probably his best bet now, too.

"What do you think, Aiden?" he asks, but the cat is napping curled up on top of one of his saddlebags and otherwise unhelpful. Lambert is pretty much on his own.

-----

That night is a repeat of the night before, Aiden curled up across his shins and purring sweetly. As he lays staring at the stars and trying to sleep, he can't help but wonder how much of Aiden is...present, for lack of a better term. The cat acts like a cat, except he's eerily like Aiden in appearance and the fact that he's...he's fond of Lambert, apparently. He'd known, immediately, Lambert would care for him. He at least needs to get him turned back, proved that Aiden's instincts there had been right.

He falls asleep worrying about it.

-----

Traveling with Aiden as a cat is...not as simple as it should be.

"If you won't stay in the god damned saddlebag, you at least need to hold still," he hisses wrestling the cat into his lap. Aiden’s been trying to walk the length of his horse as they ride, and the prick of his claws is making Cinnamon nervous. Lambert doesn't want to be thrown from the saddle, so he's got the cat under the arms, holding him to his chest as he wiggles in an attempt to get free. Aiden is clearly not amused by the situation.

"You bastard," Lambert hisses when Aiden takes a chunk out of his arm through the thin cloth of his shirt, unprotected by his bracer or jacket, "Aiden would you, fuck--" the cat yowls and Lambert jerks Cinnamon to a halt. "What?"

Before he can figure out what's wrong, Aiden's lept from his arms, landed gracefully on his feet, and bolted into the trees.

"Aiden, wait! Fuck," he hisses, and the next minute, there's a click of hooves and--

"Having a good morning, Lambs?" Lambert whips around so fast his neck cracks alarmingly.

"Aiden?"

He's astride a horse Lambert doesn't recognize, not Sugar, and he looks...he looks...

"You're not a cat," he says dumbly, and Aiden grins, the bastard.

"No, but it's been very fun watching you the last day or so," and oh, Lambert's going to kill him, actually, "you didn't really think the cat was me, did you?"

"I...it was...fuck," he spits, wheeling Cinnamon to march past Aiden's gelding, now headed in the opposite direction. If the damn man is fine, then he doesn't need to go see Triss and he can head back towards Aedd Gunvael looking for contracts as he'd planned previously.

"Aww Lambs, no need to get embarrassed," Aiden calls, and Lambert can hear the shit-eating grin, "I'm just teasing."

"Fuck off," he growls, but Aiden's horse falls into step beside Cinnamon.

"Oh, don't pout on me, Lambert. I thought it was cute," he says, and Lambert can't bite back the words in his throat any longer.

"I thought you were dead," he spits, "or worse." Disinterested. Abruptly, Aiden leans over and catches Cinnamon's reins, pulling them both to a stop.

"Whoa, wait. You thought...what?"

"I haven't seen you in a year," he bites out, horrified to find his throat thick with tears, "what was I supposed to think?"

"You didn't get my letter?" he asks, and then, before Lambert can process that statement, "fuck, Lambert, I'm so sorry. I thought you knew I was working far south last year, I couldn't...I couldn't ask you to come with me, so I left you a note at that inn we drink at every year. Bastards must have tossed it. Fuck."

"So you didn't..." you didn't abandon me, you aren't tired of me, you haven't moved on to something better. He can't say any of that, just goes quiet.

"I didn't leave you high and dry on purpose, no. Fuck, Lambert, how could I?" he smiles, a small, timid thing, "you're the best part of my year, puppy dog, how could I?"

The sincerity in his gaze and his words makes Lambert's face hot, makes his throat tight. He spurs Cinnamon back into motion, and Aiden's horse follows.

"Whatever, you fucking sap." It's the best he can manage without risking something drastic, like tears or his own dopy smile. Still, he can feel Aiden radiating smug energy behind him again.

"Aww, come on, puppy, I just poured my heart out for you, I deserve better than a whatever."

"You did not," he snaps, "shut up."

"Oh, you need declarations of love then? Fine. I--"

"Aiden," he cuts him off, not willing to find out how far Aiden will take this game of emotional chicken, "stop. I'm...I missed you. You're the best part of my year too." He says it without looking at him, Cinnamon a few crucial paces ahead of Aiden's horse. The back of his neck feels hot and he knows he's blushing.

"O-oh," Aiden stammers out, "uh--"

"There," Lambert cuts in, "now you can shut up."

Gratefully, Aiden does.

-----

Lambert's so relieved about Aiden, he doesn't think about the cat until they stop to camp for the night.

"Do you think the cat's okay?" he asks, and Aiden gives him a long, slow look.

"Why does it matter?"

"Why does it--what the fuck Aiden? It's just a little cat. How's it gonna take care of itself out here? I should have gone after it." He regrets being so wrapped up in Aiden that he'd forgotten the other Aiden, cat Aiden. Not cat Aiden? Fuck, he's tired.

"Cats take care of themselves, Lambs, don't stress about it. He was managing just fine until he found a soft-hearted witcher to feed him, he'll be fine."

"Excuse me, who the fuck do you think is soft-hearted here?" he growls, and Aiden lays his bedroll out beside him and grins.

"Why you, puppy dog. You're the sweetest--" he doesn't let him finish, hooking his foot around Aiden's ankle and bringing him down on top of the bedroll hard.

"Not sweet," he hisses, but it feels like overcompensation even to him, and Aiden just laughs, rolling to stare at him with eyes that are far too fond.

"Sure thing, Lambert."

And if, as they both fall asleep, Lambert shifts closer to throw his arm around Aiden's waist, pull him in closer amidst Aiden's sleepy mumbling, well. It's still cold at night. Nothing more.

-----

There's a slight, warm weight across Lambert's shins when he wakes.

It takes his half-asleep mind a minute to realize what that means, and then he's sitting up so fast Aiden makes a startled noise.

"Lambert, what the fuck," Aiden husks, but Lambert's not listening.

No, he's focused on the cat curled across his shins, jet back with one mangled ear and a white spot on his chest. He peers up at Lambert with those same big green eyes, and something in Lambert's chest shifts.

"Hey there Aiden, thought I lost you," he murmurs, reaching out to pet across the broad side of the little creature. He allows it for a moment before catching Lambert's hand with his paws and biting, just enough for him to feel it. "Yeah, yeah, I deserve that."

