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xozombiee · 6 months

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“AFTER HOURS!” | W. BONNEY

✫| synopsis: bartending in the west gets boring at times, especially when the same old cowboys and outlaws come through those saloon doors everyday. you’d thought this was it..that’s the end of your story. then a certain outlaw, who’s name was getting around, walked through the doors.

warnings: porn with little plot, mentions of death, riding, little praise..it’s always gonna be there, female bodied reader, lowk psy rubbing??, hair pulling me thinks, idk what else

note: am i doing this instead of my homework?…yes. also do i know wtf women wore in the 1800s? err no. i tried tho! this is not proofread btw

In a dusty, sun-kissed town nestled amidst the rugged landscape of the west, there stood a saloon that echoed with tales of grit and resilience. behind the polished mahogany bar, you stood tall with a fiery spirit that matched the flickering glow of the oil lamps that illuminated the room.

you weren’t any ordinary bartender; you were a force to be reckoned with. with glimmering eyes that held mystery, and a rough demeanor that you used to command respect from every patron who dared to enter the establishment. your hands, calloused from years of hard work, moved with grace and precision as you served up drinks that could raise spirits or drown sorrows.

though the town was dominated by rough cowboys and outlaws, you had carved out your own place in their rugged hearts. they sought solace in your presence, and you became a confidante, offering a sympathetic ear to the broken souls who stumbled through the doors.

as the sun began its descent, casting an orange hue over the town, your saloon transformed into a sanctuary of camaraderie and laughter. the clinking of glasses and the lively banter of patrons mixed with the soulful melodies of a lone pianist, creating a symphony that echoed through the wooden walls.

but behind the facade of joviality, you carried your own secrets and dreams. you arrived in this town not long ago, escaping a past that haunted your every step. determined to leave a mark on the world, you had chosen the life of a bartending, finding comfort in the stories and journeys of those who crossed paths with you.

with swift movements back and forth behind your bar, you served drinks to the men celebrating..whatever it was this time. they sang along with others, their words jumbled and lazy, but undoubtedly filled with passion. you laughed as one of them sung to you, his eyes droopy and a crooked smile at his lips.

cleaning a few glasses, you watch as they all chat amongst themselves, if they weren’t still singing that is. a part of you yearned to have a life like theirs. to be free to do whatever you please, and not be told otherwise. you’d liked the idea of running from place to place and meeting new people. though, that’d never happen for you.

your back turns as you gather the clean glasses together, putting them neatly side by side. the sound of the saloon doors open, a sound you were used to by now. with your back still turned, you notice how most of the attendees in the saloon had gone quiet, watching as the person and their footsteps approached the bar.

turning back around, you come face to face with a taller man. he wore a shabby black hat, a maroon corduroy jacket that sat along his shoulders, and a gun at his waist. two actually, you noted as the jacket moved when he sat at the bar.

with a polite smile, you come closer, holding his gaze with yours. “evening, sir. what can i get you?”

he gives you a tight lipped smile, “whiskey, please.”

you hold his gaze for a second longer before glancing back at the people in the saloon. they stared with either fear, or curiosity in their faces. a scowl grows on your lips, muttering a small ‘drunkards’ under your breath.

the man watches as you place a clean glass onto the bar, and grab a bottle filled with brown liquid. his gaze moves to the drink as it pours into the cup, almost filling to the brim.

“you look familiar,” your voice chimes in again. “have i seen you in here before?”

he shakes his head, gaze falling back to yours. “nah.” he replies. “just passing through.”

with a sigh falling from your nose, you try to read his expression; he looked tired. you weren’t an idiot, it was obvious he was on the run. you’d seen his face on the posters, but didn’t know what his name was or what he was wanted for.

your fingernail taps against the glossy wood of the bar. trying to hide your sympathetic expression, you glance around the room. “if you need anything else, let me know, yeah?”

he nods, watching as you walk away to tend to the other customers. the way you moved was calm despite working in such an intense environment. his eyes trailed up and down your figure before taking a sip from his glass.

it seemed like hours passed as you worked. going back and forth behind the counter was time consuming as it passed so quickly. more and more people were leaving the bar as the early hours of the next day were coming.

as you went to grab some glasses from tables, you notice as the man before was still at the bar. his head was hung low, eyes trained on his glass. he’d had about three glasses of whiskey by now, only taking sips from time to time.

you’d noticed through the night how people tried to approach him. he’d usually brush them off, or making small talk that ended in peaceful silence. he wasn’t someone that was easily approachable to the blind eye. he held a strong, cold demeanor.

after gathering all the dirty glasses, and kicking the last passed out drunkard, you slide back behind the bar. you take the bucket of dirty glasses to the small sink, placing it inside before turning the water on. as it fills, you stare at it as your mind falls else where.

before it overflows, you turn the faucet off. you pour a little soap into the mix before drying your hands off to let the glasses soak. with echoing footsteps, you turn back to the bar and are face to face with the man of the night.

“want another, or is three enough?” you ask, a slight smile at your lips.

he glances up at you, studying your expression for a moment. his eyes drop back to the wooden bar, fingers tapping his halfway-empty-glass.

“this is fine.” he answers.

your elbows come to rest at the cool wood, chin in your palm as you watch him. you’d debated for most of the night to ask him what exactly he was running from. it would probably sound stupid considering how everyone and their second cousin knew about it. all except for you, as you didn’t look much into news and such.

he stares back at you, giving you the same energy within his gaze. his blue eyes analyze every bit of you, and you almost shudder at the sight of it.

“so, how long you been on the run now?” you ask, voice interrupting each of your own thoughts.

he brings the glass to his lips, downing the rest before replying. “months.” he mutters, not even phased by your abrupt question.

you hum in reply, “alone?”

“mhm.”

with his short and simple response, you laugh. it wasn’t out of humor, but rather more of irritation. you’d think someone as well known as him would talk more. most outlaws never shut up about flaunting their reputations. it’s different.

“you’re not a man of many words.” you say, not really caring about how he’d take your tone.

he shrugs, sucking his teeth a bit. “i’ve got nothing to say.”

you raise a brow, “tell me a story or something. i hear the same shit every night from my regulars. give me something new.” you request.

pouring a little more whiskey into his glass, you watch as his eyes dart to yours. “it’s on me.” you assure, giving him a smile.

the man sighs, tilting his head a little at the thought. what could he tell you? that he killed a man? that he fought a man in a saloon just like yours right before shooting him in the stomach out of defense? no..you’d probably already heard it anyways.

“what do you already know about me?” he questions, taking another sip.

your eyes squint at him, “i know you’re an outlaw on the run, obviously..and that’s about it. i don’t even know what the hell they call you.” you reply.

he chuckles, a small smile at his lips. “you’re probably one of the first.” he says. “just call me billy.”

with another hum, you nod slowly and give him your name. “billy..yeah, i think i did hear that once or twice.”

“well, either way, i don’t have many stories to tell.”

your eyes roll, a huff coming from your nose. “tell me why you’re an outlaw. i’ve heard like three different stories, and it can’t be all of them.”

billy smiles again, eyes falling from yours and to your lips for a split second. you watch him debate in his head before taking his hat off. he sets it on the empty stool next to him, running his fingers through his hair. he had brown shaggy hair that was sprawled all over his head.

“i killed a man. it was self defense.” he says, almost as if he was pleading his case.

you deadpan at him, “that’s all i get? not even a backstory?”

“there’s not much to it. he was making accusations at me..which weren’t entirely false, then he came at me. we fought over my gun, and i shot.” he elaborates, glancing at you with disinterest as if it was a meaningless story.

you fall quiet for a moment, brows raised while processing his words. that story was heard, but you didn’t know if it was the truth until now. the other stories were about robbing a bank and killing a bunch of people. hearing the actual story now..you couldn’t understand all the fuss.

a laugh falls from your lips, hand moving to pinch the bridge of your nose. “so, all this talk is because you killed a man that was attacking you?”

“yes, ma’am.”

your smile remains for a bit, eyes watching billy. “so, what now? you just gonna keep running?”

he shrugs once more, eyes kept on his glass. “probably.”

“have you at least slept?”

billy shakes his head. you chew on the inside of your cheek, contemplating multiple things in your head. if you offered him a place to sleep in the loft above your saloon, he’d probably laugh in your face. but, a part of you didn’t want him out on the street sleeping defenseless.

as a other sigh falls from you, you move away from the bar and stand straight. “i’ve got an extra room where i stay. wanna take it for the night?”

his eyes find yours, expression vague, “are you sure? i mean, i don’t wanna—”

“it’s fine. i’d feel guilty if i opened up tomorrow and my regulars are telling me you got killed in your sleep.”

billy focuses on you for awhile before taking one last sip. he lightly places the glass on the counter before moving to grab some money from his pocket.

your hand finds his wrist as he places it on the counter. “keep it. just take your ass upstairs while i finish up.”

he grins a little, grabbing his hat and standing from the stool. billy slowly moves to the door at the back of the saloon, opening it and disappearing from sight. you roll up your sleeves as you move back to the sink, dipping your hands into the soapy water to clean the glasses.

after about ten minutes, you make way up to your loft in the building. your footsteps slightly echo as you move toward the light in the living room. when you reach the floor, you watch as billy sits on the couch with his head thrown back on the edge while his hat covered up his face.

slowly approaching in front of him, you lightly kick his shin. he snaps his head up, eyes wide as his hat falls to his lap. he lets out a small breath in relief, making you smile. you watch as he sits up on the couch.

“scared the shit out of me.” he mumbles, putting that ragged hat on again.

you move to sit next to him, bouncing lightly on the cushions. “must’ve been too tired to hear me coming up the steps.”

he leans into the couch once more, eyes trained on the ceiling. you watched his expression and how he studied the whiteness of the panels above.

“penny for your thoughts?” you whisper, watching his eyes shift over to you.

billy shakes his head, scoffing a little to himself. “it’s nothing. just thinking.”

“about?”

“everything.”

you let your gaze falter, moving to the floor. “everything that’s happened?” you ask.

he nods, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. billy wants nothing more than to go back and stop everything that’s happened. to change what got him to this point.

but if he did that, he would’ve never met you. you were one of the kindest people to him since the incident. the way you carried yourself, much like him, was with confidence. he respected you, and that aspect of your personality.

“i understand what it’s like..kind of.” you say, patting down the wrinkles in your outfit. “i was never wanted, but i’ve done things. things i wish i could take back.”

billy watches as you speak, the way your lips move and the expression you hold shifts with each emotion running through you. he almost doesn’t understand what you’re saying. the only thing keeping him to reality was the fact you sounded serious.

he adjusts himself on the furniture, “what have you done?” he asks, a part of him afraid to know the answer.

“i’ve killed.” you reply, the tone of your voice dropping lowly. “it was in defense, like you.”

billy watches the way you bounce your knee against the flooring of the loft. the dress you wear moves along with it, and your shoe lightly taps.

“when did it happen?” he asks as his pure curiosity gets the best of him.

you look up at him, smiling a little. “i was fourteen.”

billy looks at you, empathizing with your situation. though he wasn’t that young when it happened, he still felt some sort of connection with your experience.

“i don’t regret killing him honestly, but i regret hurting my family and his. they didn’t deserve to go through that. it wasn’t any of their faults.” you say as you breathe out slowly.

in an small moment, his hand is on yours. it’s a light touch, like he’s afraid to hurt you. billy moves his other hand to the space beneath your chin, and shifts your head to look at him in the eyes.

his voice is light, “you were defending yourself. it wasn’t your fault either.” billy whispers.

the words make your heart swell. after everything, hearing those words made it all feel better. almost all the guilt left your veins. he was right after all. it wasn’t your fault. what that man did..you just did what you had to.

as he holds your gaze, you slowly inch toward him. his blue irises bore into yours, watching as you shift them to his lips. they were slightly chapped and held a small frown on them.

billy leaned closer to you and your breaths mingled, like two lights finding each other in the darkness. he could feel your heart beating against your ribcage, as all of his senses were focused on you and you alone.

he closed the distance, and his lips met yours. billy felt himself melt into you like a magnet. everything muted itself, and his hands made way to your waist. he pulled you onto him, your knees caging around his thighs.

your hands found their way to his jaw, pulling him even closer. he tasted your soft lips and felt your warm skin against his. the room seemed to dissolve around you as the only thing in existence was this. this perfect union.

time stood still, and you both wanted more, but neither wanting it to initiate it. then, with what restraint he had left, he pulled away, his lips still grazing yours.

he looks up at you, his eyes filled with worry. “im sorry, i didn’t mean—”

“shut up.”

pressing your lips back to his, he lets out a grunt in reply before melting into you once more. the warmth of you, your lips, your being that sat in his lap—he felt lightheaded. billy moved his hands to your waist again, slowly trailing them up your back.

you feel the buttons of your dress being undone. he stops right before taking the sleeves off, prying himself away from you. billy’s eyes look into yours for confirmation, and you give him a quick, impatient nod in reply.

with that, he pulls the dress off slowly. your lips trail from his own to his neck, putting the flesh between your teeth. he groaned, trying to focus on untying your corset.

as he removed it, he wasted no time to discard it to the floor, hands making way to take off the chemise you wore.

“all those months on the run got you impatient now, cowboy?” you mutter, laughing as he would struggle from time to time.

billy looks up at you, his gaze slightly hidden by his hat, “no, just none of the women i’ve been with wore this much underneath. i’m also not a cowboy, sweetheart.”

rolling your eyes, you grab at his wrists to stop him. he looks up at you, big eyes and all, causing the built up pressure in your lower stomach to worsen. “just leave it. i’m not wearing anything under, so don’t fuss.”

you watch him nod slowly as he started to stare, making no move to take off his clothes. “do i have to do it for you?” you whisper, hands undoing the brown suspenders on his shoulders.

he shakes his head, moving to unbutton his pants he wore. you watch the way he fumbles with them, sliding them midway down his thighs. billy’s hands eventually move back to your waist, bunching up your chemise to your hips.

billy’s eyes watch as your pretty pussy comes into view, sitting in his lap with such a prepossessing aura. he has to restrain himself from taking you right then.

his dick was hard and twitching, the length had an angry tip with its slit profusely leaking pre-cum. it looked painful and it was because of you. you. you wondered if you had power over him now for a brief second but you shake your head clear of these thoughts.

instead, you catch his lips again, the kiss slower this time. you raise yourself a bit so he can align himself to your entrance. the cool touch of his hand meets your cunt, sliding a finger through the folds and collecting the juices flowing from you.

he uses your slick and spreads it across your sensitive pussy. you took a deep breath of air into your lungs. this feeling was new, since no man you’d been with ever did this, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

a small groan falls from billy’s lips as he uses it to prep himself, guiding his hand along his cock and pumping it slowly. he was on the girthy side with veins on the underside of his cock.

you knew you would stretch around him, that your walls would be a perfect fit around his length. you were too impatient for any sort of foreplay; you wanted the stretch. you wanted him to make you dizzy with his cock splitting you apart.

billy grabs your hips with his unoccupied hand, bringing you closer to him. you let out a whimper as you began to sink onto him, eyes flicking to his. those blue ones he held were zeroed down to the place you both were connected now.

his hands are on either side of your hip, guiding you down on his length. it was after his cock was fully stuffed in you, that his self-control allowed him to almost whine at the feeling of you.

your hands are on his shoulders to support yourself. your fingers weakly fist his shirt as you begin to ride him, raising yourself a few inches before slamming down on his cock with a loud moan escaping your lips. he reached the deepest spot inside of you somehow. no one had ever done that. not like this.

his cockhead grazes your spongy spot as you fuck yourself on him. arousal and his pre-cum are smeared all over your thighs. this sight made billy’s breath hitch, something you didn't notice as you were too busy with your eyes closed and taking him. you looked completely dissoluted like this.

your hair was a mess now, your lips glossy and swollen, hands digging into his shoulder. billy felt himself become enraptured by you and this sight. it was something he could get used to..if he wasn’t an outlaw that is.

he pulls you closer to him. one of his hands is on your back, pressing you to him. his hips raise upwards to fuck you as he now lets out more vocal sounds of enjoyment.

watching him with a hazy gaze, you remove the hat from his head. you place it onto your own, grinning at how he stares up at you like you were the creator of all living beings and creatures on this earth.

moving one of your hands from his shoulder, you bring it to his hair and give some strands a tug. he groans, the vibrations of his chest transferring to his dick, which transferred to you.

each thrust of his was made for his selfishness in your velvet walls. the drag of his cock was perfect, his speed was unbelievable. it was like heaven itself, but without the pearly gates and clouds.

while stuck in your own brain, the feeling of teeth bring you back to reality. you let a shuddered sigh fall as billy digs into the collarbone that peaked from your square-necked chemise. he slowly kisses up your neck, bringing a hand to the back of your head.

“fuck..’s too good,” he mutters, trying to keep his voice even.

you laugh, making him groan a little. he looks up, watching as you bounce with one hand held on his hat to keep it on. “too good? were all your other girls shit?”

he lets out short breaths, his blue eyes studying the way you moved as if he was in a trance. billy would answer if he wasn’t on another planet right now. a planet where you were taking him so deliciously, almost to the point where he could pass out.

“fuck,” he says under his breath as your pussy clenches around him. “where do you want it?” his voice was strained from trying to keep his composure.

you pant, “inside.”

billy doesn’t waste a second before obliging and quickening his pace, making the hat on your head fall lopsided. you could feel the pressure in you tightening, almost about to burst like a pipe.

he moves his thumb to rub at your clit, and the tip of his cock repeatedly nudges against that one spot that has you falling apart on top of him with a loud cry. your orgasm hits you hard and billy can’t hold it in any longer. he fucks into you for another minute, eyes squeezed shut as he groans out your name.

billy groans when you flutter around him as you cum. he’s thrusting his hips up into you with his newfound force. it requires you to tighten your grip on his shoulders to stay put as he empties his load deep inside you, his sweet moans echoing in the living room.

your cunt milks him dry, and he fills you up to the brim—to the point where you could feel him leak out of you. the both of you pause, your hands resting on his chest as you catch your breath.

he slowly eases his cock out of you. the both of you were breathing heavily as he pulls you closer, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. you wrap you arms around his chest, listening to his heart beat.

