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thecharacterchronicler · 2 months

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There Will Come A Ruler (1) || Coriolanus Snow x Reader (+18)

Outline: You agreed to a marriage of convenience with Coriolanus Snow to please your parents and be an asset in his campaign to become the new president of Panem. On your first wedding anniversary, the man who you barely spend time with and hardly know, tells you that he wants you to give him a heir.

Word count: 3’938

Warnings: pregnancy (TTC), marriage of convenience, explicit smut (+18)

(( Part 2 - Snow Lands On Top )) - ((Part 3 - Insatiable ))

You sat at your vanity, adjusting the necklace of pearls around your neck. The reflection in the mirror showed such an elegant woman, with the poise and grace expected of a future First Lady. You had even managed to master the art of making your fake smiles appear real, leading on everyone to believe that you were living a dream, even though things were nothing like what you’d let on in front of the people of Panem.

You repowdered your face, and brushed your hair to make sure you looked flawless before taking a deep breath and leaving the intimacy of your bedroom, the one only you slept in, to go downstairs and join your husband for dinner.

Tonight was one of the few nights he wasn’t working late or had a business dinner or event to attend. Those nights dining in your manor, just the two of you without any guests always felt strange since they were so unusual. You had a cook and a waiter, employees hired to serve you and care for everything so that the only thing expected from you was to show up, dressed and polished for the occasion. Not that Coriolanus would have noticed if you had showed up for this dinner in your pajamas and messy hair, he’d usually be too busy reading the newspaper or writing his next speech to even look at you during the meal. Then, you’d retire back to your bedroom and he would stay working late in his office until he too, would go back to his room, at the far opposite of yours in the opulent manor you resided in.

It had been a year of this routine, ignoring each other unless there were some peering eyes to scrutinize you or some important people to impress. You couldn’t say you were unhappy because what was there to complain about ? You lived in a gorgeous house, you had the privileges associated with being a powerful man’s wife and you were free to spend your days and money as you pleased, the only rule being to never, ever, do anything that could reflect badly on your politician of a husband. Days were sweet and easy. A lot more than what you had imagined when you were told that your parents had agreed for you to marry a complete stranger, just because it was an honor and a wonderful opportunity to be chosen as the fiancée of one of the most important people in Panem. The fact that you had never talked to Coriolanus Snow once before didn’t matter, the papers were signed and three days later, you found yourself walking down the aisle to a blond man, dressed in white as you were, to vow each other love and support until death brought you apart in front of a crowd of cameras, reporters and nosy onlookers.

You made your way to the dining room. With its large windows, it offered one of the best views on the garden and greenhouse, which were always well taken care of, not a single strand of grass out of line or a single rose withering without being cut off of its branch. The furnitures were simple, yet luxurious and the long table was perfect for you to sit at opposite ends from your husband. It was much easier for you to ignore each other, separated by two rows of empty seats and various dishes and platters scattered across the table.

The cook always made five courses meals , with refined food and expensive wine , and although it was only the two of you, tonight was no exception. The hors d’œuvres and entrees had been served already, red wine filling the crystal glasses on each end of the glass table. However, one thing wasn’t right…

“Mrs Snow.” Your husband greeted you, with the same politically warm smile you had mastered to do too by taking example on him.

You stopped on your way to your seat, unsure of what to expect. Despite the few meals you had shared in privacy, he had never been waiting for you standing by the window, with a glass in hand and a gorgeous rose in the other . Nor had he been so perfectly dressed and groomed for such an occasion. Usually, you could tell he had spent a long day working or attending events, his clothes always classy but his light hair frequently tousled and light purple lines under his eyes. This time though, it looked like he had dressed and prepared himself just for you, wearing his best suit and his blond locks perfectly combed back.

“Mister Snow.” You replied, observing him with a sucpicious expression.

“Happy anniversary.” He said, taking the few steps that still separated him from you to hand you the white rose he held. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, something definitely wasn’t right as he never had such caring gestures towards you if they weren’t witnessed by others. But you took the rose, politely thanking him. And surveyed the room carefully in search of a camera or an important guest you might have missed… But you didn’t find anything to justify his odd behavior. “I asked the chef to make your favorite dish for the occasion.”

You knew Coriolanus had no idea what it was, but the fact that he had been so thoughtful to ask should have been enough.

He pulled your chair for you, like the perfect gentleman he was but never bothered to be if it didn’t benefit his image, and you sat at the table, taking in the carefully presented trays of all the things you liked to eat in front of you.

The waiter entered to serve both of you, because since you became Mrs Snow, you apparently weren’t required to do the most basic things, such as filling your own plate with food yourself anymore.

Coriolanus raised his glass of wine to you, proposing to toast to the first of many years together before drinking a long sip out of his beverage. You knew you didn’t have a choice but to do the same, as etiquette dictated it, but his sudden acknowledgment of your existence was enough to make you want to throw your glass at his face and demand he told you what he was up to. But of course, you knew better than to cause a scene, even in privacy.

“I’m sure you’ll be glad to know sixty percent of the voters are favoring me for presidency.” He stated, with a proud smile you couldnt quite tell if real or forced. “Gaul says that with a few more efforts, I should be able to gain the majority, and then I’ll unquestionably win the elections.”

“That’s wonderful.” You replied, truly hoping Coriolanus will be elected to rule over Panem. It was the only thing he wanted and cared about, you didn’t want to imagine the depth of his misery if he didn’t make it. You also might have not known your husband intimately at all but, since you often had to accompany him for official duties, you had learned a thing or two about the way he’d address important business. “Is there anything I can do to help ?”

You saw him smile at your question. A genuine smile, letting you know you were asking exactly what he was hoping you would.

“Well, according to the surveys, I seem to have convinced most of the older electors . However, one part of the population seems to still have doubts about my program.” He explained, while the waiter refilled his glass of wine. “Apparently, families don’t believe I have their best interest at heart.”

“A few more events centered around children and education and I’m sure they’ll be acquired to your cause.” You said, understanding that he probably meant to ask you to accompany him more often to those, as a proof that he cared enough.

“Surely, but Gaul also suggested we start a family of our own to appear more relatable.”

You swallowed your wine with difficulty, the bitterness burning down your throat at his words. Your chest tightened, your heart pounding wildly.

“We agreed on having our first child after five years of marriage.” You reminded him, and by the way his pale eyes focused on you, you knew you were about to start an important business negotiation with him.

“Unfortunately, I need the support of these voters now, not in five years.”

“We signed a contract that detailed this topic very clearly.”

“And in that contract, you vowed to support me in my endeavors and give me two heirs at minimum. I don’t think getting started on our family now instead of later will make much of a difference to you.”

“You are asking me to carry and birth a baby but it won’t make much of a difference to me ?!” You snapped, raising your voice louder than you should have.

“What I meant to say is that you’re going to have to do it sooner or later. Might as well be now so you’re done with this part of your duty. It would benefit me greatly, and you too.”

You bit your lip to keep yourself from shouting at him. The way he was so detached about it all made you unreasonably angry. You had agreed to give him children and he was right, you knew that sooner or later you’d have to get it over with but in all honesty, it wasn’t the idea of being pregnant that gave you anxiety but the thought of what you had to do in order to achieve that.

You were good at putting up a show for the public, pretending to be perfectly in love and happy together but in truth, you didn’t even know this man. He was a stranger, living in the same house as you and that was about it. Imagining anything more intimate with him seemed preposterous.

“I’ll need to think about it.” You told him, and he nodded quietly. He was gracious enough to accept that answer for now but you knew he’d have things his way, wether you agreed or not.

●○●○●○●○●○●

You spent a sleepless night tossing and turning in your satin sheets, mulling over Coriolanus’ request. Damn Dr. Gaul and her bright ideas ! It already was her fault if you had been chosen to be Mister Snow’s perfect wife, an honor in the eyes of most but it felt oddly similar to being picked as a tribute and sent into the arena to you. You didn’t have much say in what you wanted then, you knew you didn’t have anymore to say now. You really were faced with only two choices; either agree and conceive a child, either take the risk of being replaced by a more willing - and less opiniated - new wife.

It took you until the next evening to finally accept that you only had one resonable answer to give him. Unfortunately, the hours seemed to pass by way too slowly since Coriolanus wasn’t home for supper that night, leaving you alone in the empty dining room with your thoughts. You had waited for him for a while, enjoying the cosy living room as night fell over the Capitol until you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore and fell asleep on the teal sofa by the chimney.

When you woke up, the flames that had kept you warm were merly embers. You hadn’t noticed the difference in temperature, thanks to one of the house employees who had been thoughtful enough to cover you with a warm wool blanket. You rose up and stretched, deciding to finish your night in the comfort of your bed but when you walked passed your husband’s office, you noticed a light seeping from underneath the door.

After a gentle knock, you tentatively turned the knob to enter the room you had never been in before. Just like his bedroom, his office usually was a place you avoided in order to keep the distances between the two of you when you didn’t have to fake a happy marriage for others.

You weren’t too surprised by the luxurious items that decorated the room, the white couch and the very large desk in the center of the room were very much in Coriolanus’s style; classic and elegant. But what really caught your attention in this unknown territory was the man behind the desk, dishelved, with his tie undone and the first few buttons of his shirt opened. In a year of living together, you had never seen your husband look so… common.

“You’re awake.” He remarked, leaning back in his armchair and rubbing his eyes with one hand.

“And so are you.”

“I usually don’t go to bed before three or four o’clock.”

You glanced at the clock on the mantel of his fireplace, indicating three twenty five. You quickly did the math, realizing how little sleep he got since most days, when you got up and had breakfast at seven in the morning, he always already was off to his other office in town.

“Don’t you think you might be overworking yourself ?” You asked him, finally daring to fully step inside the room and approach his desk.

“It’s better than having nightmares.” He confessed, matter of factly before looking away from you, as if he hadn’t meant to say something so personal to you. “Did you need something ?”

You stopped in front of the white desk, standing with your thighs pressed against the edge. Even sitting, he still looked quite taller than you.

“I’d like a whole new wardrobe designed by Fabricia Whatnot, a pond in the greenhouse with koi fishes and to add some shelves to the library with more up to date books, mostly romance.”

Coriolanus’ intrigued pale blue eyes observed you, the ghost of an amused smile on his lips.

“And what will I get in exchange of all of this ?” He asked, although his smirk showed he already knew the answer.

“A heir.” You replied, with the satisfaction of at least gaining the most you could ask for out of the deal. His smile grew wider, and you wondered if it was a genuine one. It had to be. It seemed so much warmer than his other ones…

“Then you’ll get everything you want, sweetheart.” You smiled at him, genuinely happy with this outcome although the perspective of what was meant to happen next still terrified you.

He stood from his chair, eyes remaining fixed on you as he walked around his desk to join you on the other side. You felt a shiver run up your spine once he was close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his skin onto yours.

With a hand on each of your hips, he lifted you up to sit you down on the edge of his desk. He looked down at you, his face so close to yours and even if it caused your heartbeat to go wild, you knew he wouldn’t kiss you. He never did.

Instead, he finished unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, revealing his unexpectedly muscular chest, a vague testament left of his previous life as a peacekeeper in the districts.

He placed his white shirt on the desk next to you, careful to fold it neatly enough to avoid creasing before focusing his attention back on you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his hands on you again, first against the bare skin of your legs and slowly but unmistakably making their way up to your thighs, bringing your skirt up in their wake. A ragged breath escape your lips when his fingers trailed the elastic of your underwear, exploring the shape of it by following its lines until suddenly, the warmth and roughness of his fingers had slipped under the fabric and pressed directly on your skin.

He reached between your legs rather gently, a finger slipping between your folds and softly tracing a few lines connecting your entrance to your clit He was being considerate enough to take things slow and prepare you for him, which was something you strangely didn’t expect him to do. Well to be fair, in all twelve months you had been Coriolanus Snow’s wife, you hadn’t given much thoughts to what intimacy might be like with him. Of course, you knew it would have to happen eventually, you had signed a contract after all but you usually avoided fantasizing about it.

You knew Coriolanus probably had an abundance of mistresses to please him whenever he wanted - or needed - them. He was a very good looking man. You knew that already, but seeing him as he was tonight, without much care to his appearance, was yet another proof of how devastatingly handsome he could be.

You liked the way he caressed you, it was the most intimate touch you had ever shared together, and it somehow felt nice to connect with him. But it also was pretty obvious that, even in a situation such as this one, he still was very much in control of himself and of every aspect of what was happening. It was unfair. If he was asking you to let go and was slowly but surely awakening your desire for him with the way his finger still circled your center, he might as well abandon his pretenses and enjoy it too.

Determined to help, you reached out for his pants, unbuttoning them before he could protest and pulling out the hardened length of his cock out of his underwear. It was so rigid and warm in your hand, dark veins running all along his shaft up to his pale tip, which was slightly glistening already. You looked back at him unable to conceal your surprise at how ready he was for you already. You hadn’t done anything to get him in the mood, nor had you removed a single piece of clothing yet but he already seemed to be throbbing with desire with the simple anticipation of what was about to happen.

You ran your thumb over his tip, collecting a drop of his precum with a blush creeping to your cheeks. He stared at you as you did, refusing to let any emotions show on his face but unable to stop himself from shuddering. It helped you feel more confident. With a soft smile for him, you used your other hand to undo the bow around your waist, which held your dress together. It came undone by itself, revealing your chest to him which caused his eyes to darken slightly.

A silent struggle seemed to take place in his mind, hesitating between following his plan as he had imagined it, methodically proceeding in order to procreate or giving in to the violent pulsion of pure lust he felt at the sight of your gorgeous body , taking you like a wild animal rather than pretending to be a gentleman.

You huffed in surprise when you felt his finger slip once more into your wetness before he pushed it inside you, as deeply as it could go. In return, you pumped his cock a few times, enjoying the sight of him trying to resist the pleasure it instantly gave him. He moved his finger in and out of you in synch with your own movements along his shaft before deciding that you were stretched enough to add another one and try to expand you a bit more. You moaned and immediately bite your lip to silence yourself, if he was being careful to not lose control over any of this then you were determined to do the same. But the way he smirked with satisfaction as the sound of your whimper of exctasy when he added a third finger inside you almost caused you to climax already.

You lifted your hips up, trying to move your body and get him to hit even deeper inside you which seemed to amuse him. He liked the way you were slowly starting to lose your mind over the intensity of the pleasure he was giving you.

You gently tugged on his erection still firmly squeezed in your fist, attempting to bring him closer so that he would understand that you were more than ready to take him, as big as he was.

His fingers left you, your walls pulsing with a need for more but instead of his cock pushing past your entrance, it’s his lips savagely crashing against yours that you felt. It was a messy kiss, full of unspoken words and concealed passion finally pouring out. A kiss that was nothing like the chaste, picture perfect, kiss you had shared on your wedding day.

The next moment, his lips were gone and he yanked you to the edge of his desk by a tight grip on your wet panties. They teared under the pressure of his movement and, with the fabric out of his way, all he had left to do was press his hips between your legs spread opened and slam his cock inside you. It was so sudden, your eyes rolled back with the intensity of it all for a moment.

A panted breath escaped his lips, letting you know you felt as good to him as he felt to you. He was trying to stay focused on you, trying to keep his first few thrusts slow and long but as soon as you moaned, the last of his restrain dissolved and he slammed himself back in, shoving his entire length inside you and hitting deep where you so desperately needed to feel him.

With one hand on your hip and the other reaching for your bra, he rocked you in rythym with his blunt thrusts and you definitely gave up on staying silent, letting your loud noises fill his office and probably resonate in the entire manor.

Your body tensed, clenching his cock so hard that you felt it even deeper and it sent you off the edge. Your legs trembled and your vision blurred as a wave of exceptional pleasure took hold of your entire being, making you feel dizzy and satisfied all at once. No matter the strength of the orgasm shaking your body, your husband kept thrusting abruptly in and out of you at the same pace for a bit longer until you felt his warm release filling you up and he collapsed in your arms, panting.

You brought your hands to his soft blond hair, gently playing with his curls as you kept your eyes shut and tried to regain your senses, your legs still shaking and your core still pulsating around him.

A moment went by during which you almost felt close to the stranger you had married, like you finally knew a very intimate part of him but as soon as he had managed to catch his breath, he pulled out of you and regained his flawless, controlled composure.

“Do you think it worked ?” You asked him, still lightly panting.

He put his softening erection back in his pants and reached for his shirt before taking back his place behind his desk.

“I think we should keep trying, just to be sure.” He replied, with a glance at you that clearly betrayed the excitement he felt at the idea of doing it all again with you.

Next in this series:

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus smut #corio snow #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus x y/n #coriolanus snow smut #tbosas #smut #smutty fanfiction #coryo snow #president snow #snow smut #tbosas smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x female!reader #spicy content

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upsidedownwithsteve · 8 months

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Steve Harrington x fem!reader [15K] PART TWO OF TWO old money steve, an infatuated waitress, no labels, a disaster waiting to happen. some smut, some jealousy and too many mentions of monaco. 18+

tw: mentions of pregnancy, slight steddie.

If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right

Five weeks.

You didn’t see Steve for five weeks. Not for lack of looking. The Lake House was astoundingly quieter with the loss of the youngest Harrington and his friends, the bar empty, the Macallan well stocked and poker nights were taken over by the older generation. You didn’t see him on the golf course, nor in the spa. He didn’t frequent the smoking lounge and you didn’t see him at the bar. Gone was his maroon BMW from the parking lot and on the one, stupid occasion where you’d swallowed all your shame, you drove past his townhouse after a late night shift and you weren’t sure if you were disappointed or relieved to see it sitting in the dark, empty.

You hadn’t exchanged numbers that night, still, the radio silence was infuriating. But hey, at least he wasn’t just plain avoiding you.

Which you realised when he waltzed in one Tuesday before lunch service, more tanned than ever, white shirt sleeves rolled up, tan trousers perfectly tailored. His eyes were on you immediately, his hair longer than you’d last seen him, like he’d been so busy he hadn’t had time to get it cut. Strands of it fell into his eyes and he swept them out of the way with a grin as he approached the bar. More so a smirk, really. And it irked you, his smirk, his pretty brown eyes, his perfectly messy hair, his sunkissed skin and don’t give a fuck attitude.

He leant on the bar like he owned it, elbows pressed to the wood, hands clasped in front of him so the gold ring glinted in the afternoon sun. He didn’t say anything, he just waited, watching as you finished polishing a wine glass and put it back on the glass shelf.

You cleared your throat and didn’t bother to smile, but the voice you spoke in was very much reserved for customer service. “Good afternoon, sir. What can I get you?”

You watched as Steve’s eyes flashed a little darker, amused and something else. He let out a soft laugh, like he thought you were funny. Like he thought your cold indifference was hilarious. So he played along, sliding onto one of the suede stools. The bar room was somewhat empty, most of the members either gathering for lunch in the sun room or soaking up the last of the warm weather on the golf course. It was quiet, and the tension between the two of you could fill the entire manor.

“A Macallan, please,” Steve answered, just as politely.

He was still watching every move you made, eyes raking over your legs, the fit of your dress over your hips, the swell of your ass when you turned and reached up for the bottle of scotch. You smiled, a sardonic press of your lips that didn’t meet your eyes when you asked him, “would you like ice with that?”

Steve really laughed then, but there was an edge to it that told you were getting under his skin. If he wanted to leave the country for over a month after blowing your mind in his fancy living room like it was no big deal, well— you could pretend you don’t care. Or better yet, didn’t even remember him.

“No ice,” he said and before you could pour, he waved his hand for you to stop. “Actually, you know what? I’d prefer the forty year. You have that right, honey?”

You did. But it was in the back, behind a heavy, locked door. The forty year old scotch could go for thirty thousand dollars a bottle. You tried not to look surprised, or worse, impressed. So you nodded instead and told him, “of course, sir. Please bear with me.”

But when you left the bar to walk towards the door that was marked ‘employees only,’ Steve was behind you. You watched him lean against the wall as you fumbled with your key card, pressing it once, twice - fuck - three times against the pad before it buzzed. And when you pushed the door open and Steve caught it, slipping in behind you, your cold indifference turned to anger.

Who did he think he was? Did he think he was that untouchable?

“This is employees only,” you hissed at him, panicking at the thought of someone else - god forbid, your boss - catching you in the hallway with him.

Like they’d be able to tell you’d gone to his late one night, that you’d stood and stripped for him in front of his big fireplace and bigger TV, like they’d find out he’d put his mouth on you and made to you come harder than anyone else ever ha—

But Steve just sighed, a long suffering thing that made your hackles rise up that little bit higher. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Honey, how many times do I have to tell you?” He brushed past you, hands in his pockets, walking down the corridor towards the locked room where the high value liquor was kept. “No one gets in trouble unless I say so. Now, come on.”

You didn’t want to obey, you didn’t want to do as he said. But you were at a loss. He looked so good and smelled so nice, clean and like the ocean, like sunscreen, like he’d just stepped off the plane from whatever Italian city he’d been hiding in and came straight to you. So you didn’t say anything, you just straightened up and let the clickclickclick of your heels fill the silence as you edged past him again and walked towards the door.

He didn’t let you reach it before he started talking again, a lazy drawl that matched his slow walk, an effortless thing that suited his linen trousers and effortlessly rumpled shirt. Even the lock of hair that fell across his forehead looked artfully placed.

“Aren’t you going to ask where I’ve been?”

You clenched your jaw. “No.”

You heard him laugh and the sound made your hand slip from where it tried to remember the combination for the door. He was so sure of himself, so sure and so confident that you’d spent the last five weeks thinking of him and where he was and what he was doing and who he was with—

“So rude today, honey. You don’t want to hear about the business deals I secured? The money I made?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. You kept your back to him, body stiff, mind positivity empty as you tried to recall the fucking code. You could sense him getting closer, body heat crowding yours, his cologne, his scent, like he’d bottled an Italian summer and sprayed it all over himself.

“No,” you repeated. Blunt, short, cold.

“What if I brought you back a present, wouldn’t you want to know then?”

He was behind you now, a towering presence, intimidating even when you weren’t looking at him. His chest brushed your back, a solid, warm thing that you wanted to melt against. But you kept yourself strong, hoping he couldn’t see your shaking hands as you tried another series of numbers. Steve’s hand came up to your neck, sweeping away the hair there, his knuckles brushing the sensitive skin.

The keypad beeped at you in protest, another denied entry.

“You’re not like the other girls, are you, honey?”

You braced yourself, waiting for the speech about how you were different from the others, better in whatever way Steve deemed appropriate. Prettier, maybe. Smarter, quirkier, some kind of compliment that was supposed to make you preen for him.

Steve tsked and moved closer, his nose brushing the nape of your neck. “No, you don’t want my money. You’re not interested, huh? You don’t want the cash, the presents, no diamonds, no five thousand dollar shoes. You don’t want the cars or the houses or the yachts or the ring on your finger, huh?”

You didn’t get a chance to answer. Steve’s little speech didn’t go the way you assumed. The boy spun you suddenly, backing you into the wall as he took your chin in his hold, heated skin between a finger and his thumb, his nose and lips trailing over your cheek, your temple. You closed your eyes, breathing him in. You waited.

“No, honey, you just want fucked, don’t you?”

His lips were at your ear, trailing over the shell of it and you couldn’t help the way your eyes fluttered, heading lolling back until it thudded against the wall. You were breathing funny, your body boneless. How did you fucking get here?

Steve grinned even though you couldn’t see, teeth on your jaw instead. He took your hand from where it lay limp by your side and brought it to his crotch, cupping it between his own and his cock, the hard length of him pushing against his slacks and your small hand. “You just want this, right?” His teeth nipped at you and you scrunched your face in pleasure, lips parting. “Tell me.”

You folded, a new kind of girl from the one that stood at the bar, brushing him off and pretending you couldn’t recall the way you came on his tongue. You nodded, brows knitted together, like you were ready to beg. Maybe you were. “Yeah,” you answered breathily. “I want it.”

Steve kissed your cheek, a sweet thing, a sudden and shocking touch. “Want what? Wanna hear it, honey, c’mon.”

Heat rushed through you, clinging to your cheeks, your neck. You squirmed, embarrassed and turned on, even more embarrassed that you were throbbing at his words. You blinked at him. “Want your cock,” you whispered.

“Smart girl,” he cooed. “Clever girl. Such a good fucking girl.” Steve let go of your chin, used his fingertips to brush your hair back and draw a line down your jaw. He pressed another kiss, to your chin this time, a fleeting thing that you tried to chase. You wanted to taste him. “That’s better isn’t it? So much better when you play nice. Where do you want it? Hm? Wanna suck it for me, honey? Want to feel it down your throat?” Steve tsked, his voice low and controlled despite the filth he was muttering against your cheek. “No, no, you want it inside of you, right? My baby wants fucked, right?”

Baby. My baby. It didn’t feel like a pet name, not really. Not like the way he said ‘honey,’ like melted candy on his tongue. No. This felt like ownership.

You were throbbing from the inside out, your brain buzzing, a white noise kind of sound that tuned out everything bar Steve’s voice, his words, that awfully fucking pretty cadence that made you feel like you were one step away from getting in trouble. You don’t know why you loved it, why it made your toes curl, your lips part and a whine get stuck in your throat.

“Fuck, Steve,” you clawed at his shoulders, nails scraping over his shirt, creasing the expensive linen. You didn’t care. “Yeah, please, I want that.”

“Oh, it’s Steve, now, is it?” The boy laughed a little meanly, grabbing at your hips to turn you for him, your chest pressed to the wall as he made sure your ass stayed popped out for him. He traced the pretty arch of your back, rocked his dick against the curve of your ass cheek and squeezed. “I think I preferred ‘sir.’ Made you sound so much more agreeable.”

You just moaned. A sound you’d never heard yourself make, an animalistic thing, wrecked sounding and it made Steve beam. “Oh honey, you’re filthy, aren’t you? You’d let me fuck you right here, wouldn’t you?” His hands found the hem of your dress and cool air hit the tops of your thighs as he started lifting it up.

You didn’t care. You didn’t fucking care.