"What are you--oh." Aiden comes up short when he sits up and sees the cat again, nestled across Lambert's legs, "well I'll be damned." He reaches out to pet the cat too, who promptly hisses and swats at Aiden, claws extended, "Oi, fuck, rude." Lambert laughs.

"Guess he doesn't like you much, eh?" His chest feels light as he scoops the cat up into his arms. He tolerates it, although he gives a fretful little meow at the treatment.

"You would find the only cat that stands witchers and get it only to like you," Aiden grouses, but he doesn't seem genuinely troubled about it, "I can tell why you thought of me, though. That's sweet." And that--

"Yeah," he says, unable to come up with something suitably snarky and mean. He sets the cat down, who scampers back over to make himself comfortable on Lambert's saddlebag, away from the indignity of surprise cuddles. He's trying not to look at Aiden's own mangled ear, the one cut round in a rough approximation of a human's, a reminder of how he’s been treated in the past. Lambert had been...so fucking worried.

"You can't keep calling him Aiden, though."

"Sure thing," he says, forcing a grin. He has no intentions of calling the cat anything else and he knows Aiden knows, too, can see it in the fond little crinkle around his eyes, the sweet upturn of his lips, "Come on, we've got a camp to pack."

And if Lambert keeps calling the cat Aiden and starts calling witcher Aiden witcher Aiden just to piss him off? Well. How else is he supposed to know he's loved?

#witcher #witcher fic #lambden #laiden #lizard writes #rating: teen

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devildomdoofus · 4 years ago

Note

I saw you said your commissions are open, if it's ok can I request a fluffy morning with the demon brothers, please? I just found your blog but I already fell in love with your writing style 😍. I hope you have a great day 🤗

Thank you so very much!! 😭 I’m over the moon that I can make you happy with my writing and I’ll GLADLY take this request ✨ I hope you have a great day as well!!

I also hope I’ve done your request justice 🥺

- DevildomDoofus

Through Morning’s Rays

Fluffy mornings with the Obey Me! Brothers

💙Lucifer:

Both of your schedules differed a generous amount. He wakes up the earliest out of the House of Lamentation and Purgatory Hall combined, to ensure everyone’s up and ready for school/work/etc.... and he is the last to go to bed.

That is, if he isn’t dog tired by the time he’s finished doing his last rounds of security checks and sending any remaining night owls to their rooms to keep their schedules in check, and collapses at his desk while finalizing reports.

You, on the other hand, have a steady schedule due to your obligations to your school (and job, if you worked).

To say that you two have a hard time spending any amount of quality time together is an understatement

Please forgive him, he is a lone father and he is trying his best

When he’s up early to get a head start in working to the bone, as usual and doesn’t have much time to share the fleeting, morning hours with you, he’ll gingerly place a kiss to the top of your head and shift the blankets from your late night tossing and turning, back to their place over your shoulders and covers the rest of your body. He’ll leave a little note by the bedside table that wishes you a wonderful day and promises that he’ll meet with you shortly to make up for lost time.

On the rare occasions that he manages to be able to share mornings with you, it is like a gift from the celestial realm to you both in which afterwards, the two of you are like completely different people, beaming with sunshine and happiness as your batteries have been recharged.

In those rare moments, he’ll slide to your side of the bed, oh so carefully snake his arm around you and tugs you gently into his embrace as he places kisses all atop your head. When you finally open your eyes and face him, he’ll run his hand up the length of your silhouette to your face, cupping it, rub his thumb over your cheek and smile lazily. “Good morning, lamb.” He whispers, trying to disguise the grogginess in his voice. Then, he leans down to press his lips against yours in a way that makes you feel like he’s been starving for you for months on end, only to now get what he’s craved and yet it’s not enough.

In this moment, nothing in all of the realms matters to him more than you. Just you and you alone.

💛Mammon:

You spent many, many, MANY mornings with him and they were some of your favorite memories since you first came to the Devildom. For him.... well, maybe not at first since you were kind of a chore. But the was before you two became so close.

The only problem was that neither of you were morning people, especially if either of you had responsibilities that day like school or work. To deal with such a thing, the two of you made a deal where each of you took turns being the one to help wake the other.

There were mornings where he woke you up with a heavy pillow to the torso and it ended up in you two being late for school due to an epic pillow fight that neither of you wanted to lose.

Other mornings, you woke him up by jumping and flopping around next to him on the bed, belting a song that was the favorite of the pair of you, and he tackles you back down to the bed to deliver you a piping hot plate of a tickle fight

and then there were THOSE mornings.

These mornings, when the two of you just happened to wake around the same time, he’d smile sleepily, yank you closer, and place a kiss on your forehead. “Mornin’, my lil’ human.”

UGH, that gravely, morning voice would be the bittersweet death of you.

While having a few hours to spare, you would lay there in the semidarkness, whispering sweet everythings to each other, exchanging kisses and joke ensued laughter, and simply enjoying each other’s company while entangled in a comfy, cozy embrace.

🧡Leviathan:

It’s the same sort of situation as with Mammon; neither of you were really morning people. But with you two, it was because it came with the terms and conditions of being like minded nerds (as a fellow ‘nerd,’ I mean that term in the best way possible and as a compliment) in which the endgame boss had to be defeated, or that one episode simply could not be missed, or your favorite celebrity/idol was going live and you were not about to be absent for it. Many evenings were spent indulging in both of your favorite hobbies, well into the latest hours of the night and early morning, when you should’ve been sleeping instead.

So of course, mornings were INCREDIBLY ROUGH for the two of you.

In the beginning and a majority of the time, you were the one to wake him up. I hope you can forgive him, though, because almost all of his energy is spent drowning out his negative thoughts and the outside judgement from his own brothers, haters, and toxic fans alike via his hobbies and he doesn’t quite have enough energy to take care of himself, including waking up on time for school or other responsibilities/obligations to avoid getting an ass-chewing from Lucifer... much less waking up on time and then having to wake YOU up.

You had to show him the way, in a sense. You’re his motivation and safety net. Where you go, and ensure his ‘safety’ he delightfully follows. Ergo, you had to be the alarm clock for him, for a while, to be shown that you truly care about him and it’s not all just some exasperating, ridiculously elaborate and heart shattering prank.