“wanna share my bed?” you whisper.

tags: @m0rphys

#xozombiee #YESS I FINISHED #tom blyth #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid #save a horse ride a cowboy #coriolanus snow #RAHHHHHH #guys pls like #and subscribe #william h bonney

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hikarry · 5 months

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It's officially canonical and blessed by Neil himself that Aziraphale has diaries. Since when? We can only speculate. Does he still write them? We can only guess

That opens MANY doors for questions and what-not

Say, we know he at least has had diaries since the 1800s. I can be bold enough to pull the date a lil bit back and claim he has had diaries since King Arthur's reign. Hell, maybe Aziraphale started documenting his finds and life amongst humans as soon as parchment and ink were created, the sky is the limit really

I wouldn't even be surprised if Aziraphale has written some fiction himself. Actually good fiction based on his life, perhaps. Or based on silly stories Crowley comes up with while he is drunk and uses his extraordinary imagination to entertain the angel, who knows

Anyway, that's not my point, back to focus

Obviously, he writes about his encounters with Crowley, as canon so shows. And, knowing humans have fleeting lives and don't last long, it's secure to guarantee that, apart from himself, Crowley is the most prominent character in his diaries

Alas, this is all fun and games, but let me ask you this: Aziraphale and Crowley have come up with code words and secret signs to speak to each other and rendezvous numbered places to meet, yes? All behind a curtain of secrecy for fear of being found out and, consequently, destroyed. So, tell me, why diaries where he clearly writes Crowley's name and not a code name, let's say?

Its very bold of Aziraphale to keep documentation of his life and encounters with Crowley written in paper when he spends most of his waking moments looking over his shoulder, afraid Heaven or Hell will find out about them.

It would always be a real possibility that Heaven could find some of the diaries. And have physical proof of the Arrangement just cause Aziraphale couldn't come up with some code names for his sins. Writing the diaries is really dangerous and, for someone as scared as Aziraphale, I'm just surprised he kept writing them for so long

On the other hand, they are an amazing plot device

Now that Aziraphale is gone, surely he left his diaries somewhere hidden in the bookshop. If not all, some of them

Theres a real possibility of Muriel finding the diaries by accident and handing them over to Metraton out of loyalty to Heaven because they don't know better. Or of them giving the diaries to Crowley after reading them with questions about what they read, innocently

Either scenario, I really hope they use the diaries somehow in season 3. It would be a lost chance not to

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #david tennant #michael sheen #anthony j crowley #muriel good omens

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seresinhangmanjake · 8 months

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Can't Let You Go

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

Summary: When you and Jake broke up, it hurt both of you more than you could handle. Now, after three months of barely seeing or speaking to one another, Jake walks in on the surprise of seeing you in a wedding dress, and it brings past memories and ruined dreams to the surface.

Notes/Warnings: it's a fluffy ending (despite how the summary makes it sound). maybe a bit angsty . There might be cursing. Jake smokes a cigarette. Bradley and Nat are together for this, but there's not much focus on it (sorry to those who find that unappealing).

Words: 1800

-----

What’s the worst that could happen?

That one question was how your bride-to-be best friend got you to squeeze yourself into a wedding dress. You’d protested, heavily, but the last thing you wanted was to snuff out her excitement. So you appeased her with a nod and a false smile and shuffled into a dressing room to do as she'd begged.

What compelled you to select a gown you actually liked was beyond you. You hadn’t wanted to try one on, too afraid of the emotional toll that had the possibility of rearing its ugly head, and yet you didn’t just grab the closest dress off of the nearest rack. You roamed the store until you discovered the one that made your heart skip a beat. A dress that caused your breath to catch as you imagined yourself walking down an aisle, to him.

As you looked yourself up and down, you felt the tears sprouting for the dream that never came to fruition. You couldn’t tear your eyes away until Nat shouted, “You have to come out. That's kind of the whole point, Hon.” So you did, stepping up onto the low pedestal.

Her eyes widened, her fingers moving to cover her lips. She stared for a long moment. “Oh my God,” she said with a sweet smile, “You look perfect.”

“Nat,” you sighed, “come on.”

“You do!”

“Thank you, but this is—” Silly, you were going to say. But the jingle of the boutique door's bell interrupted you.

From her seat on the suede couch, Nat’s eyes shot over your shoulder. Her face paled. A muttered ‘Fuck’ met your ears in the voice of her fiance.

With your brow pinched in confusion, you turned, the dress swishing at your feet with your sharp twist.

Two pairs of eyes were glued to you. One set—a rich, dark brown—was alight with shock; the other—mossy green and all too familiar—was filled to the brink with pain.

“Jake…” you tried, but he was out the door.

You found your hand reaching out the slightest in the direction he'd gone. As if you could graze your fingers over the fabric of his shirt and tighten it within your palm to pull him back to you.

After absorbing the moment, you hurriedly stepped off the pedestal and rushed into the changing room to strip yourself of the dress.

“You didn’t tell me she was coming to your fitting,” you heard Bradley attempt to whisper.

“Well, you didn’t tell me you were bringing Jake along to pick me up,” Nat countered. You could practically see the irritation on her face, her arms crossed in defense and foot tapping loudly against the tile.

“He didn’t want to be alone. Today marks three months since they—”

Nat shushed him as you pulled back the curtain, reclothed in your jeans and t-shirt. “Hon,” she started, taking a step toward you, “I’m so sorry. I had no idea he was coming.”

“I know. It’s ok,” you assured her before flicking your eyes to Bradley. “Which way did he go?”

“Right,” he didn’t hesitate to say, and you nodded.

“Thank you.”

—--

The boutique stood alone on the street, nothing flanking it and thankfully making it evident with one quick glance that Jake, had he attempted to make a run for it, wouldn’t be able to get far. You didn’t see him, so there was only one other option.

When you rounded the building, you found him leaning against the brick wall, his head tilted slightly upward, his eyes closed, as he blew out a breath of smoke. The cigarette trapped between his fingers wiggled from his shaking hand.

Sensing your presence, like he’d always managed to do, he said, “Please tell me you didn’t get engaged three months after we broke up.”

You walked up to his side and copied his stance. “Of course not.” When he didn’t follow up with more, you continued. “I thought you quit.”

Jake finally opened his eyes to glance down at the cigarette. “I quit for you,” he said before taking another drag.

You felt your heart squeeze in your chest.

You’d always worried about him, long before you even got together. His job, his emotions, his habits. His job you couldn’t change, but his emotions and the habits that came with them, you could help. You’d been there for him, and he for you. Yet, it didn't occur to you that he would find himself revisiting past obstacles without you by his side. It should’ve. You should’ve pushed through any discomfort or awkwardness between you to be there for him. You should have been better.

“Jake…”

He released another stream of smoke, the quiet act somehow effectively cutting you off. “I’m not back on ‘em. Just one here or there…” he flicked his index finger to knock off the ashes, “to calm me down.”

Beats passed. How many, you couldn’t say. All you knew was that not so much silence had filled the bubble around the two of you since you were left spent and hurt after the blow up of ending your relationship. Though, in truth, you hadn’t been near each other enough in the past few months for the possibility of that situation to present itself.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” he suddenly said, “and the dress kind of…threw me.”

“Nat made me.”

With a snort, he said, “Figures.”

More agonizing silence dragged painful memories to the surface. The tears, the shouts, the pleading and apologies from the day that continued to haunt you.

“Jake.”

He hummed.

“I think we need to find a way to exist in the same space. It’s too difficult to try to work around one another when it comes to our friends and the places we frequent in town. I understand that you don’t want to be with me, but—”

“Me?” he snapped, head whipping in your direction. The blaze in his eyes seared the shock in yours, yet his tone maintained a calmness that, when accompanying his words, felt more eerie than anything. “I don’t want to be with you? You’re the one who ended us. You told me you were leaving, and then you didn’t even go.”

Your head fell and you began to pick at your fingernail. “Would you have preferred I left?”

“I would’ve preferred if you stayed my girlfriend.”

Looking up, you asked, “What changed your mind?”

A flash zipped across the green of his irises. “What are you talking about?”

“A week after we broke up, I chose not to go,” you said. “I wanted to be with you more than I wanted that job. I went to your house to tell you, but you weren’t there, so I went to the bar.” A hard swallow at another memory failed to relieve the aching lump in your throat. “I found you kissing some woman and I realized you’d already moved on.”

Jake took careful breaths—one too many for your liking—before letting out a soft chuckle. It held no humor. He shook his head.

"I didn't move on."

"Jake, I saw you."

"She kissed me," he said. "I told her it wasn't going to happen, then went home and drank myself stupid trying not to think of you." His eyes tore away from yours to stare ahead. And with a pinched brow, he shook his head once again as he tossed the remaining nub of the cigarette into a nearby trash can. "I did not succeed, I should add. So, no, I didn't move on. I can't even imagine trying."

You were overwhelmed with an array of emotions, each of them warring, mixing chaotically. Waves of relief crashed into the shame lingering from the day you fought. They churned with the pain you'd yet to let go of after seeing someone else kissing the man you love. There was a tick of embarrassment from the, now very clear, misunderstanding between you. But it was the cautious joy that overpowered it all.

"You still love me?" You said softly.

A low laugh rumbled in his chest.

"That's funny?"

"No, baby, I just—" he paused then brushed his fingers through his hair. "I don't know. I never thought I'd have to answer a question like that."

Your lips parted, ready to ask why such a simple question from you was practically stumping him, but he was one step ahead.

"I was always trying to prove how much I love you. Every single day I made sure of it. And I'd hoped I showed it well enough that you'd never need to ask," he said. A light shrug of his shoulders—barely noticeable, yet far from nonchalant—followed. "But here we are."

Without a thought to stop yourself, you reached up to cup his cheek, drawing his eyes back to yours.

"Jake, I didn't question it. I knew you loved me," you swore. "But I ruined things, and feelings can change."

As if understanding your immediate uncertainty that bloomed from your sudden touch, Jake wrapped his fingers around your wrist before you could dare to withdraw it back to your side.

"Not mine," he said. Then quieter: "Never mine."

The fresh rawness of his stare, of his tense brow, and softly parted lips, broke your heart. He looked ready to fall to his knees and weep at your feet. He looked how you had felt for months. Like standing, breathing, putting one foot in front of the other, was not easily done. Since you’d left him, nothing had been natural. Nothing came easy. Living life was a chore. And seeing Jake release it all in front of you with his desperation and devastation clear as day, allowed you to do the same.

Your palm fell to his chest. Jake brushed an escaped tear from the corner of your mouth, then rested his forehead against yours.

"It's ok," he whispered. "It's gonna be ok."

"I still love you," you said between sniffles.

With a heavy exhale, his whole body eased out of its rigidity. "I love you, too."

"Would…” you started but paused, unsure if your question would be your final strike. But you couldn’t stop the pounding in your heart, nor deny the need you had for Jake. So, despite the shake in your voice, you pressed on. “Would you take me back?"

Your eyes were closed, but you could sense his smile. Then he said:

"Baby, I never let you go."

---

A/N: it's been a minute since I posted any writing here. Sorry about that. But I'm working my way along my list and hopefully, you guys liked this :)

Tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi

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enthusiasticharry · 1 year

Text

the one where YN gets a job as Harry's maid and his occupation comes as a shock to her - he writes erotica.

author's note: i'm back! (please don't kill me, i'm sorry that it's been so long <3) this is something that's been in the works for basically over a year now, but it's finally coming to life! it's also got a lovely lil' flash-forward at the end (which you all know i love) thank you all for sticking with me and i hope it won't be as long the next time.

word count: 13.2k of scandalous smut, fluff, 1800s society and harry being a sexy man of the house erotica writer.

let me know what you think of desire here. love u all <3

London, 1817

YN didn’t have a single shilling to her name.

As well as not having a single shilling to her name, she was currently homeless and squatting in dark alleyways. Her start to life hadn’t been the best, and her skill set wasn’t full of attributes that may help her in her quest of finding employment. As for a family, YN didn’t necessarily have one. Being the sixth child in a household, one that wasn’t surviving with five children it already had, meant her life wasn’t as black and white as it looked. She has spent the last few days, after finally deciding to pack up and leave home, looking for any sort of job and she truly meant any. So far, she hadn’t found anything, and she was running out of the food that she had stolen from the kitchen back home and that meant she was running out of time.

It was the fourth day in her quest when she found something. She hadn’t necessarily thought she would find anything when she had picked up the newspaper that morning (or rather stolen it from the bag of a newsboy) but there it was in black and white. The advert was four lines at most and gave relatively nothing away. It asked for a female maid, who had experience in household chores. So far, all the boxes, YN could tick. The next asked that she’d be able to live on site, in the house she would be working in. If anything, that was better for YN than having to find somewhere to live. The last line gave the address of the house, and the preferred times for visiting.

YN thankfully saw a man walking past with a pocket watch and politely asked him the time, to which he replied that it was a quarter to two, meaning that YN still had two hours to hopefully find the house and herself a job. The side of town that the house was on YN had never been to, in fact she’d never even been a mile in the vicinity of it, so she did have to ask a few people. YN wasn’t easily intimated, but when the people she had to ask obviously had money and were quietly judging her dishevelled state she struggled.

She didn’t know the time, and YN struggled to figure out how much time had passed usually, and all she could do was pray that she hadn’t gone over the time stated on the newspaper advertisement. When she arrived at the house that she believed to be the right one, she felt thankful when she could see a man gardening just by the gate – a person she could ask to affirm that she was in the right place.

“Excuse me, sir,” he seemed to sigh as he dropped his trowel and turned to look at YN, “Is this the Styles residence?”

“It is,” his accent wasn’t what YN expected, she hadn’t met anybody before that wasn’t from London, “How can we help you, miss?”

YN cleared her throat, “I’m enquiring about the advert you placed in the newspaper. The one for the maid role.”

“I’m sorry, miss,” he sighed, finally standing up and wiping his hands on his trousers, “You’re too late, Mr Styles has already interviewed all of the candidates.”

“Oh,” the smile faltered on YN’s face. All of the excitement she felt about the advert had left a pit of disappointment in her, “I’m really sorry, sir, it’s just that I had to walk from the other side of town, and I don’t have a watch to tell the time.”

“I am sorry, miss, but there’s nothing that I can do. Mr. Styles will already be making his decision.”

“Well,” she sighed, placing the newspaper in the pocket of her jacket, “I’m sorry to have disturbed you sir, I’ll let you get back to your gardening. Is it possible to just ask you directions on the quickest way to get back into town?”

The man seems to hesitate for a second. He looks down at his gardening, and the back up at YN before sighing and wiping the sweat off his head. She felt slightly out of place and stood waiting for his response for a few seconds.

“He might be in a good mood,” he mutters, “Please come in, miss, and I’ll go check with Mr. Styles. Even if he says no, we can get you a nice cup of tea.”

YN couldn’t be ever more grateful.

The closer that YN made it towards the house, or should she say mansion, she could almost feel her breath catching within her throat. Even though it was now highly unlikely that it would be the case, there was still the thought in the back of her mind that she could end up living here. She followed the man inside the towering door, her body feeling incredibly out of place in the grandeur of the house she was now in.

If YN was honest, this house may possibly be the biggest house that she had ever seen, never mind stood in. The exterior of the house certainly didn’t do the interieur justice at all. The house was immaculate, and YN wondered if there was already a maid on site. The man she was following stopped in front of one of the doors by the main entrance and opened it.

“You can take a seat in here,” he motions to the seating in the middle of the room, “I’ll go and check if Mr. Styles would like to see you. Can I take your name, miss?”

“YN. YN YLN.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss. YLN,” he beams, “I’m Mr. Towers.”

“A pleasure to meet you too.”

The door slammed shut behind Mr. Towers, allowing YN to finally take in a deep breath to release the tension within her body. Looking around at the room, YN was shocked at the size of the parlour she was in, as well as the large bookcase filled to the brim with books. One of the things that YN prided herself on, which allowed her to find this opportunity in the first place, was her ability to read. It wasn’t usual for a woman of her status to know how to read, but she had met a kind gentleman at the market once and he spent his Sundays with her, teaching her how to read.

YN stopped in front of one shelf that seemed to have books from the same author along the entirety of it. H.E. Scott. It wasn’t a name that was familiar to YN, but she couldn’t help but want to reach out and pick them up. Just as her finger was about to touch the cover, the door swung open, and YN flinched away from the bookcase.

“Miss. YLN,” She immediately dropped her hands down by her side, “Mr. Styles will see you now.”

“Thank you, Mr. Towers.”

Following Mr. Towers out of the room, YN was led up a grand staircase that she could only dream of owning one day. YN had no idea about the architecture of houses, nor as to what wood complimented each other or anything like that – but she knew what appeased her eyes and everything about this house appeased them. YN held the banister with one hand and lifted her skirt up with the other and followed Mr. Towers.

At the top of the staircase, a corridor spilt up to the left and to the right. YN couldn’t help herself, and all she wanted to do was to explore and see every single corner of this mansion that Mr. Styles calls home. She followed Mr. Towers all the way to the last door on the left.

He knocked on the door and after the “Come in,” from the other side, Mr. Towers opened the door.

“Good luck,” Mr. Towers smiles.

The door shut behind YN once she stepped in, and she slightly jumped at the sound. There were few things in life that could make YN nervous, but the way that her heart was about to beat out of her chest she honestly thought that she was close to a heart attack.