Your cheek was pressed to the wall, Lake House green paint under the press of your palms and you remained pliant for Steve, back arched and legs spreading a little, ready for him to pull your underwear to the side and slip his cock inside of you. You wanted it, you needed it—

“I’m not gonna fuck you here, pretty girl, not yet.” Steve was at your ear again, whispering against the shell of it, his fingers grabbing a handful of your ass under your dress as he squeezed and pulled at the dough of it. “Gonna take my time with you for that. Going to make sure I ruin you.”

Disappointment washed over you like a bucket of cold water. It was sobering and his words made you whine, a desperate noise that the staff corridor of The Lake House should never have heard. You turned on your own volition, gazing at Steve with heavy lidded eyes and you were pleased to see he looked the same. Cheeks pink, lips parted, his chest moving a little quicker than before. You remembered the way he’d taken charge that night, how he’d just assumed you’d come home with him after the poker game, how he’d sat in front of you, sprawled on his big sofa as he watched you take off your clothes for him.

How he’d told you to.

And then he’d made you come undone, unravelling against his mouth as he whispered dirty things to you, leaving you fuzzy and hazy as he dropped you home, seemingly unaffected. You wanted that power back, you wanted to see him too far gone to remember how much money he had in the bank.

So you pressed your palms to his chest and smoothed down his shirt collar before you dropped to your knees in front of him. It should’ve been a submissive thing, most people would assume it was. You, kneeling below the rich man, the man who had wealth and connections and an entire legacy built on just his name. You, the girl who was paid to serve him from behind a bar, pouring drinks that you’d ever be able to afford, on the floor in front of him.

But when you looked back up at Steve, his cocky expression had changed to one of awe. Genuine surprise showed in his eyes, lashes fanning over his cheeks as he blinked at you, dreamlike, hazy, fuzzy. Just like he’d made you feel. You brought your hands to the front of his trousers, finger teasing the button there before he slumped forward a little and braced his hands on the very wall he’d pushed you up against. He nodded, mumbled something that sounded like ‘please.’

Victory.

You looked back at the door you’d come through, no windows in the wood, but still thin enough that could hear the grand piano playing in the dining room, the distant tinkling of china teapots against porcelain teacups. Anyone could walk in. You’d get fired. Or worse.

The button popped under your finger and thumb, and the zipper whispered in the quiet when you tugged it down. Steve groaned, a heavy, hot sound that made the slick between your thighs worsen. He was leaning over you, head bowed between the arms that held him up, his full lips pink and parted as he stared down at you. You waited for some sort of instruction, an order, some filthy kind of praise but instead, he just watched.

Powerless.

You flattened a palm against his cock, hard and warm under the cotton of his black Calvin Kleins, your other hand braced on his thigh. You looked up, one brow raised, a silent question even as the solid length of him kicked up against your touch.

“Yes,” he rasped, nodding. “Yeah, honey, go ‘head.”

You worked fast, the rest of the club a far away murmur behind the locked door as Steve’s heavy breaths took over your senses instead. You dragged the band of his underwear down, his cock slapping up against his stomach. He was huge, thick and long and hard to wrap your fingers around and you hated that he had another reason to walk around acting like he fucking owned the world.

But you wanted the power back and you grasped him in your fist, pumping him against your palm as he tried to stop his hips from bucking forward. You wanted Steve like putty, yours to play with, you wanted him to fall apart as fast and as hard as he made you.

So you skipped the teasing, leaning forward to lick a broad stripe across the head of his cock, salt on your tongue and he swore, hips jerking when you opened your mouth and let him slide past your lips. You worked quick, heart racing from the adrenline of sucking someone off during working hours, hidden in a place you weren’t supposed to be. This was stupid, it was so fucking stupid but the stretch of your jaw around Steve’s cock was delicious, the sounds he was making even better. He was gasping your name, his voice hoarse, his eyes barely able to stay open but his lashes fluttered and he made sure he watched the way his cock disappeared in and out your mouth, over and over again.

Your nails scratched at his thighs, making him hiss, your free hand pumping the length of him that you couldn’t nudge into your throat. It was wet and messy, a filthy thing that made his brain malfunction ‘cause you were looking up at him the whole time with big, doe eyes and your pretty, little dress was splayed over your thighs. You looked like sin, you looked like his own personal wet dream and you were tracing your tongue along the underside of his cock as the head of it hit the back of your throat and—

“Oh my god,” Steve growled. One hand fell from the wall to grasp your head, not pushing, not guiding. Just twisting into your hair and holding on for dear fucking life. “Oh, fuck, m’gonnacome.”

It had barely been five minutes and a new sort of determination flushed through you. You were soaked, inner thighs wet from the heat of Steve’s stare, from the weight of his cock on your tongue and god, he was tipping his head back, eyes squeezed shut as he groaned, fingers tightening in your hair as he realised you were doubling down on your efforts and not pulling off.

“In your mouth, honey, yeah?” His voice was a little higher, breathier, so much less than controlled that it ever had been. “Gonna come in that pretty mouth, that smart, little mouth, hm? Please? Gonna swallow it all for me?”

You hummed in agreement, refusing to take you lips away from him, bringing a hand to cup his balls as you worked your mouth around him, rolling them in your palm. Steve twitched against your tongue, hips jerking forward as he gasped out everything from a prayer, to your name, to a curse. He came hard and sudden, his jaw hanging slack as he stared down at you, watching with a greedy sort of awe as he spilled over your tongue. You made a show of it for him, lips parting and mouth open as you pumped what you could out of him, letting him see it cover your tongue before you swallowed.

And as he stood, barely keeping himself up, breathless and speechless, you tucked him back into his trouser, soft and spent. You stood primly, caged between his arms as you smoothed down your skirt and met his gaze. He looked a little wild, a little wrecked and he swore under his breath when you licked your lips, using your thumb to politely swipe at the corner of your mouth, like a lady at high tea, not a girl who’d just sucked the fucking life from him.

Neither of you spoke. You weren’t sure Steve could. So you ducked under his arm and walked away, heels clicking on the hardwood floor as you tried to make sure he couldn’t seen the way your legs shook. Chin high, smile victorious, you didn’t look back before you slipped out of the door and out to the bar. It took a while for Steve to appear, face still a little flushed, but he’d brushed back his hair and smoothed out any wrinkles in his shirt, his trouser buttoned back up but his eyes gave him away.

They were glittering, trained on you as he came through the employees only door like he owned the entire building.

He didn’t care that you were serving Mr and Mrs St. Clair there afternoon martinis. No, he walked right up to the bar and tapped his fingers on the wood, vying for your attention. You gave it easily, gaze on Steve instead of the cocktail shaker you were filling with ice.

“What time do you finish?” He asked, voice still rough.

You swallowed tightly, eyes flitting to the older couple who weren’t paying you much mind. Not when their drinks weren’t ready yet. “Seven,” you told him.

Steve nodded. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

—————

That’s how it went.

No labels, not much talking - not about anything too serious anyway, like the future. Just a whirlwind you couldn’t really call a romance because Steve Harrington had fucked you in every room of his house, every car he parked in his too big garage, but he’d never kissed your lips. You’d found that Steve didn’t really do sweet unless it came with some kind of condescending tone that made your toes curl, surprising you on the odd occasion with a sudden fondness that even shocked him. But still, no kisses. He’d kiss you everywhere else, forehead often resting against yours as you both caught your breaths, his cock still inside you. You’d feel his nose bump your own, a soft touch, an intimate thing. But he’d pull back when you’d lift your chin a little, mouth searching for his like he hadn’t just been gasping into it.

He didn’t really hold your hand or call you his girlfriend but he knew your favourite wine, an expensive Chardonnay he liked to buy you by the crate, along with flowers you hadn’t even seen before, colourful blooms that looked like they belonged in a magazine. He’d place his hand on the small of your back when he took you out to restaurants, cocktail bars full of business men that only he knew. Away from Hawkins, always in the front of one of his cars, each one faster and shinier than the last. Dining rooms with chandeliers and low lights, pillar candles on white table cloths and five forks each.

He showed you off, surprising you with silk dresses and red bottomed heels that you told him off for, but Steve would kiss your neck, your bare shoulder and whisper how he wanted to take the pretty dress off of you later, how he wanted you in nothing but Louboutin’s. His touch was possessive, dirty, sometimes surprisingly caring, a gentleman that opened your car doors for you, who pulled out your chair for you to sit.

But no, he never kissed your lips.

And when he was spending days and weeks in Rome, Milan, Cannes, New York, Los Angeles, Singapore, St. Martin, well. When was there time to talk about relationships?

Steve Harrington was private jets and brand new Bentley’s. He was a special edition Rolex and had his family's name outside Hawkin’s city hall on a gold plaque. He was silk, leather, polished shoes and freshly ironed shirts. Gold, suede, expensive cologne, yachts in Monaco, a villa in the hills of the French Riviera. But he wasn’t your boyfriend.

No. He was thousand dollar bottles of whisky, business deals in San Tropez, a private beach club in Marbella. He was parties. He was the party. Cocktail nights with the elite, a grown up rager in someone's mansion, where chandeliers swung from ornate ceilings and the stairs were painted in gold leaf, littered with coked up rich kids who were using daddie’s hundred dollar bills to fill their noses.

Like the one you were at now, the thumpthumpthump of far away music still managing to reach you three floors up. The entire house was filled with art, a gallery more than a home and twenty something year olds made the place look too messy, black ties loose around men’s necks as girls walked around the marble floors barefoot, bottles of Moët clutched in their hands, each one looking for someone else to fuck. Grecian statues were thrown like footballs, busts of women from too long ago used as something to take a line off of and there were five people in the pool outside, naked, drunk, all taking turns touching each other.

It was debauchery at its finest. At its richest.

It was Eddie’s idea.

He’d invited Steve who’d then picked you up in a car you hadn’t seen before, a deep green Camaro with tan leather seats. It was already late, later than you’d like to have left for the beginning of a night out but Eddie promised a good time and the possibility of a new business venture for Steve.

The house had been an hour out of town, nestled off into the countryside between a forest and a lake, the long driveway spot lit as it led to the huge brick manor. You’d walked through the door behind Eddie, Steve’s hand on your back as he coaxed you inside and into the chaos. Music, bodies, champagne flutes overflowing on a round table in the foyer, marble flooring, tapestries on the walls, spilled glitter on the stairway and money littering a desk, poker chips on the floor.

No one greeted you, no one looked at you. But someone slapped Steve on the shoulder and Eddie shook a guy's hand, a bag of white powder exchanged for a rolled up wad of cash. No words were said. So Steve grabbed a mottle of Moët from a tabletop and took your hand, only to lead you up the stairs and Eddie followed, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he winked at the girl on the landing that you all had to step over.

An empty room, champagne bubbles, two men.

The bed was huge, a canopy style thing with too many pillows and with gold stitched quilts. Red drapes and low lights, a thick carpet that you dug your toes into when you slipped off your heels and then fell onto the mattress. Eddie followed, tipsy, boisterous, laughing as he did. Steve lazed in an armchair in the corner, long legs splayed out in front of him as he sipped from the bottle, his eyes on the way the hem of your dress slipped up your thighs.

“How does Steve’s little friend like the lifestyle?” Eddie asked you, grinning. “Is the Moët to your taste, sweetheart?” He was teasing and you knew that, teasing in a lighter way than Steve would because he was smiling and his eyes were kind, his cheek pushed to the bedding as he waited for your answer.

You took the bottle from Steve and let the bubbles slide down your throat, the fizziness tickling the roof of your mouth and it wasn’t sweet enough. Still, you took it greedily, wetting your lips before you dropped the empty bottle onto the floor with a thud. “I prefer Chardonnay, but it’ll do,” you joked back.

Eddie laughed and then hummed. He appraised you thoughtfully before his eyes flickered to Steve, dark in the dim light. “Oh yeah, Mr Harrington was kind enough to buy you a whole case of it, huh? I saw the order, sweetheart don’t get flustered.” Eddie reached out to brush a stand of your hair away from your face and from the corner of your eye, you saw Steve sit up a little straighter. “He’s real nice, isn’t he? Likes to spoil a pretty girl like you.”

“Eddie,” Steve’s voice was a warning.

“Right?” he continued, nodding at you like you’d agreed. You simply watched him from the bed, breath hitching a little when he propped himself onto one elbow so he could look down at you, one finger tracing up and down your forearm. “Jewellery, flowers, nice dinners, nicer dresses,” he trailed off, plucking at the strap of your black dress. “Pretty things for pretty girls. He doesn’t kiss you though, does he?”

The air was sucked out of the room and Steve bristled. “Eddie.”

Eddie ignored him. He tutted sympathetically, pouting at you. “He hasn’t, has he? He never does, some weird rule he has.” You didn’t say anything, you couldn’t. But you gasped quietly when Eddie traced a finger over your bottom lip, tugging at it gently until he let it go and it fell back into place with a soft ‘pop’. “Such a shame.”

He pulled away slightly to look back at Steve, who was sitting forward in the chair now, his elbows braved on his knees as he stared at Eddie with a dark expression. Like he was waiting. Warning him. But he didn’t say anything, so Eddie turned back to you.

“D’you know that Steve and I share things?”

You shook your head, wishing you had the sense to sit up, to collect yourself, to pull the hem of your damn dress down because the warm air that was trapped inside the room - between these two men - was heating up the skin on your thighs.

“Yeah,” Eddie explained. “Shares, stocks, cars… girls.” He leaned down again, nose bumping against your temple as he whispered theatrically into your, loud enough for Steve to hear. “He likes me more than Hargrove, you see.”

You could hear a pin drop.

“Do you think he’d let me kiss you, sweetheart? I bet he would.” Eddie was on his hands and knees now, crawling over you, hovering just above, hands braced on either side of your head and he grinned at the way your pupils grew a little bigger, a little darker. Both of you turned your heads to the side, your cheeks pressed to the expensive Egyptian cotton and you both looked at Steve. You weren’t sure what for. For a scolding, for a fight, for approval.

“C’mon, Harrington,” Eddie broke the silence. “She’s not your girl, is she? You gonna let me taste her? Seeing as you don’t? Bet she’s so fuckin’ sweet.”

Steve let out a huff of breath, his eyes flashing as he gripped the arm of the chair too tight. He sat back into the leather, shoulders stiff and lips in a straight line. “I know how she tastes, Munson, trust me.”

The way they spoke about you like you weren’t there made your skin tingle, an electric current that ran through your bones and you were buzzing, fizzing - but that might’ve been the champagne. But still, Eddie continued, playing Steve until he was flushed in the face with an emotion you couldn’t place.

“Yeah but those lips look pretty fucking biteable,” Eddie whispered and he ducked his head down, nose brushing yours, lips parting when yours did on instinct. “Could eat her up. Like a little peach, huh?”

Steve didn’t say anything, he didn’t stop it. He just sat and stared, cock stirring in his trousers because this is how these parties went and this wasn’t the first time he’d watched his friend take the girl he’d brought on a bed. In fact, this was tame compared to the other nights, lines of coke and whisky on a bedside table, his cock buried in some strange girl's mouth as Eddie took her from behind, shirt buttons ripped open and matching red lipstick on both their chests.

This was different. It felt different.

But still, he stayed quiet.

“You just want a kiss, don’t you?” Eddie cooed as he kept close, nuzzling his nose to your cheek, making sure his lips brushed across your when he moved to the other side. Your hands curled around the outside of his thighs where he kneeled over you, keeping him there, holding tight. You could see Steve out of your peripheral. “Pretty thing like you just wants some lovin’, I know it.”

Then slowly, as if allowing you - or Steve - to stop him, Eddie moved in, kissing your top lip before moving to your bottom, a barely there thing before he was kissing you properly, mouth pushing against yours. He angled his face so Steve could see, so the other boy on the armchair could watch the way he parted his lips and opened your own with his tongue, licking into you in a way that made your back arch. Steve watched the black silk of your dress - the one he bought you - meet Eddie’s shirt, matching colours, black as midnight. Ink on skin, moving against a stranger's sheets. Nipples pebbling against the material as Eddie dragged one of his hands down your sides, lifting your arm up and keeping it above your head so he could drag his fingers down the side of your breast, the material pulling tight over your skin.

He followed the curve of it, made you gasp into his mouth and then he was groaning, whispering something about how sweet you were, his tongue sweeping over your own before he was ripped away from you.

Steve had Eddie by the scruff of his shirt, hauling him off of the bed and you until he staggered into the other boy, grinning like this was all the funniest game in the world. You were panting, lips still glossy from Eddie’s kiss, eyes wide with shock because Steve was pulling himself up to his full height, shoulder squared, chin tilted up.

His nose almost touched Eddie’s.

“S’wrong, Harrington?” Eddie whispered. He was goading, excited, too amused. “She’s not your girl, right?” Their chests touched but Eddie didn’t back down, still grinning, curls mussed from where he’d lay on the bed with you, your gloss smeared across his own lips, a pretty pink that matched the flush across his cheeks. “You normally don’t mind sharing, dude, what’s the problem?”

Steve’s nostrils flared and he was breathing a little heavier, gaze flickering to you as you sat up and smoothed down your dress, your hair. Part of you wanted to get between the boys, soothe whatever was about to start, but something inside of you wanted to hear what Steve had to say. You stared back at him, feeling too hot, too exposed but you waited, gaze hard on him.

“Quit playin’, Eddie,” Steve warned and he took one step back, standing in the middle of you and the other boy. He looked flustered, a little put together than he normally did, his eyes dark and his cheeks heated, his back too stiff and he shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the way they were balled into fists. “I’m not in the mood.”

But Eddie kept smiling, hands held out in front of him as if he were surrendering but he continued to smile, eyes shining as kept talking, voice lilting. “Poor thing just wanted a kiss, man, only giving her what you don’t. Sorta mean, don’t you think?”

You couldn’t say anything, you just watched as Steve glared and Eddie grinned, the room filled with something more than faded music, empty champagne bottles and all the leftover bubbles. Tension fizzed in the corners, it made the walls crack and split, it made your chest turn a little too tight.

“Like I said,” Eddie gestured to you, eyes flirting up and down your frame appreciatively before turning back to Steve, “s’not like she’s your girl, is she?”

The thump of a bassline from two floors down, faint splashes from a pool outside the open window, the smash of a glass. But silence from Steve.

“Am I?”

Your voice sounded so much smaller than you wanted it to but you stared at Steve as you watched his jaw tense and flex. He closed his eyes and said something under his breath, something you couldn’t hear, pressing his thumb to the corner of his eye before he faced you.

“We’ve, uh,” he swallowed and reached for another cigarette. “We’ve spoken about this, honey.” He said it calmly, casually, like you should’ve known better.

But you had spoken about it at all. Not really. Steve’s silence said more than words and when he only pressed kisses to your cheek, to the insides of your thighs and side of your neck, you’d finally gotten the hint. Steve Harrington didn’t get attached. He didn’t do relationships. He was too busy, and spent too much time between too many cities, too many countries. Steve Harrington had yachts and cars and penthouses and villas. But he didn’t have girlfriends. Not just one, anyway.

You should’ve known. You had known. But hearing it aloud made it hurt that little bit more. So you nodded as if you agreed and when Steve lit the cigarette and let it hang between his lips, you stared at the floor as he stared at you. Then he was nodding towards the door and expecting you to follow him.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

You didn’t move. Eddie chuckled, a dark thing that made Steve glare at him but he looked over at you, cigarette between his fingers as it turned down quicker than he could smoke it. “Honey, let’s go.”

You still didn’t move.

So Steve looked at you and then he looked at Eddie and scoffed, waving a dismissive hand before he left the room and left the house.

Oh Lord, save me, my drug is my baby

You didn’t hear from Steve for the first few days after the party.

Four days went by without seeing him and honestly, that was okay with you. He stayed away from the clubhouse, even when you saw Billy and Eddie in the lounge, Jonathan at poker nights, Steve wasn’t with them. You saw his car around town now and then, passing the maroon BMW as you drove home from work late at night, watching its tail lights speed away in your rear view mirror. You wondered if he had another girl in the front seat, someone else he called honey and fucked on the living room sofa.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. You knew this would happen, you were just stupid enough to let it. You knew you’d get your heart broken, you knew you’d be the one left hurt. Because despite Steve’s proclivity for showering you in gifts and sex, you did have fun with him. He was sweet when he wanted to be, when he took off his suit and tie and shut off his pager. The business calls would stop and he’d forgo the expensive wine and designer shoes in favour of bringing a bag of your favourite chocolate, a dollar from the gas station and more appreciated than he realised.

There had been a night he’d taken you his kitchen counter, your legs wrapped around his waist as he fucked you with an intensity you’d never felt from him before, his forehead pressed to yours, his soft murmurs falling into your open mouth.

“Eyes on me, honey, keep watchin.”

“You’re so pretty, y’know that? Could stay inside you all fuckin’ night, Jesus Christ.”

“There she is, there she is, look at you, huh? Fuckin’ perfect at takin’ me.”

It had made you feel giddy, fuzzy, coming on Steve’s cock harder than ever and after he slid out of you he ran you a bath instead of taking you home. He didn’t join you like you asked, scoffing at the idea of lavender bubbles and water hot enough to scald him but he did sit on the tiles, shirtless and with his hands in the tub, fingers trailing over your water slick legs. He told you about the places he’d been, beaches and cities, the towns he’d think you’d like. And in the candle light, at three in the morning, with no one else around, Steve told you that he’d have to take you one day.

You’d hummed, pleased, heart racing at the idea of something coming from all of this. Not a free holiday, but someone to be with. A boyfriend, maybe, a partner. Someone who loved you as good as they fucked you. You weren’t deluded, you knew this wasn’t love. Not yet. But this handsome man came to the bar one day and decided that you were going to be his in some way or another. He wined you, dined you, spoiled you. Fucked you the way you asked and looked at you with stars in his eyes every time you got on your knees for him. He didn’t want you kissing anyone else, even when he couldn’t bring himself to kiss you.

There were times you thought he would. Times he looked at you like he wanted to, needed to. Straying closer and closer to your lips every time he kissed you goodnight, a lingering thing on your cheek that you wished you could bottle up and keep. He’d let his lips graze over you when he fucked you, pressing you into the cushions of his couch because even taking you to his bed was too intimate, too much like a relationship. So he’d fuck you slow in his living room, in the glow of the fireplace with the red wine forgotten on the table as he lost himself in it all, mouth skimming over the planes of your cheeks, the slope of your jaw, the very fucking corner of your bottom lip, like that wasn’t as bad as letting him bend you over his mattress.

Steve Harrington told you that he didn’t get attached, but you weren’t able to promise him the same.

So your crush gave way to anger, a frustrated annoyance that made your blood simmer when you left work one Wednesday evening, autumn settling over the town as you wrapped your jacket around you a little tighter and headed to your car. Except Steve was leaning against the hood of it, a dozen red roses clutched in one hand. He didn’t look nearly as put together as he normally did, but you thought he was twice as pretty. Still tanned, forever sunkissed even as the leaves on the trees started to fall, dressed in a pair of jeans and an old Harvard sweater. He didn’t go to Harvard, didn’t need to, but he looked every part the preppy boy you would’ve fallen in love with if you’d made it to college.

He looked softer but still as confident as ever as he stayed lounging against your car, like he was waiting for you to come to him. Instead you rolled your eyes and headed to the driver's side of your old Volkswagen, ignoring him as you passed.

“Wow, you’re just going to pretend I’m not here?”

Annoyance flared inside of you at the sound of his voice, unapologetic with a touch of entitlement. You scoffed, turning to the boy only to glare and you opened the drivers door so you could throw in your purse. “Most people would start with an apology, Steve.”

He pushed off the front of your hood and came to you, flowers held out as if to say ‘this is the apology.’ You could smell the flowers in the air, fresh and a vibrant red, overflowing from his hand and you could only imagine the price he paid for something that would wilt and die in a few days.

“You actually have to say it, you know.” You challenged him, eyes meeting his, unblinking, unwavering. Time spent with the richest man in town had given you some confidence of your own, an unflinching boldness when faced with stares in restaurants, whispers in crowded bars. “I don’t want your gifts.”

“Honey,” Steve tried, reaching for your hand. You moved back, out of his reach. He tried another approach, softer, sweeter. “Baby, c’mon. I’m sorry, alright? I am. I shouldn’t have acted like that at the party.”

He was right, he shouldn’t have. So you nodded but kept away, standing stiff and tense as you decided whether you should ask what you wanted to. You crossed your arms, a protective stance, and tried to sound braver than you felt. “Why wasn’t Eddie allowed to kiss me?”

Steve stared at you before he scoffed, setting the roses on your car roof before he shoved his hands into his pockets. His face became passive, a mask, a shield, the one he used on business calls and during luncheons with shareholders in his fathers companies. “So that’s what we’re doing now, huh? Kissing other people in front of each other?”

You could feel your frustration rising to the surface, bubbling and simmering and ready to explode out of you. “Why shouldn’t we? You said it yourself, we’re not together. I’m not your girlfriend.”

Steve avoided the question, eyes flashing instead and he swiped a hand over his face, through his hair. “Honey, please, like you wouldn't throw a fit if I took someone out to dinner, hm? If you found out I’d been taking someone else to nice restaurants and—”

“How do I know that’s not happening already!” You shot back, almost too loud. Mr and Mrs Lewinsky were walking arm and arm to their Mercedes, glancing over to the corner you car was tucked into. Thank god it was dark. You turned back to Steve, face heated. “You leave, like all the time. You’re gone for days and weeks, all over the world with villas and hotel rooms and penthouse apartments. You expect me to believe you don’t have a girl in every city? There’s not another me waiting for you on your living room couch in New York? Monaco? Italy? France? Oh, I’m sorry, do you maybe let them into your bed?”

Steve swore, looking around the parking lot as more people started to flood out now that dinner was over. Valets were moving cars down to the door and you could hear the voice of Frederick bidding guests goodbye. He held his hand out, “give me your keys.”

You stared at him, face screwed up. “What?”

“I said,” Steve repeated calmly, “give me your keys and get in the car.”

You scoffed, “no, I’m not going anywhere with you. And you’re not driving my fucking car.”

“I’m not having this conversation here,” Steve muttered and his voice was annoyed. “Either get in and let me drive or I’m marching you across the lot to my own car and you can wave to your boss at the same time.”