Your method of ‘raising the dead’ was to gently comb your hand through his hair while softly beckoning him from his dream world with your sweetest voice to ‘the land of the living.’ His eyes would flutter open and as soon as he saw you with that heartwarming smile, his face would turn a deep crimson and he’d smile back, reaching a hand up to place it over top of yours, somewhat nuzzling into it. “Good morning, my human Henry.” His shy, quiet, gravely voice could melt lava.

Through this method of yours, he no longer woke with animosity for the normie world but was rather hopeful and optimistic, feeling as if nothing could bring him down. Not even his brothers’ insults.

Eventually, he got the hang of it, and he was the one waking YOU up and he did so as sweetly as you had done. He’d place his hand on your cheek, rub his thumb over it, and gingerly place a multitude of kisses atop your head as he whispered your name until you woke.

Some mornings when he was feeling extra giddy, he would place a little speaker near where you had fallen asleep and quietly play your favorite song as he sang along and took hold of your hands to swing them gently to the beat. He saw it once in an anime episode and was hoping it would award him the same giggles the love interest gave the protagonist.

Fortunately for him, it always did.

💚Satan:

Being one of the more mature and responsible brothers, he rarely ever slept in. It’s just in his nature to be an early bird to catch the early worm.. mostly to get it over with so he could get back to doing what he loved most; reading in comfort. Even still, his schedule matched with yours almost perfectly, and that’s due to the fact that, similar to Leviathan, you two were likeminded.

You had the same interests and hobbies so of course, the pair of you grew very close, very quickly. You first linked up for study sessions because celestial realm knows that school in the Devildom was VASTLY different than human world schools, then book club meetings for when you got a little more comfortable with each other’s presence, then as you became even closer, you just decided to do the same things at the same time as it killed two birds with one stone; you got to do what you enjoyed with the person you enjoyed the most.

Mornings to you two were fairly simple and honestly, quite enjoyable with the other being there when you woke.

One morning, Satan took the first step and woke you to the pleasant sound of one of your favorite records echoing from an antique gramophone while placing a tray of your favorite breakfast foods next to the bed. He then leant down, took your hand into his, and kissed from your knuckles, all the way up to your shoulder, and then planting one final, light kiss to your cheek. “My darling MC, it is time to come back to me. Your dreams have had you long enough.”

From then on, you took turns in trying to wake the other in the most romantic ways possible. From your favorite flower’s petals scattering the bed, to his favorite audio books reading him awake. There was nothing that you two wouldn’t do in order to guarantee that the other woke to nothing less than the world on a silver and golden platter.

He was the envy of his brothers especially Mammon, getting to spend so much time with you and having you smile as brightly as you did with him.

💖Asmodeus:

Surprisingly, he’s another early riser. Though when you really think about it, it isn’t quite that surprising, considering he has a strict self-care routine that CANNOT be broken, lest he wishes to end up with a pimple or even worse... a wrinkle! Which neither are bad if you have them, it’s just for Asmo’s personal tastes for his own appearance, he prefers to have none of them.

Because he cares for you so much, he forces sternly asks that you have the same schedule as he does so he can give you the same love and care as he gives himself. He wants you to look and feel as wonderful as who you are on the inside... but he also loves it when you absolutely SHINE.

Please don’t be mistaken, he doesn’t think you’re ugly or unattractive or any other negative thoughts you might have about yourself, in the least. Not at ALL. He simply wishes to amplify what wonderful assets you already have (to your own tastes, of course) because of that oh so magnificent way you carry yourself when you feel your best.

Want to as pretty as a sunset? He’s got you covered. Want to be as handsome as... well, him? You’re covered there too. Want a little mix of any and everything? Oh please, give him a challenge! Whatever look you wish for, he’s there to help you make it happen.

You just have to take his hand and follow his lead. And his lead requires that you be ‘up and at ‘em’ early enough to go through the self-care routine (that he handpicked things for, according to you and your body’s needs), and eat the proper foods so your body and mind can handle the weight of being the most stunning thing to walk the face of any of the realms... besides him, of course. Also, all of this has to happen before school begins.

Unfortunately, that’s pretty early. There’s a LOT of self-care to-do’s that you two have to go through to ensure maximum amplification.

But because he knows that this can be rather overwhelming and a bit stressful to keep up with all of the time (and stress causes physical and mental harm), he’s always sure to make your mornings as pleasant and stress-free as possible.

He lights one of your favorite candles or incenses, and/or turns one of your favorite slower/softer songs on then climbs into bed and over top of you to begin his trails of kisses from the top of your head, down your face, neck and chest, further down your precious tummy, and stops right at your hips to go back up your body and start again. All of this on repeat as he coos and whispers your name, his soothing voice leading you from your dreams to the waking world. When your eyes meet his, he hums “ahh, my dear, you’ve returned to me.” He moves to kiss your lips as sweetly as he speaks.

He then slips his arms underneath you and lifts you up, as if you were one of Lucifer’s feathers, to carry you bridal style into the bathroom. He’ll then set you down and slowly undress you, taking as much time as you need him to, before helping you into the tub and giving you the gentlest of washes you’ve had since before you can even remember.

He’s the most soothing alarm that’s ever existed.

❤️Beelzebub:

Not really an early riser but he’s also not one to sleep in, either. To sleep in means to miss breakfast, and to miss breakfast is a death sentence for himself and anyone in the way of his next meal.

It also means that he doesn’t get to spend his mornings or share breakfast with you. Another death sentence but this one’s for his heart. Even though he might not say it, being that putting his thoughts and feelings into words is a bit harder than his more comfortable/natural way of simply showing you through his actions, he loves you very, very, VERY much.

This man cares so fucking much for you, he’d give up eating for the rest of his life if it meant you got to have a crumb. But he hopes it doesn’t have to come to that.

The way that Beel shows you that he cares is through food. Eating with you, cooking with you, watching you eat to be sure that you’re getting enough food in your own body, taking his time to eat his food because, now, he’s too busy having wonderful conversations with you, and every and anything in between.

One of his favorite ways is breakfast in bed. You had done it once for him before on one of your anniversaries and ever since then, he’s done it for you in return whenever he got the chance.