She hadn’t known what she had expected of Mr. Styles. Her main instinct was an old man, close to his death that needed extra help around the house because his wife had passed. What she hadn’t been expecting was a man whose age was like hers, with dark brown hair that framed his entire face, and hard features that she was having trouble drawing her eyes away from. There were few people that intimidate her (her father being one of them) but she had a feeling that she was going to be adding Mr. Styles to that list.

“Mr. Styles,” YN shrugged all of her worries and walked towards him with her hand outstretched, “I’m YN YLN.”

He didn’t stand up, and he didn’t shake her hand. He didn’t even take his eyes away from whatever piece of paper he was reading. She nervously gripped the sides of her dress as she walked towards him, the heels of her shoes hitting the floor with a tap every step she took.

“I’m…” She hesitated slightly, not exactly knowing what to do. Did she sit down? Did she remain standing? Did she wait until he spoke to her? She hadn’t a clue what to do, and she was truly starting to panic, “I’m here for the job as the maid. I know I’m a little late, but I came from across town and-”

YN watched as he lifted his hand up, as though to shut her up. It did. He didn’t even look up at her, just continued looking down at the heaps and heaps of paper that were sat in front of him.

“Do you know how to clean?” YN’s eyes almost widened in shock at the sound of his deep, coarse voice. It was as though he hadn’t spoken in years, or that he had been speaking too much and that it needed a rest.

“Uh… yes I do.”

“Are you sure about that?” His reply came quick, but he still didn’t look at her.

“Yes,” YN nodded her head, “I do know how to clean.”

“Do you know how to cook?”

“Yes.”

“You’re hired,” Finally, he lifted his head up from his papers and looked directly at her, his green eyes boring into YN’s. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, “Speak to Mr. Towers about the details, you shall start immediately. You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you,” YN nodded her head and turned to walk out of the room, unable to hide the smile that danced across her lips.

“Clean up and get changed before you start,” She stops in her tracks at the sound of his voice again, “You’re filthy.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Your room is down here, by the pantry,” Mr Towers explains as he walks her towards her room, “There’s a uniform already in there for you, along with a pot of water ready to boil for a bath.”

“Thank you, Mr. Towers,” YN nodded her head at the older man.

“Don’t thank me yet,” The older man threw the door to her room open, “It’s only tiny, but you have a bed and a fire, so you won’t be cold.”

“It’s…” After stepping into the room, YN couldn’t help the smile that beamed over her face. The room itself was the size of the room that she shared with her entire family growing up – and it was all to herself, “It’s perfect.”

Mr. Towers looked at her with a puzzled look on his face but shrugged his shoulders, “If you say so… Mr. Styles expects his dinner by seven weeknights, and eight on weekends when he has his guests over.”

“Is there anything that Mr. Styles prefers to eat that I could make for him? To say thank you?” She asked, placing her bag down on the bed.

Mr. Towers laughed and shook his head, “Mr. Styles has groceries delivered to the house every day. It has what he wants to eat in plenty, and we eat whatever is left in a broth.”

YN nodded her head. She had never known anything like it, and she couldn’t believe how much money and power Mr. Styles seemed to have.

“Thank you, Mr. Towers,” YN nodded with a polite smile, “I shall see you later.”

“Good day, Miss. YLN.”

Mr. Towers shut the door behind him, and once she had heard his footsteps growing lighter, she dropped backwards onto her bed with a laugh. It was almost as though she was sat within her own fever dream, where she had finally found herself a room, a bed and a job all at the same time.

Looking up at the small clock that sat above the fireplace, YN saw that it was just past three and she decided that it was probably time that she washed herself and made sure that she had plenty of time to prepare Mr. Styles’ dinner. Seeing that the pot of water was sat by the floor next to the fire, she made quick haste hanging it over the fire to heat up. It was at this point she saw the tin bath in the corner of the room, as well as her lavatory pot. A small mirror sat on a small cabinet, that once she opened, she saw contained a button up shirt, skirt and apron that she guessed was her uniform. She placed it neatly upon the bed, along with the fresh towel in the drawer and stripped of her current clothes.

One thing that YN always struggled with was the sight of her body. It was dirty and grimy, and malnourished to the point where it was sometimes painful. She was hoping that having control over the meals she ate meant that she could gain more strength and finally be happy with herself. The first step in that was getting into the bath, a thing that she hadn’t had in months. The feeling of the warm water on her skin, and the grime leaving her skin and the feeling of freshly washed hair was something that she could get used to. She left her hair drying in its natural state as she dressed, enjoying the feeling of new clothes on her skin also.

There wasn’t much that YN could say that she enjoyed in her life, but these small little luxuries that she’d never had before were certainly things that she enjoyed. She couldn’t believe her luck if she was completely honest, and that was made even more clear when she stepped into the kitchen. It was bigger than the entire house that YN grew up in, and it was filled with all the luxuries that she could have only dreamed of.

She saw some fillets of beef, along with vegetables and potatoes that she knew could be made into a divine meal. She got started right away, peeling and boiling the potatoes, cutting and preparing the vegetables and even cooking the beef until it was perfect all the way through. It seemed that her skills in the kitchen, albeit very basic ones, were coming in handy in more ways than one. With everything that was left after she’d plating Mr. Styles’ up, she made into a broth and left to simmer on the stove.

YN had the food prepared five minutes before it was ready because she knew that in this mansion that Mr Styles called his home, she would have to find the dining room. She hoped that whatever he liked to drink was there, because she couldn’t find anything in the kitchen that he might want.

She passed the room that she had waited in earlier in the day but knew that wasn’t the room that she was looking for. It was the room across from that, which had its door opened slightly, showing a large dining table which made YN realise that was the room she was looking for. Nerves bubbled in the pit of her stomach when she realised that Mr Styles was already there and waiting for her.

YN wiped her slightly sweaty palms on her apron and knocked twice on the door, waiting for Mr Styles to say that she could enter before she did. It didn’t take long before he was taking a few steps into the room and closing the door behind her. Whilst he wasn’t sat in his study anymore, he still had a stack of papers that he was reading in his hands. YN wondered what he was reading.

She took rushed steps towards him, being sure to make haste so that he couldn’t say anything to her. She was on time, and all she could hope is that he was happy with what she had produced for him. YN placed his plate down in front of him, and he finally looked up from his papers at it. He didn’t say anything to her but seemed content enough to place the papers down.

“I expect a glass of whiskey poured with my meals.” He says to her, picking up his cutlery to start his meal.

“Of course, Mr. Styles.”

It didn’t take YN long to spot the bar cart in the corner of the room and make her way over to it. She picked up a glass and turned it over so that she could pour the drink into it. She hadn’t ever tried alcohol before, let alone know what whiskey was but she guessed that it was probably the one that looked the most loved. She poured the drink so that the bottom of the glass was about a third full before walking back over to Mr. Styles and placing it in front of him.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” She asks, and he shook his head.

She began to walk towards the door when Mr. Styles spoke to her again, “I’ll be having guests over tomorrow, so I’ll expect a full dinner service. There will be three of us.”

“Certainly, Mr. Styles.”

YN still had no idea what Mr Styles did for work, or what type of guests he would be having over to his house. Saying that, it was only her first day, but it would be nice to have some sort of incline as to who she was working for. As she walked out of the dining room, she remembered the books she had seen in the room across the hall earlier.

There was no sign of Mr. Towers, and she knew that Mr. Styles would be eating his dinner for the foreseeable and decided that she had plenty of time to make her way over to the sitting room. She took small steps, trying not to make the sound of her shoes on the floor too obvious to the rest of the house. With one last glance behind her, she slipped through the door and closed it as quietly as she could.

If there was one thing, she could say about Mr. Styles, it was that he certainly knew how to decorate a room. His entire house was so beautifully decorated, but so minimal at the same time. Every wood matched, the accents of the rugs and curtains matched in each room, but this room was the one that YN was the most impressed with so far. It wasn’t the rugs, or the chandelier in this room that impressed her, but more so the grand bookcase that covered two walls of the room.

Her feet almost moved automatically as she made her way towards the middle shelf again, ones covered to the brim with books from that same author, H.E. Scott, the author that YN had never heard of. She hadn’t seen such a collection of books before, and she was curious about every single one. Why were there so many? Why did Mr. Styles enjoy this author so much to have what seemed to be every single one of his books?

YN couldn’t help but reach out and take one. It was the third one she decided upon, revelling at the hard backed emerald book with gold lettering on them.

From the Dining Table, H.E. Scott

Nothing about the cover, or even the name gave anything away and that became even more obvious when she opened the book. She skimmed over a few pages, only taking in a few words from each page but it was blatantly obvious that it was a romance novel. It was only until YN was about two-thirds through flicking through the book that she figured out what it was.

Darkness covered his eyes as he looked at her. She had never seen anybody with eyes clouded by such a fierce lust before, and she had never suspected that those eyes would be piercing directly at hers.

His barn, only lit by the flickering oil lamp in the corner was silent, so silent that the void was filled by the pattering of the rain on the roof. The same rain that had caused her clothes to be sodden and clinging to her, showing him every rise and fall of her chest.

“Do I make you nervous?” One little shake of her head and he was taking small and slow steps towards her. She thought that it must have been possible for him to hear the whirring of her brain, and the quicker beating of her chest, “Are you positive about that, kitten?”

“I am,” As he took small steps towards her, she was taking small steps back. That was until she ended up right upon his dining table. Her hands dropped upon the table behind her as his hands spread her legs so that he could stand between them.

“Tell me what you want,” He whispered, moving closer and closer until she could feel his breath upon her skin, “I want you to tell me what you want, kitten.”

“I want…” She whispered back, trying to not make it obvious that the feeling of his lips hovering above her neck, “I want… you.”

“And how do you want me?”

“I want you here.”

“What are you doing?” YN had never slapped a book closed faster in her life.

Seeing Mr. Styles stood there in the doorway, with one of his hands in his pocket looking upon her with a sneer of his face that she hasn’t seen on anybody’s face before in her life knocked her. She was that invested in the book that she obviously hadn’t her the door across the hallway open, or Mr. Styles’ footsteps on the wooden floor on the corridor, and she didn’t hear the door open in front of her.

“Mr. Styles…” YN tried to find the right words, but none were springing to mind, “I was just…”

“You were just what?” He takes one step towards her, and she automatically took one step back, “You were just snooping? Looking through things that don’t belong to you.”

“Mr. Styles… I’m sorry,” YN stood there fumbling on her words, still with the culprit in her hands.

“Don’t let me catch you again,” YN nods and places the book back on the shelf, “I’ll need one of the guest bedrooms prepared for my guests tomorrow. Preferably make it the one opposite my office.”

“Yes sir.”

By the time that the door had slammed behind him, YN didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or scream and what had just happened. One thing that she did know was that she was hungry and had a broth waiting for her in the kitchen that would hopefully fix all of her problems.

After waking up the next morning, YN had spent the day cooking breakfasts and lunches and cleaning bedrooms and dining rooms and sitting rooms. It had been a lot of work, but it was the first day in a while where YN hadn’t even glanced at the clock and prayed for the night to come. She was that busy that when seven rolled around, and the doorbell rang YN was just about ready for it.

As Mr. Towers opened the door, YN stood just behind him to the right waiting to greet the guests and prepare them some drinks. YN hadn’t seen Mr. Styles all day, and after the situation yesterday she decided that was probably the best thing to happen. She knew that she would have to see him tonight during the dinner service, but that was work and she couldn’t do anything to make him that upset, could she?

“Welcome, it is lovely to see you both again,” Mr. Towers greets the couple walking through the door.

YN wasn’t used to the glitz and glamour of high-end London socialites and that became very apparent when Mr. and Mrs. Williamson walked through the door. Mrs. Williamson was petite, blonde and insanely gorgeous stood in the hallway in the most beautiful deep blue gown that YN could only dream about. Mr. Williamson stood next to her; his hand rested on the small of his wife’s back.

“This is Miss. YLN, she’ll take you through to the parlour and get you some drinks.”

YN painted her prettiest smile on her face and led them through to the parlour watching as Mr and Mrs. Williamson sat down upon the sofa.

“Mr. Styles has brought a red wine that he would like to two of you to try,” YN picked up the bottle to show the two of them.

“Then try it we shall,” Mr. Williamson spoke, sharing a laugh between himself and his wife.

YN moved over to the bar cart where three of Mr. Styles’ best wine glasses sat. She poured the first two but hesitated on the third just because she didn’t know when Mr. Styles would be joining the party. She didn’t have to wait very long.

“Well, it seems as though this party has started without me!”

As YN watched Mr. Styles greet Mr. Williamson with a ‘man hug’ and kissed Mrs. Williamson on the cheek, she made sure that she’d poured his wine and walked over to pass it to him. He didn’t look at her, and he didn’t even acknowledge what she had done.

“That’s all,” He still didn’t look at her, “We’ll be in the dining room at eight for dinner service.”

YN nodded in his direction, even though he wasn’t looking at her and left the room. YN didn’t know what kind of meal this was going to be, whether it was business or pleasure, but she knew that snooping to ask questions probably wasn’t the best point of call at this time.

For the first time the whole day, whilst she was finishing off the dinner that she had been making the entire day, she was clock-watching. Her eyes were always placed upon the clock making sure that everything was ready in time, and that she wasn’t late. As the hands clicked towards eight, she made sure that all three plates were ready, and brought them all to the dining room. At that point, Mr. Styles and the Williamsons were making their way over. Laughter rattled around the walls of the house, and it was the loudest the house had been since YN had arrived.

She placed Mrs. Williamson plate down first, followed by her husbands and then finally Mr. Styles’. Mr. Styles and Mr. Williamson were still entrapped in whatever conversation they were having in the parlour, and Mrs. Williamson was listening with a polite smile. YN made sure that all their glasses were refilled, and that she gave Mrs. Williamson a little more than the men which she seemed to appreciate with a look that was sent her way.

“Is that all, Mr Styles?” She asked, addressing Mr. Styles for the first time since last night.

“Yes, that is all,” With a fleeting glance and a slight shake of his hand he dismissed her, and she left the room. The second she was out in the hall she didn’t know what to do with herself.

YN could have some food, but she wasn’t hungry. She had cleaned everything in the house from top to bottom, and there wasn’t anything else that she could sort. One thing that she could do was turn down the guest bedroom ready for Mr. and Mrs. Williamson. She started by walking in the room and lighting some of the candles that were necessary for people to see. Next came turning down the bedsheets and airing them out so that they were ready for the couple when they decided to come to bed.

Once she was happy with the room, she decided that it was probably time to go check on them and their dinner and see if they needed anything. As she opened the door, she was shocked to hear footsteps ascending the stairs. Instead of walking out of the room straight away, she poked her head around so that she could just see the end of Mr. Styles and the Williamson’s walking up the stairs. She knew that she would have to step out of the room if they turned in this direction, but they didn’t. Instead, the couple and the man of the house started to walk towards Mr. Styles’ room at the end of the hall.

YN didn’t know what to think, and she didn’t know what to do. Her eyes almost fell out of her head when he saw Mr. Styles smiling at the couple, especially when they kissed each other. Maybe they were just walking Mr. Styles to his room? Maybe that was it?

YN knew that wasn’t the case when the two of them walked into the room, and with one fleeting glance in YN’s direction, and with what YN could only describe as a dashing smile at her he followed the couple inside his room.

YN didn’t sleep a wink that night. She had no idea what she had witnessed the night before, but she knew that it wasn’t to the standard of high society, or at least not what she knew high society to be like. Whatever happened in that room was unknown to her, and whilst a part of her wanted to know, she also didn’t want to know at all.

The Williamsons had left about an hour ago, and YN had spent the morning washing the linens from their room (which they did use later in the night) and washing Mr. Styles’ linens (at his request). YN didn’t find anything suspicious within the rooms, but she didn’t look for anything.

It was mid-afternoon at this point, and she had finished all her work for the afternoon and was just waiting for the time that she needed to start preparing and making Mr. Styles’ dinner. As she now had this spare time, she decided that it was the perfect opportunity to sit outside with some bread and butter and enjoy her favourite book – Jane Eyre.

She reread the book every so often, even though at this point she knew it word by word. She had been given the book by the man who taught her how to read when she was younger, so it was very well-loved and quite tattered, but YN didn’t care. She found a secluded spot by a tree, near to the back entrance of the house into the kitchen just encase Mr. Styles needed her at any point.

YN was about a third into the book when the back door opened, and out walked Mr. Styles with a cigarette and match in hand. YN hadn’t known that he smoked but seeing him stood there it was something that he had done before. When he turned to the right and saw her, she immediately looked down at her book, as though she hadn’t been looking at him and that he hadn’t caught her.

She heard his footsteps, but she didn’t look up at him. If she looked up, she didn’t know what she would find, and she didn’t know how she would deal with it.

“What are you reading?”

“Jane Eyre, sir,” Her eyes still never left her book, even though she wasn’t reading.

“You obviously like to read.”

She finally looked up at him, confused to see him leant against the edge of the house a few metres away from where she was reading her book. YN thought that she would be greeted by a look of malice, but there was nothing of the sort.

“I do, sir,” She offered him, “It is one of my favourite things to do.”

“I suppose it is,” He nodded his head in her direction, “Seeing as though I caught you snooping in my own collection not long ago.”

“I’m very sorry about that, sir,” She wasn’t, but she had to keep appearances up with the man that employed her.

“No, you’re not,” YN opened her mouth to speak but Mr. Styles shook his head, “You don’t have to be.”

“But they weren’t mine, sir,” A small smile, “I shouldn’t have assumed that I could do such a thing.”

“You can, if you want,” Not a smile in her direction, but more so a less harsh glance than before, “If you would care to borrow a book from my collection you can, but it must be placed back once you’re done.”