Annoyance pricked at your skin, a thousand needles of anger that made your back stiffen and your eyes narrow. “You drive like a fucking formula one wannabe,” you hissed, but still you threw your keys at his chest and marched round to the passenger seat, not caring to see if he caught them or not. “You fuck up my wheels, you’re buying me new alloys, Steve.”

Steve threw himself into the driver's seat and laughed meanly, lifting the bouquet of roses and throwing them into the backseat. Petals scattered everywhere. He slammed the door with the same amount of aggression as you did and once you were seated, he turned to you and smiled too sweetly. “Honey, I’ll buy you a new goddamn car, okay? Put your seatbelt on.”

You sat, stubborn, arms crossed and staring out the window. Your seatbelt remained unfastened. Steve revved the engine and despite the headlights stopping them from seeing who was behind the wheel of the beat up old Volkswagen, they were still staring.

“Stop it,” you hissed. “Just, get us out of here, god.”

“Seatbelt,” Steve repeated. You didn’t move and he tutted. “Where did my good girl go, huh?” He leaned over you and you remained passive, even when his breath was on your jaw and his hand slid around your hip as he did the belt for you. “You used to be so good at doing what you were told.”

“I’m not your girl,” you reminded him, smiling in a way that was anything but friendly. You felt dead behind the eyes, nothing but annoyance when you looked at Steve right then. “Remember?”

Steve grunted, swearing under his breath as he pulled away too fast and the wheels screeched as he sped out of the clubhouse parking lot. He hit sixty on the country roads at the back of Hawkins, screaming past the lake before he pulled off the road, just as you were ready to tell him off. He parked up in an empty lot, nothing but dirt and trees and a view of the water tower in the distance.

“There’s no other girls,” he said, breaking the silence. It was easier not to yell in the dark, in the closeness of the front of the car, where everything felt intimately softer than before.

“What?” You scrunched your face, mostly in disbelief as you tried to recall what you had yelled at him before he drove your car away from the scene.

“There aren’t any girls in other cities. There’s no one fucking waiting for me in Monaco, or, or Cannes, or L.A, no one, okay?”

You scoffed, disbelieving and you unclipped your seatbelt so you could lean against the door, facing him. Steve was still gripping the wheel with one hand, another swiping tiredly over his face, but for what it was worth, he looked sincere. But still, annoyance and the lingering feeling of rejection clawed in your stomach, an awful, ugly thing that made you sneer.

“Whatever, you really expect me to believe that? The front page of the Hawkins Post ran a damn article about how your new yacht had a mirrored ceiling in one of the bedrooms.” You laughed meanly, sadly, hoping your voice didn’t crack. “Okay, Hugh Hefner, excuse me if I don’t buy your bullshit.”

Steve groaned again, a long suffering thing and he pulled at his sweater sleeves, rolling them up his forearms until his watch face glinted in the light of the moon. “Fine, okay, yeah, I used to! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

No, it wasn’t.

“Had a girl for each damn arm, alright? But I haven’t— I haven’t—” Steve swallowed and you watched the harsh way his Adam’s apple bobbed, the furrow in his brow deepen. He didn’t look at you when he said, “I haven’t been with anyone else since you.”

It was a surprise, that was for sure. And what was even more startling, was the fact that you believed him, you truly did. Gone was the businessman facade, the smooth tone of voice that made you call him Mr Harrington. Instead there was a young man in front of you who was doing his best to make you understand.

“I don’t do relationships, honey, you knew that,” Steve said and he sounded almost sad. “I don’t kiss girls and hope they fall in love with me, I don’t bring them home and take to my bed and let them believe we’ll wake up together in the morning and fuckin’ cuddle.”

You blinked away tears, angry, upset, frustrated tears that burned the corners of your eyes. You sniffed, annoyed, venomous. “Fine. I’m far from declaring my undying adoration for you Steve, don’t worry. But you don’t then get to decide who I get to kiss if you don’t wanna do it yourself.”

Steve stiffened then, turning to you with an angry flash in his eyes and hard set to his jaw. He narrowed his gaze at you and shook his head. “Don’t test me, honey.”

You scoffed, defiant. “Whatever. Take me home, you can walk back to your car.”

“I’m not done talking,” Steve frowned and he couldn’t believe it when you simply laughed and got out of the car. He jumped out after you, bewildered at the sight of you walking through mud and the littering of fallen leaves in your clubhouse uniform, heels and all. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Walking,” you shot back, “what does it look like!”

“Get in the damn car,” Steve said your name and it sounded like a warning, “it’s pitch fuckin’ black out here.”

You didn’t turn around though, arms crossed right across your chest because you’d left your coat in your locker like an idiot. “Then I’ll find a pay phone, call for a ride. Maybe Eddie will come get me.” It was a cheap blow, but it did exactly what it was supposed to.

The sound of heavy feet marching up behind you, a hand on your arm to stop you from moving and then Steve was in front of you, face scrunched in anger, in frustration. He held your shoulders, slipped his wide hands down the length of your arms until he eased them from your chest and held your fingers between his.

“What do you want me to do, huh?” Steve asked, his voice a little louder than it had been earlier. He seemed to unravel slightly, a panic in his tone that you’d never heard before. “I— I take you out, I treat you good, right? But you presents ‘n’ pretty things, fuckin’ flowers and shoes and dresses and take you to restaurant openings, parties and, and—”

“I don’t want any of that, Steve!” You yelled, eyes wide. You felt too hot despite the cold night. “I never wanted any of that! I didn’t ask for it.” You blew out a breath but you didn’t drop his hands. “I appreciated it, all of it, I did. I do. But I didn’t need any of that! I enjoyed being with you.”

Steve shook his head at you, lips parted and a look of confusion on his face. Like he’d never been told such a thing before. “So, so what? You want Eddie? None of that, but you want Eddie, is that it?”

You huffed, head thrown back in exasperation and you counted to three, staring at the stars blinking back at you in the night sky and you wondered what you were doing here, you wondered what cruel twist of fate led you to sit down with Steve Harrington that night in the lounge.

“No,” you eventually said, calmer than you’d sounded before. “No, I don’t want Eddie. God, Steve, I wanted you, alright? This whole time, just you. Not your money, or your cars or your houses or anything else. Just you. I wanted to hold your hand and go on dates. Somewhere stupid and lame like the movies, or, or a drive through for a cheap burger and shake. I wanted you to kiss me goodnight and kiss me good morning and maybe, I don’t know, have sex with me on a mattress like a normal couple.”

You sniffed, willing away the tears that came with your speech. You weren’t prepared to cry over a man who didn’t want you the way you wanted him. But you watched Steve’s expression fall, a crumpled thing that made him look young and boyish. He dropped your hands only to move closer and cup your face instead, his thumb soothing over your bottom lip like he could will your upset away. You watched his gaze fall to your mouth, following the movements his thumb made across the seam of your lips like he wanted to put his against yours. His lips parted and he looked pained.

“I’m not asking you to fucking marry me, Steve, but god, why won’t you at least kiss me? Am I that much of a throw away toy for you that you won’t even—”

“Because if I kiss you, I’ll fucking fall in love with you, okay!” Steve barked out, sudden and rushed and panicked sounding. He closed his eyes and blew out a breath, letting his hands fall to your neck, his head falling forward. “God.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t.

“You don’t think I know I can get any girl I want?” Steve laughed and it sounded powerful, it sounded like money. “Honey, I walked into the club that day and saw your pretty face and knew I was fucked.” Steve lifted his head so you could see him again, lips parted in surprise at his admission but he just smiled. He brought a hand back to your cheek, smoothed a thumb over the apple of it, down the line of your jaw. “So I told myself I could just have some with you, see how good you looked without that uniform on, maybe spoil you a little and whatnot.”

“You’re a pig,” you told him but you didn’t move away.

“I know,” Steve shrugged. “Wasn’t looking for a wife honey, I just loved the way you got all huffy with me, how sweet you’d get when I got my hands on you.” Steve dragged his thumb down your neck, pressed lightly and watched the way you tilted your chin up for him. “You’re just so fucking pretty.”

“But then you had to get under my skin didn’t you? Thought about you all the goddamn time and couldn’t look at any other girl without seeing your face instead.” Steve tsked, walked you backwards until you were against the side of your car and pressed against him. “Hated it at first, you know. Tried to stay away for longer than I needed to, but shit, got back into town and went straight to the club to see you. There you were, pretty as ever and chewing me out for being gone too long, callin’ me Mr Harrington like you knew it would get me so fuckin’ hot for you.”

Steve grinned when you whined, a knee jerk response to the way he was sliding a hand around your upper thigh, up under the hem of your dress and your head hit the door of your car with a dull thud. “Ate at Michelin star restaurants all ‘round the world, honey, but I’ve never tasted anything as good as you, you know that?” He was on your throat now, mouthing up it, licking a line along your neck until he could nip at your jaw. “Want you, all the time. Just you. It drives me fucking insane and I dunno what to do.”

You felt the fight leave you and you hated yourself for it, feeling weaker every time Steve put his mouth on your skin and his nose was pressed to your cheek now, one hand in your hair and the other squeezing at the dough do your ass under your dress, pulling up the hem of it to expose you to the cool air and it was all filthy. It was all exactly why you entered into this whole situation in the first place. Steve Harrington - money and family name or not - made you feel like you were on fucking fire.

So you grabbed at him, tried to fight back in other ways, with fingers in his hair so you could tug him down and let him latch his mouth to your neck. He scraped his teeth along the column of it, groaning when you pulled meanly. Steve swore, licking over the bruise he’d marked you with, a pink-red bloom on your skin that would remind you of him even days later. His nose bumped yours as he leaned down to you, crowding you against the car and up against his chest and you were panting, waiting for it, feeling the way he let his nose graze yours, a teasing back and forth that left his mouth hovering over yours.

“Get in the back,” Steve whispered and it was a quiet order, a soft demand, one that you knew you’d bend to because you were soaked, clit pulsing against the lace of your underwear, and shit, Steve knew that too.

But it didn’t mean you weren’t going to make him work for it.

“No,” you argued back. You didn’t mean it, this was foreplay. This was everything that got Steve a little hot under the collar, the way you played pretend and tried to get your own way. “You can fuck me here, ‘gainst the door.”

Steve laughed and he pressed the sound into your cheek, teeth against your skin and he pushed a kiss there, a smattering of them as his hands went back under your dress and he pulled down your underwear with the tips of his fingers. He let them fall to the ground, not bothering to pick them up.

“Get in the car, honey. Front or back, you decide, but either way you’re gonna ride me, okay?” Steve told you and that big, bad businessman voice was back, the one that made your toes curl and your cunt ache. Sweet, syrupy, demanding. He brought a hand between your thighs and cupped you, groaning at the heat and the slick that coated his fingers as he swept them through your folds. “She’s missed me,” he cooed, not asking but telling. Like it was a fact.

“This is the last time,” you told him and it felt like you were trying to tell yourself that too. “We don’t want the same things, fuck—” you were cut off on a gasp when Steve circled your clit, his gaze heavy and dark as he leaned in and let his forehead touch yours. “S’all gonna end in a mess.”

“In the car, honey,” Steve reminded you, neither agreeing or arguing with your words. There wasn’t any point. You both knew this wasn’t the end. “C’mon, be a good girl for me.”

So you stepped out of your underwear and left them lying, like some sick white flag, a symbol of surrender as you pushed Steve away and opened the back door, sliding over the seats as Steve joined you. The door clicked shut and silence took over, the dark and heavy kind that came with the late night, the one that carried a special type of tension and it filled the whole space, it fizzed and crackled in the air between you and it made you fucking breathless.

You watched with a tight chest as Steve sat back in the middle seat, already looking wrecked, his hair a mess from your greedy fingers. He spread his legs as much as he could in the tight space and he nodded to his lap, where you could already see the outline of his dick pressed under the denim. “Sit,” he said.

Not feeling as ready to argue anymore, you listened to the throbbing between your legs and obeyed, the top of your head grazing the car roof as you slid onto Steve’s lap, thighs spread over his in a way that made you burn that white-blue type of hot, because your dress was too short and your underwear was still outside. He could see everything when you looked down, hem of your uniform flirting too high, the dirty spread of you on display. Even in the low light he could see you shine, wet and ready, all for him.

But Steve kept his hands on the seats, practically lounging as he tilted his head back to look at you from where you were perched on top of him. He studied you, like a piece of art he was ready to buy. His eyes found yours before his gaze dropped to your nose, your cheeks, the line of your jaw, the slope of your neck. Then he found your lips, parted and wanting, the tip of your tongue peeking from between as if you were just dying for something to taste.

Maybe his fingers, you liked that. The heavy feel of them on your tongue so you could suck on them while he fucked you slow. Maybe his neck, right where it met his shoulder, that almost always bruised piece of skin that you bit down on when you came, riding Steve’s cock somewhere you shouldn’t and you had to keep quiet. Maybe you wanted his dick, too big to take all of it, but the stretch of your jaw and the hot slide of it over your tongue made you rock your hips against nothing, especially when Steve was feeling extra sweet and swept his hands over your face when you sucked him off, thumbing at the corners of your full mouth as he told you how pretty you looked.

But he offered none of those. No. Instead, he cleared his throat and asked, “what do you want?”

You looked at him, a question mark on your face, just able to see the shine of his eyes and the strong lines of his nose and jaw in the dark. His hands remained by his sides. “What?”

Steve smiled, just a small thing. “I said, what do you want?”

“You,” you answered shyly, only after a beat or two of quiet. You kept it deliberately vague, leaving it to the boy to decipher if that meant sex or more. Or both. “I want you, Steve.”

“You don’t want my money,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. He knew that already. “Not interested in where I could take you, what I could buy you. No,” Steve's voice grew warmer, softer, fond. “Told you before, didn’t I? I know my girl just wants fucked.”

You squirmed, nodding. Because if this was the last time, you’d make sure you enjoyed it. But then Steve did something even more unexpected. He let his hands settle on your thighs, still a little cold from being outside and you hissed at the slide of them going upupup. He didn’t touch your cunt though, didn’t let his fingers play with you like he usually did.

“C’mere,” he asked instead. “Close your eyes, yeah?”

Your brows stitched together at his request. You were hardly a stranger to blindfolds and surprises, but this didn’t seem like the time or place.

“You trust me?” Steve whispered and his gaze was on your lips, waiting.

It didn’t take you long to nod, because yes, despite it all, despite Steve’s issues with… commitment, you did trust him. You believed him about the other girls, about everything.

“Good girl. Close your eyes,” Steve asked again and you did.

The car seemed smaller with one sense gone. Eyes shut and Steve so near. You could feel his warmth, the way he moved into you a little more, closer than before until his breath was fanning over your mouth and chin and his nose was bumping yours. Your stomach tumbled.

“I can’t promise you anything,” he whispered into you. You could feel his lips moving, a barely there ghost against your own. His touch felt like a secret. “I don’t know how— how to be someone’s boyfriend. I’ve never done that. But I can try, if you’ll let me.”

You weren’t sure when your own hands had moved but they were fisting the front of Steve’s sweater. The letters for Harvard crushed in your palms and you were holding on for dear life.

“You said this was the last time,” Steve murmured and you wanted to open your eyes, you wanted to stare him down and challenge him but you did as he asked. You kept your eyes closed. “Is this the last time, baby?”

Baby.

“Or are you gonna give me a chance? I’ll do my best for you, I swear, I’ll try,” Steve’s mouth was moving over your cheek, kisses pressed there between each word until he was mouthing along your jaw and chin and you were weak, sitting on top of him and feeling like you could melt. “I’ll try for you, honey, don’t wanna lose you. Don’t want you with someone else.”

He was talking faster now, like there was an urgency there that wasn’t before and his hands were skimming up from your thighs to squeeze at your waist before his palms were cupping your jaw and pulling you to him. His lips touched yours, only just and you gasped like you’d been burned. Steve kept you there, panting hard, his own eyes closed now and his brow furrowed.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered and his voice cracked. Gone was the businessman. He smelled like mint toothpaste and cologne, like sunscreen. “We can stop this here and I’ll let you go and we can pretend we never met, if that’s what you want.”

You only clung to him tighter, one hand trailing blindly up his neck until you could pull at the longer hairs there and hold him. You made a noise of protest, tears lining your lashes as you tried to squeeze your eyes shut tighter so they’d stay in. You shook your head, nose brushing Steve’s, lips moving over his so, so briefly.

“I don’t want to stop.”

You weren’t sure what you thought your first kiss with Steve Harrington would be like. You’d thought about it a lot, sure. But it was usually in the heat of the moment, when he was inching inside of you, hips slapping against your own, your fingers tight in his hair and whispering filthy things to each other. You thought he’d kiss you like that, hard and fast and messy, with a dirty lick of his tongue. But Steve moved slowly, almost shy. He hesitated as he brought his thumb over your cheek, a brief touch before he was closing the gap and meeting your lips with his.

It was slow, careful. Soft. A gentle thing and Steve exhaled shakily, his breath fanning over your cheek as he tilted his head and let you press closer. His lips parted, tongue swiping over yours as the kiss deepened and when you let out a soft noise of appreciation, the boy groaned and his hands fell to your waist, squeezing and pulling you closer still.

Once he started, it was like he couldn’t stop.

Steve pulled away only briefly for you both to suck in a breath, his lips finding yours again until the kiss turned into the kind you’d thought about, a messy, dirty thing that had you whining into his open mouth, tugging at his hair until he let you swallow each groan. Steve’s eyes were closed when he spoke, chest heaving, words a low, rough rasp and his hands were under your dress now, fingertips skimming up the inside of your thighs until you were squirming.

“Want it, honey? Yeah?” Steve was mouthing over your jaw, kissing at your cheek as you panted, pulling at his belt buckle until you could free his cock from his boxers. He sounded drunk, wrecked. “That’s it, good girl, c’mon, take it. S’all yours.”

Steve let his head fall back, resting on the back seat of the car, eyes hooded as he watched you. You didn’t waste any time, pulling at the button of his jeans until you had enough room to free his cock. He was already hard, leaking for you, his breath hitching when you wrapped a small hand around him and pumped once, twice. You swiped a thumb over the tip, dragged the slick back down the length of him and leaned in, intent on making Mr. Steve fucking Harrington, business man, millionare, poker winner, car collector, fall apart for you.

Your nose slid against and your bottom lip brushed his, a teasing thing that you managed to not give into, even when Steve's lips chased yours. He’d made you wait months for a kiss, he could wait another minute or two. You pumped his cock again, fisting it a little tighter, the way you’d learned that he’d liked. He was quick to pant into your mouth, lips catching yours when he titled his chin up for you.

“Tell me it’s mine,” you coaxed, voice low and sweet, just the way Steve loved to speak to you. You palmed his cock, voice sugar. “Tell me this is mine.”

Steve’s hands swept up your thighs, thumbs pressing into the skin, grip bordering on too tight, a possessive touch. He was breathing heavily, the windows in the car starting to steam up, condensation running tracks down the glass. “S’yours,” he slurred, drunk sounding, softer than ever. “S’your cock, honey, promise.”

You couldn’t wait any longer, rutting yourself against Steve’s thigh as you touched him, foreheads pressed together, lips catching against each other and it pulled a moan from both of you when you raised up on your knees. Dirty, wet noises filled the car as you ran the head of his cock through your folds and Steve dragged your dress up, pushing the material over your hip so he could watch you sink down onto him, taking every inch.

He helped you bounce, up and down, up and down before you started a lazy roll of your hips, grinding down against the boy until you were pulling on his hair and whining into the crook of his neck. It was all too much and Steve’s hand grabbed at the nape of your neck, hand fisting in your own hair, bordering on too tight but he brought your face back to his, eyes half lidded as he gazed at you and pleaded: “shit, honey, kiss me? Kiss me, please, fuck-- m’gonna come.”

His neediness made you groan, a pitchy, breathy noise that Steve soon swallowed, your lips melting between his as he caught you in a kiss, open mouthed and possessive, teeth and tongues as he came. His hips bucked up as you rode him harder and the boy let go of your hair to cup your jaw, his free hand falling to rub at your clit with two fingers, white hot pleasure shooting up your spine. You fell into him, letting Steve catch you and you kissed him, eyes glassy, squeezed shut, your mouth on his as you both came hard. You felt Steve’s cock twitch, spilling into you as he kissed you, chest heaving against yours and as your hips slowed, so did his kisses, softer, kinder.

“You okay?” he breathed, breath fanning over your lips, your cheeks, your gaze blurry and unfocused. “Baby, you with me?”

Baby. Babybabybaby.

You nodded, nose knocking against his but you didn’t dare pull away. You didn’t want to. And by the looks of things, Steve wasn’t ready to let you go either. His hands soothed over your hair, pushing back the stray strands that clung to your damp forehead, your warm cheeks. He was still inside of you, softening only slightly, a mix of you both spilling over your thighs. It was dirty, filthy, it was the most tender thing you’d experienced with him.

“So good,” Steve breathed, cheeks flushed, his eyes shining. He looked drunk, he looked as gone as you felt, his hands roaming over you, touching every piece of bare skin he came across, palming greedily at your hips, your thighs, your ass. He dotted a line of kisses from your neck to your cheek, nosing there until you lifted your chin for him and kissed his lips, sighing as you did. “So fuckin’ good for me, all the time, huh? My girl, fuck, you’re so pretty, so, so pretty.”

You lazed against him, soaking up his touch, his words, the insane feel of his lips over your skin, your throat, chasing your lips until you pressed into him, opening your mouth when he did, tongues brushing over each other in languid strokes. Steve kissed like he fucked, like he wanted you to feel every part, like he wanted you to remember it for days.

“Come home w’me,” he murmured into your lips, never leaving them, never stopping his kisses. Steve whispered between words, hummed happily when your hands clasped his cheeks, when your fingers trailed over the stubble on his jaw. “Come back to mine, please. We can talk ‘bout everything. I’ll make you breakfast in the morning, I’ll wake up beside you. Please.”

Your heart stopped at the idea of it all. The intimacy you hadn’t been given yet. The thought of Steve talking to you about something as serious and long term as a relationship. No dropping you home after five orgasms, kissing the back of your hand as he dropped you at your apartment at three am. No running off to an airport, no flights, no meetings, no business calls to interrupt.

“You can’t cook,” is what you said, voice muffled by his shoulder, the way your face was buried in the crook of his neck.

Steve scoffed, laughing even though you could hear the nerves there. He nosed at your cheek until you emerged, a hand wrapping gently around your neck, thumb pushed to the underside of your chin so you’d meet his gaze and the sincerity there took your breath away. You were still on his lap, his softening cock still inside of you but neither of you made the move to unravel from the other.

“I mean it,” he whispered and in the quiet of the night it was like you could hear his heartbeat. A thumpthumpthump that rattled the air between you, but fuck, maybe that was your own. “Come home with me, honey. I wanna-- I wanna make this right.”

-------

The next morning, Steve woke you up with his lips on your cheek, a soft, cautious thing that you leaned into even half asleep. Your bare chest pressed to his, your legs stretching out alongside the boy’s. You turned, arms needling around Steve’s neck so you could find his lips with yours, mouths searching, needy, suddenly desperate even with half closed eyes.

“Morning,” you murmured.

“Mornin’, honey,” Steve whispered back and you couldn’t see with your closed eyes but the boy was smiling, soft and proud and fond.

You were right, the night before, in the car. Steve didn’t cook. So after a shared shower where you let Steve hook your leg over his shoulder and kiss at your cunt until you came on his tongue - his eyes on your the entire time, his nose squished all pretty against your pussy as he came in his own fist, the waterfall shower raining down on you both - Steve took you out for breakfast.

Dressed in a pair of his running shorts that you had to roll up and one of his hoodies that had a tiny Yves Saint Laurent logo on the chest, you were relieved to find a pair of sneakers in your trunk. You’d mumbled that you’d looked ridiculous, but Steve had just used your embarrassment to kiss you again, hands on your cheeks and pulling you to him in the driveway.

He got to take his car instead of yours, only because you got to choose where to eat.

So Steve Harrington drove you both from his three story townhouse in his shiny BMW to a Mom and Pop’s just out of town. He held your hand across the parking lot, held the door open for you and plucked at his sweater collar to pull you in for a kiss over the table, red leather seats sticking to his expensive jeans. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t complain, didn’t mutter about missing out on eggs benedict and caviar at the clubhouse because here, he got to kiss you all he wanted.

And it was worth it, to watch the way you softened for him, feet against his under the table, sharing a strawberry milkshake that didn’t really go with the hashbrowns and bacon you’d ordered. It was worth it, to leave his pager at home, to ignore the incessant beeping, emails pinging in his office about flights, meetings, business deals, money, shares, stocks.

Steve was realising it was all worth it, to have you.

I'll be usin' for the rest of my life

Three Years Later.

The sway of the boat made you feel weightless. A miracle really, considering how heavy you actually felt. The italian sun warmed your skin, mostly bare from your bikini, straps slipping down your shoulders as you lay flat on a lounger, sunglasses covering your eyes from the harsh blue skies above.

The water was the same colour, the gentle lap of the ocean on the sides making you sleepy. The bustle of the city was barely heard, Monaco in the distance as the yacht bobbed just outside of the harbour. Despite its size, The Smart Girl hardly had anyone on board. You were on the deck, catching the last of the day’s sun, with a few staff members milling around. And Steve? Steve was in one of the rooms he’d made into his office from home, a big oak desk taking up most of the space and he’d sit for hours taking calls, pouting at you from the open door as he tried to coax you in to sit on his lap. You’d always refuse, stretching out on your lounger, bikini top riding up, giving him a show until he could string enough words together to make an excuse to whatever big shot millionaire was on the other end of the line.

“There’s my baby.”

The lounger dipped as Steve pushed a knee to the cushion, crowding over you, leaning in to greet you with a kiss, tasting like aperol and oranges. You hummed into him, salt on both of your lips from the sun, the sea. Steve kissed your cheek too, moving down to nuzzle at your neck as his hand skimmed over your belly, the slight swell of it making your red bikini bottoms stretch out.

“And my other baby,” Steve cooed cupping your growing tummy.

“You said an hour, tops,” you complained but there wasn’t any heat behind it. It was hard to be annoyed about Steve leaving you to your own devices when the Mediterranean sea was rocking you to sleep. “No more business, right?”