On mornings that he had waken up early enough, he’d quietly get up and tiptoe to the kitchen to make both of you a delicious breakfast. If Belphegor was up, on the rarest of rare occasions that he was, he’ll make a little something for him too. He’d put together your favorite foods and beverage while doing the same for himself, draw a cute little heart on a small post-it note and placing it on your side of the tray, tip-toe back up to the room and sets it on the nightstand beside the bed, then moves in close to you to start waking you up. He leans in close and peppers your face in little kisses before moving a little lower to your neck and giving his signature, gentle bite. “MC, honey, wake up. I’ve brought you breakfast.”

Nine times out of ten, you wake up in an instant. When you’ve slept heavily during the night and have a harder time waking up, he plops down onto you gently of course as to not squish you and groans in your ear, nibbling them to remind you of who you’re keeping waiting. “MCCC, pleeeease, I’m hungry. Don’t make me eat yours.”

The warning never fails.

As you two chow down, his dimpled smile never leaves his face nor his eyes on you as he watches you enjoy another morning filled with your favorite things: Beel and Beel’s signature breakfast.

💜Belphegor:

Morning? What the hell is a morning?

Yeah, yeah, he knows what a morning is. He’s had to get up for them too many fucking times to count in order to get to school on time.. or at least try. His attendance is, more or less, nonexistent. He’s just not a morning person.

at ALL.

WHAT. SO. EVER.

The one thing ‘Mr. Sandman’ doesn’t do is wake up or get woken up if the awakener values their life

However... if it is you, his favorite walking and talking pillow, he can’t be that pissed about it. It’s a little more of a smooth transition from being asleep to being awake when you’re the one bringing him there.

So, yes, you’re the one waking him up and it’s never the other way around, but you knew this would be your lot in life the closer you had gotten to him.

And yet, whenever you tried to wake him, he’d simply wrap his arm over you and drag you back down onto the bed as he rolls on top of you, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. “No.” he’d groan in his gravelly morning voice.

What? What did he mean ‘no’ ?! It’s time to get up!!

You’d try your best to to wiggle free but Belphegor is far more stronger than he looks and keeps you pinned down in place. Well... at least it’s comfy.

Wait no, this is his way of coercing you to go back to sleep with him!

Before you can try something else, he plants warm and slow kisses up and down your neck and nibbles at the skin just beneath your ear while whispering in a low tone, “why don’t we just stay here and do something better than go to school?”

Your face heats up and body tenses underneath him. It was not uncommon for him to try this tactic, especially in the morning, so you were fairly used to it but sometimes... sometimes it just does something to you and you’re frozen in place with nothing but his voice to lull you wherever it pleased. Maybe it came with being the Avatar of Sloth? He moves up onto his elbows to deliver his final attack that was his signature, teasing smile in order for him to fully keep you here, in bed, with him and simply enjoy each other’s company while you slept.

Unfortunately for him, this was his mistake and you gained yourself a foothold in pushing him off of you. Getting up from the bed, you look back at him as you straighten your clothes out and fix your hair, saying “Breakfast is in ten minutes,” with a stern voice. You take notice of this and try to sweeten it up to truly convince him. “Be there, won’t you?” you demand more than request, with a signature smile of your very own.

He brings his dropped jaw back up from when you were able to knock him off, and shakes his head as he lightly chuckles. “Whatever you want, MC.” Before you completely walk out of the door, he calls after you. “You owe me!”

You peak back in just enough for him to hear you as you’re closing the door. “No, you owe me.”

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jojo-reader-hell · 4 years ago

Note

So I dunno what side you stand on the Dio being a father thing, but Dio kidnapping an infant from the hospital to give to his lover who wants a baby. :3c

Finding this request in the backlogs of my inbox was like venturing into the dark basement at work and finding a lovely vintage wine. Bitter, I’d never drink it, but a treasure none the less. Hope you Dio simps enjoy!

DIO x Vampire!Reader

“I told you many times, submit to me before it’s too late. Now look, you’ve brought this upon yourself.”

The look you gave him was poisonous. Enough so that it actually frightened him into a state of submission rather than allow him to continue to argue about your thousands of refusals in the past, and he wasn’t able to shake it from his head even now as he quietly lowered himself into a darkened room via the open window.

There, huddled in the corner of the room, there was his prize. The scent emanating from it was intoxicating. A sickly sweet smell, like honeyed milk, so wonderful it made him salivate even though he’d already partaken enough sustenance for the journey home. Its dam would harm it no more, of that he was sure, and he knew you would care for it with all the tenderness he wished to possess.

Thinking about that smell transferring to you was the only thing that kept him from devouring his prize. He couldn’t wait... absolutely impatient to transfer this delicious smell that he might bury himself in your bosom to take in this marvelous scent.

It took quite a while to return to the home he made for the two of you, only the thoughts of this wonderful smell on your supple body keeping him in check. Sometimes he recalled how he left his beloved behind to complete this demand. You were laid out on your “marriage bed”, scantly clad and arms crossed over your chest. Your lover had at the time prostrated himself at your feet, feeble attempts at lavishing you in affection only served to annoy you rather than allow him access to his most closely guarded treasure. His movements were tender, rubbing his pale cheek and lips against your feet and legs, begging without words for permission that you did not wish to give him.

Many years ago, he would have killed to be in this predicament. In the beginning you didn’t even let him get near enough to breathe in your scent of roses. He had to use the stone mask to turn you, no fangs allowed to mar your skin, and even then he suffered countless wounds that were painstaking to heal from. Now you actually began to return his advances. It seems a long many years in solitude softened your hard shell, craving the company of the monster that stole the body of the one you were supposed to marry.

Dio Brando had finally won, but at what cost?

“Well I... I already offered you a solution...-“

“That I did not like.” You snarled.

“That you did not like. What else am I supposed to do?!”

“You said you would give me anything. You promised me, and like a fool I believed you. Now... I’m not so sure.”

“Don’t you start that with me again-!”

All you had to do is look at him, the crimson glow of hate burning in your eyes and scorching over your normal “submissive” iris, and he stopped in his tracks. By now you knew he won’t touch you if you don’t wish it, and he would not refuse you anything. A mite unfair trade, if he was being realistic.

“Isn’t that what you told me...” you said, “Groveling at my feet like a dog that night you took my humanity away from me, ‘fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave’... I’ve given you everything I have, even forgiven the things you stole from me, now is the time I may collect what is rightfully mine. I do not care how you do it, I do not care where it comes from, but I want my baby. I want the child that was stolen from me. And you’re going to find him no matter how long it takes.”

“My love...” he murmurs, taking in the delightful way your features soften at his return.