“Thank you, sir,” She nodded.

YN was in shock, but she was not going to let him know that. After the way that he had spoken to her a few days prior about the event, she thought that he would never let her touch anything of his unless to clean it or serve it to him.

“Don’t thank me,” He shrugged, “Just let me know what you think of it, once you finish. I assume you’ll be finishing the book you started?”

“Most likely.”

He laughed. A proper laugh. She couldn’t help the small smile that crossed her lips, watching his stern face break out into a smile, dimples in his tanned cheeks showing and everything.

“I look forward to it,” Still smiling, this was new. Then it dropped, “I also want to discuss what you may have seen yesterday, upstairs with my guests and I.”

“Rest assured, sir, I didn’t see anything.”

“You did, we both know you did,” A small lift of his lips, “It is okay, I know it must have been quite a shock to you. But I just want to let you know that it is my work. Or, well, part of it.”

“Sir, you don’t need to –”

“I know I don’t,” He shrugged his shoulders, “But I fear I must, for the sake of my work and yours. What you saw is sometimes a frequent occurrence in this house, and I expect you to take a blind eye to it. If you cannot, then I don’t believe that this is the job for you.”

“Mr. Styles, rest assured I didn’t see anything, nor will I see anything.”

“Good,” He dropped his cigarette on the floor and stumped it out with the sole of his shoe, “Dinner at seven, let it be prompt.”

“Yes sir.”

With that, he left her. YN continued through the evening on autopilot. All she could think about was that once her work was finished, and Mr. Styles was fed and either in his study on in bed, YN could go to the parlour and retrieve that book and continue what she had been reading. She wanted to know what the book contained, and why Mr. Styles had so many of them. She knew that by reading the book one of her questions would be answered.

“I’ll be retreating to my study,” Mr. Styles spoke after YN removed his empty plates, “You won’t be needed for the rest of the night.”

“Thank you, Mr. Styles.”

He walked out of the room before her, and she followed a few steps behind him. As he ascended the stairs, he threw one fleeting glance back at her and continued walking up. YN doesn’t think that she had ever washed plates and cutlery so quickly in her life. Once it was finished, she rushed into the parlour, retrieved the third book on the shelf and rushed back into her room where her oil lamp was waiting for her.

YN knew that she could start the book from the start and try and understand the story before rushing to the part that she had read the last time she had this book in her hands, but it was no use. YN flicked through the pages until she was right back where she was the days prior.

“Your wish is my command, kitten.”

It was the first time that they had kissed, with her sat upon his dining table, soaked from the rain and him stood in between her parted legs. As their lips touched and moved in a rhythm too profound to the blind eye, his hands started to dance the length of her legs. Moving upward from her stocking to the flesh of her thigh that was exposed underneath her skirt.

As his coarse fingertips moved up her smooth skin at a pace that was too slow for her liking, she found a heat pushing over her body that she needed to be put out. It was so fierce and burning so far in the pit of her stomach that she had no idea how he would put out the flames.

He removed his lips from hers, only to move further down her neck until his teeth began to nip and explicit sounds escaped her lips. Everything seemed to be going so slowly, but then it was though a switch turned within him and everything became sort of feverish.

His hands moved from her thighs towards her bottom, where he grabbed the flesh and pulled her even further towards the edge of the dining table. He lifted the material of her skirt up so that it was around her waist and reached for her bloomers, in an instance ripping them straight down the middle until she was exposed to him, all of her was exposed to him.

“May I?” At this point, he was down on his knees, face to face with the heat that was threatening to explode out of her.

“Please, please do it and never stop.”

That was all it took for him to reach out and touch. He used his hands to spread her thighs apart once more and wasted no time to start devouring her.

YN slammed the book shut. Closing her eyes, she tried everything to regulate her breathing, but nothing seemed to help. Her heart was beating out of her chest, and the heat that the lady had been describing within the book seemed to have enlightened within her. This was a feeling that YN had never felt before in her life, and she had no idea what to do with it. So, she decided to read on.

YN read the book, from start to finish in that entire night. YN knew about the relations that took place between a man and woman, but she had never read them in such detail, especially not in such a way between a lady of the house and her groundskeeper. This sort of relationship would be known as a scandal – something that would ruin the lady forever. In the book it was something sensual, and something to be desired. The only word that came to YN’s head after reading that book was desire – the desire to feel like that with somebody.

YN had no idea how to shake herself of that feeling.

“What did you think?”

It was early the next day, and YN had just placed Mr. Styles’ breakfast in front of him along with a serving of tea. Normally, breakfast is silent and after the sleepless night that YN had prior, she was excited for a silent breakfast, a speed through of her chores and then possibly a nap. What she hadn’t anticipated was Mr. Styles striking up a conversation with her.

“What did I think about what, sir?” YN didn’t know that she was going to be playing it as though she hadn’t a clue what he was going on about them.

“The book, Miss. YLN,” He wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin, “I noticed this morning that from the dining table wasn’t in its usual spot. A good choice, if I must say.”

YN couldn’t draw her eyes away from the small smile upon his face. It was as though Mr. Styles was plaguing her, and by the look on his face he knew that he was too. She had no idea how to respond to him, or even how to obtain the words to answer his question.

“It was…” She hesitated, and he raised his eyebrows at her. Was he shocked that she seemed to have no words for him?

“Ground-breaking?” He wiped his mouth with his napkin one last time before placing it on the table and standing up, “Scandalous?” He took a step with each word that left his mouth, “Romantic?” Until he was stood directly in front of her, so close that she could almost feel his breath on her skin, “Sensual?”

YN stood planted to her spot, trying not to crack under Mr. Styles’ gaze but it was a little too difficult. She opened her mouth to speak, but she had no words. It was almost as though he could feel how nervous she was and knew exactly what strings to pull to make it worse. Her breathing was ragged, and she almost felt as though she was turning a little light-headed.

“Yes, sir.” YN nodded her head, swallowing to reduce the coarseness in her throat, “All of those things.”

“And how did it make you feel?”

YN looked down at her hands, and then back up to Mr. Styles. He had a devilish look in his eye, that same look that he had when she had seen him walking into his chambers with the Williamsons. It shook YN to her core, but she had to stand there and answer his questions, even if she didn’t have a single thought in her head that could help her with that.

“It made me feel,” She hesitated for a moment, but said the only word that was coming to her head, “Desire.”

It was the same word that she had mulled over last night when she had finished the book and closed it. After more thought last night, she not only had the desire to feel that with somebody, but the desire to read all the books like that she could. In her entire life she had never read anything which such a scandalous tone, but here she was with a desire for more.

“Desire,” He nodded his head with a smile, “That’s a good one. What did you feel desire for?”

YN cleared her throat, “A desire to read more.”

“Well, there’s a full bookcase of other books in the library for you to fulfil that desire,” He leant one of his hands upon the top of his chair next to him, “But what did you really feel desire for?”

YN felt stuck. In all honesty, she felt as though he could read every single thought that was whirring through her head – she hadn’t a single idea about how that could be possible.

“Mr. Styles I –”

“No, Miss. YLN, I want you to tell me exactly what you felt after reading the book.”

YN nodded, “I felt a desire to feel like that, to be –”

“Kissed like that?” YN nodded, “Touched like that?” Another nod.

“Yes, Mr. Styles.”

He nodded his head and looked her up and down, as though he was figuring out his next move. YN honestly felt as though she was trapped by him, and by the way that every hair on her body was standing up and her body felt as though it was on fire, she couldn’t decide whether she was enjoying herself or hating every moment.

“Miss. YLN, once you have finished your chores for the day, I’d like you to read the first book on the shelf, Sign of the times, and when you’re done, I’d like you to come and find me.”

“Yes, Mr. Styles.”

“Good,” He turns to walk towards the door, “I’ll be in my office, and I do not want to be disturbed until you’ve finished the book.”

With that, he slams the door shut behind him.

It had taken YN just above an hour to finish all her chores, and once she had finished, she rushed to the library with the book in her hand to replace and ready to pick up the one that Mr. Styles had chosen for her. Once she had picked up the book and made her way towards the tree that Mr. Styles had found her reading beneath she sat down and started reading straightaway.

It was a tale of lavish lifestyle, complete with balls and luxury and husband in a manor which had an eye for his wife’s lady’s maid. It was becoming more and more obvious why Mr. Styles had asked her to read this book, and it was making her quite hot under the collar.

It was about halfway through the novel that YN was starting to feel so uncomfortable within her clothing. Her dress felt scratchy against her skin, and her corset felt too tight in all the wrong places. YN was truly captivated by a chapter that takes place within the husband’s office, with the lady’s maid sat upon the desk having only the most scandalous things done to her.

The feeling that she was talking about with Mr. Styles was back. For this book, however, it was certainly more of a desire to feel the way the lady’s maid felt in the book. Compared to the first one she read, there was something so real about this one. She didn’t know if it was because she had so much in common with the lady’s maid, or because the husband had so many characteristics that resembled her employer who was waiting for her to finish the book.

It took her a few hours to finish the book, but she had always been a fast reader and that really helped her do that. Once she had finished the book, and still felt hot under her collar and nervous bubbles in the pit of her stomach at the thought of the next conversation she was going to have.

It felt as though she was acting automatically, walking up the stairs and towards Mr. Styles office without actually telling herself to do so. It wasn’t until she was stood outside of his door, with her hand hovering over the door to knock that reality was kicking in.

With one deep breath, she knocked on the door twice and waited for Mr. Styles to call her in before opening the door.

“Finished already?” YN was surprised that he was the first one to talk, and she was also surprised about how much paper Mr. Styles had piled up on his desk.

“Yes, Mr. Styles.”

“Please, come in and take a seat,” He motions to one of the empty seats in front of him, “And shut the door behind you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Under his intense stare, she felt as though everything else that was happening within the world didn’t matter. The way that he was looking at her, sat behind his grand desk in a suit that complemented his frame in a way that YN had never even thought of until reading those books. Whilst she hadn’t seen much similarity between the husband in the book and Mr. Styles, but the situation was becoming more and more like reality – especially now that she was sat within the walls of his office.

“Now, I want to know what you thought,” He says, leaning forward with his elbows on his table, “I want to know the truth, no trying to hide it.”

YN knew what he was doing, but the problem was that she had no idea how to describe how she was feeling to him without speaking so scandalously to her employer.

“Sir, it was… unlike anything I’ve ever read before,” YN couldn’t help herself. If he was going to ask her for the truth, then she was going to give it to him, “Both of the books were.”

“In a good way, I’m guessing?”

“I’m not too sure about that, Mr. Styles.”

He raised one of his eyebrows at her, “Is that so?”

“It’s just sir, I’ve never read anything like that before in my life and I hadn’t ever thought that a book could be so enjoyable and scandalous at the same time.”

Mr. Styles laughed; a full belly laugh that showed those dimples that YN only managed to see in a blue moon. There was no doubt in her mind that Mr. Styles was a handsome man, and that the books hadn’t sparked something in her that she hadn’t ever thought of before reading them. Every single time she watched the man run his hand through his hair, she wanted to be doing that exact thing whilst his head was in between her legs – just like the scene on the dining table in the first book. It was a scandalous thought, and it made her cheeks flush.

“I take it that you enjoyed it, then?” As scandalous as the book were, this conversation with her employer was seemingly more scandalous.

“Yes, I did sir.”

“What if I told you that I wrote them.”

YN felt as though she was shocked all the way to her core, “Sir, you –”

“I wrote them, yes,” He nodded his head, “I take it that this is a shock to you.”

“Just a little, sir.”

“Did you not wonder what I spent hours and hours doing with all of this paper every day?” He asked, as though he was sort plaguing her for her opinion on the matter.

“I did sir, but I never thought that – you were – doing…”

“That I was writing such scandalous things?”

“Well, yes.”

“Well, that is completely understandable,” YN nodded at his words, because it was very true, “I understand that it is such a shock for you, but without these books there is no house, and no job for you.”

“I completely understand that sir,” YN nodded, not wanting to push any buttons that could end with her losing her job.

“Good,” He nodded his head and tapped his finger on the table, “Now I have a proposition for you.”

YN’s eyes widened at his words, “For me.”

“Yes, there’s nobody else in the room is there?” YN laughed at his joke, even if it was at her expense, “I have a proposition for you to be my editor.”

“Your editor?”

“Are you going to repeat everything I say?” It could have been malicious, if it wasn’t for the smile on Mr. Styles’ face.

“No, sir.”

“Good,” He nods his head, “The main reason I am asking is that my editor has been indisposed and I have a deadline for my next book, and I know that you won’t be shocked by the content anymore.”

“Sir, I haven’t edited book before.”

“I know that,” He stands up and moves as he talks, before resting himself in front of her on his desk, “But it needs to be someone I can trust, and that I know won’t be scandalised by the content.”

“Sir, if I may, just because I have read the content doesn’t mean that I wasn’t scandalised by it.”

“Really?” This seemed to shock him, “So you were scandalised by the book.”

“I think it to be improper if I wasn’t scandalised, sir,” YN was truly shocked that he didn’t think that she would be. Did she come off as an improper girl? “The content you write, that was something that my mother told me was only between a man and a woman in the marital bed.”

He nodded his head, “You can always say no, and just continue to be my maid.”

“I never said that sir,” YN was maybe a little too enthusiastic with her response.

“So, you’ll do it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Great,” He turned around and picked up a large pile of papers and passed it to her, “This is what I have so far, and I can give you a quill and some ink to edit.”

“Okay,” YN was trying her best to balance the papers that she had been given, “Thank you, Mr. Styles.”

YN and Mr. Styles had been working together for the past couple of weeks, with Mr. Styles writing chapters upon chapters and YN editing every single one until they were ready for publishing. They were about a quarter of the way through the book when Mr. Styles hit a block, and YN ended up sitting in his office whilst he paced around the room.

“I need it to be more… pleasurable, I need it to be about her,” YN was nodding her head, flicking through the paper that he had just written, “But I don’t want it to be too similar to the things that I’ve already done and written. I want it to be new.”

YN understood exactly what was being said, and as she was reading, she was trying to have some sort of ideas come to her as to what she could do. This was different to what she had read of Mr. Styles’ books before, and that was a few now. When she had started edited his books, she decided that she would read more just to see how he liked his books to be edited before they were published.

“What if she was the one to take control?”

Mr. Styles stopped his pacing and turned to look at her, “What?”

“Well, you said that you wanted it to be new, and about her,” YN repeated his words, placing the paper down on the desk and turning to look at him, “Why don’t you let her take control? Let her be the one to make the decisions. That hasn’t been shown in your work before.”

He nodded his head, as though he was coming to his senses with what she was saying. It wasn’t too much of a stretch, but Harry so far has written the majority of his characters where the male is the one to take the lead, why couldn’t the female? (YN knew exactly why in some of the cases the female didn’t, but it would be fun to try.)

“It’s a good idea,” He nods his head, finally sitting back down and stopping the pacing that was driving YN a little up the wall, “But I don’t know the perspective, I don’t know what a woman would say in that situation.”

If he was asking her opinion on this situation, then she had nothing to offer him. YN had never been in a situation even remotely close to the ones in his book – all she knew was the conversation she had with her mother when she was younger and everything that she had read within his books.

“Don’t you have any friends that you could possibly ask?”

“It isn’t exactly a conversation that you bring up over dinner, Miss. YLN,” There was a little maliciousness behind his voice, but YN had spent enough time with Mr. Styles over the past few weeks that she knew to take everything he said during his ‘creative process’ with a pinch of salt.

“What about the Williamsons?” A little timider now, but she had to ask, “Couldn’t you ask them?”

“They came to me with their problems, YN,” Mr. Styles explains, “They’ve been my friends for years, and they know what I do. They were having issues in that aspect of their relationship.”

That made a lot more sense now, and whilst YN hadn’t a clue what had gone on behind those closed doors weeks ago, she had a feeling that it maybe was and wasn’t what she was thinking all at once.

“I understand, Mr. Styles.”

He stood up again and started pacing and YN felt as though she was a second away from rolling her eyes, “Maybe you can help.”

“Mr. Styles,” Normally YN’s tone was shocked at his ideas, but this was a complete shock, “You can’t be serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious,” He stops right in front of her, leaning on the desk behind him with his arms crossed, “We don’t have to, but if you want to, you could help me.”

“And how could I do that?”

“YN, if we could get you to experience that pleasure and tell me exactly how you would take control and want that control to be portrayed.”

“But sir, how am I supposed to do that?”

“I would help,” Mr. Styles said, without any hesitancy, “I can help, if you’d like.”

“Sir, thank you, but I just… I don’t know –” YN looked at him, looking at her as though she was his only option, “I’m sorry.”

Walking out of the room, YN didn’t know what to do. All of that desire she had been feeling to feel like the women in the books was laid out to her on the table, and she ran. She couldn’t say that she hadn’t imagined Mr. Styles in that way, but he was her employer and that would be drawing a line in a way that she hadn’t before.

Instead of Mr. Styles pacing around the room, it was YN. She was pacing around the entire house, cleaning everything that she could and doing everything that she could. By the time that Mr. Styles’ dinner was ready, she had placed it down and left the room before he had even gotten there, and she waited until he was done before going back to clean up.

Once the house had gone quiet, YN’s thoughts were whirring around in her head. She can’t help the heat that had coursed through her entire body at what Mr. Styles had offered all day. It was a little unbearable, to the point where she couldn’t lay still and couldn’t think about anything but his offer.

What would be the problem if she went through with it? He could fire her. She would be scandalised forever. But she didn’t have much going for her anyway, and she had given up the idea of marriage long ago. What if this was her last chance?