Steve smirked at your bossiness, nodding as he leaned back down to ghost some kisses along your shoulder, he nipped at your jaw and hummed. “No more business, honey. M’all yours.”

The trip was supposed to be a babymoon of sorts, even though you were only a few months into your pregnancy and you were sure Steve would whisk you off somewhere else warm and sunny as the months passed. But he’d promised no business, no meetings and when the chance to join a conference call with the owner of the city's most prestigious club arose, Steve caved.

“I’ll buy you somethin’ pretty to make up for it,” he’d told you and you’d tried to act huffy but after three years together, the man saw right through you.

“How’d the call go?” You asked him, eyeing him greedily as he popped some buttons on his shirt, the white linen falling open to show off sunkissed skin, the gold chain around his neck.

Steve slipped his sunglasses from his pocket onto his nose, made sure to wink at you over the frame of them so you knew he saw your appreciative gaze. He stretched out next to you, one of the staff members appearing - Paul - with a tray of lemon water and glasses as he got comfy. “It went well,” he smiled his thanks to Paul and gave you a class, coaxing you to drink up. “We scheduled another call for when we’re back home to iron out some details. I told him my pretty wife would have me thrown overboard if I took any longer.”

Steve grinned when you frowned. “I wouldn’t do that,” you mumbled. “I’d just yell at you for a bit.”

Steve leaned in, still smiling, nosing along your jawline as his hand plucked at the flimsy strap of your bikini. “You know that would just get me all hot, right?”

You rolled your eyes and tried to hide your smile in his neck, tipping it back to let Steve kiss the skin there. He still smelled like he did when you first met him, the same expensive cologne, sunscreen and the Italian countryside. “You make me sound so bossy,” you murmured, meeting him for a kiss.

“You are,” Steve whispered, his hand back on your tummy, his thumb running over the bump in soft circles. “M’whipped, remember?” He held up his other hand, the band on his ring finger glinting in the sun.

“You complained when Eddie said it,” you teased.

“That’s ‘cause Eddie’s a dick,” Steve shot back but it was light hearted. “Speaking of, I promised him we’d meet him for dinner when we got back. I know it’s not your favourite but—”

“The clubhouse?” You groaned, pouting. “Really?”

“He loves the steak tartare there, honey, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I was fired from there—” you reminded him, voice surly.

“You’re a member there,” Steve quipped back. He kissed your palm, over your knuckles, lips grazing the diamond on your finger.

“—after my boss caught you going down on me in the ladies changing rooms,” you continued, cheeks still hot at the memory even if it was years ago. You’d never forget the expression on Frederick’s face. “I can’t look that man in the eye, never mind order dinner from him.”

“Fun times,” Steve smirked. “Don’t you love being able to click your fingers at the man who made your life hell? Order the most expensive champagne with all your money?”

You whined, a fake complaint as Steve manhandled you into his lap, letting you lie between his legs, your back resting his chest. He was warm from the sun, strong, solid. “I don’t click my fingers at anyone, Harrington. It’s rude. And it’s not my money, I’m unemployed. I’m basically a leech,” you pouted up at him, all faux dramatics.

Steve snorted at your words before leaning down, skimming his lips over your hairline, his hands, wide and warm, cupping the swell of your tummy. “You’re not unemployed, you’re on maternity leave. And studying. No woman of mine is working while she’s growing our baby,” he kissed your nose when you tilted your chin up to him, smiling. “And what’s mine is yours, Harrington,” he shot back.

“Your woman?” You raised your brows at his words.

“My favourite one,” Steve whispered. He was still all charm, even after the years had passed. His voice grew softer then, fingers trailing up your ribs. “Can’t wait to take you home - both of you - get settled, build a crib, paint a nursery.”

“You’re not building a crib,” you laughed, eyes shining. It was easy, it was wonderful, being this is love. This happy. “Have you even held a hammer before, Steve?”

He responded by nipping at your neck, enticing a squeal from you, a choked laugh. “You’re incredibly rude, Mrs Harrington, I’ll let you know I have, actually.”

You turned in his arms, kneeling between his thighs and you watched as his eyes darkened, gaze trailing over the way your breasts pushed out, the way your thighs pressed themselves together. “That’s not important,” he answered tartly and he grinned when you snorted.

The new house back in Indiana was modest, by Steve’s standards. But he’d let you choose, a family home that was built in the 1800’s with big, bay windows, original cornicing and a fireplace in each bedroom. A perfect family home, with more rooms in it than you could’ve ever imagined having.

It had been easier than you’d thought, to get here. With Steve Harrington, married and with a baby on the way. Not that you’d expected it, not back then. But weeks turned into months and months turned into years, your first anniversary sailing by without much issue. There were arguments, forlorn phone calls when Steve left for business and you had to work, shouting matches when the boy came home and tried to get you to quit work altogether, ‘cause you didn’t need a wage when you had him, right?

But he was quick to compromise, when it came to you. Kissing away your upset, swapping expensive gifts for genuine apologies, your favourite flowers that came by the handful instead of the boxes of hundred dollar bouquets made by someone else. Was he smug about it when the job at The Lake House came to an end? Sure. Too smug, maybe, considering he gave a half assed apology to Frederick with your lipstick trailed across his cheek and jaw. But he supported you - celebrated you - when you got a new position in a paralegal’s office, picking back up your textbooks that you once had to abandon.

There was a big bed to share now, a wardrobe that held both your clothes, suits and silk dresses, your old sweaters, Steve’s knitwear that was practically all yours. Your toothbrush next to his, your vinyls next to his record player, a stocked fridge with all the ingredients for his favourite meals, ready for you to reach him how to cook. There was sex, holidays, hotels, more sex, nights on the sofa with blankets and movies, a diamond, Steve in the driver's seat in the parking lot of that Mom ‘n’ Pops diner, the ring clutched between his shaky fingers as he told you how much he loved you. A pregnancy test, staring back at you both from the bathroom vanity, a year after the wedding in Cannes, the honeymoon in the Maldives.

Unplanned, yes? Unexpected, definitely. Did it make you both overwhelmingly excited? More than you could express.

Steve took your chin in his hand, pulling you in, thumb rubbing over your bottom lip, his eyes growing softer when you kissed at it. “Are you happy?” he whispered.

“With you?” you answered, smiling. “Always.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington oneshot

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ludicdoll · 1 month

Text

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

farleigh start ☆

pairing: farleigh start x fem!reader

contents: smoking, sexual tension, farleigh being yet again an arrogant cunt, fingering, littleeee bit of degrading but for the most part there’s praise, farleigh’s slightly toxic, dom farleigh, situationship type relationship

synopsis: you and farleigh share a cigarette on the staircase.

a/n: farleigh lives in my mind rent free 24/7, for my bby @uch3na

there’s something so chilling and unnerving about the saltburn corridors at night, everything appeared so much more closed in. felix would usher you to come to saltburn with him every summer, and you always declined. however, this year you gave in. you constantly got lost within the house, always walking loops around the castle. unfortunately, you couldn’t sleep and felt antsy—so you decided to explore the manor. as you slowly creak open your door, you poke your head out and look around. when you’ve confirmed no one is awake, you tiptoe across the polished floors, bumping into several obscuring objects in your way due to the darkness. you walk past a room before stepping back and looking through the cracked door.

the lamp was still on inside, and it only occurs to you when you gloss over the posters on the walls that it’s farleigh’s bedroom. you immediately step back, afraid he would catch you in his door. but you realized he wasn’t in his room at all, in fact he was behind you staring you down.

“what are you doing?” his voice is low and sultry which causes you to jump back and yelp, holding a hand up to your chest. “holy fuck, farleigh—you scared me.” you whisper, worried about waking up the cattons. he’s sitting on top of one of the many staircases in the home, a cigarette between his fingers (as always)

“you stalking me or something?” he asks with a raised brow. you cross your arms, not impressed by his joke. “no, i was just—” you trip up on your words for a moment, distracted by his intense glare. “i couldn’t sleep.”

farleigh looks at you up and down, a thin line of smoke flowing out of his mouth. “so you decided to come to my room instead?” of course, he flipped the narrative to make it seem like you were purposely looking for him. his voice was laced with arrogance, a smirk plastered on his lips. “you cheeky minx,” he mutters as he draws out another exhale from his cigarette. you roll your eyes, tugging at your sleep shorts that were a little bit too small to your liking. farleigh’s eyes darts down to your smooth legs, an intrigued look on his face. the blue moonlight lit the side of his face perfectly, just enough for you to make out his expression shifting.

you dig the balls of your heels deeper into the cold floor, slightly nervous from him examining you. you walk over to the railing, sitting down on the step next to him. farleigh leans over to your shoulder, offering his cigarette to you. you stare up him for a moment before taking it from his fingers, sighing when you feel the cold menthol flavor on your tongue. “you sleep in those clothes?” he asks with a soft judgmental tone while sliding his hand across the soft fabric of your shorts, almost groping at your ass. you groan, rolling your eyes in response. “i didn’t know i packed my old clothes. they obviously don’t fit me, farleigh.” you smack his hand away, turning to look out of the large window. the view of the garden is enchanting and gorgeous, almost beautiful enough to distract you from farleigh inching closer to you.

“mhm, yeah. you look sexy in it though.” you snap your head at him, brows slightly raised from his confident remark. he looks at you funny, shrugging his shoulders innocently as a way of saying “what?” your friendship—well, situationship with him was definitely something. you hated that term, situationship. it felt so condescending to you, just like a more loose term for fuck buddies. farleigh didn’t like when you got too friendly with other guys, he made that known to you because every time he caught you with another boy, he would take you back to his dorm and fuck you dumb. but, for some reason when he would talk and flirt with other girls, you weren’t allowed to do anything about it. and as much as you wanted to tear away from the grasp he had on you, you simply couldn’t. you’d find your way back to him eventually, and he knew that.

ever since you arrived at saltburn, farleigh has made sure that he annoyed you in every way he could, keeping you on your toes as much as possible. for example, during breakfast this morning his hand kept riding up your dress, fingers dancing across your panties teasingly—and during events, he would bounce his leg up and down with you in his lap, his knee rutting up against your pussy. the way he would tease you drove you insane because although he touched you, he never fully went through with it. he didn’t fuck you, finger you, or eat you out even though he would initiate the heavy situation.

“what are you thinking about?” he asks, his chin resting on your shoulder. he’s looking at you, chestnut eyes burning into yours. you hum, passing the cigarette back to him. “just about how much of an ass you are.” you reply with a bitter tone. farleigh tilts his head to the side and you feel him breaking into a smile even though your head was turned away. “it’s not funny.” you groan in annoyance. his hand finds its way to your waist, pulling you close. “it’s a little bit funny.” your leg bounces up and down, a nervous habit you had developed from all the stress you endured at oxford. it’s silent for a while, the sounds of crickets chirping and the soft patter of rain outside filling the long halls. “you keep teasing me, far.” you mumble, ashamed at how needy you sounded right now. he chuckles lowly, kissing your neck. “how so?”

his voice is quiet but somehow it still makes your insides turn and your thighs close tighter. farleigh seems to notice this slight movement and it gets a rise out of him. he smirks mischievously before shifting over on the stairs, moving so your back was now pressed against his chest. “c’mon then. tell me, princess.” he whispers in your ear. his voice is smooth like velvet, yet low and coarse. you watch as a layer of smoke evaporates over your head, then he puts his cigarette out against the cream colored tiles. “elspeth will freak if she finds your ashes on the floor.” you rasped in an attempt to advert the conversation. farleigh clicks his tongue, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. “i’ll just blame it on felix.” you feel the warmth radiating off of him, a slight tent in his pajama pants against your ass. farleigh presses a wet kiss on your neck before peppering a few more down tenderly.

“farleigh,” you breathe out. you let out a small moan, lulling your head back on his shoulder. he looks down at you with predator eyes, a half-lidded stare boring into yours. you moan out his name again, trying to get his attention but his hands are roaming further down your body. “farleigh, not here.” you whisper. he groans, letting out a quiet growl. “yes here, just be good f’me, baby.” you watch as his large hands settle on your hips, his fingers probing at the band of your shorts. slowly, he pulls them down your legs, sliding his fingers between your folds against your clothed pussy. you gasp softly, shifting in his arms nonstop. “you’re soaked through your panties. you like me that much, huh?” he taunts arrogantly.

you felt so sensitive right now, yearning for his touch. he continues to spread his big hands across your stomach, inching closer and closer to your dripping cunt. you twitch from anticipation, needy and desperate in his hands. “oh god, stop it.” you hiss. he pokes his head up, lips parted slightly. “uh-uh, say please.” his hand stops traveling down and you whine in response. a quiet groan escapes your lungs when you realize farleigh wants to hear you beg for him. of course, you’re just as stubborn as he is so you stay quiet at first—trying to prove to him that he didn’t have as much control over you that he thought he did. “say it.” his voice is a bit louder now, more clear with a harsher tone. you bite down on your bottom lip and scoff at his demands.

“i know you’ve been touching yourself to me.” this makes you freeze, and your bratty attitude drops for a split second. and while yes, it was true—you didn’t know he knew about it, which was even more embarrassing. your face heats up quickly, your body feeling like jelly against his large frame. “imagine how much better i can make you feel.” his voice is driven with lust, eyes dark with ardor. you turn your head away, rubbing against his hard dick with a pout on your face. you sigh out of frustration before whimpering a quiet “please,” but he still doesn’t seem satisfied. “what did you say?” he asks hauntingly—his hand resting on your chin and moving your face so you’re looking up at him. you feel your insides coiling in anticipation and frustration all at once. he was such a bitch but you liked it.

“farleigh—” you go to protest.

“nonono, let me hear it.” he interrupts. “please,” you beg instantly, you can't wait anymore, you need him now. farleigh grins, planting a kiss on your parted lips before pulling off your panties down to your ankles. you wince slightly from the cold air hitting your bare skin, gasping when his thumb circles your swollen clit. his fingertips ghost past your dripping slit, drawing a quiet cry from you. his touch is slow and sensual in a way that makes you dissolve further into him. you think that if his arms weren't holding you up, you'd fall right down the steps. his finger probe at your wet hole, sliding it in with a lewd squelching sound. your back arches slightly, hips stuttering upwards against his slender hands. you whine and cry out softly as his finger curls up, sliding in and out of your cunt mercilessly. you try to keep quiet, terrified of felix walking out of his room and seeing farleigh fingering you into oblivion.

“let me hear your pretty little voice, baby,” he mumbles into your neck. you shake your head, pressing your lips into a thin line to suppress your moans. then, farleigh dips in another finger, stretching you out. you pant and sigh, running your hand up to his face then to his curls. you softly tug on them, grinding against his fingers with a stuttered jerk of your hips. “fuck, you’re such a bitch.” you whine. “you love that, don’t you?” he chuckles back in return. you don’t have to see him to know that he had a wide grin plastered on his face right now, you can hear it. although the summer heat was decently cooler at night, the air seemed hotter around you now. your skin is coated in a thin layer of sweat, lips wet and red from you biting down on it. you throw your head back as soon as his thumb grazes past your sensitive clit again. farleigh sighs at the sight, seeming to get off from you whining and tearing up under his hold.

farleigh pushes his fingers deeper inside your walls, running his other hand on your waist up to play with your tits. your shirt slightly slips off your shoulders which causes you to shudder from the tickling feeling. farleigh keeps his deliberate pace, taunting you. he breathes in your scent, lining wet kisses along your shoulder with ease. “farleigh, go faster.” you moan out, he clicks his tongue, narrowing his head further into your neck. you groan, “please,” and he obeys surprisingly. his fingers speed up as his hands massage your breasts softly—drawing a choked sob from your throat. eventually, his hand from your chest moves away back down to your clit, rubbing at it roughly. your breath hitches, back arching into him. you slowly feel a overwhelming sensation over your body, dazing you out like an intense high. you can barely keep your eyes open when he starts spitting out dirty words into your ear. “such a slut,” he sputters out, “you’re lucky you’re fucking gorgeous.”

you roll your hips into his hand, increasing the pleasurable ache between your legs. farleigh sees your desperate attempt and decides to rapidly slide his fingers in and out of you at a more ragged pace. you mutter a string of curses, his name following after in a lewd moan. your hand reaches down to his, trying to stop his intense motions. in an instant, farleigh grabs your wrist and presses it back down against the floor. now, his hand is on top of yours, holding it tightly. you try to close your legs but you realize his legs are over yours, trapping you down. you couldn’t wiggle your way out of his grasp either, he was far too big and strong.

farleigh watched as you squirmed and cried, his fingers performing a vigorous rate against your dripping pussy. and for a moment, everything goes completely blank. it feels like you’re drifting for a second, stars glazed over your eyes. it feels like a rope being split inside your body, you squirt all over his fingers witha piercing moan—a moan loud enough to wake up the entire house. “oh fuck!” you cry out. you try to catch your breath, basking in the silence. farleigh hums, satisfied with your reaction. you feel your gummy walls spasming around his long fingers, “you’re such a whore, y’know that?” he asks. you roll your eyes, the hand in his hair falters back down to your abdomen slowly and you lean your head away from his arm, staring down at his hand still pumping in and out of your pussy slowly. farleigh pulls his hand away from your hole with a pop. you hear him licking at his fingers behind you loudly. he wants you to know that he's a fucking perv. and as much as you want to hate it, it only makes your knees weaker.

his other hand that is on top of your much smaller one loosens, but he's still making sure your fingers are intertwined with his. farleigh untangles his legs from yours, tilting your head up to make eye contact with him. he smiles, eyes glinting from the moonlight. he kisses you, a delicate and tender kiss at that—you taste yourself on his tongue.

when he pulls away from your soft lips, he looks at you up and down. he bites down on his bottom lip, a slightly depraved look on his face. you turn away shyly, grabbing your shorts and underwear from the stairs, stumbling slightly forward. as you get up, you feel an abrupt slap on your ass. you look down in shock, frowning at farleigh underneath you. he grins widely, leaning back on his hands to get a better view up your loose shirt. your face quickly heats up at his lust-driven stare. you pull down your shirt to cover your butt then carefully step past him to find your way back to your room. in the far distance, you hear him laughing.

“goodnight!” he shouts out. you wince at how loud he was, patting the back of your hand against your forehead to wipe off the faint sweat on your skin. you no longer felt the need to go wander, you were just tired.

#archie madekwe #archie madekwe x reader #farleigh start x reader #farleigh #saltburn #farleigh catton #saltburn x reader #farleigh start #farleigh smut #farleigh start smut

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jaevie · 5 months

Text

Wrong Hands

Pairing: bodyguard!Jaehyun x mafia(afab)!reader

Genre: Yandere vibes, smut, kind of angsty sometimes.

Word count: 6.3k

Summary: When your father arranges your marriage to a mafia heir, your bodyguard, who has been in love with you since you were kids, isn't letting you fall into the wrong hands.

Warnings: Consensual non-consent, kidnapping, knife play, shibari, fingering, humiliation/degradation, dirty talking, oral (female receiving), little blood play, abdomen riding, unprotected sex. This fic also contains mentions of death and drug abuse.

N/A: One more for the list, and another that came out before expected. And even though I did some proofread, it was not perfect. Enjoy it!

The color of the sky was a dusky purple that matched your satin lilac dress. There was a delicate daisy behind the shell of your ear, that a boy had personally put. Your hands were on his cheeks, small, innocent and gentle. Your lips tasted like vanilla ice cream, irises reflecting gold under the last rays of sunlight when you kissed him.

He had never been kissed before.

“You taste wet,” you hummed, making the boy chuckle.

“Do you like it?”

“I dunno. Let me check again.”

You placed another peck on his mouth, taking the chance to lick his lower lip, and retracted with a lovely laugh.

A laugh Jaehyun still remembered, twenty years ago, as he kept watch on your bedroom door.

You two were six, avid children with curiosity in their bellies, exploring the fields at your family’s countryside manor as Jaehyun’s father did what he knew best: look after your mother. His dad had profoundly apologized for bringing his kid on your family trip - because his mother could not stay home with him -, but your mom kindly dismissed his guilt, telling the bodyguard that Jaehyun was not only welcomed, but invited and allowed to play with her daughter.

At the occasion, his father had looked at him like a warning. “Be good to miss Y/L/N, Jaehyunnie, will you?”

Jaehyun nodded. All he ever wanted was to be good to you.

No one knew. No one knew you ran the fields until your legs burned and exchanged loving pecks when you were too tired to play.

It was when Jaehyun realized there was nothing else he would rather do than to be your personal bodyguard, dedicating his nights and days to make sure you were safe and sound. Pay you the doubt of the endless joy you brought him whenever his mom went missing from rehab. So he fought, tooth and nail, to gain your dad’s trust and get hired. He fought with his heart, eternally devoted to you. It was in his blood, after all.

He blamed it on your laugh. A laugh that made the world warmer, as though Jaehyun was not scared of his father’s occupation, of the risk he took in order to protect your mom. A laugh that made him oblivious of the constant sadness that filled his soul, leaving no space for nothing else, when his mom broke the house down because her drug abstinence was playing her sanity.

You made the world loving. You were his most precious being.

He was pulled out of the depths of his reminiscences when you opened the door, coming out as beautifully as always, in a lean black suit and your hair free, rebellious, smelling like the vanilla he tasted on his lips decades ago.

You stopped on your tracks, looking down at a bag that was placed by your door, right next to Jaehyun’s polished shoes.

“Another mysterious gift from my secret admirer?” you smirked. Someone had been leaving you indecent gifts for a couple of months: ridiculously short dresses, several styles of lingerie, and an interesting variety of sex toys that had been making your legs weak. Dildos, vibrators, anal plugs and other different inventions that had you cumming alone in your bed, all while your handsome bodyguard listened to your moans outside.

You both knew who your secret admirer was.

“He’s been creative lately, it seems,” Jaehyun breathed nonchalantly.

“What is it this time?” you made a move to kneel, but Jaehyun was quicker than you, politely handing the bag over.

Ideally, he always went through the bags’ content to make sure nothing harmful would get to you. Not that he needed it. It was just for the sake of appearances.

You grabbed a cute, pink clitoral suction toy and matching nipple clamps shaped as daisies. “Lovely,” you praised, knowing Jaehyun decided to go symbolic this time. “I’m truly getting spoiled.”

“You must deserve it, miss.”

It was almost fun, how Jaehyun pretended he had nothing to do with it. Lifting your eyes to his, you smirked. Frank. Cunning. Knee shaking. “I’ve got a little something for my admirer. Can you make sure it finds him?”

Trying his best to conceal the interest in his eyes, Jaehyun nodded. You disappeared inside your room for a while, returning with a small paper bag.

“You’re the best, Jaehyun! By the way, be ready to leave in one hour. I have reminders to give downtown.”

“Mr. Ash again?” He guessed, as though he did not care for the bag that was, now, in his hand.

“Exactly. Gotta teach him a lesson.”

“Don’t forget you have a family dinner later.”

“What would I do without you?” you chuckled. “Alright, see you in a bit.”

Once Jaehyun was alone in the manor room reserved for his resting hours, he removed a tiny and rosy thong from the bag, one he had bought you a week ago. It rested against his gloved hand, small, adorable. Soaked. Fuck, it was still wet with your pussy juices, something Jaehyun had always fantasized, wondering how they tasted like.

He didn’t hold back. Why, when he could bury his nose in the soft cotton fabric? Why, when his tongue could stick out to finally get a taste of your anticipated flavor? No, there was no need to hold back. It was your gift. You had freely given it to him.

Jaehyun’s senses amplified with the bittersweetness of your juices and the scandalous vanilla scent in the nearly insignificant piece of clothing that had covered your vulva minutes ago. Closing his eyes, he unzipped his pants and put his cock, red and angry, out. He fucked his fist with your panties pressed to his nose, mouth drooling where your juices were.

Quicker than anything Jaehyun had ever witnessed, your hand came down against the table surface, and Mr. Ash screamed in half surprise, half excruciating pain, as the blade of the knife buried in his open hand, dark blood running down to the floor.

Jaehyun reached for his revolver in no time, ready to pull the weapon out and shoot at any of Mr. Ash’s men who tried hurting you, although he doubted it. It took a lot of nerve to raise a hand against you.

You were the mafia lady. A true White Rose. Strong, smart, undeniable. Wealthy, merciless, with looks so stunning it added to your reputation.

Raising a hand against you was like heresy.

“Look at you, Mr. Ash, whimpering because of a knife,” you mocked daringly, holding the tension in the room with a sly chuckle. “Who’s the whore now, hm?”

You removed the knife just as smoothly, watching with a neutral look as Mr. Ash brought his bloodied hand to his chest.

“Remember your place, sir, or I won’t have a problem cutting it into you,” you warned like it took a clap of your hands to make the world stop.

Only when you turned around, Mr. Ash spoke again. “It doesn’t change a thing. You can stab, kill me for all I care, but it won’t change the fact the Red Roses are getting their share of your market. And their deals are way better than the ones you’ve been giving me for the last seven years.”

Unbeatable, you turned on your heels. “That’s just a display of your dishonesty. Anyone could have asked me for a more reasonable deal, but you decided to sell the Reds a bit of my opium. You’re lucky I stabbed your hand, not your throat.” You tilted your head in thought. “What a mess it would make, such a thick, disgusting dirty neck.”

Jaehyun took a deep breath, trying to control the emerging bulge in his pants. You… You were fucking sinister.

His thoughts were interrupted when Mr. Ash spat on the floor, his saliva glistening close to your heels. “Fuck you,” the man said, with a firm rage in his eyes.

Those were the last words he had the chance to utter. Before you opened your mouth to reply, Jaehyun had already shot. Once, twice, three times. Shots that pierced Mr. Ash’s skull, and the unfortunate throats of his men. The bodyguard put his arm around you as you walked out of the hotel room, people already starting to wonder what had happened. That part of the town belonged to the White Roses, so you did not worry about the police, or further investigations.

“Now my deal’s over,” you breathed.

“You don’t have to make deals with assholes. Traitors,” Jaehyun retorted, looking down at the small blood smudges on his black leather gloves. “He disrespected you, Y/N.”

You liked how it sounded like a sin in his mouth.

“Dad’s not going to like it.”