“Darling!”

Immediately you come to him, arms reaching for the moving bundle he cradles but will not relinquish. The baby inside the nest of blankets is oddly quiet, his wide blue eyes brimming with tears being in unfamiliar surroundings. At first Dio is seething when it seems you just want to take the baby and ignore him, then becoming a puddle of malleable mush when he realizes you’re stroking his strong arms and kissing his hands in absolute worship.

“Oh, oh...! My little lamb...” your voice raises many octaves when you speak to the poor, forlorn creature. “Look at you, so beautiful. What a beautiful gift your wonderful Papa has given me.”

It’s when you call him wonderful that he relinquishes the baby to you, letting you hold it to your chest as you wipe the baby’s tiny tears from his eyes. Instinctively, or perhaps even in true devotion, you press against Dio’s body with a silent plea to be held to him. A request of which he yet again readily complies to, holding you tightly in his arms as you rock the child back and forth in soft ministrations.

“Thank you...” you murmur, for you don’t wish to scare your new baby.

The baby... your own Giorno that was lost to you that cold evening of 1889, reunited at last with you over one hundred years later.

He murmurs into your hair that there is no need for thanks, already half drunk off the sweet baby scent that permeates your entire body. It doesn’t matter in this moment to him if you’re not in love with him. It doesn’t matter if this all turns out to be a facade, nothing more than a maladaptive coping mechanism to be close to the deceased body of your true love.

What matters is that in this singular moment, after years of pining, you belong to Dio wholly and irrevocably.

#dio brando x reader #jonathan joestar x reader #having jonathan feels #jonathan joestar #dio #dio brando #giorno giovanna #haruno shiobana #no more ugly ass canon giorno mom #jojo’s bizarre adventure stardust crusaders #jjba sdc #jjba x reader #vampire love

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vina-writes · 3 years ago

Text

Flooded

Written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt: Flood.

Rating: G

Length: 1.8k

Summary: The water came late in the settling dusk. The last peaceful image that night was of glowing thatched rooftops.

Notes: Thank you so much @fw00shy and @phenomenalasterisk for betaing!!

(i)

The water came late in the settling dusk. It had rained for days, heavy sheets of downpour ripping up the freshly planted crops and washing the grass down to a smooth, mud-caked finish. The sun had just peeked through, and Harry watched it set from his doorstep. The last peaceful image that night was of glowing thatched rooftops.

It started silent and quick, and then all at once, it was roaring. The river had been rising all day, but this torrent rushed down from the mountains in a frothing, dirty-brown wave, carrying rocks and trees and carving its way across the valley.

Harry heard it last. By the time he awoke, the water was soaking through his mattress and the shouts were rising in the night. He took what he could find in the dark, settled Lily over his shoulder, and climbed into the hills without looking back. The others should have done the same—Molly Weasley and her brood, the Creeveys, the Grangers, the Longbottoms and Lovegoods, the Finnigans and MacMillans.

Harry waited for them until morning. The sun broke on the hilltops, spilling over the mountain range. The birds sang in the stillness, and he waited. Lily drank from her bottle, too young to graze on the grass. He rubbed her soft lamb ears and waited.

Noon, and no one.

Draco found him this way at dusk. He came quietly, like the flood. Harry heard the soft footsteps behind him, and when he turned, hoping beyond hope, it was only to see the rumoured herbalist. They cast him out years ago—his practice was deviant. Molly feared witchcraft.

“Hello,” Draco said. “Has the village finally grown so dull as to stop using maps? Are directions considered magic now, too?”

“What?” Harry asked, too grief-stricken for anything else.

“Are you lost?”

“I—no.” Harry turned to look at the valley, at the copse of trees that hid the flooded road from view. “There was a flood.”

Draco was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was soft with understanding.

“Your leg is injured,” he said. “And your lamb is hungry. You can stay with me, if you like.”

Harry had nowhere else to go.

Draco’s cottage itself was flooded—flooded with dried herbs and jars and knitted blankets. A fire burned brightly in a holly-decked hearth, and he beckoned Harry over to it, laying out a nest of soft cloths for Lily. Draco left them there with water and fresh bread, but when he returned, Harry flinched away from the needle in his hands.

“It won’t heal otherwise,” Draco said, nodding to the wide wound running up the inside of Harry’s calf. Harry let him come close, gritting his teeth all the while, but Draco poured strange potions over the torn skin until it grew numb. Harry couldn’t feel Draco’s hands as he stitched, but he swore his skin grew hot nonetheless at every touch.

That night, when Draco warmed their blankets by the fire and fed them all milk and honey, Harry didn’t feel the grief quite so keenly.

Their routine the first few days was stilted. Harry was wary of Draco’s craft, still carrying the ache of his lost home, and Draco was insulted by his avoidance. But Harry was also grateful for Draco’s help and food, and intrigued by his life. Intrigued by Draco himself, if he was honest, and the way he could be so sharp one minute and so cheerful the next. Above all, however, Draco was kind—no matter his words, he was always gentle with Lily, and patient when Harry cut himself chopping wood or broke one of his many jars.

Perhaps it was that patience and curiosity that bridged the unspoken space between them. Draco took him to the meadows near his cottage and showed him how to knit, and in the sunlight his fingers took on a life of their own. Harry watched them move and felt the startling urge to catch them in his hand, to hold them close like something precious. He looked away and wove his fingers through the grass instead.

Draco had a cow, too. Her name was Daisy, and when she licked Lily’s small head, her tongue covered her from nose to ears. She lived in a stable set against the side of the cottage. Harry took to milking her in the meadows each day. One such bright morning he spotted chamomile among the flowers, and he plucked bunches of it until the milk bucket was overflowing with stems. Draco made tea from them and they drank it together on the single bed that night, Lily curled up between them. When they fell asleep, close together on the pillow, his breath smelled of chamomile and honey.

The days passed, and with each new dawn Harry felt himself heal. Draco applied poultices to his leg until not even a scar remained, and every night they took turns feeding Lily, letting her lick stray milk off their hands. Draco’s laugh when she tickled him was musical, high and contagious, and the way his cheeks bunched up when he smiled made Harry want to kiss them.