YN didn’t know the time, but it was late, and with a candle clutched in her hand she walked out of her room and upstairs. Her feet carried her towards Mr. Styles’ room. She thought that he would be long asleep, and she would be going right back downstairs but at the sight of the light flickering from underneath his door she knew that wasn’t the case.

“Mr Styles?” She knocked on the door, waiting to hear something before she came in, “Are you awake?”

YN heard shuffling from the other side of the door, before it swung open to reveal Mr. Styles stood there with only his trousers on, his suspenders laying vacant by his sides revealing his entire chest to YN. She couldn’t help her eyes wander down to his chest, and across his arms.

“Miss. YLN,” He seemed shocked, but there was also a bit of concern laced within his voice, “Is everything okay?”

“I was just thinking about what you said earlier… about what you offered,” She cleared her throat slightly, “And I would like to help you, if there’s truly no other option.”

“YN,” It was the first time that he had used her name since she joined him. YN didn’t even know what Mr. Styles’ first name was – he wrote his books under a pseudonym, “Are you sure that this is what you want?”

“I am,” She nodded her head, “I promise.”

That was all it took for Mr. Styles to lean forward, grasp her head between his hands and place his lips directly on hers. YN was a little shocked by it, seeing as though she had never been kissed before, but the second that his hands slipped into her hair that had dissipated. It didn’t take long for her to stumble into his room, where he moved his hands down her body until they were underneath her thighs.

“Jump,” YN did as he said, the words that she seemed to understand when he mumbled them against her lips.

With a swift move, Mr. Styles had his hands underneath her thighs and her legs wrapped around his waist. He pushed his door closed behind and walked her towards his bed. This wasn’t the first time that YN had been in Mr. Styles room but kissing him whilst having her legs wrapped around his waist in only her slip was certainly a different experience then cleaning the room.

Mr. Styles placed YN down on the bed with such ease and light touch that shocked YN if she was completely honest. She was nervous, and truly didn’t know what to expect from this but so far nothing was making her feel too scared.

“Are you still sure about this, YN?”

When he mumbled that against her lips, she didn’t know what to do so she just nodded her head and mumbled a, “Yes,” against his lips.

Mr. Styles’ soft lips removed from yours and started to move down the soft skin of her neck, and every once in a while, she could feel his teeth scratching against the skin and also his tongue grazing every once in a while.

He continued planting kisses down her body, across each part of her skin even over her slip. As he continued moving further down her body, he used his hands to push her slip up. It was almost as though he was asking permission to push it further up and reveal herself to him. With one quick nod of her head, he was doing just that, pushing it up until he was face to face with her. It was the first time that anybody had seen her pussy, and there was no time in her brain for her to be scandalised by the thought.

“Are you okay up there?” He asked, moving his hands lightly up and down her thighs.

“Yes, sir,” She nodded her head, “Just… I’ve never felt like this before.”

“I know you haven’t,” He smiles and places a few kisses along the soft skin of her thighs, “I’m going to start now.”

It only started at first with a soft kiss around where YN needed it the most. It felt as though your entire body was going to combust at any moment, and that Mr. Styles certainly knew what he was doing as she was completely dripping for him. She wouldn’t be surprised if she had dripped right onto the bed beneath him.

Within one blink of her eyes, he was kissing directly on her clit. It was a sensation that she’d never felt before, and she didn’t know whether she’d feel it again. He then moves from kissing to licking right up and down her slit, collecting her arousal before bringing it up to circle her sensitive clit.

“Oh, Mr Styles!”

“Harry,” He mumbles against her, sending shivers all the way down her spine, “M’names Harry, say my name.”

“Harry!” It was the first time that he had told her his name, and now that she knew it, she didn’t know if she would every stop saying it.

He smiles against her before continuing to pleasure her. The feeling of his tongue against her pussy had her almost panting. The fact that he knew how to add the exact pressure onto her clit that have her squirming and moaning his name was unbeknownst to her, but he did. Every small sound that she made had him grinning against her, and he must have been enjoying himself them.

He changes from rhymical laps to her clit to teasing it with the tip of his tongue. It was only when he started to gently suck on it that she started to feel a tightening in her stomach. YN’s legs started to shake, and her breath got caught in her throat.

Harry can tell that YN is getting closer and closer, and knowing that he brings fingers under his mouth until he can sink one of them inside of her. It was almost instantly that she started clenching around his finger. YN immediately reaches out and grabs the blanket that screwed up on the bed behind her. When Harry notices, he immediately reaches out his free hand for her to take – which she does with a lasting squeeze. The intimacy of holding Harry’s hand whilst he does this to her is something that she’ll never forget. The squeeze that YN has on his hand is something that keeps her feeling slightly grounded even though she feels as though she’s truly only a second away from exploding.

Harry pushes another finger inside of her and starts to thrust them in and out of her pussy, coaxing something from the pit of her stomach that she had never felt before in her life. It was as though YN could see stars, and as though she could feel everything on her body more and more. YN can feel just how firm his tongue is, every ridge of it and how warm it is. The feeling to YN was indescribable to her, but yet she had read a scene within one of Harry’s own books that describes it. The only thing that YN could say is that the books definitely do not do the feelings justice.

“Harry…” YN started to squeeze his hand tighter, as she was worked closer and closer to a point that she had never felt before, “Harry, its –”

“I know, love,” He mumbles against her, “Just feel it.”

Seconds later, YN does just that. The feeling of her orgasm on Harry’s fingers and tongue was something that had her mouth opening, her eyes falling shut and her back arching. He doesn’t stop as she reaches that point, he continues working his fingers and his tongue and bringing her past that point.

Once she was coming down from her high, he doesn’t stop his fingers all together just slows them down until she pushes him away due to the sensitivity that she was feeling. He laughed and moved further up until he could kiss her again. Her entire body felt numb, but the second she felt his lips on hers she was brought back down to reality and to the feeling of what had just happened.

Once her breathing calmed down, Harry dropped beside on her on the bed on his back. His chest seemingly seemed back to normal as well. YN didn’t know what to say, and she didn’t even know what to think. For some reason, not knowing what to do she couldn’t help but laugh.

“What?” Mr. Styles said, and she could hear the smile on his face.

“Nothing, Mr. Styles.”

“What did I say?” She turns to look at him, and he looks at her too, “My names Harry.”

“Nothing, Harry.”

“You’re cooking something up in that head of yours.”

“No,” YN shakes her head, “No, I’m not.”

“Yes. Yes, you are.”

The only sound that can be heard is YN’s laughter as Harry starts to kiss her neck again.

YN had spent the last week or so splitting her time up between cleaning and cooking, editing what Mr. Styles was writing and laying between the sheets of Mr. Styles’ bed. It certainly wasn’t a conventional way of living, but YN had never been happier. It was the same for Harry, YN thought. In the few months that she had been with Mr. Styles, she hadn’t seen him as happy as he was now.

Before, he normally kept himself hidden within his office, only ever coming out when it was absolutely necessary that he did. But now, he was always coming out of his office to find her, kissing her and touching her in ways that she craved for more.

The first time that they had sex was a few days ago now, and YN hadn’t wanted to stop. They had been doing it all over the house, in the kitchen, on Harry’s desk, on the dining table and even on the stairs (even though YN would never admit it.) There was even the one time that they did it under the tree that YN had become very fond of in the course of her employment, and Mr. Towers walked around the corner and received the shock of his life. YN didn’t speak to Harry for a few hours, but when he started to attack her neck whilst she was making his dinner, she had no choice but to talk to him.

YN had been planning this for the past day now, and now that he was working in his office, she saw it as the perfect opportunity. It was taking a lot of courage for her to do this, but she knew that she had to do it – for the sake of the book that was.

YN walked up the stairs towards Mr. Styles’ office with purpose, and when she reached his door, she didn’t knock she just walked in. He was sat at his desk (like he always was) with a piece of paper in his hands, obviously reading through something that he had written. At the disturbance of YN walking in, he looked up and at the sight of her just in her slip he couldn’t help the smile at her.

“Is it night-time already?” Unable to stop himself from poking at least a little fun at her.

“No, it’s not,” YN shut the door behind her and started making her way towards him at his desk, “But it is time for something.”

“What is it time for?” He leant back in his chair, allowing for space for her to drop down onto her knees in front of him.

“Do you remember when you first proposed this?” He nodded his head, pretending not to be distracted by her hands working the button on his trousers, “Do you remember what you didn’t know? And what you wanted to know?”

He nodded his head, not being able to think of anything to say as she wrapped her hand around him.

“How would a woman take control?” She teased, running her finger across his tip, “What she would do? And what she would say?”

He moved his hands down, attempting to thread them through her hair.

She tutted and shook her head, “No. Hands by your side.”

He did what she asked, and she decided to finally stop teasing him. She started by just a few kitten lips to his tip, before placing her whole mouth around him. His eyes fluttered shut as she started to take more and more of him in her mouth. Her other hand was cupping his balls, massaging them gently.

“Fuck, YN,” The explicit word just slips out of his mouth, his body completely overridden by the pleasure he was feeling, “You feel so good.”

His hands were gripping the side of the chair he was sat in, so hard that his knuckles were turning white. His breathing was becoming more and more shallow, and she knew exactly what was coming next. This caused her to pull away and for him to moan at the loss of her lips around him.

“Not yet,” She shakes her head and stands up, pulling up her slip until she was bare for him. There were few things that could get her dripping like Harry does, “I didn’t say you could, did I?”

“YN!” His hands come to grasp her hips as she stands up, straddling his waist and lining herself up with him. He watches down between them in anticipation as she sinks down onto him. One of her hands lifts up to grasp her neck, squeezing lightly as she leans down to kiss him. Once he was comfortably inside of her, she started to grind her lips on him.

“Jesus, YN,” He whispered against her lips.

“Feel good?”

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but the only thing that comes out of his lips are another moan. YN continues to lift her hips and drops them back down on him, allowing her head to rest on his shoulders as she does so.

“Do you want to touch me, Harry?” She asks, leaning forward to catch his ear between her teeth.

“Please,” Harry almost begs her to let him touch her, all he wanted to do was touch her and take over.

“Well, I have not decided that you can yet,” YN continues to bounce, leaning back slightly. Her breasts bounce as she moves, and Harry wants to do nothing more than to reach out and touch or take them between his lips.

“YN,” Harry whines, “Please let me touch you, please let me kiss you. Let me take control.”

“No, did you not hear me?” YN continued to bounce up and down, bringing the both of them closer and closer, “You wanted it from my perspective, and that is what you’re getting.”

Harry felt as though he was going to combust. The waves of pleasure were coursing through his body, and he felt as though he was going to tipped over the edge at any second. YN knew that she wasn’t going to have to make him wait much longer, as she was already feeling her own peak closing in on her.

“Are you close, Harry?”

“Yes,” He leans forward to capture her lips on his again, “Please, are you darling?”

“I am.”

“Don’t stop, darling.”

“I am not going to stop, Harry, don’t worry.”

The second YN reaches her peak, Harry does too, and he spills inside of her. YN takes one look at him, with his eyes closed and his head tipped back, hair all over. YN couldn’t help but smile at him, pushing his hair back off his face. Once he opens his eyes he has the biggest grin on his face, and YN can’t help but kiss it off him.

“Was that, okay?” YN mumbles against his lips, and he grins again.

“Okay?” He laughs and pulls her closer, “That was more than okay.”

One Year Later

“YN!” The door slammed shut not that long after the call of her name. She had been sat in the parlour, curled up with a book but at the sound of Harry entering the house. He had left earlier that morning to go into the city centre and YN hadn’t been expecting him back for a while, so she was shocked when he walked through the door.

“In here!” She closed the book that she was reading (not one of Harry’s which may come as a shock).

Harry came bursting through the door of the parlour with the biggest grin on his face that YN had ever seen. He was obviously hiding something behind his back, and YN was positive that she knew what that was.

“It’s ready!” Harry exclaimed, showing her that it was a book that he had been concealing behind his back, “After one long year it’s finally done!”

He walked towards her and sat down next to her on the lounger, passing the book to her so that she could see. Once she had the emerald, green covered book with the gold lettering with the title and the name in gold embossed lettering, YN honestly felt as though she could cry. They had put blood, sweat and tears into for over the past year. But then again, lately anything was making her cry.

“Oh, Harry,” Her eyes did start to water up as he wrapped his arm around her, pulling him closer to her chest, “It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” He places a kiss against her cheek, and she leans into his touch, “I want you to open it. Look on the inside.”

YN opened to the first page, where she saw that there was a dedication page.

To the person that showed me what Desire is,

this is for you, my Mrs. Scott.

“Oh, Harry,” That was it, the tears had truly started to fall down YN’s cheeks now and there was no stopping them, “I love it.”

“I know that it’s a shame that we couldn’t write Mrs. Styles, but for the sake of the book you are my Mrs. Scott.”

“And you’re my Mr. Scott.”

YN closed the book and turned her head, pouting her lips for a kiss from her husband. He obviously obliged, not wanting to upset his wife.

“And soon we’ll have our baby Scott,” Harry smiled against her lips, moving his hand so that it was laid across her protruding stomach.

The pregnancy hadn’t been a shock to either of them, especially since they hadn’t been careful before they got married, but even more so when they did get married, seeing as though the scandalous part of their relationship had gone.

The most shocking thing that happened was the night that they finished the book completely, it was all written and ready to be sent off and Harry got down on one knee and asked her to marry him. YN was more shocked than she could believe to the point where she pinched herself because she didn’t believe it was true. YN never thought that she would even know anyone that she could even see spending the rest of her life with, but Harry was that.

It was a little stressful at first for YN to leave maid mode and move into wife mode but once she fell pregnant it became easier. They also hired a new maid, Dahlia, who came from a very similar situation to YN herself, but she was nice enough and did her job as well as they would like her too.

The thought of Harry even looking at Dahlia the way he had looked at YN hadn’t even crossed her mind. The only way that YN could describe Harry since they were married, and even more so when they found out that she was pregnant was that he was completely and utterly armoured by her.

“This baby is a Styles, Mr. Styles,” YN rolled her eyes at his comment, to which he laughed at her, “This baby isn’t going anywhere near the books.”

“That is true,” He nods his head and placed another kiss on her cheek, “You’re right Mrs. Styles.”

“Have you not noticed that I am rarely wrong?” He laughed and kissed her cheek again.

Even though their relationship came about in a very unconventional (and very scandalous way), YN had never, ever been happier and she had Harry to thank for that – and she would for the rest of her life.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles

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phenphoenix · 2 months

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Kinda wanna write the swap au meeting their og selves I think that’d be fun

Absolutely, I'll even plant some seeds for you that I've already got

Anthony and Angel Dust - Both see each other as the worst version of themselves. Yet deep down, don't hold too much resentment because they are the same person, just different circumstances.

Husker and Husk - Husk is a bit weirded out at first but warms up to husker cause he reminds him of when he was younger and happier. Husker is just curious where husks shirt went-

Niff and Nifty - Niff lowkey kinda wishes she was as crazy as Nifty. Maybe she wouldn't be so depressed- just blissfully insane. Nifty is confused at seeing another her and thinks she has a long-lost twin.

Swap!Vaggie and Vaggie - Vaggie is uncomfortable with seeing her alternate self, just making her more grateful it was charlie who found her. Swap!Vaggie puts on a front to be as over the top as possible because she's lowkey having a crisis and just feels even worse.

Charlotte and Charlie - Charlie is over the moon to meet her alternate self. Charlotte, not so much. She sees Charlie as a naive little puppy. But she admires her resilience and how even with all of hell seeing her as a joke, she keeps doing what she believes in.

Lady Cherri and Cherri bomb - They get along great. Both are still basically the same person, and if anything, Cherri respects the hell out of Lady cherri for being born in the late 1800s and still achieving what she has. While Lady Cherri loves the fact that her alternate self was able to be as free as she was 100 years in the future.

Pentious and Sir pentious - Again, they get along great. Both are goofy middle-aged men who like to destroy things and be eeeeeeevil. But really have a good heart and just want to prove themselves in the end.

Swap!Vess and The vees - Not much to say other than they are all still toxic besties. Lotta passive aggressive remarks lmao

Swap!Sera and Sera - very much a "if my cards were different, I understand I would have gone down your path," but with both thinking they are the better one.

Swap!Emily and Emily - Emily doesn't even want to look at her alternate self. While Swap!Emily sees her alternate self as a naive fool who needs to take more of a stand. (But is faithful that she will)

Swap!Adam and Adam - Both look at each other and go "Hah what a loser"

Swap!Lute and Lute - Lute is disappointed that her Alternate self seems so,,,boring. But still respects her for her high rank in Hevan. Swap!Lute thinks Lute could use a chill pill...and maybe some therapy.

(Since Lillith and Lucifer are still big question marks within cannon and this AU, I'll leave them out for now)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel swap au #the hart hotel

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suzannahnatters · 1 month

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A hot take for you this morning:

The conviction has been growing upon me for several years that whole segments of Western media are steadily losing the ability to write for & about women. Female characters, female-led stories, and romantic literacy are all getting worse.

I grew up largely free of TV/movies, and for a long time prided myself on reading no book younger than 50 years old (yeah, I was insufferable). I've since sought to change that. That's why I believe I have the authority to say this: I see a really stark contrast between how it is now and how it used to be.

Compared to today, male authors like Shakespeare, Trollope, and even Tolkien had active empathy & respect for their female characters. They centred whole narratives around believable women. And they wrote unabashed romances.

That's largely gone now.

Compare western media to kdrama. Kdrama usually centres male protagonists in a way it doesn't centre female characters. But it also centres romance - HIGHLY sophisticated & detailed romance.

Watching kdrama cemented my suspicions, because it feels like the first storytelling I've found since the 1800s to treat romance with dignity and respect, & above all as something worthy of male attention. That is SO RARE these days.