“Your father doesn’t like a lot of things, missy.”

“Seems like I’m telling good news over dinner,” you shrugged, laughing it off.

Family dinners were not unusual to you, nor to Jaehyun. His role was to drive you over whatever expensive ass restaurant your father had chosen, and stay by a private room door while you discussed businesses. After your mother and younger brother passings, you were the only person to inherit your father’s legacy. So he taught you well - even though Jaehyun believed you had a bolder, freakier, and way more effective way to handle things.

He followed the script. Driving you, following you closely, and staying by the door along with your father’s personal bodyguard, keeping an attentive, flawless eye on everything that happened at the surroundings as people talked, ate and drank.

The food was served: rack lamb to your dad, and, Jaehyun knew by heart, your favorite dish to you. Carbonara. Shortly after the food arrived, he listened to the sound of a chair angrily ragging the floor. Suddenly, you stormed out with the heaviest steps.

Jaehyun was at your back in no time. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, your way of telling him you were not ready to speak yet, fuming so badly smoke could leave your nostrils and ears.

Jaehyun took you back to the car and jogged to the driver’s seat. “Home?”

You shook your head again.

“Safe place?”

A simple, certain nod had Jaehyun driving smoothly away from the city’s chaos and straight into the arms of a quiet, isolated hill. The city night lights glistened like stars up there, and a nearby stream completed the melody of cicadas and gentle breeze notes. Once the car was parked, you came out, shutting the door carelessly, and jumping on the hood. Jaehyun watched how your hair moved with the wind. How your eyes were trying to find a way out for whatever situation you were in.

Even if he was curious, Jaehyun gave you time, waiting patiently until you opened your mouth.

“Dad wants me to marry Johnny Suh,” you announced, a nuclear bomb straight to Jaehyun’s head. “A marriage to assure the corporate deals between our companies, to fight the Red Roses. It’s already been arranged.”

Johnny Suh. Jaehyun remembered him. A tall figure, with a face that was hard to forget, and gentle manners. A boy born rich, spoiled, but cultured. A sweet loving man to his parents. A good student. Funny. No. Johnny Suh was not the man for you. You deserved thrilling. Temptation. Lust. You deserved someone who challenged you, someone who made your life fun, who protected your back as you conquered the world with unpredictable moves, fatal as knives. Someone who allowed you to be your freakiest self.

There was not anyone for you but Jaehyun.

“You don’t have to marry him,” your bodyguard announced, unaware of how he held his breath, how tightly his fists clenched at the idea of you marrying another man. Oh, how badly he wished to just slam his cock inside you and make you his, right then and there. How badly he wanted to make Johnny Suh bleed.

Jealousy left a bitter taste in his mouth.

You chuckled humorlessly. “Perhaps if someone kidnaps me. You know my dad. He said it was non-negotiable. Fuck!” you cursed, rubbing your face in frustration.

Lowering your hands, you instinctively searched for Jaehyun’s eyes. It ached seeing the despair around your pupils. “Can you help me, Jae? Help me find a way out? Please?”

Jaehyun stood in silence for a few seconds, but when he spoke, you felt a cold shiver running down your spine. A shiver provoked by the fatal glow in his eyes.

“I’ve been keeping unwanted hands away from you for years, miss. I intend to keep it that way.”

Two days later, you found yourself packing up for a quick getaway suggested by Jaehyun, to ease your nerves before the dinner party that was going to announce your engagement with Johnny. It was a perfect, fittable idea, as you could use some of your time in the mountains, coming up with a plan to avoid the matrimony. Your acquaintances had already taken a closer look at Johnny’s companies and deals, and as Jaehyun drove, you took notes on the backseat. Bargains, blackmailing, manipulation, perhaps an alliance with other big players in the market… Everything was a possibility. You just had to figure the details out and come up with a convincing, flawless plan.

You were not going to end up like your mother. Tied to a relationship you didn’t want. Tangled with a man you didn’t feel attracted to. Having his babies, easing his temper, keeping his bed warm. Becoming a target for his enemies to aim and shoot.

No. You were much better than that. Much more important.

Jaehyun watched your calculating expression through the rear mirror, as though he could read your mind. Little you knew there was nothing to worry about. He had already taken care of everything.

“Miss, I’ll make a quick stop for gas,” he announced. You showed you were listening with a hum.

When the car came to a stop, Jaehyun turned around. “Stretch your legs a little. We’ve been driving for four hours.”

“All that?!” your eyes widened. It felt like one hour to you.

Jaehyun smiled. “I’ll get you something to munch on.”

Accepting his suggestion, you jumped out of the car. It was nearly ten in the night, and there wasn’t anyone around but you, Jaehyun and the gas station staff. The air smelled like a spoiler for the rain, and you decided to take a walk around as Jaehyun disappeared inside the convenience store.

With careless steps, you took a turn to the back. That part of the road was surrounded by mountains already, so you were probably close to arriving. The sight of the many pine trees moving with the wind relaxed your mind, and for one moment you indulged in forgetting the violence of your situation. A forced marriage. Your father seeing you as an object he could offer in exchange for his own interest. The absolute recognition that no matter how many years had passed, you would never be seen as powerful as your young brother.

“Fucking assh-“ you started cursing, but never finished.

A gloved hand covered your mouth, pulling you flush to a stranger’s body as he lifted you in the air.

Your blood instantly sped in your veins, adrenaline screaming in its cells as you tried to kick and punch the man, doing your best to scream and bite his hand. In vain. When you realized, a tape covered your mouth, and your body was thrown inside a car, hands cuffed to the door handle.

Through the despair tears in your eyes, you noticed your kidnapper wore a scream mask, one that glowed in terror under moonlight.

Like a little girl, you wanted to sob. To beg for him to let you go. For him not to hurt you.

Jaehyun. Where was Jaehyun? Was he seeing what was happening? Was he going to save you?

Your heart thundered in your chest, and soon heavy raindrops started falling from the sky like brutal tears. Your kidnapper moved to the driver’s seat, and you squirmed like a leech in what seemed long hours, only if you suspected it only lasted minutes. Slowly, as the car was already on the road, your brain regained a bit of its consciousness. You made sure to take deep breaths, and a closer look around. The dark road barely allowed your vision to make sense of anything, but after a few minutes, you managed to outline a way too familiar suitcase on the backseat, by your side, and a pair of white, comfortable sneakers that belonged to you by your feet.

In slow motion, you looked over at the masked man. A hood covered his head, but the length of his shoulders was committed to your brain like it belonged to someone you knew.

His gloves… You knew them.

A boiling type of anger assaulted your guts, and you were squirming once again, trying your best to kick the back of his seat even if your legs didn’t reach it. The bad words your mouth let out became blurred words against the tape, like a baby mumbling, but you continued cursing. Calling him a fuck up. A pervert. Stupid. Dumb.

Strangely, the idea Jaehyun was kidnapping you made your panties soaked with warm, sloppy juices.

You continued to kick and curse until Jaehyun pulled up and removed the mask, turning around to look at you.

“Fucking relax, Y/N! It’s me.”

You managed to lift your middle fingers to make him realize that you thought of that.

Honestly, Jaehyun was expecting you to snap. He knew you too well to think you’d react otherwise. Somehow awaiting your hurtful words, he leaned over to remove the tape from your mouth.

Oh, how absolutely gorgeous you looked, wearing rage like a jewel, your eyes glowing in fury, cheeks smudged with tears, your hair messy like you’d just had sex.

“What the fuck you think you’re doing?” you spat loudly.

“I’m helping you,” Jaehyun calmly replied. “Keeping you safe.”

“How’s kidnapping me any helpful, Jaehyun? Uncuff me!”

He loved when you got all bossy. It went straight to his dick. “I’ll uncuff you when we get to where we’re heading.”

His words made your eyebrows clench. “Has your insanity gotten to your brain and made you stupid? I said uncuff me. Now!”

In one swift move, Jaehyun leaned over the seat and grabbed your chin. Hard. “You never shut up, do you, miss?” His eyes stared harshly at yours. “You wanted a way out. Well, I’m giving you one. One that won’t have that controlling shit of a father running after you because his princess didn’t want things his way.”

Holding his gaze, you growled. “What made you think you could put your dirty hands on me?”

Jaehyun replied by removing his gloves and sliding his hand between your legs, right where he could feel how maddening drenched you were. The smirk on his face was enough for you to eat up your words.

“I think this little pussy likes how dirty my hands are.”

He pushed your panties to the side and coated two of his fingers with your juices before sliding them all the way inside your mouth. Weak, you moaned around his fingers, flavoring the complex taste of your gluttony.

“Listen, miss,” the bodyguard murmured. “I’m gonna take you somewhere safe and fuck that pussy until it’s numb. That’s how you’ll show some fucking gratitute for what I’m doing, get it? In the meantime, try not leaking on my backseat or I’ll make you lick it clean.”

Oh, that was it. That was fucking it. You got euphoric, blood running warmer down your navel, as Jung Jaehyun, usually so polite, so ready to please you, the man that had killed for your name countless times, your first kiss… Jung Jaehyun put you in your place. He made you feel like a spoiled cunt, and there weren't enough words in your vocabulary to specify how badly you loved it.

You kept quiet for the rest of the ride, mind slowly getting into a clearer state. Arousal had perfectly substituted fear. So, even if you tried your best, your soaking core did leave a mark on the leather, one you could not hide when your kidnapper parked in front of a wooden cabin and finally uncuffed you.

“Move aside,” he commanded. As soon as you obeyed, he inspected the leather ridigly, eyes coming across a leak that was shaped like a cute heart.

Without him having to say a word, you leaned forward and licked it clean, eyes dilated with lust.

“Happy, freak?” you tasted the word in your mouth, looking down at his pants, where his bulge twitched. “You like being called that, hm? You certainly act like one, spoiling me with all your gifts and masturbating to my fucking panties.”

Jaehyun smirked, offering you his hand. You took it, letting him help you up and moaning softly when he pulled you flush to his chest. “You’re a freak just like me, miss, soaking the car of your kidnapper. Like a fucking whore.”

He raised you in his arms, with your cunt pressed to the bulge in his pants, and grabbed the suitcase with his free hand. The inside of the cabin was cozy, small, intimate, and minimalistically clean; the black furniture and the musky scent adding a male touch to it. Jaehyun placed you down on a bed with black silk sheets.

“Where are we?” you asked.

“My house. No one’s finding you here,” he spoke while going through the suitcase, removing a rope. There was something extremely arousing about fucking you in his place, in the sheets that smelled like him. “I’m tying you up to make sure no one marries what’s mine. That’s what you’ve been, right, missy? Mine. Using all of the toys I gave you, moaning loud so I could hear behind the door?”

You gazed at the insanity glimpse in his eyes, so wicked and yet so loving, almost criminal, like Jaehyun wanted to live inside you. Submissively, you let him push your wrists together, deciding, for the sake of fun, to play along with his game.

“W-why are you doing this, Jae?” you faked an afflicted tone, staring up at him with big blazing eyes. “Please, let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

He tightened the ropes around your wrists, tying you to the bed frame. Then, his hand dangerously slid towards your lips, thumb running on the plushy flesh. “Don’t you understand? I’m doing this because I love you… Always have, since our first kiss. You remember, right?”

The confession sped your heartbeat, making your hands sweat. It felt lovely to hear such words, to recognize the beautiful feelings Jaehyun had for you, even though he had a very peculiar way of expressing them.

Protecting you was his love language.

If you were to ever experience danger, than it had to be by his own hands.

“It was a kid thing,” you lied, because no one else’s lips had given you such butterflies ever since.

“Oh, but it wasn’t,” menacing, Jaehyun leaned closer, brushing his lips to yours. He closed his eyes, like your aroma was too much to take. “You’ll see I’m the only one for you. The only one who can wife you up.”

His obsession excited you, a coil of thrill running down your navel, making your exposed pussy leak on his sheets.

“Jaehyun,” you pleaded. “Please.”

“Please what, miss?” He placed an angelic kiss to your forehead, hands quick to lift your top, freeing your breasts, and bunching your skirt up your waist. “Are you scared I’m gonna hurt you? Don’t be… Jaehyunnie’s gonna take good care of his slut.”

You shook your head. “I’m no slut.”

“You’re all talk, miss. About being independent, bossy, but look at you,” he chuckled dryly, entertained by the sight between your legs. “Your pussy has never been this wet, has it? Plus… I’ve got a little something for you.”

When his hand came back from the suitcase, you gasped, eyes wide between genuine fear and pleasure. The blade of Jaehyun’s personal knife shone aflame under the cabin’s dim lighting.

“Fuck,” you moaned, rubbing your hips against nothing.

“Told you. You’re a fucking slut, as perverted as I am,” Jaehyun cooed. He languidly ran the blade against the skin of your belly, causing you to stop any movement. He used it to cut your panties first, then the pretty red velvet skirt you loved, and finally your top, leaving you all naked for the delight of his eyes. “So fucking beautiful…Should have fucked you first. Should have been your only one.” His eyes took in every inch of your body as Jaehyun replaced the knife with his hand, sliding two of his long fingers inside your pussy.

The way you breathed his name was exactly what he was looking for.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Let Jaehyunnie fuck you, baby. Let me fuck you good and you won’t regret it.”

His thumb started rubbing circles on your clit and you held onto the ropes, spreading your legs wider for him, heatedly accepting his invitation.

“Gotta prep this cunt for my cock,” your bodyguard whispered. “Make sure it is all stretchy and ready before I fuck you like a bitch in heat.”

“You’re so filthy,” you managed to speak back, immediately noticing how he liked your degrading tone. “Such a fucking loser. You’ve only got the balls to fuck me by kidnapping me.”

Jaehyun smirked. “Yeah? Is that what you think, miss?”

“You fucking bet.”

He stopped his movements right there, pulling his fingers out, and you could not control the pout blossoming on your lips. Jaehyun moved to grab something that had been by the bed, removing a realistic dildo from the suitcase, one you recognized as one of his gifts. Skilledly, he placed it on… on… On a dildo machine.

You felt a thin layer of sweat cover your body while Jaehyun adjusted it, placing the tip of the toy right against your entrance. “Gonna fuck some respect into you,” he growled. “Make you understand I wish nothing but to make you feel good.”

The girth of the dildo stretched your gummy walls, making it gape and clench around the toy. Mercilessly, Jaehyun set it to a high speed, and before you knew it, you were taking every thrust as your delectable breasts bounced, your moans mixing with whimpers and cries.

“Bought all these things for you, missy,” Jaehyun smiled in awe to watch you. “To keep you satisfied. I love you so fucking much…”

“Jaehyun, please-“ you begged, even though you could not understand why.

Jaehyun lowered himself until he was facing your pussy, and stuck his tongue out to slowly lick your clit. “Holy shit!” you gasped.

“Come on, miss. You can cum. Cum on my bed.”

Restrained in his pants, Jaehyun’s cock twitched as he sucked on your little bundle of nerves, watching the pornographic view of your body approaching the edge. He kept his eyes open, knowing it was because of him: he was the one making you feel good. The one using your beautiful, sloppy cunny, making it gape and squeeze as you threw your head back, face contorted in pleasure and sweet, sweet body shaking ravishingly.

It was a sight to hang on a wall, like an art piece.

Aware of your post-orgasm sensitiveness, Jaehyun turned the machine off, slowly dragging the dildo away from your hole. You whimpered, hazy eyes searching for his.

“So pretty, miss…” he hummed. “Bet you’ll look even prettier with my cock buried in you.”

“No, please-“ you whined.

In reply, Jaehyun harshly grabbed your chin, his gaze piercing you like the blade of his knife. You could tell he was dead serious this time, searching for true, genuine consent so he could fuck your brains out. “Tell me to stop, miss, and I fucking will.”

Swallowing the saliva in your mouth, you simply smirked, giving him all the approval he needed, and showing how badly you liked to play with him.

“Fucking cumslut,” Jaehyun roughly turned you around until your knees were on the bed. You watched as he taped your mouth again, even though you fought a little against it, holding tightly onto the sheets when, with one swift move, his cock was slammed inside you.

Controlling the absurd pace he was about to set against your hips, Jaehyun took a deep breath. “Is it okay, missy? Can I move?”

You nodded desperately, moans muffled by the tape and the uninvited drool that ran down your chin. It was all it took for Jaehyun to let go years of masturbating into his fist, finally finding heaven in the tight grip of your slutty walls. There was little you could do but take it. Take it like a good girl, the best of the best, your pliable body bouncing on the mattress as Jaehyun pounded mercilessly into you, eyes fixated where your cunt gripped his cock, as though trying to keep it inside forever.

“So freaking tight… Seems like you’ve never been fucked before, love,” he praised, voice shook with how blissful you were making him feel. “You’ll never think of leaving now, will you? Why would you, when I can give you cock, hm? Why leave when you can let me ruin you night after night?”

You looked over your shoulder, finding your still clothed bodyguard turning all your twisted fantasies into reality, like he knew you inside out, bone, flesh and filth, like he inhabited all of your wet dreams.

Your gaze faltered when he prodded at the rim of your back hole with his thumb.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, miss? Should Jaehyunnie put a pillow underneath to rub your pretty clit too?”

The noise that left you was foreign even to your own ears, but it could only be interpreted as desperate consent. Generous, Jaehyun quickly positioned one of his pillows under you, forcing your pelvis against it, which caused a lovely friction on your most sensitive spot.

“That’s it, that’s it,” he cooed soothingly. “Rub yourself on it, babe. Fuck yourself on my cock.”

You did what he said obediently, moving your hips back and forth. What a delight it was to Jaehyun, watching your ass cheeks bounce as you took his every inch, his thumb pressing sweetly against the rim of your lubed hole. He felt it when you came, your pussy spasming, your hands fisting the sheets hard and your upper body giving out, resting on the bed as you kept your ass up for him. Seconds later, edged by your own high, Jaehyun came too, spurt after spurt of warm thick cum filling you up.

For the first time in his life, Jaehyun felt more blessed than average people. He felt as if he hit the jackpot with you so putty in his arms, especially when he untied your wrists and took a close look at the fucked out expression on your angel face. You were his. And you were not leaving. Ever. Not like his mother. Not like anyone else. You were staying, bold and true and fuckable, because there was not anyone else for him.

You sustained his look, allowing a small grin to bloom on your lips affectionately when he removed the tape from your drooling mouth. “What, loser?”

“You look gorgeous like that.”

“Smitten,” you hummed. To prove your words, Jaehyun took your reddened wrists to his lips, kissing them lovingly.

“Sorry about the rope.”

“You can apologize by fucking undressing.”

He chuckled. “Why don’t you do it?”

Sitting on your thighs, you swiftly reached for the knife, testing its weight on your hand before using it to sharply cut his expensive black tie and the bottoms of his shirt. Hungry, your eyes alternated between his toned abdomen and his interested eyes before you ran the blade gently down his abs. However, as soft as you tried to be, it didn’t keep the blade from actually cutting him a little, a cut the size of your little finger’s nail, right next to his navel.

“Sorry,” you pulled the blade away as soon as you realized what you’ve done.

“S’ okay, miss,” Jaehyun assured with sweet eyes, rubbing your cheek assuringly.

Without much thought, you dove in to lick the cut clean, pulling a deep grunt from Jaehyun’s throat.

“You’re so…” he breathed. “You’re so fucking perfect, Y/N.”

Oh, you liked how it sounded, holding his gaze as your hands pulled his shirt down his arms. Jaehyun’s chest was now in full bloom for your delightment. His pants and boxers followed the same destiny, landing on the floor inaudibly. Taking your sweet time, you admired his bareness, biting your lip in arousal.

Putty in your hands already, there was little Jaehyun could do but comply when you hovered over him, climbing up his body until your cum stained pussy was rubbing against his abs, leaving a trail that burned on Jaehyun’s skin where it touched. “My handsome, strong bodyguard,” you whispered in his ear as his hands held your hips softly. “How long have you been dreaming of getting pussydrunked with me, hm?”

“Fucking years,” he admitted. There was no need to hide his obsession.

“That’s why you never had another woman? Because you were waiting for me?”

Truth be told: Jaehyun never had any time to be with someone else. He was twenty-four hours by your side, protecting your every move. He knew your routine, your preferences, your enemies. He knew your favorite dishes, your goals, your ambitions. Jaehyun had killed for you. Once, twice, thirteen, twenty-seven times. There wasn’t any space for anyone else in his life.

And he wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

“Let me pay you for all the longing,” you hummed slyly, lowering your hips until they aligned with his already hardened cock. Grabbing the base, you slowly pushed it in, a loud moan filling the room when he was fully slotted inside you.

You rode him like your life depended on it, loosened hips circling his shaft while your sloppy walls squeezed his cock viciously. Never before had you seen Jaehyun so vulnerable. So needy as he was when he moaned your name, helping you bounce on top of him. “You have the perfect cock,” you whimpered. “Better than any of the toys you’ve gifted me.”

“Fuck,” the bodyguard threw his head back, trying to draw the image of you taking his cock forever in his mind. How you rolled your hips, how your breasts moved, how you lubed him with more and more juices. “Is that so, missy? You like my cock buried deep in your fertile cunt?”

“I love it.” Your hand came lower to rub your clit, right in front of him, causing Jaehyun to nearly cum at the sight.

“That’s my good fucking girl. My beautiful White Rose,” he growled, making your toes curl at the compliment. “Wanna cum all over my cock as I fill you up again, miss?”

“Fuck yes.”

“Good. Keep rubbing that beautiful clit for me. Take yourself there.”

It wasn’t hard to cum again, and this time, you moaned his name as he filled your womb with his seed, holding your melting body against his with a satisfied hum.

Jaehyun wrapped his arms around you, giving your back soft rubs while he tried catching up his breath. When your gazes met again, you two laughed blissfully, like only fucked out people did.

“You fucking kidnapped me!” you protested.

“Thought you’d like it.”

“Sure. That’s every woman’s dream,” you rolled your eyes.

“You were dripping in my car.”

“Because it was you. I wouldn’t have liked anyone else.”

Jaehyun playfully smacked your butt cheek. “Excellent. That’s what I like to hear.”

You let your chuckle die on your lips before speaking again. “I’m not sure I can be kept here for too long, though. ”

“As much as I’d love that, I know,” Jaehyun breathed. “I know that my White Rose has important shit to deal with. I just don’t want to see her married to Johnny Suh.”

“Me neither.”

Jaehyun brushed your hair back, tugging a strand behind your delicate ear. He had always loved its color, its shape, how it graciously adorned your beautiful face.

“I can take care of him for you,” he suggested firmly, meaning every word.

Deep inside, you liked how ready Jaehyun was to kill for you. How he would get your back even if you decided to burn the world down to ashes.

“I appreciate that, babe,” you smiled. “But I think we can solve this without any drastic measures.”

“You choose. But if he ever touches you, he’ll lose his fucking hands.”

You lifted your face and gently put your hands on his cheeks, pressing your lips to his. When he closed his eyes, Jaehyun was sent back to the fields of your childhood, with the golden sun bathing your skin and your lilac dress, and you telling him he tasted wet.

Opening his eyes, he came across the breathtaking sight of your smile.

“Don’t worry, Jaehyunnie, I’ll come up with something,” you assured, resting your arms each on the sides of his broad shoulders. “But, for now, all I’m gonna do is to be yours, just like I’ve been dreaming too.”

His eyes glowed in the many promises of your words. Like a laugh that pushed his nightmares away. And this time, because he could, Jaehyun collided his lips to yours, for real, until he swallowed your breath and his mouth was swollen, until he knew the flavor of your moans. Until his whipped heartbeat was loud in his ears.

“Jaehyun…”

“Yes?”

He drank from your smile, how lovely you dove in for another kiss as your next words shook him to the core.

“Freak me.”

#jaehyun #jaehyun x reader #nct 127 #jaehyun smut #jung jaehyun #nct smut #kpop smut #nct imagines #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun scenarios

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inky-duchess · 1 year

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Fantasy Guide to A Great House (19th-20th Century)

(I know, I've been slacking but I'm still alive)

When we think of the Victorians, the grand old Gilded Age or the Edwardians, we all think of those big mansions and manors where some of our favourite stories take place. But what and who did it take to run a great house?

Meet the Staff

Large numbers of staff were always needed to run great houses. Every department had its own management and its own teams, all working together to ensure everything ran smooth. There was both an interior and exterior team.

Interior

You can split the interior of the household into three departments: Service, Upkeep and Food Preparation.

Service

Butler: The Butler was the Head of all the household staff. He acted essentially as the manager of a great house, directing the staff on a day to day basis or at events on the command of the lord/lady/employer. Make staff would report mostly yo him and he would be in charge of keeping an eye on them. The Butler had charge of the wine cellars, the dining room, sometimes the pantry as well. As the manager of the house, Butlers were afforded the title of Mr. X. Our favourite examples being of course Mr Carson and Mr Pennyworth.

Valet: The valet was the male servant who handled the dressing of the men of the family. He would be in charge of his master's clothes, ensuring he was always dressed in the right outfit for the right activity (there was a lot) and be in charge of helping him into the outfit in question. The valet would also be in charge of cleanliness, sometimes shaving his master or running his bath. Valets were referred to as Surname and ranked in how their employer's ranked, for example the Lord’s valet would outrank his son's.

Lady's Maid: The lady's maid was similar to the valet. She was in charge of keeping the ladies of the house looking their best and handling their needs. She would style hair, care for jewels, mend clothes, care for clothes and often act as a companion, accompanying her lady on visits or day's out. The lady's maid was referred to by their surname.

Footman: The footman was a male servant who served at table, fetched items, handled heavy lifting such as luggage, opened and closed doors. Most footmen were young men and en chosen for good looks. Footmen polished the silver services at great houses and when called upon would often take on the role of valet to guests without a servant to help. Footmen were referred to as their firstname. Footmen were denoted by rank, the highest being first footman who had charge over the others and would assist the butler in some tasks.

Upkeep

Housekeeper:The housekeeper was second in command but she ran her most of the interior staff, especially those who took care of the house itself. She supervised all female staff. She helped the lady of the house when it came to running events and caring for guests. The housekeeper is always Mrs. Surname even when she's unmarried.