That was fine on its own—his growing desire for Draco’s body. That was manageable. What was worse was the days when Draco was sullen, when his herbs over-brewed or he slept poorly, and he spent the day snapping at Harry in increasingly creative ways. When Harry still thought to bring him meadow flowers, when he happily made dinner if only to see the appreciation on Draco’s face, that was when he began to worry. Because love showed itself in many ways, but with Draco, it began to show itself everywhere.

Draco took him upstream one afternoon, to a hidden pool fed by a tumbling waterfall. He wordlessly let Harry hold his hand as they dipped their fingers in the soft spray, and though Harry’s heart was racing, he found he could wash his feet in the stream. With Draco there, it didn’t remind him so much of a wet mattress beneath his back and swirling water on his floorboards.

Later, Harry found a crystal in the moss—clear and six-sided, with a vibrant rainbow down the center. Draco’s cheeks flushed red when Harry gave it to him, and he called Harry names as he wrapped it carefully in cloth and stowed it in a pocket next to his heart. Harry admitted to himself that he might be in love.

Two months after that fateful rain, a mare found her way to their cottage. Harry recognized her dappled grey pelt straight away—she was a draft horse, strong and well-trained, one of the Lovegoods’ herd. There was a bridle in Draco’s stable, and Harry fitted it to her before he fed her, brushing out her long mane and her shiny coat.

When he showed her to Draco, however, his expression soured and he sniffed, muttering about expenses and food. He took his basket and left shortly after, and the jars rattled from the way he slammed the door.

Harry waited until evening before he followed Draco. He didn’t understand what could possibly be wrong—a mare would make their work twice as easy, and she could graze with Daisy long into the fall months—but he refused to leave Draco to wander the dark alone.

By the time Harry found him on their hilltop, the sun was setting across the valley. It painted the fields gold, and Draco’s hair shone like silk in the fading light. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, his head rested on them, and it hit Harry then that he must have been barely twenty, too young to paint such a lonely picture on the mountaintop. It made Harry want to hold him close and promise him countless things, if only to see him smile.

“Are you still upset?” he asked instead as he sat beside Draco. There was no immediate reply. “I don’t think she’ll be a burden. We could name her Rose, or Buttercup. Then we’d have a whole bouquet.”

Draco shrugged slightly, but his head was still turned away.

“I’ll make tea at home and introduce you,” Harry said, feigning a cheerfulness he wasn’t feeling. “We can sit on the hay and feed Lily honey milk. You like it when she sucks on your fingers.”

“Is that my goodbye gift, then?” Draco finally said stiffly.

Harry stared at him. Opened his mouth, but was unsure what to say. When Draco offered for him to stay, he’d thought that meant—he didn’t know what he’d thought. He hadn’t thought of their time together as limited. He didn’t want it to be limited. He wanted—Harry couldn’t even think it, in the face of what Draco seemed to be telling him.

“Has my welcome ended?” he said carefully. Draco finally looked at him, and Harry noticed that his cheeks were streaked with dried tears, shiny against his pale skin.

“What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?” Harry shot back. Draco frowned at him.

“You have a horse,” he said, as if that explained everything. “You have a horse, Harry. A horse can get you to the nearest town, to the city if you wish. I’ll understand if you take Lily—she’ll give you wool to sell, at some point, and she’s light. I can—I can give you some money to start, too—it’s just a little, but I—”

“Draco,” Harry said, aghast, “what on earth do you think is happening?”

Draco’s frown slowly changed to confusion. “You’re leaving, of course.”

“Do you want that?” A warm hope was spreading in Harry’s chest. He knew the answer, based on Draco’s unsubtle mood, but he wanted to hear it.

Draco stayed silent for a moment, picking at the grass. “You need to look elsewhere if you want to seek success for yourself. You have the means to do that.”

“Who says there’s no success for me here?”

“You—Harry, there’s nothing here,” Draco said slowly, as if it were obvious. “There’s no one, nothing. You have a horse. You can go—you can make a future for yourself.”

“But I’m doing that right now,” Harry said. “And there is someone. Although he’s being rather obtuse at the moment, throwing a strop about something that’s not a problem.”

Draco looked him squarely in the eyes, and there was fear in his expression, the first Harry had ever seen on him. “You’ll tire of me.”

“I won’t.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I can,” Harry said firmly. “I can, because you’re acting like a woebegotten widow right now, and I still want to do this.”

He leaned over and kissed Draco softly in the dying light. Draco’s hands came up to cup his face, smelling of earth and grass.

“I don’t,” Draco admitted quickly as soon as they parted, his voice thick. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m home,” Harry said gently. “Where else would I go?”

Draco kissed him again. And by the time Harry found it in himself to pull away from Draco’s lips, even for a brief moment, the stars had already come out. But they had all the time in the world.

Read on Ao3

#vina writes #drarrymicrofic #drarry #drarry fanfic #flood

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mythicamagic · 3 years ago

Text

Fire and Brimstone: a Sesskag oneshot

For @harlecorn! ♥ Happy Birthday! 🎂

Rated T

A Hellhound remains bound beneath a church, waiting for the chance to enact revenge on his captors. His golden opportunity comes in the form of a blue-eyed woman. Sesskag AU oneshot.

You can read this on Ao3, Fanfiction.net and Dokuga

AN: This takes place in old-timey England. Think Witch Trial era - between the 15th and 18th century. However, I'm largely skipping the old language used in those times bc it would make dialogue feel awkward. If Kagome sounds weird it's bc I've had to lay off the modern talk a bit.

Warning: references to/implies torture

Fire and Brimstone

It was raining outside. Sesshoumaru could tell because a continuous leak somewhere had become his sole entertainment for several hours now. A thin sliver of water dripped from the roof between 10-second intervals, and he passed the time by counting them.

...Eight...Nine...Ten- drip!

A black nose twitched, picking up stale dampness lingering in the air. His body ached, but if he stayed still the wounds remained at a manageable dull, continuous pain rather than flaring white-hot agony.

How long had it been since he'd been dragged down into this dark place? He couldn't recall. Perhaps years. At the very least- months. He'd long since given up looking around at his prison, now laying in a dozing, frozen state.

Hearing something, Sesshoumaru's fluffy ear quirked. The blood inside his ear canal had encrusted, leaving sounds muted, but he could pick up distant footsteps descending stone stairs.

Have they returned to pray and bind me more tightly to their pathetic altar?