I don't think something needs to get male attention in order to be worthy, but as any woman will tell you, if something DOESN'T get male attention, it's viewed as trivial and contemptible if its existence is noted at all.

It's true that more women than ever are writing stories about women, including romances. The problem is, this seems to have resulted in women's stories getting shoved into a ghetto; either YA or romance or the dreaded "chick flick"

As this genre divide developed between stories for men and stories for women, it seems like too many male storytellers took it as a license to care even less about writing for & about women.

Ahem, Popular Urban Fantasy Author Who Lists His Female Characters' Bust Size Without Fail.

Please note, I know many good and sincere men who want to do better. I see you and I'm so grateful for your efforts. But if you've mostly been reading "blokey" stories - and I know the appeal of stories about & for oneself - you haven't been given the tools you need.

The final straw seems to be the rise of vocal, self-consciously chauvinist online fandoms which rubbish media they see as being too feminine and loudly demand increasingly chauvinist storytelling. These people DO have an impact. Shows they bless get renewed season after season. Media they curse is lucky to survive. I mention no names. But we've all seen them shape public discourse.

What it all adds up to is this: if I want believable writing about women, in a lot of ways I'm better off reading a man from 1850 than a man from 2020. And that's pretty messed up.

How is this going to change? On a cultural level, I don't know. But I want to shout out to the fellow author who read my mixed review of his book, reached out to me for a detailed critique, and listened for an hour as I talked. You, sir, are one of the real ones.

#writing #kdrama #asian drama #writing romance #romance #female characters #male authors

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athingofvikings · 8 months

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This is not the first time a powerful man has tried to blame the Jews and stir up hatred against us for their own goals. Elon Musk is just the latest in a long line of such men extending back through history.

In 1925, Hitler published his manifesto, Mein Kampf ("My Struggle"), where he laid the blame for Germany's problems at the feet of the Jews, saying that the Jews had "stabbed Germany in the back" during WWI; he was inspired by earlier publications, including...

In 1920, Henry Ford's newspaper, the Dearborn Independent, was losing money, so Ford planned a series of articles specifically attacking the Jewish people; the articles were later combined into four books titled The International Jew. Ford was praised by Hitler for these publications.

In 1903, agents of the Russian Czar secretly published Протоколы сионских мудрецов, aka "The Protocols of the Elders of Zion"; pretending to be the documentation of a meeting between the Jewish leaders as they sought to control the world, it was written and published by the Russian government as a way of distracting from the Czar's policy and governmental failures, as well as helping justify their hatred of the Jews in Russian lands. Despite being proved as a forgery within years of its publication, it inspired Hitler's own views.

In 1543, after more than two decades of failed attempts to convert the Jews by kindness, Martin Luther published On The Jews and Their Lies, where he outlines his hate and urges persecution of the Jews, stating that the Jews should be shown no mercy or kindness, given no protection by the law, be enslaved, and advocated for mass murder.

Furthermore, all through the medieval period, Christian rulers would use the Jews as moneylenders and tax collectors, and then, when their subjects couldn't stand the taxes any further, the rage of the peasants was easy to redirect towards the Jews, who were vilified as "Christkillers" and kidnappers and murderers of Christian children. Nevermind that none of those accusations were true, they were useful to the ruler, because now he could take all of the property of the murdered and/or expelled Jews for himself. This was done multiple times over the course of centuries, most notably in England in 1290, and in Spain in 1492.

And this is just a small sample of such men. We are not even covering in detail the Royal Vizier of the Persian Empire two and a half thousand years ago, whose attempts to have the Jewish population of the Empire massacred failed. We are not covering the Dreyfus Affair of late 1800s France, where senior officers of the French military essentially helped cover for a foreign spy by instead targeting a Jewish officer for no reason other than his Jewishness. And so on and so forth.

But here is the thing to know and remember.

They are gone.

And the Jews?

We are still here.

Am Yisrael Chai--the Children of Israel Live!

#antisemitism #elon musk #history

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dickarchivist · 8 months

Text

Don't Stop on my Account

Wolffe × Fem!Reader, new/budding relationship

MINORS BEGONE 🔞

Warnings: n s f w 18+, self pleasure, fantasizing, watching, unprotected PiV sex, overstim, yearning, touch of angst, and smut, so much smut

Summary: missing your new sweetheart's touch, you decide to go solo, only to discover you're not as alone as you thought you were 👀

Little over 1800 words

Author's notes: I haven't written in a long time so sorry if this is rough! Wolffe is my fav clone so this is incredibly self indulgent yeehaw. Also use protection!

You'd been warned so many times. "Stay away from the republic clones, they're hot but there's no guarantees with them." Your friends know you well, you have the habit of falling for people a little too hard, a little too fast. And they were right, of course, you'd met plenty of clones that never came back. Even so, knowing all this: When Wolffe was around, all of your logic seemed to be thrown away.

You'd spent every night for a few weeks with him. As soon as he was allowed away from his post, and you with work, you'd find each other. In the morning he'd wake you before he left your flat with a soft kiss, just enough that you'd be able to fall back asleep once he was gone. Wolffe would make sure you knew he had a good time, and he was excited to see you again. The cycle repeated until one day, it didn't.

Wolffe doesn't wake you with a kiss that day, he tries to sneak out, but catches his boot on last night's clothes, and his stifled, "Kriff!" wakes you instead. He blushes when you look at him with a pout, hair tossed and body bare to him. "So you're leaving today, hm?"

"I uh... I am," Wolffe straightens up, putting on the cold stare he gave to others. You'd never seen it aimed at you before, and it makes you feel small. "I got my orders last night, headed--"

But that smallness only lives until "last night" tumbles from his lips. You sit up a little with betrayal clear on your face, angry now, "You got them last night and you didn't think to tell me?" You don't know why that hurts so much, but it does. It hurts more than you thought it ever would.

But he looks hurt too, his eyes heavy with guilt now as he glares at the floor, "I didn't know how, okay? This- this thing, it's new to me, kriff, you have me thinking I could--" He stops, and you wait for him to continue, but he just shakes his head and lets the thought die, "I'll be back soon."

"How soon?"

"Sooner than you think... but not as soon as we'd hope."

You want to be mad, stars you want to tell him to fuck off... But you find yourself instead getting out of bed and moving to kiss him. Wolffe doesn't hesitate to lean down and kiss you back, collecting you in his arms and holding you close. His armor feels cold against your bare skin and he chuckles when you pull away.

He admires your goosebumps, that cocky smirk on his face as he touches your body. His glove hand runs over your breast, circling your nipple, and you moan softly at his touch. Before you can even think, the words come out, "Please stay..."

The sadness returns to his eyes instantly, "I can't..." you stand in silence, before he takes your hand and squeezes it, then presses it to his lips, "Tell me to come back safe instead, Mesh'la..."

"No..." you set yourself against his chest, one hand were his heart would be as the other hugs around his waist, "I don't want you to leave at all. Stay with me."

Wolffe tilts your head to look at him. His voice is stern, but there's a plea in his eyes, a need to hear you say it, "Tell me to come back safe."

You get on your toes and place one more kiss to his lips, whispering against him, "Come home to me, Wolffe. Come home safe..."

"I will." He kisses you once more before he leaves you standing there alone.

You miss him. You miss him for a long time.

When you get back into bed, your mind goes back to the night before he left. You wish the sheets still smelled like him, and all you want is his touch, his warmth. The feeling of his hands on your body as he handles you, his lips on your skin, his teeth marking your neck, and his length deep within your walls.

"Wolffe..." you whimper, shutting your eyes. Your nipples are the last place you felt his bare handed touch, so you decide to start there, and you whimper again, "Wolffe..." as you feel yourself up.

When you start to rub your legs together, you lay yourself on your back and run one hand down your stomach. The memory of Wolffe's hand running the same course sending chills over you. You open your legs for yourself- no, for him. Always for him, you think to yourself, picturing Wolffe between your legs again.

You bite your bottom lip and moan as you slide your fingers between your folds. "F-fuck-- Wolffe~ oh~" He'd chuckle if he were there, you think, telling you how pretty your folds looks all wet for him, "O-only for you". Your fingers spread your slick from your entrance up to your clit, and you moan again, mimicking his tongue with your fingers.

"Wolffe, oh~" you feel yourself throb as you start rubbing circles into yourself. You have to use three fingers to match the size of his two, and you moan louder, "Fuck me, please, oh, ah..."

You let go of your nipple and bring your other hand down, teasing your entrance as you rub your clit. You can hear Wolffe in your head saying how needy you are, telling you to ask for what you want, and maybe he'll give it to you.

"I-I want you, I want you, please oh-" you slip two fingers inside your slick walls and clench around them, gasping, "Wolffe!!"

It's then that you hear a low chuckle, "You want me, hm?" and your eyes open. You're not sure how you willed him back. Your hands slow a bit, and Wolffe chuckles again, starting to remove his clothes, "Don't stop on my account Mesh'la. Go on, touch yourself. I want to see you."

Renewed blush burns your cheeks and shoulders as you watch him strip down to nothing but his small clothes. The bulge in his shorts makes you ache, but all he does is set his hands on your knees and spread you open a little more, "Keep going, I want to see how this plays out."

Wolffe watches your hands with hungry eyes as you do what your told. He kisses your inner thighs as your hand rubs faster against your clit, fingers curling inside your walls with a sweet wet smack. "Wolffe... I'm- I'm close, please..."

"Cum then," Wolffe bites your soft skin and you moan for him, clenching around your fingers, "When you cum, I'll give you what you want."

"I want you..." you pant, moving faster as you feel your climax building, "I want you, Wolffe, I want you, I--" he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth, sucking and flicking it with his tongue.

Your hands move faster in your walls and on your clit, and as you spasm under your own touch, back arching off your bed, you scream his name, "Wolffe!! Oh!"

Before you can come down from your own pleasure, with your head still spinning, Wolffe begins to move. He takes your hands from yourself and places your slick fingers in his mouth, sucking them clean of your slick. When he's done with your hands, he puts them over your head, with a cocky chuckle, "Tell me what you want."

"I want you," You're so dizzy, but you open yourself to him and put your legs over his waist, "I want you Wolffe, please... please..."

"What do you want Mesh'la?" You can tell he's teasing you. He likes it when you get crude with him about your desires. Walking in on you masturbaiting to a fantasy of him must have done wonders for his ego, and it's showing. He rolls his hips forward, barely grazing your folds with his bulge, but it's enough to make you squirm and moan. "I'll ask again," he rolls his hips once more, "What do you want?"

Your heart pounds, and you lean your head to the side, "Fuck me!"

Your hips come up, trying to gain any friction, and you whine, turning to look at him again, "Fuck me Wolffe, I need you. Please!"

"Since you asked so nicely~" Wolffe leans back from between your legs and removes his shorts finally, freeing his length with a sigh of relief.

You expected him to climb back into the bed, but he pulls you forward by your spread legs, bringing you to the edge of the bed. You hook your legs around his waist again as he slides his length through your folds. Wolffe stimulates your clit with the head of his length, then slides it down to your entrance. He teases you a little, "Already prepped for me, hm? It's like you knew I'd want to be deep in you when I got back."

You open your mouth to retort, but all that comes is a drawn out moan as Wolffe's length fills you for the first time in what feels like an eternity. The clone gives his own grunt of content as he presses a hand onto your belly and fills you completely, "You feel so good, so wet for me."

"O-only for you..." you pant, hands gripping the sheets above you.

Wolffe smirks at you as he slowly drags his hips back, only to snap them forward quick and rough. A surprised, "Ah!" Comes from you, and your back arches. He does it again, and again, building speed until you're bouncing on his cock. He holds your waist and fucks into you hard, the sweet wet slaps of skin on skin filling your bedroom. The sounds mingle in the air with grunts and moans, names whispered and then yelled soon after.

You feel another climax starting to threaten, and you look up into Wolffe's eyes, seeing the same building pressure on his face. His hand goes to your clit and you scream his name in ecstasy as he fucks into you wildly, hips surging forward in sporadic hard thrusts. Wolffe grits his teeth as he spends himself deep within your walls, collapsing forward onto your shaking body as you both bask in the after glow.

Your arms tremble as you hug around his chest, moaning as he lazily rolls his hips with aftershocks. As Wolffe kisses your neck, you bury your face in his shoulder, placing your own soft kisses to his hot skin, "Welcome home, Wolffe..."

#commander wolffe #fanfic #sw fic #smut #sorry for you know *gestures at fic*#wolffe x reader #wolffe x you #tcw smut

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homunculus-argument · 1 year

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Vampires that have a somewhat adaptible, mixed method for aquiring prey - they can either hunt for random victims and drain them of all of their blood, or during times when prey isn't abundant, form a parasitic or even symbiotic relationship with a human host. The long-term feeding isn't as effective, but keeps a vampire alive in a somewhat weakened state, and the host human gains some physical benefits from the feeding to keep them attached, such as faster healing, increased physical strength, and a longer lifespan. Nowhere near the level of a vampire, but far above an average human nonetheless.

There's a family that struck into wealth somewhere in the 1700s or the 1800s, and is definitely Old Money now. Their secret is that The Patriarch of the family (who is immortalised both in a giant portrait above the main entrance stairwell and a great and gaudy marble statue in garden of the family's big-ass mansion) made a contract with a terrifying vampire back in the day, enabling him to do shit that no ordinary mortal human could physically do. Combined with his tendency to doing things no ordinary human could morally do, the guy made bank. And the vampire sat back, mildly amused by this.

After the old patriarch started getting on with age, the vampire moved on to feed off his children, not questioning their status in the family. And not noticing the way their status declined in the family, slowly over the generations, which all depended on the superhuman strength they got from feeding the vampire - who has been demoted to a family pet.

By the 2020s, the vampire is locked in the basement. The family slowly and gradually learned all the strengths and weaknesses that a vampire has, and has perfected the little dungeon into something inescapable. Understanding nothing of modern technology or how society works now, the vampire would be essentially helpless even if they were to escape. A terrifying monster of days gone bast, a nightmare too frightening to scarcely even whisper of, reduced to a pet and the dirty family secret.

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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 months

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Awkward ~ B.B.

A/n: No idea if this is out of character or not but I had fun keeping it short and sweet for once so i hope yall enjoy!

Request: “Bellamy Blake x Male reader, him and Bellamy already having a relationship but breaking up a little bit before they were sent down and reader being cold and not his happy self” by anon

Word Count: 1800+

MASTERLIST

Bellamy counted himself lucky to have met his boyfriend.

Even if they were going to end like this.

It was one of those familiar loves. The kind that take forever to build, and then last forever. The kind that took parts of you and changed them, rearranged them, and left you irrevocably changed. The kind that made a home in the center of your soul, carving the shape of a person that could never be filled by any other person ever again. The kind of love that redefined home. It was a slow burn, but strong. Inevitable.

And then it was over.

Bellamy knew that he would have stayed on this ship with his boyfriend if Y/n had asked... and he couldn't chance that. It was better anyway to leave Y/n hating him so that when he disappeared, his now ex boyfriend wouldn't worry about him or wonder if he was okay. This way, it was better for everyone. And Bellamy kept that resolve as he laid out his plan to get onto the ship with Octavia and all the way down to Earth where they could all be free and happy. If he had to leave his boyfriend, he would. For his sister. She was what mattered.

And then Y/n showed up on the ship anyway.

Bellamy almost didn't recognize him. It hadn't been long, no matter how it had felt like ages, but Y/n was completely different. His style choice had changed, his demeanor, the way he impacted the world around him - all of it was wrong. Once Y/n had been a blazing fire, a bright light. He had been a breath of fresh air, coloring the world with pink and yellow and giving Bellamy a sliver of positivity and comfort in a world Bellamy had for so long thought was too cold and broken to give up anything good anymore. Now...

Y/n was distant, quiet. He faded into the background. He didn't make eye contact with anyone, and if he did then they were quick to scatter and give him room. He was intimidating. Scary. The only reason Bellamy even clocked him was because Y/n had stepped up to side with Clarke as she and Bellamy began to butt heads for who would be in charge. It would have been surprising, if not for their history. And the fact that Bellamy had been sleeping around every moment he had since he'd gotten to Earth,

The problem was that Bellamy had made a promise to himself. Earth wouldn't just be an escape from prison - it would be an escape from life on that god forsaken ship. He came here to be free - really free. Liberated. He wanted people to see all the things this place had to offer and how amazing it was to not have any of the adults to drag them down. He needed to spend every minute convincing people they wanted and even needed to be on Earth by themselves. Completely separate from society.

He didn't want to sleep with these women. He didn't want to lead. He wanted to be alone with his sister and be free and happy, and more than anything he wanted to fall into Y/n's arms and break into tears and tell him everything and get that smile back on his face. Where it belonged.

But he stuck to plan anyway.

Predictably, that decision made everything so much worse.

Bellamy knew he'd maybe gone a little too far, being too protective of Octavia, when she shoved him one day and told him to fuck himself. The next time Bellamy saw her, she was with Y/n and they were talking in gentle, low voices. Y/n had always been better with Octavia than Bellamy was, and now it showed. Even as this darker, more reserved version of himself he still managed to make Octavia smile. She seemed to make him ease in return, but that smile that was so often on his face before coming to Earth still didn't make an appearance.

As things started to go wrong, it was becoming very quickly more and more obvious that Clarke was the better leader - especially with Y/n as her second. It had happened mostly on accident; there just wasn't anyone Clarke trusted with responsibility... or really trusted at all. Y/n proved himself again and again, encouraging Clarke to trust him more and more - so as she rose, so did he. There was something about Y/n trusting her that seemed to convince everyone to at least listen. Y/n joked that he was big and scary and had scary dog privileges and the fact that she'd 'tamed him' was why everyone was keen on listening to her. Clarke always rolled her eyes at that.