Housemaid: Housemaids clean the house. They would dust, make and strip beds, straighten things up and keep the house looking it's best. The housemaid was a servant that was almost never seen, usually rising early, lighting the fires, cleaning the house as the family moves from room to room. She was called by her Firstname.

Scullery Maid: The scullery maid is the lower ranking maid. She would also have been younger and less experienced. She was in charge of the more unsightly work: laying the fires, scrubbing the floors, emptying chamberpots, cleaning servant's chambers. She may even do mending and washing for other servants. She was called by her first name.

Hall boy: The hall boy was also young and handled the worst jobs. He would polish boots belonging to the family and sometimes staff, cempty the servant's chamberpots and waited on on the higher ranking servants. He was called by his name.

Food Preparation

Cook: The cook or chef was the third highest ranking servant downstairs and they ran their own department. They were in charge of the kitchen staff. All cooks and chefs would meet almost daily with the lady of the house to discuss menus and ordering but would answer to both housekeeper and butler. As with the housekeeper, a female cook or chef is Mrs Surname despite martial status and make cooks/chef are Mr.

Kitchen maid: The kitchen maid helped the cook/chef in preparing the food. She would be one of the first servants up, in charge of lighting the ovens and starting the breakfast for the family and servants. She would clean the kitchen, boil water when needed and bring food up to the servery when needed. She would be called by her first name.

Exterior

The house would needed a team on the outside to handle the stables, the gardens and any outdoor activity.

Gardeners: They would be responsible for the upkeep of the grounds itself, caring for the gardens. There would be multiple at a great house led by a head gardener.

Stableboy/groom/kennelmaster: They would take care of the family's horses and dogs. They would take care of tack, help plan hunts and riding pursuits and handle carriages.

Chauffeur: As automobiles became popular in this period, a chauffeur was needed to drive the family and take car of their motor.

Lives of Servants

Servants were paid very little at this time, mainly because most staff got free room and board. Most of the interior staff would live in the house itself and be supplied meals. Chauffeurs, gardeners etc would live nearby on the estate either as locals or be supplied a house as a staff member. Staff uniforms were also supplied. Days off were rare but not withheld. Permission was needed to leave the house either to visit the shop or take a few days off.

Servants were expected to be obedient, modest and humble at all times. They were expected to stand in the presence of their master's, speak only when spoken to and never question an order. They had to be ready for anything at the drop of a hat. You've set for a dozen guests but now there's five more coming? Tough luck, change the table settings. You get seasick? Nevermind that, your gentleman is going across the sea and as his valet you're going with him, like it or not.

Servants from one house often travelled to with the family to their other residences: the butler, footmen, chef, kitchen maids, lady's maid, valet would all go with the family while everybody else would get left behind. Every house would have its own housekeeper if it could be afforded. Housemaids and other staff needed could be hired locally when needed.

The Daily Routine

The working day of a servant in a grand house was a long arduous one.

Morning: At 6am, the servants rise. The scullery maid gets up and begins lighting the fires, starting with the kitchen. Then she cleans the kitchen top to bottom before the staff get in to cook. The kitchen maid would rise at the same time, helping with the cleaning. She would set for the servant's breakfast and start cooking it. The footmen open the shutters upstairs, cleans whatever tools they will need such as glasses and silverware, tend the lamps and sets for breakfast upstairs. The housemaids go about the house cleaning up after the night before, starting in the rooms that aren't being used (any room that's not the bedrooms). At around 8, the cook rises and starts the day. The kitchen maid serves breakfast to the other servants before returning to the kitchen to eat her own breakfast with the other kitchen staff. After breakfast, the housemaid will change her apron and deliver hot water to each of the bedrooms for the family. At 9, the family rise. Married women have breakfast in bed with all other family members and visitors eating in the dining room. Valets and lady's maids would have dressed them prior, gathering up any clothes to be mended or washed. The footmen and butlers will serve while the housemaids go into each empty room and begin their chores.

Midday: Just before midday, the chef would speak with the lady of the house to discuss menus. At around 11, the staff were permitted their first break, just enough time for a drink usually a cup of tea before they started again. The chef would start preparing for the main dinner of the evening with the lady's approval. Footmen would take their places at entrances or attend the family where he may be needed. At noon, the servants would have their dinner. At 1, the family would sit for their lunch. Once lunch is over, a footman might be permitted to attend personal business (with permission from the butler first) or be sent on errands out of the house such as delivering messages. While the family sit for breakfast, the maids tidy up any room they have been using since getting up.

Afternoon: The family take tea around 4. The footmen clear the tea before heading down to take their tea - a light meal- with the other servants around 5. Afterwards, the footmen will start to light the lamps, close the shutters and draw the curtains. The butler would oversee the laying of the table for dinner with the footmen. The first footman carries the silver, the second the china, while the butler sets the silver and glasses. If a guest is coming, a footman will remain on the door to see them in.

Evening: At 8, the footman or butler signals the start of supper. This is done by the rinibg of the gong or bell which gives the family and any staying guests, 15mins or more to get ready. Valets and lady's maids would already be upstairs at this point, helping their master/mistress. When the family head downstairs, they linger in the drawing room to chat while a footmen keeps an eye on them. Any guests visiting for dinner would be let in by a footman and announced upon entry. The butler announces dinner and escorts the family in. The footman serve the food while the butler pours the wine (chosen by the Lord with the butler's help). The footman stay in the dining room all throughout dinner, excepting when they go to the servery to collect the food from the kitchen maid. They serve and clear the plates for every course. When dinner is over, a footman will stay with the men while they drink their port while another serves the ladies their coffee in the drawing room. While dinner is on, the housemaid would tidy the empty rooms, check the fires and turn down the beds. At 9, the servants eat their supper while the family chill. When supper is over and the family is done for the night, the valets and lady's maids would ready their masters for bed. A footman would wait in the hall with candlesticks for the family and show any departing guest out. The kitchen staff would start to clean up while the butler starts locking up the house. The staff would get to bed about 11:30 - 12.

#Fantasy Guide to A Great House #Guide to A Great House part 1 #Staff #Employment #Historical reference #Writing reference #writeblr #Writing help #Writers guide #Writing research #writers resources #writing resources writing advice #Writing advice #19th century #20th century #Edwardian #Gilded age #Victorian era

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spidernuggets · 22 days

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Hi! First time requeating something and i hope i’m doinv it right, but if you want could you write Reader meeting Jason’s family? Like, titans + bruce and his siblings? Ans Reader is nervous cause she doesn’t know how they’ll react to her and she wants to make a good impression and she’s anxious n stuff? Tysm! 🩷🩷

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

OH MY DAYSSS, your first time requesting?!?! And you picked lil ol' me?!?! Got me blushing and kicking my feet. ANYWAYS, i hope this fic brings you justice to your request. If you don't mind, I'll split it into two, half for Titans, other for Batfam!!

BATFAM (based on WFA):

You were pacing around the steps of Wayne Manor. Jason wanted to bring you up to the manor with him, but he wanted to make sure all his siblings and Bruce stayed in check before you arrived. In all honesty, he was more concerned about his family's behaviour rather than yours. He also doesn't really care what his family thinks of you. If they don't like you, screw it. He'd pick you up, throw you into a plane, and move to a beautiful island with you.

You were biting your nails, but then realised that you were standing in front of the richest man's, let alone Batman's house, and biting your nails might make you look bad for Jason. Then you looked at your nails. The polish was chipped, and your nails were jagged. And your skin seemed dry. God, no, now they were sweating?!

One little thought led to another. How did your outfit look? Shit, is it creased? Is that a stain? Maybe you should've worn something more formal, more expensive, perhaps.

Your body moved faster than your brain could think and turned, wanting to make a run for it. But before you could take another step, a certain butler opened the doors.

"Ah! And you must be Ms. Y/n, correct?" The old man asks, a welcoming smile on his face.

Your shaking hands wiped the thin sweat away along your pants as you turned and an awkward grin on your own face. "U-uh, yeah. Yes, I am. Hi." You stammer, reaching your hand out as Alfred shakes it.

"My, you're as wonderful as Master Jason decribed you as. Come in, come in," he steps aside, letting you in.

Okay. Maybe this whole family meeting thing isn't as bad as it-

"So you're Todd's girlfriend?" A short boy who appeared out of nowhere says.

You look down on him. Thinking he'd be as nice as Alfred, you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, smiled and replied, "Yeah, I am. You must be Damian?"

Damian tilts his head to the side and hums. "Do you participate in any form of combat?" He asks, as if it's a normal question to ask someone you meet for the first time.

"Uhm... No.?"

"Hm. I would've thought Todd would have dated someone similar to him," the kid mutters. That statement made your knees shakier than they should have.

"Alright, scram, brat." You've never felt more relieved to have heard your boyfriend's voice. The last time you felt this relief was when you were held at gunpoint, and luckily, Jason showed up right on time.

"Tt. You were the one who wanted us to meet her," Damian scoffs.

"Yeah, and now your time is up. Thanks for letting her in, Alfred," Jason says as Alfred nods and heads off to fulfil other responsibilities, and Damian also leaves, most likely to tend to Titus. "Don't worry about Dami, sweet thing. He's like that to everyone," he kisses your forhead.

You lean against his shoulder. "But I need everyone to like me!" You complain.

He rolls his eyes. "I'm the only person who needs to like you. If no one else does, fuck them. Besides, there's literally no reason for anyone not to like you," he wraps his arm around your shoulders, guiding you to the living room where everyone was.

"Okay, everyone. This is Y/n," Jason says upon walking in. The second everyone's eyes were on you, you wanted you run away, jump out the window, have the floor swallow you whole. Anything to get you out of this situation.

You were sure there would be questions bombarding you like Damian's, like, "Are you skilled in any area of combat?", "Do you know how to use any weaponry?"

Or even questions like, "Do you really like Jason, or are you in it just for the money?", "What’s your social status?", "What’s your occupation?"

What you didn't expect was a blonde girl rushing over to you, embracing you in a warm, tight hug.

"Hi! Oh my gosh, you're Y/n! I've been dying to meet you! But Jason's been hiding you away for a while," she frowns at Jason, who was behind you. Another girl, short black hair, stood behind the blonde, waving at you with a small smile. "Oh, yeah! I'm Stephanie, that's Cassandra! You can call us Steph and Cass!" She points to Cassandra.

Jason holds onto your shoulders behind you. "Okay, okay, back off, Steph," he tries pushing you away to meet the others, but Stephaine is just so keen on meeting you.

"Ugh," Stephanie scoffs, linking your arm with hers. "Jason always was so down bad for you. He literally wouldn't stop talling about you," she says while giggling while also making you blush.

Jason flicks Stephanie's forhead. "Ow! Asshole," she mutters, letting go of you. "Anyways," she starts pointing around the room. "That's Tim, Dick, Duke, and Barbara!"

"Hello," you shyly say, waving to the group.

"So you're the girl that was able to swoon Jason," Dick got up from the couch and walked towards you. "Finally, nice you meet you. My compliments to you. You really know how to tame him," Dick smirks at Jason, who was currently shooting daggers back at his older brother.

"You sure he didn't like... pay you or anything to date him?" Tim shouts from the couch.

"Quiet, nitwit," Jason yells back.

"Behave. The both of you," a deeper voice behind you said, making you flinch.

As things were getting good, you turned and saw the man of the house, making you feel smaller than you already were. "Hi- Ahem, hello, Mr. Wayne," you squeaked, feeling the need to curtsey.

Bruce smiles down at you. "Bruce is fine, Y/n. It's a great pleasure to meet you," Bruce extends his hand out to greet you, and you hope he doesn't notice your clammy hands and shakiness as you shook his hand.

"It's great to meet you, too. All of you," you say back to the rest of the family before looking back up at Jason. He sends you a wink back, telling you that there was nothing to worry about.

A bark came from behind Bruce. He steos to the side and reveals Damian and Titus. The two walked by as Damian muttered that they might as well join the rest of the family.

Your nerves were suddenly put aside. "You have a Great Dane?" You gasped, holding your hand out to the dog. Titus slowly walks up to you, first sniffing your hand, then taking a lick, accepting your affections as you begin to pet him.

"Mm. She's an acceptable partner, Todd," Damian looks up to his older bother as he observes your encounter with his pet.

"Yeah, whatever. I wasn't even looking for your validation," Jason bites back. But deeo down, he's glad his family liked you. This meant less work of him trying to praise you if any of his family tried to criticise you or your relationship.

"So. How was that?" Jason asks, walking you out of the manor, offering to give you a ride home.

You smiled up at him. "Fun. Went better as expected."

TITANS:

He kisses the back of your hand. "Told you they'd love you, sweet thing. Not as much as I do, though."

"Nope, I don't wanna do this anymore," you say out of nowhere. You and Jason were already at the entrance of Titans Tower. And Jason being his bragging self, couldn't stop talking about his amazing, beautiful girlfriend to the rest of the Titans.

And a certain comment from Rachel, saying she doesn't believe this girlfriend he's talking about is real, Jason promised to bring you up to introduce you to everyone.

You were eager to meet everyone, but on the way to the tower, you started thinking about everyone and everything. They're all badass heroes, some wirh powers. And even those with no powers can still fight like crazy. And you were just some mundane civilian who didn't even pack a punch.

If you were a member of the Titans, you also wouldn't believe that Jason is dating the kind of person he's describing. And don't get yourself started on his ex-girlfriend.

Rose fucking Wilson.

You heard plenty of her. How she used Jason and the Titans, yet somehow is still a member?

And how she's also a badass who can use swords... And how she can't necessarily die... and how she has cool hair and an eyepatch...

Jason grabs onto your wrist. "And why not?" He asks, preventing you from walking away.

Your shoulders dramatically slump, and you pout. "They're gonna hate me! And don't say they won't, because if they don't hate me, then they'll definitely think I'm some lame person who just lies in her couch all day," you felt like you wanted to cry. You weren't sure if you were overreacting, but this isn't just some simple introduction with other people. This is meeting with Jason's teammates. A group of heroes, vigilantes, who saves lives for a living!

Jason'a gaze softens, taking into account your anxious state. "Hey," he gently calls out, brushing your hair away from your face and cradles your cheeks. "They're not gonna hate you. But, listen. If you don't want to do it, that's okay, I won't force you to," he kisses your nose. The light touch makes you giggle.

You take in a deep breath. "No, it's fine. I want to meet them."

He raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure? You don't have to-"

You hold his hands in yours, turning your face to kiss both of his rough palms before leaning into his touch. "I'm sure."

Jason leans his forhead against yours in reassurance before the two of you head up in the elevator.

You couldn't help but laugh after feigning annoyance when the elevator doors open, and the first thing Jason said was, "I told you she's real, motherfuckers!"

You noticed a green haired boy clap his hands in victory, receiving cash from a buffer guy with a superman symbol on his black shirt, and from a purple haired girl. You also noticed a thorny Rose Wilson, sitting beside the other girl, keeping a sharp eye on you, but you made it your best to avoid any form of contact with her.

Jason had an arm protectively wrapped around your waist as he walked you further into the lobby.

Dawn was the first one to walk up to you. To be honest, if you weren't head over heels for Jason, you probably would've tried swoon Dawn. (I'm sorry, she's just so pretty)

"You're Y/n?" She asks as she walks to you.

"Hi.. yeah, I am," you reply, shaking her hand.

"Aw, well. Jason told us all about you," she sends a knowing wink to Jason. If she knew Jason didn't want her to say anything to you yet, she would've told you all about how he came up to her, asking about what girls like, how to ask you out, how to plan the perfect first date, etc. But that didn't stop her from teasing and testing Jason's shyness. "He honestly couldn't stop talking about you. Especially ever since Rachel said you weren't real," she sends a look and raised eyebrow to Rachel. Rachel just rolls her eyes and smiles at the memory before turning to talk with Gar.

"Well, I can promise everyone I'm a hundred per cent real," you reply, leaning closer into Jason's hold.

"Jason, where have you bee- Oh. Are.. you the girlfriend?" A guy emerges from the hallway, walking over towards you two.

"Hi, yeah. And you're Dick?" You shake his hand, too as you introduced yourself.

"Yeah. Jason's talked a lot about you," Dick says, raising his eyebrows at his younger brother.

You couldn't stop yourself from smiling, hearing about all the times Jason has talked about you. "So I've heard."

"Well, welcome. I'd love to get to know more about you, but Jason. I need you to help me with a few things. It was nice meeting you, Y/n," Dick says before leaving, walking back where he came out from.

Jason rolls his eyes before stepping in front of you, holding your shoulders. "You gonna be okay on your own? It's only gonna be for a bit," Jason asks with concern.

You smile, holding onto his face before kissing his cheek. "I'll be fine, Jay."

He brings you in for a hug. "Ignore Rose. If she says anything, tell me, okay?" He whispers into your ear. You hum in response, kissing his shoulder before he lets go, kissing the back of your hand, and running off towards the same direction as Dick.

You were wrong. You were awkwardly standing there for a few seconds, not knowing where to go, what to do, or what to say. And from the corner of your eye, you could see Rose smirking at your current situation.

You thanked the gods when Dawn came back with Hank.

"It's Jason's girlfriend!" She almost squealed.

"Did he pay you or anything to date him?" Was the first thing Hank said. Dawn hit him against his bicep.

"Be nice," she said to him.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "Nice to meet you," he says, offering you a fist bump, in which you retunred one to him.

Then, from behind them, you saw a vibrant pink haired woman. Damn, all these people have cool hair.

"Oh, you must be Y/n! I'm Kory," She doesn't hesitate to give you a welcoming hug once ciming up to you.

"Hi, yeah, I am. Cool hair," you try to say with confidence.

"Hm, Jason was right. You are sweet. And pretty," she winked. This made your heart race faster. "You want anything, sweetie? A drink? Food, snack?" She asked while walking over to the kitchen.

"Oh, no, I'm fine. Thanks." You call back out to her. That was a half lie. You were sort of in need of a drink. All these nerves and handshakes got your throat drying up.

Hank grunts. "You sure he didn't pay you? You're like the complete opposite of Jason Todd."

You laugh. "Yeah, he's a hot head a lot of the times."

"All the time," Hank interrupts.

"Yeah, fine. All the time," you correct yourself. "But he's actually really sweet. And real attentive too," you quietly admit, knowing Hank probably wouldn't let Jason hear the end of it.

Hank nods in surprise. "Well, maybe he isn't such an asshole. I'll still find a reason to kill him, though," he grins before walking away.

Dawn shakes her head. "He's not gonna kill him. C'mon, sit." Dawn leads you to the couch to sit on the other side of Rachel. Kory comes up, placing some snacks on the table for the others and hands you a bottle of coke as you quietly thank her.

"Rachel," Rachel introduces herself, offering her hand to shake.

You smile, "Y/n," you shake her hand.

"It's so great to meet you! I'm Gar," the green haired boy smiles. "Rach and Conner believed that Jason was lying about you being real. But thanks, because I just gained ten bucks!" He laughed, waving the money around as you laughed with him.

"So, Y/n," Rose chimes. You and Rose haven't officially met, but knowing what she did to Jason made you automatically hate her. "How did you and Jason meet?"

It was an innocent question that the rest would probably like to know. So you didn't show any signs of disliking yet.

"Oh, uhm, we met at the store I work at-"

"What store?" She interrupts, making a nerve inside you twitch.

"Uhm, a book store. It's also a cafe. I own it," you meekly reply while still maintaining your posture.

"Oh. You know, for a person dating Jason, I expected another vigilante. Or, y'know. Somewhere along the lines," she smirks.

You shrug. "Mm, well. Jason's a bookworm. Not a lot of people know that," you feign an innocent smile to Rose.

"Oh yeah. He told me some stuff about theatre and how he was quite a theatre nerd himself-"

"Thespians. He likes them to be called thespians." You interrupt her. Your shaken nervers were replaced by spite, wanting to put Rose in her place.

"So," Gar tries to break off any possible dispute. "Y/n, how long have you and Jason been dating?"

"Uhm.." You pretend to give it some thought, wanting it to seem like a longer time than Rose anticipated. "Six? Reaching up to seven months now," you reply, knowing that Rose and Jason only lasted less than a month.

You mentally punch the air in victory as Rose rolls her eye and gets up from the couch and leaves, saying she's getting herself coffee.

At the same time, Jason comes back with Dick, sending him a couple of scoffs and glares after saying, "He took too much time from him away from his girl."

"Seriously," Rachel says, scooching closer to you, "What do you see in that guy?" She quietly and genuinely asks, since all her previous encounters with Jason weren't really sunshine and rainbows.

You smile to yourself and look over the couch, watching Jason flip Hank off for no reason, your smile growing wider. "He makes me laugh," you replied.

"So? Wasn't so bad, was it?" Jason asks as the two of you walk out of the tower, ready to go home. His arm is laying around your shoulders as your head lays onto his own.

You hum in response. "They're really nice."

He kisses the crown of your head. "What about Rose? She give you any trouble?" He asks with genuine worry.

"Nothing I can't handle," you smile up at him, kissing his chin.

"That's my girl," he says back, pulling you closer, capturing your lips against his.

You guys see what i did there... at the end... was the reference obvious...

HOPE U ENJOYED, ANON!!

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avaritia-apotheosis · 8 months

Text

They Might Be Giants

Alfred Pennyworth receives a phone call and is given custody over his recently orphaned nephew Danny Fenton.

A DPxDC Crossover // Read on [AO3] // Fic Masterlist

◆◆◆

one.

Alfred received the phone call on an idyllic Sunday afternoon. Wayne Manor was a sleepy old thing in this weather, the house quiet and still as Alfred polished the silver to a shine. Mr. and Mrs. Wayne were out, taking little Master Bruce with them to see a new exhibit on the Mesozoic period.

He picked up the ringing kitchen landline and cradled the receiver in the juncture of his shoulder and ear, a practiced speech of “ Wayne Manor, may I know who is speaking? Apologies, the masters are unavailable at this moment, but may I pass on a message?” already at the tip of his tongue.

Before he could open his mouth, the caller spoke. “Is this Mr. Alfred Beagle?”

Beagle was his mother’s maiden name, and the name Alfred took when he worked in Britain. The Pennyworth name, after all, was too closely associated with the Waynes. No one had called him that for years, now. He adjusted his grip on the receiver before resuming his polishing. “This is he. May I know who is calling?”

The caller—a tired sounding woman with a midwestern lilt—introduced herself as Mrs. Eller, the attorney to Jack and Madeline Fenton. “I am sorry that you had to learn about it like this, Mr. Pennyworth, but your cousin, Maddie Fenton, her husband, and their daughter Jasmine recently passed away in an accident this Wednesday. You have my deepest condolences.”

They were second cousins. That was the first thought that came to Alfred’s mind, the cloth in his hand frozen at the dip of the spoon he was shining. Their fathers were cousins who lived on opposite sides of the pond. Despite this, Alfred and Maddie remained in close contact with each other throughout their childhood. They were penpals, sending letters and photos and holiday postcards (Maddie more so than Alfred).

He was even invited to their wedding.

And now—

“Wait a minute…” Alfred’s mind stalled. He set down the silver and the cloth. “You said that the daughter died as well. They had a younger son. What happened to him?”

“He is alive and…as well as he could be in this situation. Danny is actually the reason why I needed to contact you.” Mrs. Eller cleared her throat. “In the Fentons’ will, you were named as their childrens’ legal guardian in case…the worst ever came to pass.”

“I…me? What about Alicia? Maddie’s sister?”

“It’s the late Doctors Fentons’ will, sir. And Danny has agreed to it as well.”

“I see.” Alfred’s breath came out in a shuddering gasp. “Well, if my dear late cousin willed it, then I am willing to comply. Please, let me make some arrangements first, and then I will get back to you with the details.”

He hung up the phone—

—buried his face in his hands—

—and breathed.

Alfred could not afford to cry right now.

◆◆◆

two.

Thomas and Martha were more than happy to accommodate Danny within the manor when Alfred told them about his current situation. It was expected—the Waynes always had a penchant for generosity—but Alfred couldn’t help the sigh of relief all the same.

(Master Bruce, precocious eight-year-old that he was, wrinkled his brows at the news. While fine with sharing his own things, the attention of his favorite people on the other hand, he hoards like a greedy dragon.)

A week after that terrible phone call, Alfred pulled the black Bentley up to the correct airport terminal and waited for his new charge’s arrival.

Alfred had seen grief in many faces. Had experienced it himself. Despite this, nothing would ever prepare him for the utter desolation that seeped through Danny’s body. The boy was wan faced— skin almost gray. His cheeks were sunken and hollow, eyes bruised by shadows and stained red by tears. His back was hunched, less from the weight of his backpack and more so from the grief that hung on his shoulders.

“Mr. Pennyworth?” Danny’s voice was a dull timbre, nearly cracking at the edges. Alfred shook his hand (freezing cold, but not clammy). “I remember you. Mom always made sure to send you a Christmas card.”

The Fenton family Christmas card was always something Alfred appreciated. He had no family of his own that he was particularly close to, his immediate relatives all dead or estranged in some way. That Alfred received a card without fail every Christmas was always a novel feeling. It was…nice, to know that he still had ties somewhere. Danny, Alfred remembered, never really smiled in those cards. Oh he’d stretch his lips wide and show his teeth, but it was obvious from the way the smile never reached his eyes, and the tightness around his jaw that Danny wasn’t a Christmas person.

And now, with only a few weeks left till Christmas, he might never be one.

The two slid into the Bentley and drove off in relative silence. Danny had his head pressed against the window, eyes glazed as he watched the high-rise Gotham streets soon fade into open, rolling hills, and then the palatial monument that was Wayne Manor.

At the sight of the manor, Danny blinked. “You a millionaire or something?” (Shoulders tensed. Hands curled into fist. His jaw clenched into a hard line, and there was a kind of acidity in his tone at the question. Problems with wealth? No. People with wealth.)

“No.” Alfred kept his tone bland. “But I do work for them. I am the Head Butler for the Wayne family, and have lived here with them while under their employ. They’ve graciously extended that hospitality to you.”

“Do I have to work for them or something?”

Most definitely a problem of someone with wealth.

Alfred shook his head. “While I would appreciate some help here and there, you have no obligation to do so. This is where you’ll live, with me. You can live here for as long as you’d like, and when you feel ready, we can also talk about entering you into school again.”