Sesshoumaru inwardly sneered, scarred paws remaining motionless. Though incredibly weak due to holy water- with his back and arms impaled with large iron stakes- a powerful, simmering rage in his chest refused to be tempered. His throat burned, belly scorching hot.

The church priest would pay, along with all his snivelling followers. One did not bind a Hellhound and live to tell the tale. Their foolish obsession with witch hunts and stamping out 'evil' within the land would be their undoing. They were fortunate they'd captured him while he'd been asleep.

Torchlight shone an orange hue behind Sesshoumaru's eyelids, but he refused to open them, playing possum.

"Still sleeping, are ye, unholy mutt?" a detestable, straight-laced voice reached his damaged ears, another torch being lit inside the room. "Good. Stay that way. Sleep until our heavenly Lord above casts you back from whence you came, down to Hell."

Oh this one will not be returning empty-handed, Sesshoumaru inwardly purred.

Remaining motionless, he looked for all the world unconscious. He couldn't lash out and tear into the priest as desired, due to a muzzle enclosed around his jaw. So, he bided his time. Rescue was out of the question. Dark creatures such as he received no aid from brethren. Sesshoumaru would just have to conserve energy for now.

The priest murmured a prayer that sent wrought iron hissing anew inside his flesh. Inwardly snarling, Sesshoumaru held himself still, refusing to show pain. His legs trembled slightly, giving him away.

Curse you. Curse you!

Wrath pumped through his veins, a siren song urging him to kill.

Satisfied that his work held strong, the head priest left; the sound of footsteps retreated up the stairs, leaving behind the lit torch.

At least that changed the scenery a little. Not that he had any reason to look upon it. Sesshoumaru panted hard the second he was left alone, sharp teeth clenching hard inside his jaw.

A quiet gasp caught his attention. Sesshoumaru froze. His nose twitched.

No scent?

Frowning, the Hellhound pried his eyelids open. Orange and black shapes shifted, blurry until someone's face came into focus.

Blue eyes gazed down at him. A woman with dark hair tumbling down her back slowly pried her hand away from her mouth.

"They really are cruel," she muttered, shocked features becoming grave. "I might as well refrain from asking if you're alright- since you clearly aren't," the stranger winced. "Sorry, that was insensitive."

Sesshoumaru blinked. What the Devil?

Her lips pursed, attention sliding to the iron stakes in his back. "I don't know how they managed to capture you. Surely that Priest can't have holy powers. He's about as pure as mud."

"...What are you?"

She paused, tilting her head and pushing dark hair behind her ear. "O-oh, that was rude of me, I didn't introduce myself, did I?" smiling, she straightened. "My name is Kagome Higurashi. Who are you?"

His question had been left unanswered, for he was largely uninterested in her name. He sneered, "Sesshoumaru."

"Nice to meet you, Sesshoumaru," she brought her hands together behind her back, smiling with only slight wariness. Her faded dress was slightly torn. Peasant wear. "I didn't expect you'd be able to talk."

"And I did not expect to be joined down here by a little lost lamb. Are you my dinner? They do not typically feed me." Saliva pooled in his mouth, drool pooling on the altar. His jaws parted, eyes glinting as they ran over her willowy form.

Kagome stepped away, huffing and crossing her arms. "While I sympathize, don't get rude. If you eat my soul then you really will be all alone- with no allies. You'll have eaten the only help you're going to receive in this place."

Sesshoumaru frowned as she walked out of his available sight, moving around his left side and picking up something from a shelf.

"You seek to give me aid? That seems counterintuitive for a soul as pure as yours."

He could smell it. The light radiating from within her. He knew her to be foreign from her features- and wondered how a priestess from a faraway land had arrived in such a miserable country rife with turmoil and evil; his hunting ground for the past few centuries.

She reappeared in his line of vision, holding a bowl of collected rainwater. She frowned, "I don't think 'pure' means 'doormat.' These men have caused a lot of harm. Harm should come back to them."

Red eyes cracked wider, interest lighting his red gaze. Kagome set the bowl down, resting a knee beside his jaw on the alter. "I'm trying to help you. Please don't eat me for it," with a wobbly smile, she reached for his muzzle.

Sesshoumaru held still, keen attention fixed on her every movement. Her deep blue eyes were pleasing, face quite beautiful in flickering torchlight. His dry tongue shifted within his mouth.

A Hellhound's purpose was to drag corrupted souls to the underworld. Kagome's radiated a strong, fierce glow.

The Japanese woman carefully grasped cool metal chains, pulling them off from around his face and tossing the muzzle aside.

Spittle-coated teeth immediately lunged- latching onto the coarse fabric of her modest dress, canines resting over her chest. Kagome gasped, hands grasping his jaw. Sesshoumaru tilted his head up, forcing her to lean over him slightly.

Crimson eyes glared up at her, growling lowly.

"What is your motivation, priestess?" a dark rumble growled inside her mind. "Tell me why I see black flames of revenge burning in the depths of your soul. A single blemish in your otherwise spotless self."

Kagome exhaled, and he felt her chest expand and fall with each breath. Gentle fingers ran over the silver fur on his face, cracking his eyes wider.

"The Dutch took me from my country a few years ago. Since then, I've been passed around to different places, picking up different languages. When I was forced onto a boat heading for this strange land- I didn't think anything more of it. I was to be the servant of a reputable house, but the priest of this church took issue with my foreign looks. After that, men dragged me here. You're not the only one who has suffered at their hands."

She withdrew her touch- and Sesshoumaru nearly tipped his head to chase it- unfamiliar with gentleness. Sparking holy powers then collected between her fingers, hovering close without making contact.

"I don't want to hurt you, in fact, I'd rather we were allies," the hushed words sounded genuine. "But I won't let you eat me easily either if that's what you're after. Let go."

Sesshoumaru searched her face, becoming entranced; Drunk off the sparking conviction there. What an odd, strong woman.

Letting out a breath of steam that whipped her hair back, Sesshoumaru relaxed his lower jaw, teeth unhooking from where they'd dug into the material of her clothes. He lowered her back to kneel on the altar, immediately diving for the water she'd provided instead.

Kagome caught her breath, holy powers fading away.

He lapped up every last drop, panting for more, wanting to sate the burning in his throat, but it would do for now. Sesshoumaru lifted his head, words firm with conviction as his chest rumbled.

"If you release me from my imprisonment, I will do your bidding for a time, woman. However, you should be aware of the consequences if you set me free."