Bellamy didn't find it funny, but Octavia did, and she took every chance to tease Clarke and Y/n for being a match made in Heaven. A perfect duo. The leader of the masses and her loyal guard dog. Y/n and Clarke found it amusing enough so they never discouraged her.

It bothered Bellamy even more.

Tensions began to rapidly build. Y/n and Bellamy were more often chest to chest, nose to nose, staring each other down with malice in their eyes, and only Clarke and Octavia were able to rip the two boys apart. The sheer amount of energy between them delivered some kind of message, and the impression began to grow that there was something between them. Octavia knew, but she wasn't about to out her brother, who had never wanted to come out, or throw Y/n under the bus for getting his heart absolutely shattered by Bellamy.

Unfortunately there was only so much avoiding each other that could happen when a poisonous fog rolled through the forest, horribly killing anyone who got caught in it. In the chaos to scramble, Y/n got shoved and fell. If not for Bellamy stopping and pulling him into a close by little cove, Y/n would have died. It maybe should have prevented the hostility from being as high as it was, as quickly as it was... alas...

Y/n and Bellamy were arguing after about ten minutes. Both of them had forgotten what had started it in another ten minutes, because it wasn't soon before the real issue came out. With no one there to stop them, their back and forth devolved until the source of it all came to the surface.

"I'm sure you'll be overjoyed when this whole thing ends and you can go back to your girlfriend," Bellamy shot at his ex.

Y/n sneered, lips pulling back over bared teeth. This is always what drove Octavia and Clarke to pull them apart: the two boys looks like they were about to kill each other. They'd never fought before, let alone like this, but even now... they wouldn't hurt each other, and that's what even Octavia was missing. At least with their fists. Y/n didn't pull back now as he spat back, "Are you talking about Clarke? God, how old are you? She's not my girlfriend."

"You look pretty friendly." Bellamy rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Because we're friends!" Y/n's voice bounced off the walls as it rose into a scream, the increased volume only setting Bellamy more on edge.

"Then why are you constantly following her around like a lost puppy? Did you lose your self respect after we broke up?"

Y/n finally snapped. "I LOST EVERYTHING WHEN WE BROKE UP!" There was a ringing silence after those words. They seemed to hang in the air, and Bellamy's eyes widened as he realized there were tears streaming down Y/n's face. He couldn't move, couldn't even breathe, not knowing he had made Y/n cry. Y/n was the first one to find his voice. "I lost everything when you broke up with me. And I had to take everything I was suddenly missing completely and make something new of hollow, broken pieces. I only chose Clarke because I refused to choose you. Not again - never again. You did this. You don't get to be mad about it."

Bellamy scoffed. "I'm not mad about it." Y/n sucked in a breath to start arguing again but Bellamy had had enough. "I'm jealous."

Y/n produced a sound that was half a scoff and half a laugh. "Please. What do you have to be jealous of?"

Suddenly exhausted, all Bellamy had left was the truth. "I knew I had to get on this ship and come to Earth with Octavia. I knew I had to be free, even if it was toxic down here. Even if it killed me. I couldn't be alive in a world where I would always be the one who got to live. Not when she was killed for being born after me. I... couldn't." Y/n's words never came. He just sighed, leaning against the wall with an irritated thud. He had heard the rant before. He knew where this was going. Or, so he thought. Bellamy's next words caught him off guard. "I could never ask you to make that sacrifice. But, if you knew, you'd have agreed. Even if it would kill you. And I also couldn't let my trauma be the death of you either. Not when it was already the end of me and my sister."

Eyes wide, Y/n looked at him. There was something else in his face than that empty gloominess. Something... akin to hope. "You can't do this to me. Not now."

Bellamy closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"No-" Y/n pushed off the wall, shaking his head. "You don't get my forgiveness now. Not after everything! It's not fair!"

Bellamy's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry."

"NO!" Y/n yelled, grabbing his shirt by the collar. Bellamy's lips parted to apologize and Y/n slammed him against the cave wall, face twisted with rage. "Don't. Say. It. Again."

For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn't. Then, ever so softly, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Immediately Y/n's face crumbled. He searched Bellamy's face, demanding to see anything other than what he was seeing. Regret. Sincerity. And love.

There was only one way to know for sure.

Y/n kissed Bellamy. He was immediately hit with how eagerly Bellamy kissed back. It was like, despite everything, anything that could have ruined this moment didn't matter. People had died, they were losing numbers, going hungry. This place was so much harder than they thought and everything was out to kill them. People they knew nothing about, couldn't even see, or a landscape that crept slowly and attacked when you least expected it. Time and space and heartbreak -

And in this moment it was just them.

When Y/n leaned back, he was smiling. Really smiling. "You're an idiot. I can't believe I love you."

Bellamy melted in relief. He pulled Y/n close and even with how impossible it had all seemed, it had worked out. "I am an idiot," he agreed. Y/n chuckled and Bellamy closed his eyes to hear the sound. The sound he never thought he'd be blessed enough to hear ever again. Maybe if Y/n could still smile and laugh, and Bellamy could still get the boy, anything could happen. Maybe there was still a chance in this ruined world. Even as dire as it seemed... maybe hope could be allowed.

Just a little. Just enough.

#Bellamy Blake #the 100 #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake imagine #Bellamy Blake x male reader #the 100 imagine #the 100 x reader #the 100 x male reader

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discount-shades · 1 year

Text

Sleepy Baby Part 8

a/n: For whatever reason the tags are not working for this. I do not know if or when it will be fixed.

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin X reader

Warnings: PG-13 Sexy times

Word Count: 1800 ish

Summary: Jake and Kisses define their relationship.

Previous Masterlist Next

“Hangman, take your girlfriend and go.” Bradley’s words made your brain stutter. Being asked to leave wasn’t surprising. You had misrepresented your poker skills to get in on the weekly poker game and with everyone putting up a $100 buy-in you were leaving happy with a very full wallet.

While you and Jake did almost everything as a couple neither of you had broached the topic of defining your relationship. The two of you were currently in relationship limbo and to make it more complicated you haven’t even had sex yet and not for a lack of trying on your part. Masking your surprise at being referred to Jake's girlfriend, you laughed. “G’night Brad Brad, This was fun, we should do it again!”

“You are never coming to poker night again.” He tells you, laughing. “I’d blame Hangman but he looks just as surprised to be hustled.” You glance at Jake and he is looking at you like he was just hit on the head. When you catch his eye he smiles at you, but not with his regular cocky grin, but with one that was more unsure. You try to smile back reassuringly but you can tell his reaction is not about the poker game and it is making you nervous. Jake usually just laughs whenever you beat him at something.

After your goodbyes you walk hand in hand to Jake's truck and he opens your door for you and helps you in like always. The constant door opening took a little getting used to. You always let him help you in but your impatience never lets you wait in the truck long enough for him to open the door to let you out. This was something you constantly teased each other over but tonight he is silent.

You are halfway home before Jake speaks. “We are more than friends. We’re dating right? I mean, I am your boyfriend, and you are my girlfriend, and we are official right?” Jake is rambling and stumbling over his words. “Because we never talked about it and I just sort of assumed.…” He is so different from his usual calm collected self and you are immediately relieved now that you know what was bothering him.

“If we’re not dating I have some questions about how you treat your friends,” you look at his profile as he drives. You can see the relief hit him as he looks between your face and the road. His cocky grin is back in place and you find yourself smiling in return.

Jake reaches over for your hand and places a kiss on the back. “Yours or mine?” He asks, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Yours.” Ever since the first night you had spent together you had been sleeping at each other's place almost every night. Toothbrushes in each other's bathrooms had arrived first, quickly followed by changes of clothing. Jake had even gone out and bought your brand of shampoo and conditioner.

“So you are really good at poker,” Jake states it like a question. “When were you going to tell me?”

“I don’t usually tell people. I like to let them find out organically,” you respond.

“You mean when you hustle them out of all their money.”

“Yeah, I am a couple hundred dollars richer after tonight.” You look over at him grinning. “I like my method of letting people find out.”

“More than a couple, Jake interjects, “and one hundred of that is mine.”

“Was yours, Mine now.” you correct him and he just rolls his eyes and kisses the back of your hand again, always the gentleman.

When you finally walk through Jake’s door you turn to him and wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him. At first Jake kisses you back, deepening the kiss but as you lean your body into his he gently backs off. The passionate kiss turns chaste and more respectful and you can barely contain your groan as he gives you one last kiss and walks further into his house.

This had been going on for over a week. Jake would hug you, kiss you, and hold you but he never let it get any farther. He still flirted with you but would never follow through with what he said. Whenever you had brought it up he would always say he would go at your speed.

At first you had tried to be subtle, slowly deepening his gentle kisses and tracing your hands along the muscles of his arms and chest. When that didn't work you had been less subtle, guiding his hands from your lower back to your ass. All that had gotten you was the fact that now he would grab or smack your ass randomly throughout the day.

A few days ago you had asked him to give you a massage and stripped to some cute lace panties and laid on his bed. All you had ended up with was a really good massage. When you had offered to return the favor he had fallen asleep as you straddled his ass and rubbed the tension out of his muscles. Gazing down at him as he slept, peacefully, the idea of smothering him with a pillow crossed your mind. You had never been so frustrated in your life.

So when Jake sat down on the couch with a video game controller you were done being subtle. You grabbed the bag you had brought over the day before and went into the bathroom. There you began to dress in the lacy lingerie set you had bought. Heart pounding the whole time. You wanted Jake and you were sure he wanted you, but you had never had to be the one to initiate things before. Today that would have to change.

Staring in the mirror you checked your reflection for any tags you forgot to remove and fixed your makeup. With a final fluff of your hair you take a deep breath and walk barefoot back to the living room wearing nothing but the lacy bra and panties. You walk around the corner and try to lean casually against the wall. “Hey Jake,” you say, watching him play his game, “I’m going to bed, you coming?”

“I’ll be a few minutes.” He doesn’t even look your way. You almost stomp your foot in frustration.

You walk further into the room and lean on the back of the loveseat. “Are you sure you don't want to join me now?”

Again he does not look at you, “I just want to beat this mission then I’ll be in.”

You grab a cushion off the back of the loveseat and walk up to Jake and hit him in the face with it. His startled response is cut short when he finally looks at you. His eyes go wide and his mouth drops open.

“Do I have your attention now, Jacob?” He nods in response to your question, pausing his game and throwing the controller on the coffee table. “Good because I have been trying to give you hints for well over a week now and it has not been working so this is me being direct. I want to have sex with you, Jake Seresin.”

“I was trying to be a gentleman,” he says, eyes raking your body with an intensity you can feel. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured and that I only want you for sex.”

“And I appreciate that, but right now I need you to keep the gentleman in the streets and not in the sheets.” You are now standing directly in front of Jake and he can't take his eyes off you. “Now I am going to go into your bedroom and I’m going to crawl into your bed and have an orgasm. It is up to you whether you are with me or not.”

Jake’s green eyes darken in desire and before you can turn to leave Jake surges forward and pulls you down so that you are straddling his lap. He tangles his hand in your hair, holding you still. “Kisses, all you had to do was ask.” His voice is hoarse and he leans forward and molds his lips to yours. The kiss is frantic and overwhelming in a way you have never felt from Jake. His lips leave yours only to trail down your neck before returning.

His hands are everywhere, running down your spine, caressing your thighs and cupping your ass, and urging you to roll your hips into him. You cling to his shoulders and run your hands down his biceps. You gasp into his lips as he stands with you in his arms and carries into the bedroom.

- -

You are wrapped in Jake's arms, legs tangled together and you can not help grinning at how well your evening has gone. “I guess we know how a date where I wear lingerie goes,” you say grinning up at him. His cheeks pinken slightly.

“I’m sorry I ripped it,” he says bashfully, causing you to grin even more at the difference between the blushing Jake in front of you and the man who ripped your clothes off earlier.

“I’m not,” you say gazing into his eyes. “It served its purpose.”

Jake leans down and kisses you tenderly, gently caressing your cheek. He leans back and watches your face until you open your eyes and look up at him. “Kisses, I’m in love with you.” You can feel your heart skip a beat at his words and a nervous energy floods your body. “I know you are not ready to say it back,” he continues as he gently rubs his thumb over your cheek, his eyes searching yours. “But I've been waiting to say it and I think you are ready to hear it, even if you’re not ready to say it back.” He leans down and kisses you again and you find yourself getting lost in the intimacy of his kiss, knowing he is right.

When he raises his head to look at you, you can’t help teasing. “You did that backwards.”

He rolls his eyes with a cheeky grin. “No, I’m pretty sure I got it right. You came twice and I came once,” he shrugs. “Seems like the perfect ratio to me.”

“Ok, first off don’t limit yourself, there is always room for improvement on your ratio.” you laugh at his offended look. “Second, I was talking about telling me you love me.” You begin to run your fingers through his hair. “You are supposed to do that first to convince the woman to have sex with you. You did it after.”

“I didn’t want you to think it was contractual.” He says kissing you sweetly before abruptly flipping you onto your back. “But since you brought it up, I guess we have to do it again.” he says, winking at you. “After all, I need to work on my ratio.” His lips move down your body and your laughter quickly turns to gasps of pleasure.

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin/reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman/reader #hangman #top gun hangman #hangman top gun #hangman x you #jake seresin x you #top gun fanfiction #top gun x reader #topgun maverick

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radioisntdead · 2 months

Note

You mentioned doing Susan and Reader type things, let me bring up to you:

Reader is Susan's adult child or Niece/Nephew. How do you think that would go? Would she be boasting them up like she does to Rosie or would she be nitpicking them all the time? You decide!

Good evening my dear! I'm gonna scream about Susan now, we don't see much of her but I adore grumpy old people characters (in fiction)

Let's start with child headcanons,

You POOR POOR CHILD, Susan definitely has a key to your home, did you give it to her? Probably not she's the type to MAKE a key, or pick the lock, look me in the eyes [?] And tell me this old woman doesn't know how to pick a lock,

She's definitely seen and done some shit in her [After?] Lifetime, you could be making dinner and she just breaks in strolls on in and starts going on about her childhood and it's just the most messed up Parent Susan lore, she also doesn't care for boundaries, doesn't matter who you are, your boundaries are being invaded, she doesn't like when others invade your boundaries through, only she can do that after all she's your mother! She assumingly birthed you,

Or picked you up from the side of the streets

I don't know how she acquired you

If you have a spouse, Mama Susan does NOT like them, doesn't matter if they're the king of hell or whatever, No one is good enough for her baby,

Heaven forbid if it's someone she already doesn't like, like Alastor for example.

That being said she wants grandkids, you don't have to spawn them, just pick one up off the streets I'm sure there are orphans in hell! Especially after extermination day

She's definitely the type to grab your cheek, squish it and just go "Have you been eating at all?!? Fucking skin and bones!"

Then she just gives you some poor demons leg to munch on, yum!

I feel like when she can make a mean cannibalistic meatloaf, but nothing else,

Maybe soup, but who can't make soup?

[I'm so sorry if you can't make soup, Don't worry I'll make you some so your not soupless]

She's definitely the type of parent to send you to your room without dinner, or keep you at the table until you finished up your meal, or smack with the cane

Honestly if we go with if she was alive in the 1800's {?} And not hellborn {also Susan DOESN'T HAVE A WIKI PAGE? GIVE OUR MEAN OLD LADY A WIKI PLEASE- /j}

Depending on your gender you definitely get raised differently, because sexism was horrid back then, woman didn't get the rights to properly vote until the 1920's, She was long gone by then.

if you're born a gal she's all

"Be more ladylike! No man will marry you if you act like this"

She loves you, and in her mind it's for your own good because society is NOT kind to those who act different than the status quo, she cannot spare you the same fate she got, she wishes you were born in a different time, in one where you'd have more freedom.

she'd lighten up after death because, you know y'all are dead, and man fuck social status that's dead now, she prefers cannibal town as to wherever you were during life

If you were born a lad then you got a ton of

"Be a gentleman! Don't be a dick, don't duel people!"

A son meant she got a pat on the back, she was capable of producing an heir, or whatever old timey crap was going on, she hoped you did NOT turn out to be a product of your environment.

I feel like she'd be very active in feminist movements back then from the shadows, she definitely earned her rights to be grumpy old lady

ANYWAYS THATS OFF TOPIC,

All in all, she's not the WORST mom, but she definitely traumatized you, I feel like y'all healed your mother-child bond in hell {that's a sentence I never thought I'd write}

NOW ON TO THE NIBLING {?} Niece/nephew

She's the single probably wealthy Aunt that probably killed her husband but no one can prove it, completely different from above, she did NOT have a child with niblings [I think that's the right term please correct me if wrong]

If she did have a offspring, congratulations your cousin is often compared to you and y'all probably have a strained relationship.

Anyways any time she sees you she either goes in for the hug and if rejected makes a comment about today's youth and respect, or she doesn't go in for the hug and rambles about today's youth being too touchy,

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with this thing."

Susan when near you.

She gives great Christmas presents though, she just like throws it to you and says she got it last minute and then it's just like 200$ present,

Or if she REALLY doesn't like you, your getting one of those cringe tshirts that's like "look out ladies, I'm a gamer"

OKAY SO ANOTHER LOVELY ANON REQUESTED A THING WITH GRANDCHILD AND SUSAN I'M WORKING ON THAT NEXT, I'm gonna take a nap first though, Thank you for tuning in!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin susan #susan & reader

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melvolkman · 8 months

Text

Happy September 🍂

It feels as though an eternity has passed since my last post.. I'm overjoyed to announce that after a very long search, I've finally found a place where my heart can rest and my soul can thrive. Last week we closed on a c. 1800 antique colonial lovingly preserved in idyllic mid-coast Maine amidst picturesque mountain views, forests, and wildflower fields. We even have a small, centuries-old apple orchard to explore and care for 🥹

From the moment I arrived, I knew I had discovered my sanctuary 🕯️ Antique homes have always held a special place in my soul and now I find myself living out the dream that has danced in my imagination for years.