Danny drums his fingers against his forearm, eyes trained on the stone statues that guarded the door.

Thomas and Martha welcomed the boy with open arms. Danny shook their hands and thanked them with a raspy voice, polite smile not reaching his eyes.

Master Bruce, shy and wary of the newest addition to the Wayne household, hid in the shadows of his mother’s ash mauve skirts. His blue eyes peeked upwards at Danny inquisitively.

(Later, after Alfred helped Danny settle into the room across from his own, Master Bruce would pull Alfred aside and ask why Danny looked so sad.

Alfred knelt to Bruce’s eye level and pressed a warm hand on his shoulder. “He is sad because his family is gone.”

Master Bruce tilted his head. “Gone where? When will they be back?” For all that he was an intelligent lad, Bruce was barely more than a child. Death was a foreign concept. The death of a loved one was even moreso.

“Somewhere far, far away.” Alfred doesn’t want to be the one that teaches Bruce about death.)

◆◆◆

three.

Wayne Manor was rumored to be haunted. It was a silly rumor of course; the Manor was an old house, and old houses have a tendency to make noises. But with Danny, one might almost be tricked into thinking it was true.

Danny was a wraith. He haunted the wide and empty hallways with preternaturally silent footsteps, the hairs on Alfred’s nape standing on ends whenever he’d suddenly catch a glimpse of the boy at the corner of his eye. Sometimes Alfred would see him linger in shadowed nooks or in the solitude of his bedroom, staring vacantly at nothing.

“He is still grieving,” Thomas would say. “Be patient with him.”

“He needs space,” Martha advised. “Just be there for him, Alfie. Let him know you’re someone he can trust, someone he can count on for support.”

Alfred looked down at his white-gloved hands. He knew that. He knew Danny needed support, needed space, needed time . But what about after? When the pang of grief had dulled with time, and Danny decided to step into the world instead of letting it pass by him? He was a child, and all children need parents.

Alfred remembers his time as an intelligence officer, slumming with petty criminals and socializing with wealthy targets. Living double, triple, quadruple lives, and exploiting every weakness that he could dig up in order to tear people down.

Nurturing hands he had not.

(Fatherhood would never suit someone like him.)

“I don’t know if I can,” he confessed.

“But you must either way,” said Martha. “You are all Danny has left in the world.”

“The best is all you can really do,” added Thomas. “Look on the bright side: you’re already doing so well with Bruce.”

Sighing through his nose, Alfred rubbed the ache away from his temples. Recalled, then, the distant past with his own father who cared more for another family than his own. Jarvis Pennyworth was an austere man who embodied the ‘stiff upper lip’ idiom so commonly applied to the British people. Even in Alfred’s memory, Jarvis barely smiled.

Jarvis was not a warm father. And yet…

Alfred still remembered the warmth that bloomed in his chest whenever he was young and saw a plate of freshly peeled fruit sitting on his desk.

Jarvis was not a particularly warm father, and more often than not was clumsy and awkward with his affection. But he loved his family still. Even far away, Alfred knew that his father would always be there for him.

And maybe, that’s what Danny needed from him too.

◆◆◆

four.

Alfred's previous occupation necessitated light sleeping habits, and for all Danny's too-quiet footsteps, he too was at the mercy of the Manor's age. Danny's door creaked open in the dead of night, rousing Alfred from his rest. From there, it only took Alfred fifteen seconds to ascertain that Danny had already turned around the hallway.

Alfred rose from his bed and tied his dressing robe around his waist. His nephew had a habit of wandering outside his room late at night. At first, from Alfred's observations, it was only to aimlessly walk throughout the Manor. After the first week, Danny had begun to gravitate to one place in particular.

The library.

Though it was less for the comfort of books or the rather comfortable wingback armchairs that surrounded the fireplace, and more for the small balcony that overlooked the topiary garden.

The first time Alfred had followed Danny there, he nearly had a heart attack when he saw Danny sit at the edge of the balustrade, feet dangling twenty feet above the ground. He nearly gave away his hiding spot in the shadow of some shelves. Fortunate for him that Danny wasn't the most observant person. He was like his mother in that way; for all that Maddie was an intelligent and frightfully observant little girl, she could be totally blind to some of the most obvious signs. (Alfred wondered if she ever grew past that.)

Like the first time, Danny sat at the edge of the balustrade. His fingers drummed a rhythmic pattern against the stone, head tilted up as he watched the starry sky above. Unlike the first time, Alfred made a stop at the kitchen first, coming out with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Made just the way his own father used to.

Alfred deliberately stepped on a few creaky floorboards on his way over to alert Danny of his presence. He set down his own mug atop the railing before offering the other to his nephew. "It's cold out."

Wordlessly, Danny wrapped his hands around the mug and tucked it close to his chest. His blue eyes— startlingly bright in the darkness—scrunched in confusion as he tried to figure out Alfred's angle.

"It's not poisoned," Alfred joked dryly. He took a sip of his own mug as if to prove it. "That's too cliche."

"Too suspicious, too. It'd be easier to just push me off the balcony. Makes it look like an accident." Danny turned pink, sheepish. "Oh no that was kinda morbid. I'm sorry, I don't — I don't know why I said that."

He chuckled. "I'm the last person to reprimand you for morbid jokes, boy. And besides, you're right." Alfred smiled from beneath his cup when he saw Danny take a sip of the hot chocolate. "What brings you out here, anyway?"

There was a line of chocolate above Danny's lip. He wiped it away with the back of his wrist. "Stargazing, I guess. It's— there's less light pollution here and I wanted to just…look, I guess."

"Do you like astronomy?"

Danny nodded, gazing upwards at the cluster of stars above. "I wanted to be an astronaut when I was little."

"And now?"

"I still do. A lot. But I don't think that's possible for me anymore."

Alfred adjusted his grip on his mug. “Why not?”

Danny shrugged. “I don’t…know, really.” His voice is infinitesimally small that it is almost carried away by the evening wind. He hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees and mug settled on the bannister. Looked as if he was teetering on the edge and Alfred’s hand itched to pull on his arm as if to anchor him. “It feels as though I’m someone else. Like the Danny that wanted to become an astronaut lives in an entirely separate reality, and it feels weird to still want that dream because he and I are so—”

His breath catches in his throat. Eyes wide as a single tear slid down his cheek.

Then, all at once, his energy leaves him. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Alfred shook his head. “No. Don’t apologize. You have nothing to apologize for.” He met Danny’s gaze. Hoped that the boy would see the sincerity in his own eyes. “You are right. You are changed, Danny. I don’t know in what way, but you have changed and it is alright that you feel like a different person. Grief changes you, but it doesn’t mean you have to distance yourself from who you once were.”

Danny gripped the bannister tight. Fingers dug harshly into the stone. “I heard a lot that ‘time heals all wounds.’ ” He laughed humorlessly. “Is that actually true?”

“No,” Alfred said. “It doesn’t. The wound will never heal, but time will numb it enough that it no longer feels as painful.”

Danny looked at Alfred for a long moment, searching for something. The cold wind tousled his hair. Despite the frigid temperatures, Danny had not shivered even once.

Then, he spoke. “I still don’t think I can become an astronaut.”

Alfred’s gaze softened. “That’s alright. You’re still young, and you have plenty of time to decide what you want to do with it.”

◆◆◆

five.

Surprisingly—or perhaps, unsurprisingly—it was Master Bruce that pulled Danny out of the shadows of grief. Not completely, but…enough so that Danny began to finish everything on his plate and was unafraid to sleep some nights without waking up in nightmares.

Thomas and Martha were pleased, of course. For all Bruce’s brightness and endearing personality, he was so shy and struggled to make friends his own age. Danny at fourteen was still years older, but progress was progress. The Wayne couple would encourage the two’s friendship with a warm smile and an overindulgence in their antics. As long as Danny and Bruce didn’t leave the estate without their permission or stay out too late, the boys were free to wander as they liked.

In Alfred’s eyes, the connection between the two was obvious. Like called to like. Loneliness called to loneliness.

Once, Alfred caught the boys laying down in the soft grassy fields behind the manor. Their heads are pillowed by their arms, eyes craned towards the bright array of stars above, and willfully ignorant of the curfew they were breaking.

Danny lifted his arm to point at the sky. “See those three stars in a line?” he said to Bruce. “Those three stars make up Orion’s belt, and are the brightest stars in his constellation. See? If you follow it, you can sorta make the shape of a person.”

“I see it!” Master Bruce exclaimed. He traced a vague shape in the air. “There’s his chest. That, his arm. And look! I can even see his bow!”

“You know, a lot of people actually think that’s a shield.”

“But that looks nothing like a shield!”

Alfred couldn’t see for certain, but he felt that Danny would’ve shrugged at that statement. “Shield, bow, pelt of fur, doesn’t really matter in the end. The important thing was that you could see it. The ancient Mediterraneans used Orion as, like, an old calendar to know when it was a good time to thresh—that is, to separate the seeds from like a barley plant—their crops.” He moved his hand again. “The other cool thing about Orion is that it’s a good way to find other stars. See, if you follow the line of his belt away from his bow, you’ll find Sirius, which is the brightest star in the canis major constellation.”

“Is that his dog?”

“Yeah, that’s his dog. Sirius is also the brightest star in our night sky— well, after the sun at least. Anyway, if you follow the line of Orion’s belt towards the bow and even past it, you can see a cluster of stars way up there. There should be seven, but it might be hard to see all of them.”

“I think I see it? Is it that one?”

“Uh, a bit further— yep! That one. That’s the Pleiades, an open star cluster and probably one of the most well known stars in history. There’s actually way more than seven stars up there, but as far as seeing with the naked eye goes, we can only see seven. Like Orion, they were used to mark when it was a good time to harvest, but more than that, they were used by Greek sailors to know when it was a good time to sail. If the Pleiades were setting, or they were gone from the sky, then the seas would be too dangerous and it was better to go home.”

“What about that star over there?”

Alfred sees Danny shift, his head tilting towards the small lump that made up Master Bruce. “Which one?”

“Between the Pleiades and Orion there’s this really bright orange star.”

“Alpha Taurus. The brightest star in the Taurus constellation.” A beat. “Aldebaran, I think is its name. They call it ‘The Follower’ because it always follows after the Pleiades. Fun fact, it’s like over forty-times larger than the sun.”

“Really?” Alfred could hear the incredulity in Master Bruce’s voice. “It doesn’t look like it.”

“Well, all of those stars are lightyears away. They’re so far away that, technically, we’re not really seeing the stars. The light they give takes a long time to actually reach here on earth for us to see, so what we’re looking at is the light of a star from hundreds or thousands of years ago.”

Danny went quiet for a moment. “Really…for all we know, some of the stars we’re looking at have been dead for a while. Alive to us, but dead in reality. A weird kind of limbo.”

“Does it matter though?” Master Bruce said.

“What?”

He turned over, laying on his belly and holding himself up on his forearms. “Dead or alive? Does it matter?”

“I don’t…”

“I don’t think it does.” Master Bruce flopped back down to the grass. “If it’s alive, it’s alive. If it isn’t, then… it’s still alive in a way? My dad said that you’re never truly dead as long as someone remembers you, and as long as we see the star then it’ll always stay alive.”

Danny was silent for a moment.

Then he laughed and ruffled Bruce’s hair. “You know, Bruce, you’re way too smart for your age.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No. Never. You kinda remind me of my sister a bit.”

Alfred’s breath hitched. It was the first time he had ever heard Danny willingly bring up his family since they first met.

“She was a huge know-it-all,” Danny continued. “Annoyed me a lot because everyone always noticed that I wasn’t smart like her, but…she had a big heart, like you.”

Danny hauled himself to his feet before offering an arm to Master Bruce. “Come on, we better head back before anyone notices that we snuck out past your bedtime.”

Master Bruce whined. “Can’t we stay a bit longer?”

“We can do this again tomorrow night.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die and all that.”

The two walked arm in arm back through the patio entrance, Danny’s footsteps still that same eerie silence, and little Bruce’s slowly matching his gait to copy Danny’s movements. Neither were aware of Alfred, who clung to the shadows, watching his two boys go.

(Alfred said nothing of the boys’ late-night astronomy lessons. He continued to say nothing whenever he caught the two of them breaking curfew. Instead, he’d settle on a chair in a hidden nook that comfortably kept the two in sight, and watched the stars.)

◆◆◆

six.

Months passed, and slowly, Danny learned to move on. He ate more now. Smiled more. Laughed more. Lived more.

Danny was a delight to have in the Manor. He was an extra voice that bounced around the vast hallways, another plate set down for family meals, and a point of normalcy in the glittering world of the Waynes. He was Alfred’s apprentice in the kitchen, their handy mechanic when technology went awry, and Bruce’s ever watchful guardian.

Martha and Thomas loved him. Bruce adored him.

And Alfred?

Alfred could not help the little voice at the back of his head that wanted to call the boy his own. Danny was his nephew, his family along with the Waynes.

Despite all the tragedy that brought Danny to Gotham, Alfred could not help but be happy that Danny was here with them.

But Gotham was a cruel mistress.

And Happiness was as fragile as a string of pearls.

Alfred drove Bruce away from that godforsaken alley as soon as he could. The boy (eight years old, he was eight years old and stained in his own parents’ blood) shivered in the passenger seat, an officer’s jacket slung over his small frame. He was silent. Unmoving. Hollow eyes trained at the darkening sky ahead.

They reached the Manor to find Danny furiously pacing on the front steps, teeth worrying the end of his thumb. He froze as soon as Alfred stepped out of the black Bentley.

He jumped down the front steps, shoes skidding against the gravel. “Alfred?”

What happened?

Is everything alright?

Alfred could read every bit of Danny’s body language as if the boy was an open book. The tense line of his shoulders; the rigidness of his spine; the sudden depth of his respirations as if Danny was forcing himself to calm down but couldn’t quite get there in time. There was a wild sort of desperation in his eyes— but Danny wasn’t looking at Alfred. Wasn’t here. Not completely at least.

Some part of Danny was back in Amity again. A young boy like Master Bruce watching his whole world fall apart with a bang.

Alfred kept a stiff upper lip as he opened the passenger door and helped Master Bruce onto unsteady legs. He had to be strong now, for both his boys.

“Alfred,” Danny started again. “What— what happened? Where’s—” At the sight of Master Bruce, Danny stumbled to his knees.

“Bruce? Are you—” He cradled Bruce’s blood-stained cheek, fingers shaking.

Bruce spoke. The first words he’d said since Alfred came to get him. “What do I do, Danny?” His voice is shaking and raw and so small . The wind could almost carry it away. “They’re gone, Danny. My parents are gone, too.”

Alfred could see the instant Danny broke.

(Alfred could feel the second he broke, too.)

He pulled both his boys into his arms and held them tight. They were all each other had in this world, and Alfred begged to a god he hadn’t believed in for years that the world not separate them even more.

◆◆◆

seven.

It’s been a week.

Alfred found both boys curled up in the grassy fields behind Wayne Manor, staring at the dark expanse of night.

“I never want anyone else to go through what we did,” Bruce said.

A promise.

Danny turned to look at Bruce, a hand held out. Aldebaran shone bright and red above him. “Never again.”

A pact.

◆◆◆

eight.

When Bruce is midway through his first year of university and Danny is nearly finished with his bachelor’s degree in aerospace engineering, the two of them dropped out of college, packed a bag each, and disappeared into the night.

They gave no word. They left no note.

Months later, they were declared dead. Another tragedy for the people of Gotham, who mourned their bright prince.

All of Bruce Wayne’s finances and belongings were left to Alfred, who continued to tend to them, as if any day Bruce Wayne and his smiling shadow would return.

Time passed.

The world turned.

Bruce Wayne and Danny Fenton remained dead.

Until one night, when the Pleiades had begun their descent from the sky, Alfred woke to a phone call. He held the phone to his ear, spoke into the receiver in hushed tones, and hung up a few minutes later.

He readies his uniform. Made sure that it was free of lint, and the fabric was ironed out of any wrinkles. He dressed, made himself presentable, and drove the black Bentley all the way to a lonely airfield on the outskirts of Gotham.

He waits.

He does not wait long. (He’s waited long enough.)

A small plane descends. Landed on the runway. Stopped.

An eternity, and the doors opened.

Out steps two young men, tall and lean, with whipcord muscles and scars that held stories that Alfred might never know. Their eyes are tired but bright. Hungry for vengeance, for justice, for Gotham .

Alfred smiled at his boys.

“Welcome home.”

#dpxdc #my writing.txt

623 notes · View notes

toshidou · 1 year

Text

woe to the deer who is courted by the wolf . . .

pairing // könig x f!reader

word count // 7.2k

tags // 18+ ONLY, afab reader, vampire!könig, predator/prey kink, mentions of blood and injury, minor elements of horror (very minor), slightly misunderstood lonely vampire könig, unprotected sex, stomach bulge, rough sex, creampie, biting, blood sucking, blood play

an // after battling with writers block for over a month, who would have thought it'd take a blood sucking giant to free me from the shackles of having no inspiration? anyway this is the most i've ever written in one day, which is only slightly concerning. bone apple teeth!

thank you to @erosology for beta reading this, and forever being my number one hype man ;-;

Pale moonlight peaks through a frame of eerily still clouds, reflecting off the polished black steel planted in the ground at your feet. You can hear the whispers of your friends behind you, a little too old to be snickering and giggling behind the palms of their hands, although you’re entirely too old to have taken their bet in the first place.

It started off as a simple reunion between old friends, a short trek into once familiar woods to the spot you used to set up base for the night, roasting marshmallows over a concerningly large campfire, sharing cliche horror stories whilst swaddled in blankets. This very night had gone about the same, until someone brought up the old manor. An imposing house that watches over the village that surrounds it, well kept and suspiciously pristine, withstanding the tests of time despite the fact that not a single soul has ever been seen to enter or leave the premises.

It had been a longstanding dare, an easy way to get someone to down their drink, ‘I dare you to jump the fence and knock on the door’. No one has ever been stupid enough to go through with it, a couple tried, but got as far as the black iron that surrounds the perimeter before they gave up. And yet, here you stand, too many years later, an individual who should be both older and wiser than to commit several crimes for the sake of a stupid bet and childish curiosity, staring at that very same railing.

You can hardly hear the whispered words of your friends from where they cower behind you, your eyes transfixed on the looming building that seemingly stares back at you from where you remain fixed at the bottom of the hill. Mahogany brick unblemished, barely touched by weather, towers three stories high, trimmed ivy crawling up the walls as though attempting to reach out to the moon that watches over it. Each window is blocked by scarlet wooden shutters, an old-fashioned touch for a house surrounded by new builds; looking at it now feels like taking several steps back in time.

Not a single spec of light leaks through any crack in the shutters, each room bathed in darkness, the same way it always has. Surely, you think to yourself, surely no one can possibly be in there. Your theory has always been that the house is long since abandoned, its previous owner having died, looked after by a previously employed caretaker who hated to watch a building they loved go into disrepair. And although that doesn’t explain the suspicious lack of activity, it’s the only sane thought that you repeat to yourself as your fingers curl around sturdy black bars, and you begin to haul yourself over the iron fence.

A moment later, and the dull thud of your feet hitting neatly trimmed grass breaks tense silence, your eyes meeting with several widened pairs through steel bars. It’s the furthest anyone’s gotten, and even now, you feel like you’ve gone far enough. It’s certainly not too late to change your mind, to do the sensible thing and throw yourself back into safety, and just as you’re contemplating backing out of the bet, you feel the hairs on your nape stand on end, a chill down your spine so sharp it causes a physical flinch. When you turn around, you’re met with the very same house, not a shutter or brick out of place, yet something, somehow, feels different.

It’s like a siren call, luring you from the safety of your friends that remain frozen on the other side, hardly breathing as though they daren’t make a sound, apprehensive eyes focused on your shadowed form as you slowly make your way up the hill. It’s more daunting up close, no longer a silhouette against a twilight sky, now you can see details the distance has never gifted you, the way the wood shutters that plaster the windows are carved with swirls and intricate patterns, how the ivy hides bloomed flowers amongst pointed leaves, speckles of pink and purple that ease the tension that coils your muscles, only bolstering timid curiosity. And now you’re standing within feet of the house, you’re left in awe by the sheer size of it. It never seemed particularly small, not even from the gate, but the front door alone has you gulping down nothing but frigid air. You take a few tentative steps, eyes raking over the magnificent details carved into thick black oak, the centrepiece that catches your gaze being the solid gold knocker that sits just above your head, halfway up the door.

Two hollow eyes stare back at you, a skull with two rams horns that curl from golden bone, and between its bared teeth lies a ring that rests against ebony wood. It stands out from every other detail of the house, a spine-tingling reminder of where you stand, echoes of the myths that surround this house whispered by your trembling conscience, and yet shaking fingers reach for the ring, curling around cooled metal before lifting it, preparing to knock.

But you never get the chance, because in true horror movie fashion, you’re met with the slow creak of old hinges as the very door you stand before begins to open, and in the void of black it reveals, you swear you see two pinpricks of red that greet you in the darkness. Your entire body goes stiff, still clinging on to the gold loop of the knocker as though it’ll somehow ground you, yet it does nothing to chase away the overwhelming sense of impending doom that screams at you to turn, to run, to get as far away from this wretched place as your legs can take you.

You turn just in time to hear the worried calls of your friends before the door is yanked wide open, dragging you over the edge of the premises with it and sending you careening onto the floor, sliding against wood and scrambling up only to watch that very same door slam in your face.

Frozen. Every single part of you remains stock still as you try to adjust to the darkness. Not even the moonlight dares follow you inside, leaving you alone to dart your eyes in the pitch black, searching for some semblance of light you can latch onto. Yet the house offers you nothing, and you can’t help but see red dots every time you dare close your eyes. In the moment of still you’ve been given, your brain reels as it tries to think of a logical explanation for the door seemingly dragging you into the house with no human in sight to operate it, and in your panic, you can’t help but pray that you’ve fallen asleep by the campfire, and this is all an elaborate nightmare you’ll be able to laugh about when you awake.

A creak from behind you sends you hurtling back into reality, a sure reminder that this is no nightmare, not one you can wake up from, at least. Your head whips to the side, terror freezing your muscles solid as you lock onto crimson orbs once again, so bright they can be seen even with the absence of light to reflect off them, your blood curdling in your veins as they remain fixed on you, unblinking. You scurry backwards, the sound of your back slamming against the solid wall behind you echoing through the dark, fingers curling against peeling wallpaper in a last-ditch attempt to find the door handle.

Your pathetic scrabbling is interrupted by the harsh sound of a match striking against rough material, your eyes drawn to the responding flame it produces, but moreso, the large fingers that dwarf the stick they clutch.

“What a curious thing you are.”

Each syllable rumbles through very walls, practically shakes the structure of the house, a low timber steeped with an accent you can’t quite place, but certainly isn’t local. You daren’t breathe, let alone move, not even when the ground creaks and shakes with every purposeful, creeping step the stranger takes towards you. The flame grows as the match is brought to a wick, the flame whittling away the wood until all that remains is twisted charcoal, before transferring to the candle, the dying fire roaring back to life, casting a flickering golden glow onto the one holding it.

You’re met once again with red, but now you can see bleached tear tracks running from shoddy holes cut into black cloth, a mask fit for the monster that wears it, and as they stalk ever closer, you belatedly wonder how they’re going to navigate the stairs that must separate the two of you, certain that even someone familiar with a house must need more light in order to not fall. But they never begin their descent, and it’s only when the flame lies mere feet from you, yet so far out of your reach, you realise there are no steps. You’re face to face with a giant.

Adrenaline douses you like a torrent of water, your widened eyes alert and stricken with obvious fear, yet you didn’t expect the gentle touch that encircles your wrist, lungs sucking in a stuttered breath as you stare into the hollow red of its eyes. Large fingers draw your arm upwards, moving your frozen limb with ease, until it’s stretched far above your head, your fingers bumping against the smooth wax of the candle the giant passes off to you. Your brain scrambles for words, screams against the shackles of your fear-addled mind, waiting to release a slew of incoherent pleas for your freedom, yet your lips remain firmly sealed.

You feel a weight in your trouser pocket, eyes darting down to see his fingers pushing a box of matches into the gap of the material, only for your gaze to snap back to him as he hunches down, the material of his mask flowing down as his torso towers over you. You’re left caged against the wall, nowhere to run as his face levels next to your ear. It’s silent for a few horrific seconds, until that same spine-chilling voice purrs one single word.

“Run.”

It’s as though all your body needed was the instruction, responding immediately as you tear away from him, feet slapping against hardwood flooring as you careen towards what vaguely resembles an entrance way. The flame flickers dangerously, threatening to leave you in the dark once again, your fingers curling around the candle, whispering prayers that it doesn’t snuff out, that it doesn't leave you alone with whatever stalks you in the pitch black.

You don’t stop running until you reach a hallway, sprinting down the claustrophobic corridor until you finally reach an open door, rushing inside and pushing hefty wood until it clicks in place, sealing you within, safe for now. You hold up the candle to illuminate more of the room, watching as the soft glow bounces off a glinting gold frame and painstaking strokes of oil paint. An obscenely large portrait hangs on the wall in front of you, the image of a handsome man draped in fine purple robes, shoulder length brown hair pushed back with a crown of golden leaves. He sits in a chair, grand and crimson, lined with bronze, legs spread over the expensive velvet, one large hand curled over his thigh, the other propping his head up, his elbow resting against the arm of the chair in a way that can only be described as unbothered, and unamused. But the thing that has you utterly transfixed are the two red irises that stare right back at you, playful and taunting, and hauntingly familiar.

Surely this isn’t the man under the hood, the one who dragged you into his house and watched you scramble out of his grip the second he told you to flee. Because why would a man so handsome hide his face? Why would someone who looks so young own a house that has stood at the centre of your small village for far longer than you’ve been alive? Nothing seems to make sense, not a single aspect of the past 10 minutes feels real, and you can only hope your friends saw what happened and ran to get help, because you’re not sure there’s a way for you to conquer this man alone. It’s as you’re floundering for answers that you hear a noise from outside the room, instincts taking over as you quickly hide under a small dining table and blow out the candle, praying you haven’t given yourself away.