She absentmindedly rubbed at the spot over her chest where his teeth had been, lips curving. "I know what'll happen to me, Hellhound," Kagome said quietly. "I accept the consequences."

Sesshoumaru bumped her leg with his nose, resting his head upon her thighs. “Then what do you command?”

"I want you to devour them," she murmured, gaze far away as she stroked mindful fingers through matted fur. "I believe in reincarnation, so I want you to prevent these terrible people from ever getting a second chance at life again. Eat them all- except the Head Priest. Him...you can drag home, to the deepest, darkest place available. Never let him be free from the shackles and iron bars you thrust inside him."

Sesshoumaru's breath shuddered. Their judgement aligned perfectly; and she'd spoken his desires aloud.

He had come across countless souls during his wrathful existence. He knew kind ones as well as those corrupted. This was one of the few times Sesshoumaru felt he'd witnessed a kind person pushed too far, beyond her breaking point. Now a deep well of dark emotion had pooled inside her, magnificent in its righteous fury.

Shifting, he dragged a hot, wet tongue up the length of Kagome's collarbone and neck, leaving a slick trail.

"Such pain...I can taste the ash on you," he purred, looking into her sad blue eyes. His voice hardened, incensed with renewed anger from her hurts and his own. "Free me, and it is gladly done."

Kagome shivered, before moving around his side. Gripping one iron bar embedded through his front leg that jutted into the alter below, she planted her knees wide.

"This is going to be a painful process, I'm sorry. W-will you survive the blood loss?"

The white demonic dog flashing her a jagged smile. "Just who do you think you are talking to?"

With a nod, Kagome steeled herself. Giving a hard yank that sent her stumbling backwards- the long, gruelling process began. Only when the agony died down would a monster with blood-red eyes emerge from the bowels of the church.

And all Hell broke loose.

-----

The church tower collapsed through the roof that fateful night. Bloodshed had begun, soaking the air with a coppery taste that quickly became dwarfed by fire. Earlier rainfall could not deter it- nothing stood in its blazing, enraged path.

White flames roared around the silver monster. He chased men down the church aisle in a frenzied hunger, catching them in his jaws. Of course, he saved the best for last.

The Head Priest trembled against a broken wall while screams pervaded the smoky air.

Sesshoumaru turned, panting. A red tongue lolled, snaking up to lick his bloodied maw.

With a yelp, the man tried to scramble away- only for his robes to be snagged on a broken beam. Heavy paws collided with his back, teeth latching into his clothes.

Within the burning depths of the church, a roaring inferno opened up. The Priest clawed and scrambled at blistering ground, cobblestone turning into scolding cinders beneath his palms. Frightened screams rang out as he was dragged backwards, Sesshoumaru descending with him down a winding, fiery path into the earth.

Everything collapsed inwards with one final groan of wood as structures toppled, the building completely caving into a burning wreck.

Kagome stood alone on a hillside, watching the entire thing unfold. She then smoothed her skirts, crouching by an unmarked, mass grave.

"I hope...you'll feel avenged now," she said softly.

She did not run nor scream. Instead, Kagome waited patiently to meet her fate, setting some flowers down.

A white dog demon covered in patches of ash approached silently. He sat beside her, neither acknowledging the violence he'd just committed.

"This is where you are buried?" he asked, gazing intently at her.

The ghost smiled wanly. "Buried makes it sound like we had a funeral. I was dumped in this hole with a few other women after we were sentenced as witches and burned at the stake. Nothing was left but my charred remains," her voice wobbled. Kagome made to wipe some tears- his sticky tongue licking them away before she could.

She gentled, touching his bloodied jaw. "H-how are your wounds?"

"All but mended," Sesshoumaru drew closer, humid breath fanning over her neck. "You know what must happen now."

Kagome laughed cynically. "Mn, because I'm a corrupt soul, you'll be dragging me to Hell too," she brushed a hand over the fur at his shoulder. Blue eyes hesitated for a moment, afraid of something entirely human.

"Will it...hurt?" she whispered.

If it were possible for a demon dog to ease his expression into something a touch less cold and hungry, Sesshoumaru managed to achieve something almost warm. He didn't answer at first, allowing a moment of silence to stretch between them. When he finally spoke again, his speech resounded inside her head as a soft grumble.

"No. Not for you."

"Oh, I'm glad to hear that," a breath rushed out of her dead lungs, arms wrapping around herself as she glanced at the grave. "I've had enough pain, thank you."

"Indeed, you and I both."

A lily-white hand was offered down to her, sliding into her vision. Kagome's gaze drew up to a tall male.

The yellow moon looming behind his head gave him a halo effect; its gentle glow lining his face and dazzling her. Silvery hair split down broad shoulders, hanging like fine royal threads fit for a King. He wore black robes that billowed like dragon smoke.

Sesshoumaru's inhuman face smiled in an unnerving fashion, though she could tell the intent behind it- the desire to reassure her despite evidence of death on his robes. "Shall we go?" he asked in rich, clear tones.

Kagome stared up at the demon's handsome features. Smiling, she grasped his clawed hand without fear, allowing him to pull her up.

"You didn't have to change into such a pleasing form. I was coming with you anyway."

"My form is pleasing?" thin lips curved, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, Sesshoumaru strolled with her down the hill, a gateway opening up within the earth as a huge chasm, welcoming him home.

"Oh hush, you know it is," Kagome smiled tiredly, walking with the Hellhound away from the fire and brimstone burning behind them. "So...will I be punished down there?" her voice was almost lost, spoken so softly.

Glowing eyes smiled. "There is a place some call the Elysian Fields. I will take you to them."

She stiffened, blinking rapidly to expel the salty tears of relief and gratitude welling up in her eyes. Kagome stopped within the cavern of the underworld, causing him to halt with her. Drenched under harsh shadows of the earth about to swallow them whole, his eyes shone red like glittering jewels.

"I suppose I'll need a guard too," she said evenly. "To make sure I don't escape. I'm a very wicked soul, after all. A heretic."

Sesshoumaru flashed his teeth at her. "Hn, the worst kind. I will see to it personally since this one is best suited for such a difficult task."

Smiling with relief, Kagome willingly walked with him into the jaws of Hell.

End

#inuyasha #Sesskag #sesshoumaru x kagome #Sesshoumaru #Kagome higurashi #AU

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