There’s a sense of timelessness that lingers in the air.. The walls adorned with stories of days long gone. The wavy panes of the window glass, gently distorting the world beyond. The large fireplaces bearing witness to the warmth and laughter that once graced these rooms. The worn wide wood floors, aged with a beautiful patina — a testament to centuries of lives and dreams that have unfolded here.

Every crack and creak an invitation to embrace the imperfections of life.

I can't begin to express the depth of gratitude that fills my heart as I embark on this new chapter. I’m excited to share with you the beauty that surrounds me in this special place, and I’m eager to dive back into photography and the studio — to paint and create once again.

This week, we began clearing out what will soon become my art studio, housed in the barn converted workshop that was built c. 1800 and is situated just beyond a majestic weeping willow.

To those who have stuck with me throughout this journey, your support means the world to me, and I am forever grateful for your continued encouragement.

So here we are, at the beginning of a new chapter. This is my return, and I can't wait to share more with you 🤎

Instagram — @melvolkman

#autumn #fall #September #happy september #cozy #cottagecore #autumn aesthetic #moon autumn magic #melvolkman #antique #vintage #antique house #colonial #colonial home #New England #Maine #downeast #autumn 2023

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storiesbyrhi · 1 year

Text

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence, swearing, no beta, warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: There are many different ways to heal. 3443 words.

1986

Forest Hills was not a quiet place to wake up to. This was likely because of the cavernous rips through the fabric of Hawkins, as opposed to being indicative of the residents’ natures. However, as soon as the sun rose, you didn’t stand a chance at a sleep in.

The bat was asleep when you checked on him. You wondered if he had got up during the night, like a bat should. Leaving him, you quietly put the kettle on and went about unpacking the few boxes and bags you’d arrived with.

When the trailer was as homely as you could make it, you sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table with a map of Hawkins laid out on it. You took a deep breath in and out, then held a long chain above the map. Secured to the end of the chain was a shard of clear quartz; a simple stone, but useful for scrying.

Focussing your thoughts, you watched the quartz slowly begin to sway from side to side. The movement picked up and it swung in a circle, then shot to a point on the map and dropped there. Picking up the crystal, you looked at the point. Forest Hills Trailer Park.

Trying again, the quartz repeated itself. Then, again. And, again.

You would not try a fifth time, leaving it be and reasoning that the crystal was picking up on you, since Hawkins was not used to a witch being on its land. At least, not anymore.

…

1845

The hem of your dress was drenched, splatters of mud flicking up and covering the fabric. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Nine years of violence. Nearly a decade of wasted energy, and this is what had become of the land your coven had called home since well before the French claimed ownership.

Back then, you’d lived off the land, co-existing with the Miami and the Potawatomi peoples. The coven learned from them, honouring their sovereignty. But later, there had been wars and treaties. A British take over. Death. So much death.

“Amabel!” It was your name then, something you changed often, cloaking your immortality. “Amabel. We must go. We must leave this place.”

They’d burned the field to the ground. Ash and dirt powdered the land. You stood in the middle of it all. That gnawing feeling you’d not been able to shake in years sitting in the back of your brain.

“If we stay, we will die. Our sisters will die. There is nothing more we can do.”

As the tears rolled down your cheeks, the clouds overhead grew darker.

Soon, within the next year, all that was left of the Native American tribes would be ordered out of Indiana. Your coven would be gone too, moved on, somewhere else, learning how to blend in with the people. Hiding magic. Writing history.

Your aunt crossed the field to where your mother was begging you to move. Thunder sounded out across the flatlands commonly known as Hawkins. Rain was imminent.

“Amabel. We do not have time for this. We have said our farewells to the wretched place. Come, now.”

Your mother took your hand and you fell in line behind the women.

…

1986

No witch had been near Roane County since 1845. Hawkins, though, had never been far from your thoughts. You had lived as Amabel for only a short period of time after leaving. Lustrating rituals gave each in your coven new names. Ora lived into the late 1800s, watching her sisters fall in love, have children, and pass the craft on. After Ora, another ritual christened you Sylvie. By the 1980s you had embodied the name you had offered to the bat when he woke up around midday.

“I guess you can’t tell me your name, huh?” you asked him.

As the bat crawled into your palm, you saw how the darkness had spread a little further across him. He seemed even slower than he had in the forest, and more willing to accept your human warmth. You raised your hand to your shoulder, letting the bat crawl and snuggle into the heat where your sweater met your neck. He clung to strands of hair and made the smallest of chittering sounds.

“So, scrying didn’t work… Which, you know, probably would have been too easy. Let’s consult the cards instead.”

The bat stayed nestled while you cut the deck and laid out a five-card spread on the trailer’s old carpeted floor.

“Do you want me to translate for you?” you asked the bat. “Our first card is… Two of Cups…” Two of Cups? “Card one represents the past, but… Two of Cups is the union of souls. True and lasting love… Maybe it’s…” But you were coming up short in your interpretation.

The second card, representative of the present, was Eight of Swords. Sighing with relief, that one made more sense.

The future was the third pulled card. Death. “Don’t worry,” you said to your friend. “Death doesn’t mean anyone’s dying. It can mean a lot of things… You know what, this is all messed up. I don’t… I don’t understand it.”

The messaging became even more complicated when you drew the Queen of Cups to represent the primary reasons for your current circumstances, and The Tower reversed for the potential of the circumstances.

“Right… Well… That’s all very… mysterious.”

You wanted divination to tell you why you were in Hawkins, what was calling you back to the town. Meaning wasn’t going to be handed to you. You picked up the cards and shuffled them into the deck.

“Guess all will be revealed,” you muttered.

Lunch was cheese and avocado sandwiches for you and fishing bait for the bat. Nowhere sold bat food, so you had to think outside the box. He seemed happy to have something other than fruit.

“Alright, friend,” you whispered to him as he ate. “You’re up next.”

While the bat chewed on worms, you laid out a bed of yarrow and rue on the coffee table and lit a blue candle. When the bat took your invitation to sit on top of the plants, you offered him a piece of jasper. He sat on top of it, making you smile.

“I hold you in my heart,

and wrap you in my love,” you began.

“Heal thyself, dear friend,

in this circle thereof.”

A sprig of yarrow was held to the flame.

“From earth I pulled this plant

as an offering I hope they receive.

Health and hearth,

and from sickness a reprieve.”

The yarrow burnt and the bat seemingly fell asleep on the bed of flowers. You sat with your back against the couch and waited until the blue candle was a dying flame and puddle of wax.

…

When the bat awoke, he felt different. Not only healed, his brown fur and pink limbs returned, but… aware. He flew from the witch’s alter and swooped through the trailer, looking for an exit. He was quiet and you were asleep, so he didn’t panic. Not at first.

There was no way out. No open windows or open vents. The best thing he could do was hide with a vantage point of the door and hope he could fly by you when you were on your way out.

The bat wondered where he was. Then, to his own horror, he wondered who and what he was.

…

When you woke, the sun was setting and the trailer was bathed in an orange glow. The plan had certainly not been to fall asleep. Sitting up, you looked for the bat on the coffee table, but he was gone.

That’s good, you thought. If he was not on the table, he’d made his way safely to somewhere else in the trailer. It meant he felt better. You figured he would appear when he wanted more bites of banana or wriggling worms.

Your second night in Hawkins was ordinary. Mundane, even. Sitting on the steps of your trailer, you ate Spaghetti-Os straight from the saucepan and listened. A witch’s ear is good.

The trailer park, more alive than usual with all its refugees and aid workers. The drone of the power plant not far away. Forests all around you, quieter than they should have been. There was a distinct decrease in wildlife in Hawkins, which filled you with grief. Over the train tracks, closer to town, the hum of people, machines, and despair.

You closed your eyes and listened harder. There was a pulsing coming from somewhere. You couldn’t pinpoint it. It wasn’t beneath the earth, nor above it. Everywhere and nowhere. It was him and his wild lightning and taste for suffering. You knew they called him Vecna. He wasn’t Henry anymore, nor a captive One. He had no name, an omen within itself.

It was hard to hear him and not interfere. It was worse to see the children soldiers in your mind, armoring up for a battle even the oldest witches could not predict. Was it an evil to not intervene? The lesser of the evil of giving him witchcraft.

You breathed out hard and opened your eyes.

Behind you, the bat had emerged from his hiding place. As he took flight, left through the open doorway you were sitting in, you watched his gothic form fly up and disappear into the gloomy purple night-time sky.

Smiling, you offered a small, “Slán agus ádh mór, a chara,” in a bittersweet moment. You already missed your bat friend.

...

In the morning, it was easy to find a place that needed your help. Hawkins High School’s gymnasium had been set up as a crisis center. Basic medical triage was offered and you didn’t even have to present identification or credentials. Once you’d introduced yourself and said you were a first responder, you’d been given a fully stocked first aid kit.

Minor cuts, bruises, and sprained ankles. You’d spent almost an hour picking glass out of one kid’s arm, healing the wound as you went so by the time he was bandaged up, he’d be almost entirely cured. Secretly you chipped away at the healing, nothing that could be considered miraculous. Just enough to ease pain and discomfort.

If nothing else came from the trip to Hawkins, this was all the justification you needed.

Mid-afternoon saw two teenagers come limping into the gym. You recognised them immediately from the visions your coven had seen. Robin Buckley had an arm pulled tightly around Erica Sinclair’s body, helping the smaller girl to an empty cot. You rushed over.

“What’s happened?” you asked.

“Leg! It’s her leg!” Robin yelled, then attempted to moderate her voice to the volume of the room.

Erica wasn’t actively crying but her stoic expression was a mask for the pain she was in. Tears streaked down her face and she took a sharp intake of oxygen as you pulled up the leg of her jeans.

“Can you help?” Robin asked, eyes on the door as she jittered on the spot.

“Do you need to go? She’ll be safe here.”

Erica snorted and rolled her eyes.

“I… They… No, no, I’ll stay,”

“Go,” Erica instructed.

You started to clean the wound, examining it. It was as if something had coiled around her leg, burning her in the process. A corrosive rope burn. Not the type of thing that happened in an earthquake.

“Lucas will kill me,”

“Since when have either of us listened to that nerd? And besides, isn’t Steve the babysitter?”

“Uhhhh, shit, okay. Okay,” Robin conceded. She looked at you. “Don’t let her die,”

“I’m not gonna die!” Erica yelled. “So, go.”

Robin nodded and left, bolting from the room. As soon as nobody was there to see her struggle, Erica let out a shaky breath.

“How old are you?”

“Eleven,”

“Pretty brave eleven-year-old,” you told her. She didn’t respond. “Strange injury.” Still, she said nothing. “How’d you get it?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” she replied, delivery measured and serious.

You smiled at her. “Hang around in this town long, something’s probably gonna beat you to it anyway, right?”

Erica eyed you suspiciously.

The wound wouldn’t need stitches or graphs or any Western medicine. It would need magic to heal. You could feel it in Erica. There was something bad in the burning. As you dabbed at her leg with antiseptic, you healed her in a way that was definitely a miracle. Before she could notice, you’d covered it with gauze and bandages, more than she needed.

“If you won’t give yourself a day to rest, then take a couple hours at minimum. Whatever is going on out there isn’t over. If they need you, they need you strong. A couple hours, okay?”

“Who are you? Who do you work for?”

“I’m… a healer… and I don’t work for anybody. I’m just here to help,” you answered, motioning to the beds of people around you.

Erica didn’t agree to the few hours, nor did she say goodbye, but you let her go and wondered if you had been so precocious and fearless when you were but a baby.

…

After one night in the tallest treetops near Forest Hills, the bat tried to rest, but his consciousness would not allow it. He was close to a panic, his new awareness keeping him from any animal behaviour. Instead, he watched you leave your trailer.

As you drove into town and spent the day helping and healing, the bat was never far away. Upon sunset, you returned home to find him sitting on your trailer’s doorstep. Whatever had changed in him, it was like you could see it.

You’d stopped walking, looked at him from a safe distance. “Hi,” you greeted, unsure what the bat was doing back. Maybe he was hungry. The eco-system had been disrupted enough that perhaps his food sources were limited.

The bat watched you as you took a step closer. Then another.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” you asked him.

The bat hopped aside as you unlocked the door and followed you in upon invitation.

You put your bag down and sat on the couch. The bat flew across the room and perched himself on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of you. There was something eerie about him. Not threatening, not dangerous, but still very, very off.

“This might come as a shock, but I’ve never had a familiar. Or a pet. I don’t know what you want,” you told him. “But that’s… that’s not it, is it?” You thought for a moment. “Okay, well, I could take you to a vet… or we could…” Before you could finish the sentence, the thought shut you up. Could you really consult The Witches Who Came Before? After disregarding their previous advice? No. Not for a bat.

“I’m gonna make a phone call.”

The bat watched as you stood and walked to your bag, looking for the small notebook you kept for numbers and other important bits and pieces. Once you’d located Kelsey’s number, you dialed. Looking back at the fuzzy creature on the coffee table, you nodded at him. “She’ll know what to do.”

The phone rang only twice. “Hellllloooooo?”

“Hey, Kels, it’s-”

“Yeah, I know who it is. You’ve really pissed off some of the sisters,” she said with a laugh. “You really went back to Hawkins?”

“Yeah, I did. Look, I need your help,”

“My help?! Dude, are you trying to get me exiled as well?”

“I’m not exiled,” you replied, the inflection in your voice hooking up at the end of the sentence like you were asking a question.

“I mean… Not yet…”

“I’m not exiled. There’s a reason I came back. I’m meant to be here. But it doesn’t matter. This isn’t about Hawkins. I need your help with a bat,”

“A bat?”

“Yeah, like, the animal,”

“Yeah, no, I know the animal. Didn’t think you were chipping a baseball bat out of a tree. What are you doing with a bat?”

In order to not just survive but to thrive, a witch must adapt to each age of human culture. Sometimes though, one would find herself truly suited to a time or place. Take your coven sister Blair, for example. She mourned the end of the Elizabethan era and refused to modify her vocabulary or mannerisms. In line at Walmart, she was all ‘good morrow’ and ‘doth thou possess thine grape juice?’ Most though, were undetectable as agents of immortality. And, you and Kelsey, well anyone would have guessed you were modern women living in a second-wave feminism world.

“I don’t know. I just found him, and he was sick, so I did the burning yarrow healing spell-”

Kelsey stopped you. “Wait. Slow down. You did that healing spell on a bat?”

“Yes,” you confirmed, then waited for her to speak again.

Instead, she laughed. “You go to a town under the pretense of helping people and instead casting a healing spell on a bat?”

“It’s not pretense! I am helping people. But I have limited resources here, Kels. And the bat was-”

“Sick, yeah, you said. Well, there are spells for animals, but I’d have to go through some of the old grimoires. Why’d you even try it? You know human spells don’t work for ani-”

“It did work.”

Kelsey was silent on the other end of the line.

You’d been watching the bat for the whole conversation and he’d not moved once. He was like a statue. A very small and cute, but unnerving statue.

“What?” The humour had gone from Kelsey’s voice. “It can’t have,”

“It did… Look, it’s bad here. More than those kids can handle. I have to accept that, but the bat… I think that’s what had poisoned him. I didn’t have the grimoires or an entire garden and apothecary at my disposal. I cast the burning yarrow spell… And, whatever was wrong went away.”

Kelsey was quiet again. Then, “So, what’s the problem?”

“He’s… different…”

“What do you mean different?” You’d known Kelsey for all your different lives. That was fear in her voice, no mistaking.

“He seems… I don’t know how to describe it… Like he knows… or understands…” You really couldn’t explain it.

“I think you need to take this higher up in the coven,”

“No, I can’t. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Fuck,” Kelsey said under her breath. “Look, if that spell worked on the bat then it’s not a bat. It could have only worked if it’s human. Or at least, has been human at some point. And depending on which spell you used, you could have healed more than illness,”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, a hex or… something…”

“He’s definitely a bat,” you told her. “I’m looking at him right now,”

“But is he looking back at you? Like, does he see you? ‘Cause yarrow's not powerful to undo a real deal curse, you know? So maybe you just shifted things around a little. Knocked some human back into him. If you did, that’s kind of fucked up.”

Your blood ran cold.

The bat was not just a bat.

And the bat knew it too.

“How do I fix it? How do I help him?!”

“I don’t know! I’m not an expert in bats or curses or fucking up spells! I don’t think there’s even a spell to like… fix it. You’d have to write a new spell and hope you don’t torture it any more than you have.”

You’d started to cry, horrified at the thought of what you’d done to something… someone that had already suffered a hex.

“Look,” Kelsey said in a soft voice. She hated to hear you upset. “Magic is intention and will. You’ve got some big feelings now. Give it a try. If nothing works, call me again and I’ll come to you…”

“Okay,” you squeaked out.

“And, like, what if this is what was calling you to Hawkins? Maybe you were meant to go and right a wrong. Uncurse a bat…”

“Thanks, Kels. Thank you,”

“Don’t mention it… Seriously. Do not tell another soul that I’ve condoned any of this rebellion.”

You laughed and sniffled. “I won’t. Bye,”

“Bye, babe.”

You hung up the phone and walked to the bathroom to splash water on your face. At the vanity, you hung your head over the sink and let the water cool you. As you stood up straight and looked at your reflection, the bat swooped in and sat on your shoulder.

“We can do this,” you said to him. “I’ll fix it. I promise.”

End Note: A special shout to my friend @toomanyacorns for reading through the first few chapters of this story and for being a resource into all things history. Also, the timeline is posted and will be updated with each chapter, along with the Grimoire.

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