You’re not entirely stupid, you know the meaning of red eyes, and although you could attempt to soothe your psyche with whispered lies about contact lenses and make believe, you know better. The thing that chases you is no man, and certainly isn’t human, at least not anymore. And as terrified as you are, there isn’t a chance in hell you’re about to let yourself become this monster’s dinner.

You sit in the darkness, clutching the smouldering candle to your chest, and wait. Ears alert as you listen for the slightest sound that might give away your hunter, a breath, a sigh, a scratch, you do little more than hope that your hiding spot remains occupied by you, and you alone.

After a tense few minutes, picking up on no other sounds than the thrumming of your own heart, your fingers slowly make their way to your pocket, gingerly plucking the box out and pushing the case off. Despite the lack of light, and the trembling that consumes your body, you manage to fish out a match, and strike it, holding the newly lit flame to the wick of the candle.

Bleached tears. Red eyes. Large fingers. Looming body.

“Boo.”

The scream rips from your throat before your brain can catch up, the candle abandoned as it’s flung towards him in a last ditch attempt to throw him off, knees and hands protesting as they’re dragged along grooved wood, leaving grazes in their wake. The momentary pain isn’t enough to stop you, however, lungs heaving as you tear out of the room, clumsily bumping into walls and ornaments, impeded by the dark, motivated by sheer determination to live.

Your decision to toss away the candle comes to bite you firmly in the ass the second you find yourself tumbling down a set of stairs, and in a move of sheer instinct your hands attempt to slow your fall, only for the skin of your palm to get caught on a loose nail, slicing the flesh and leaving you wailing as your body finally slows to a stop against the cold stone floor you now find yourself lying on. Every bone in your body hurts, aches, but is overshadowed by the sharp sear of white hot pain as you cradle your torn skin to your chest, warm rivulets of blood oozing down your wrist, tracking rivers of red down your forearm until you hear the steady drip, drip, drip of your blood hitting stone.

A light appears above you, a halo of pastel yellow emanating around black cloth, and within a second, the fight leaves you, slumping further into the floor as you accept your death, hoping none of your friends were stupid enough to follow you only to meet the same pitiful fate.

“Please,” You mumble, voice finally found, entirely too late, “Just make it quick.” You hear little other than a hushed chuckle in response, a cat toying with its food.

“I imagine it looks worse than it is, kleine maus.”

You pause at that, curiosity ebbing through once more. You may not have paid enough attention to languages at school, but even in your state, you know enough to recognise those words.

“You’re German?” You mumble, fear forgotten in your shock-ridden state. The man shakes his head as he crouches next to you, extending his free hand towards the injured one you have secured to your torso, tittering again as you flinch. But you have little other choice than to let him pry your hand away, watching with wary eyes as he examines your sliced skin. He holds the candle closer to the wound, a soft tut passing his lips before he holds the candle towards you, urging you to take it with a gentle nod.

“Austrian. But close.”

It all feels strange, foreign, as though you’re being lulled into a false sense of security just so he can tell you to run once again, laughing maniacally as he watches you bleed over his floor. The fear returns once you have the candle securely in your grip, eyes locked on the way his fingers curl around the material that hides his face, and begin to remove it. Inches of once cloaked skin is revealed, a defined chin melts away to pursed lips, a smattering of dark facial hair that frames his mouth and curls up his jaw, the material pulled further only to reveal a hooked nose, and two narrowed eyes that reflect the candlelight in a way not dissimilar to precious gems, rich and vibrant. Maybe it’s the shock, or limited blood loss, but you can’t help but marvel at just how pretty he is.

Of course, it doesn’t last much longer, not when survival instincts kick in, the realisation that your bloodied hand is now near the mouth of a creature that lives entirely off the thing that keeps you alive. But the grip on your wrist is ironclad, strong yet not uncomfortably so, a strange juxtaposition between monster and man as he cocks his head at your wound. With a nod, seemingly more to himself than you, you can do little more than cry out as you’re hauled over his shoulder, his arm secured tightly around your waist, the hood forgotten in a small puddle of your blood on the stone flags.

It’s mere minutes later that he places you down on soft sheets, your body sinking into a plush mattress, left to watch him as he ambles around the egregiously large room, muttering foreign words under his breath as he roots through an ornate chest of draws. You must be in a fever dream, unsure how you went from running for your life, to being patched up by the very thing you were certain would kill you. And yet, here you are, watching as he almost awkwardly sidles to your seated figure, and kneels in front of you, once predatory eyes unable to hold your gaze as he sets out various medical items by your feet.

“Your hand, may I see it?”

You present your palm to him, watching as his eyebrows knit together, giant hands placing tentative touches against your skin as though he’s concerned about hurting you, the thought of which does nothing to aid your spiralling confusion. But you say nothing, you simply watch as he takes a damp cloth and begins cleaning your cut, fixated on the way his eyes snap to you with every pained hiss and suppressed whine, picking up on the way he ensures each subsequent touch is a tad gentler than the last. It’s not too much longer until he’s wrapping your hand with bandages, making sure the gauze is tight enough to keep your blood in, but not enough to cut off circulation, the type of gentle care you never would have suspected from the giant at your feet. Your curiosity has increased tenfold, not a trace of fear left to lick at your nerves and render you speechless, replaced only by the overwhelming need to know more, to learn everything.

“What’s your name?”

It’s his turn to freeze, ruby irises briefly flitting to yours, rounded with surprise, before they snap back down, making himself busy as he gathers up a scattered array of bloodied cloth.

“I… I have had many. The one most people knew me by was König.” It’s strange, the croon of his voice sounds almost nothing like the one whispered to you in the dark, from low and horrifying, to gentle, almost timid. You’re nothing short of fascinated, leaning forward as you scan over the contours of his face.

“Why’d you drag me into your house and tell me to run?”

“Why were you trying to knock on my door?”

Touché.

Heat licks at the skin of your cheeks at his brazen reminder of your attempted trespassing, your uninjured hand coming to rub at your neck in lieu of a response. After a moment of silence, he sighs, deflating into the plush carpet below.

“It has been a while since I last had any visitors. Your arrival was… Unexpected. You caught me off guard,” He pauses for a moment, pupils dilating as his fingers curl around the rags he holds in his hand, covered in your blood, “It has been even longer since I have been around fresh blood.” It feels surreal to have it confirmed, that the creature that sits before you is one you’ve seen only in movies and read in far-fetched romance novels. Yet, you feel no fear, that emotion all but vanished the second he halted everything just to care for an intruder's wound.

“My friends dared me to knock.” He cocks his head at that, a single eyebrow arching, bemused at your admission. “It’s been a dare for years, no one ever actually had the guts to do it.”

“Until you.”

A pause, your head dipping forward in an unsure nod.

“Until me.”

He’s staring at you unabashedly now, your eyes wandering over the rich details of the bedroom you reside in as an excuse to save yourself from his piercing gaze, an unreadable expression swimming in carmine eyes.

“I am glad it was you.”

You hate the embers of arousal that spark at his words, perturbed by your body’s reaction to seemingly innocent words spoken from a man you were sprinting away from less than an hour ago, and yet his eyes do nothing to put out the fire, intense and smouldering. You can’t bring yourself to look away, nor to quash the way your heart flutters as his torso leans closer to your thighs that subconsciously part to make room for him. The action doesn’t go unnoticed, nostrils flaring as sharp eyes zero in on the way your legs spread against silk sheets.

“And why is that, König?”

It’s as though you uttering his name opens the floodgates, black engulfing vermillion until only a sliver remains, thick fingers circling your shins as he leers further into the gap your parted thighs created, that same ravening stare that once sent fear trickling down your spine now leaves you gasping for breath for an entirely different reason.

“Because I haven’t seen something as pretty as you for a very long time, and I don’t know if I have the strength to stop myself again, maus.”

You couldn’t prevent the whispered whine of his name if you had tried, eyelashes fluttering as you move to curl your fingers in his shirt, giving pathetic little tugs to the soft material of his silk shirt, eyes dipping down to where loose material tucks into black pants. Your back arches, a shameless display of desire as you slide your body closer towards the edge of the bed, and further into his touch.

“Who said anything about stopping?”

Your words remain suspended in the air around you, two sets eyes locked onto each other, blown black with barely-suppressed lust, and yet you don’t dare to make the first move, waiting, wanting for him to shed his timid skin and swallow you whole, become the beast that stalked you through rooms just to feel the thrill of the chase. His hands leave your legs, instead balling up into tight fists against his own thighs, the skin around his knuckles taut as though restraining himself. For a mere moment, you fear he may have changed his mind, that is until he utters the word you craved to hear.

“Run.”

You ignore the lingering ache in your joints, your thighs burning as you dash from the bedroom with renewed purpose, fuelled by the all-consuming thoughts of what’s to come, excited to finally be caught, a far cry from the unbridled terror that sent you scrambling before. This time, he makes no effort to prowl in the shadows, your heart beat soaring as the loud thuds of footsteps echo from behind, the floorboards quaking under your feet from the force of his steps.

You know there isn’t a chance he’s running at full speed, but even then he catches you almost embarrassingly quickly, built arms encircling your waist and crushing you against his torso, bringing you to the floor in an instant, leaving you to writhe helplessly between his body and the floorboards. You don’t give in, however, limbs thrashing, nails clawing against whatever they can reach, whether it be the arms that pin you down, or the wood underneath you, feigning an attempt to escape.

That is until you feel two sharp points dig into your nape, not enough to break skin, but the threat of it leaves you frozen under him, a doe caught in the wolf’s jaws. But you don’t fear the bite like wild prey would, somehow, you crave it, to feel his teeth sink into you, to let him lap at your blood and drain you near dry, anything just to feel like you’re his.

The pressure of sharpened canines begins to lessen, his teeth slowly peeling back from your skin, although anticipating your body to begin thrashing once again. But you remain subdued, the embers now engulfed by crackling flames that lick at your nerves and set your skin alight. It’s only when his hips shift do you feel the tent in his pants pushing against the top of your thighs, your eyes fluttering shut as you push your ass down to grind shamelessly against his cock.

“Temptress,” The word is almost incomprehensible through the growl that reverberates through his throat, a sound that gives away entirely how affected he is, rough and wanting. “You should be trembling beneath me from fear and yet…”

His words trail off, a stuttered gasp replaces your heavy breathing when you feel sizeable fingers trailing down your sides before sliding under your body, cupping your inner thigh. Your heart hammers against your ribcage from the chase, now bolstered by the scandalous touch as his fingers skim past your clothed core, only catching onto the way his fingers curl into the material until it’s too late, hardly leaving you enough time to yelp before he’s tearing you bare below him. The tattered remains of your pants are haphazardly discarded, joined soon by the threadbare silk of your ripped panties, one of your favourite pairs torn in half with hardly an ounce of effort.

“Yet here you are, schätzchen, quivering with need, dripping for the cock of the one that hunts you.”

The rough pad of calloused fingers swipes against your exposed cunt, unable to suppress the heady whine that leaks past your agape lips, your forehead meeting the hardwood floor with a soft thump. That single touch renders you limp, muscles going lax as you melt into the glide of his fingers as they tease your folds, slowing on every up-stroke to rub slow circles against your clit. It’s maddening, the pace in which he picks you apart, leaving you to grind on his fingers like a wanton whore just to feel the surmounting pleasure that builds in response to his touch. A tut sounds from above, heavy breath cascading over your nape as his head dips down, lips dragging from neck to the shell of your ear.

“What a desperate little thing you are, maus, you know what we call things like you in my native tongue?” Your head shakes, a breathy ‘no’ muffled into the floor, “Schwanzschlampe, cock slut.” Embarrassment mixes in equal measure with arousal, curling one of your arms under your head to hide your face, the action short lived as strong arms flip you onto your back, one large hand gathering both your wrists together and pinning them above your head, exposed before him in every way. It’s undeniably more intimate in this position, your eyes given little other option than to lock onto his as his other hand continues to tease your dripping cunt, carmine swimming with unrestrained desire pinning you to the floor as effectively as his near crushing grip on your wrists.

“You can’t hide your pretty face from me, liebling, I want to see how much you crave my touch.” He presses his forehead to yours, low candlelight from lamps that line the corridor walls glint off the two long fangs that peak past reddened lips with every word spoken. And it’s seemingly your turn to catch him off guard, your head tilting upwards to push your lips to his, swallowing his surprised gasp down greedily, arching your chest to push against his. The kiss is desperate, messy, a combination of saliva drips down your chin, moans and rumbled grunts creating a symphony that drifts down the winding halls of his home. With a nudge, you ensure his eyes are locked to yours as you part your lips, your tongue curling over his teeth before brushing over the point of his elongated canine.

With a push, you feel the sting as his fang just barely dips into soft flesh, a drop of blood beading at the surface before you push the muscle to his, locked onto the way his eyes roll to the back of his skull, the growl momentarily starting up again before his lips lock around your tongue, sucking at every morsel of blood that springs from the pinprick cut like a man starved. A man that has most likely been starved of blood directly from the source for more years that you’ve been alive.

If you thought that you’d unlocked the beast within him before, the taste of your blood brings out an entirely new side. His lips part from yours, the crimson in his frenzied eyes transforming before you, as though enriched from just a taste of warm iron. You watch as his pupils dilate and constrict, each push and pull between black and red prove hypnotic as his eyes slowly begin to refocus, the colour to his irises seem dull in comparison to the bright vermillion flecked with gold that peers down at you, still wild with hunger, driven by need.

The moment is broken mere seconds later when his head drops to your neck, sharpened teeth dragging along the throbbing pulse at the base of your throat, and just when you expect the bite, you’re left gasping for an entirely unrelated reason as your shirt comes apart against sharp enamel, shredded where it surrounds your naked torso, leaving you entirely bare. Yet all it takes is a singular glance to realise he remains fully dressed, not a single article shed.

“König,” Your voice comes out strained, practically whining as though prepared to beg, “Let me undress you?”

He pauses for a moment, eyes flicking up to you from under his lashes before the grip on your arms lessens, his legs folding under him as he rights himself into a kneeling position over your body. He suddenly seems unsure, maybe a little self-conscious as you lean up brushing your fingers over flowing pristine white silk, taking your time as you unfasten each button, never once letting your eyes stray from his. And despite the hint of bashfulness, he keeps his gaze pinned to you, a wary lion caught off guard by brave prey.

After the last button falls undone, you let the tips of your fingers trace up revealed skin, before pushing the shirt from his shoulders, and watching as it billows onto the floor, exposing a defined chest highlighted by a smattering of scars that tell stories you could only dream of hearing. He’s nothing short of ethereal, otherworldly in every sense of the word, a behemoth of a beast, with the face of an angel.

“You cover up a lot for a man as handsome as you are.” Your disguised question prompts a flinch, solid fingers clutching into fists at his side, but before you can rush to amend your words, he slumps, resigned to your curiosity.

“I have garnered a reputation I do not wish to catch up to me. It is safer to keep myself hidden, maus.” You make a mental note if you somehow find yourself in his company after this night to ask him more, a carnal need to know everything that makes up the being knelt above you. But you tuck them away for now, refocusing your attention to the waistband of his trousers, deft fingers wasting little time undoing the silver clasp and dragging down the zip until the front peels open.

“Good thing you don’t have to keep hidden in front of me, huh?” Your lips tug upwards into a playful smirk, your hands planting on the solid muscle of his chest before you’re pushing him backwards, letting his legs splay out either side of your now free body before easing both his pants and underwear down the corded muscle of his thigh, marvelling at each inch of skin revealed to ravenous eyes. His trousers join the crumpled mess of clothes that lay scattered across the floor, giving him no time to adjust to his new found nudity before your head is ducking down, tongue flitting out to lick a long strip from the base of his cock to the tip.

Your enthusiasm is immediately rewarded with a faltered whine, watching from under your lashes as his head lolls backwards, trembling fingers coming to cup either side of your face. He’s big, his cock twitching against the defined muscle of his abdomen, thick and long, and nothing short of daunting. Yet you choose to focus on the way your pussy clenches around air at the mere sight of it, overwhelmed by the knowledge that you’ll understand what it is to be split open by him, to be fucked by him. Your tongue darts out once more to press against the tip, the small cut on the surface only just healed over, your spine shuddering at the dulled sting that follows as you begin to take the head of his cock between your lips, mouth stretched almost painfully around the girth.

It does nothing to dissuade you, however, tears clouding your vision of his blissed out expression as you swallow him down deeper, hardly taking more than two inches before your throat spasms around him in protest, coaxing a throaty whimper from spit-shined lips that has your hand darting down to your clit, fingers rubbing desperate circles into soaked flesh.

The following whine that reverberates around his cock swiftly gives you away, crimson eyes focusing in on the way your hand disappears between your thighs, before flitting back to the way your watering eyes remain locked to his, hissing out several curses in German at the sight of your lips wrapped around his straining cock.

“Your mouth… Gott, your fucking mouth,” strong fingers guide your head off his cock, your lips separating from the tip with a lewd pop, strings of saliva and pre-cum connecting your lolled out tongue to his cock. “Need to fuck you, schätzchen, I can’t wait any longer, verdammte hölle—”

You’re not given any warning before he’s pinning your back to the floor, bringing your knees up to your chest and bending you in half, a feat you didn’t know you were capable of before his strong fingers moulded you into the perfect position to take his cock. Folded like this, you can’t help but feel like a doll in his hands, your height and weight rendered meaningless under the sheer size of the monster above you. Trepidation begins to simmer under the surface of your skin, trying to imagine just how your body could ever make room for him.

But he doesn’t leave you much time to fret before his head falls to your thighs, thick fingers twitching from where they hold up your legs as his nose buries into your pubic bone. Long strands of brunette block your vision, startling as you register the feeling of something thick and wet pressing against your folds.

“K-König!” Your cry prompts a responding groan from the man below you as his tongue licks firm stripes up the length of your cunt, glassy eyes drifting up to you as though intoxicated, drunk of the heady taste of your arousal. With a jolt, you’re left helpless to watch as one of his hands slides down your thigh, stuttering through another gasped moan of his name as you feel a single thick digit slide into the wet heat of your pussy, eyes watering at the stretch that merely one of his fingers provides.

He doesn’t hold up, his lips wrapping around your clit and sucking the second he feels your walls clamp around him, slowly easing your muscles into accepting a second finger, distracting you from the momentary pain by lapping his tongue against your engorged clit. But even so, taking two of his fingers feels like more of a challenge than any cock you’ve taken in the past, eyes rolling backwards as he begins to crook them within you, calloused fingers rubbing against the gummy walls of your cunt in a way that has you convulsing around him, warbled sobs hiccuping past your lips as you feel your first climax rip through your body.

“One more, maus, I need you to take one more so I know I won’t hurt you.”

Tears track down your face, still processing the intensity that just wracked your body, but you nod down at him anyway, rewarded with a gentle smile and whispered praise as he cautiously eases a third finger into you, pausing the second he hears a pained hiss after the first knuckle. He hums, placing tender kitten licks against your still throbbing clit, letting you push past tender overstimulation to help pull your mind off the burning stretch, refocusing your attention to the pleasure his mouth provides.

“Doing so well, liebling, almost there…” His words are whispered against your glistening pussy, eyes firmly fixed on yours as he guides you through, until finally all three of his fingers are pushed to the hilt, cooed praise following immediately after.

“König, need you, I need you inside of me, please.” Your sniffled plea evokes nothing more than a playful smile from him as he cocks his head to the side.

“Am I not inside of you right now, maus?” His tone is teasing, words accompanied by a wiggle of the fingers that remain buried in your cunt, coaxing a depraved moan from your already raw throat.

“Your cock, wan’ your cock so bad,” It takes a second to search for the word that sits on the tip of your tongue, your eyes sparking when it finally comes to you, “Bitte, König.”

It’s immediate, the way his fingers pull from your cunt and secure themselves back around your thigh, darkened rubies glinting with that same predatory stare you’re all too familiar with now. He wastes no time as the tip of his cock bumps against soaked folds, your fingers wrapping around his veined shaft as you guide him inside, mouth parting in a silent cry as the tip pushes past the first ring of muscle and leaves you breathless.

There is no mistaking that three of his fingers gave you a mere taste of the stretch, belatedly wondering how on Earth he’ll fit amongst the tight walls of your cunt, and the other organs that surround it. But by some grace of God, he continues to move, inch after thick inch swallowed by your cunt as though it were made for him, a perfect match, the monster and his plaything, the predator and its ever willing prey.

A rush of air finally fills your lungs once the dull slap of his hips meets your ass, unfocused eyes widening as you take in the protrusion of his cock, the bulge obscenely large where it stretches out your skin.

“S’big, you’re so fuckin’ big, what the fuck—”

Slurred rambles are cut off with a searing kiss, passionate and fiery as his hips begin to draw back, swallowing down frenzied curses as he slams back into you, setting a cruel pace right from the start. You never had a chance, you should have known, and yet you regret nothing as he pounds into your abused cunt, your cervix meeting the tip of his weeping cock with each forceful thrust, thick veins rubbing against the walls of your pussy and leaving you glassy eyed and cock-drunk.

Mindless babbles flow from drooling lips, your neck drooping to the side as you hope your eyes convey your needs without resorting to incoherent words. But it takes little more than exposing your throat to him before his lips latch onto the flesh, sucking a line of bruises into your skin before finally settling over your jugular, the only pre-warning of the oncoming bite being the scrape of fangs before they’re puncturing skin, flooding your veins with a venom that has your toes curling, fingernails digging into the muscle of his back and dragging thick red lines against shuddering flesh.

His pace never falters, hips still careening against yours as his lips suck around the two minute incisions, drinking down your blood with a thirst you’ve never witnessed. Whether it’s the subduing poison that flows through your bloodstream, or the shift of hips as his cockhead nudges the walls of your cunt in a way that has stars blooming behind your eyelids, you find yourself hurtling into another climax, whimpered cries and bloodied nails evidence of your earth-shattering orgasm.

His lips finally part from your skin with a slick sigh, lips painted the most beautiful shade of crimson that drips down his chin, a line that marks your possession, evidence he’s consumed by you, drunk on you. And it’s as you lean down, your tongue dragging against the bloodied stubble of his chin, lapping up what remains of your scarlet ichor, that he finally succumbs to the pleasure, his cock jolting within you as he releases seemingly endless spurts of cum against your cervix, buried as deep within your body as biology will allow.

Panted breaths intermingle as his forehead presses flush to yours, lidded eyes, now nearly entirely consumed by gold peers at you, an interesting mix of fascination and something that looks almost fond discernible in his gaze. You still have so many questions, intrigued and just a little bit obsessed with the man above you, yet it’s apparent that your feelings are far from unrequited, and one day, every question that burns at your tongue and begs for answers will be satiated. For now, you’ll bask in his looming presence and tender care, grateful to have found him in the first place, however unfortunate the initial meeting was.

Just as his lips ghost against yours, the distant sound of creaking has you both freezing in place.

“H-Hello? You still in here?”

“... Scheiße.”

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 4 months

Text

anyway 1920s-era Eris Vanserra who slicks his hair back and wears pinstriped suits and sweater vests and waistcoats with slutty trousers and polished shoes. He owns a huuuuge manor estate and plays tennis and calls his friends “old chap”. He’s only ever known a life of luxury and is the owner of numerous businesses and he can be a lil bit of a snob — UNTIL a new girl is employed at his house who is sweet as honey pie and absolutely endears herself to him with the delicious things she bakes and what an absolute sweetheart she is. Only, this new ray of sunshine in his life is a commoner and has absolutely nothing to her name, and everything in Eris Vanserra’s life is driven by class and reputation. He knows his father wouldn’t approve, knows his friends would scoff at his girl, knows it wouldn’t be an easy ride to have her on his arm. But the more he sees her around his estate, the more he feels like his heart might burst out of his chest.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fandom #acotar au #eris vanserra #acotar headcanon #eris #eris headcanon #vanserra #autumn court

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polish-manor-house · 4 months

Text

the best time to stay home

#dworek #polish manor house #poland aesthetic #cottagecore #styl polski #polish art #traditional architecture #pan tadeusz #traditional interior #dark academia #józef chełmoński #winter aesthetic #christmas aesthetic

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crow-raven-crow · 6 months

Note

Hey it's me again 👋 the one who asked for Donna Beneviento.

I know she's a shy babe and mostly in the fics I see her like sub?But I can't get enough to see her other side.We want it! We need it!

Can you do something like reader's been teasing her extremely (clothes,talks, actions,etc..) knowing she will only turn red but r seem to pushes her a little too far and ended up facing dominant Donna? Like punish sex and maybe aftercare.

Thanks for reading

-BB 🤍

𝐁𝐞 𝐀 𝐃𝐨𝐥𝐥..

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 - [𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝟏𝟖+]

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐟!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: ~2.8k 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: fluff, established relationship, NSFW, dom!Donnna, sub!Reader, teasing, pinning, marking, scratching, begging kink, slight degradation, slighting biting, oral sex, vaginal fingering, edging paired with slight orgasm denial, alludes to future sex

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: see above

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

AO3 link in title ✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

You pulled the key from the door as you stepped inside, a soft creak emitting from the hinges as the heavy door swung open, revealing the foyer. You guided your hand out slowly, gesturing the doll maker inside as you held the door open for her. Your shared laughter echoed through the halls, absorbing themselves within your shared home.

The golden glow emanating from the candles that hung on the chandelier casted an enchanting light within the home, bringing out the deep mahogany of the polished wood that made up most of the home. The age of the home brought a comfort out within it, the wood absorbing the flickering flames and creating a warmth that served as a refuge from the snow that sat beyond the walls.

Once the door shut behind you, your gaze met Lady Beneviento's, the spark found swirling within them making a smile creep onto your lips. Her veil was already discarded to the side and her hands were held out in front of her expectantly. You stood for a moment, blinking in confusion as you took in the sight of her before you. Her soft laugh broke the silence before she stepped behind you and smoother her hands up your sides and to your shoulders, filling your body with a newfound heat. "Your coat, amore mio.."

Her fingers worked themselves underneath the layer of fabric, gently pulling the coat from your shoulders and handing it on the rack behind her. You grabbed one of her hands as she turned around, pulling her slowly over to you before meeting her lips in a sweet kiss. You felt her relax under your touch, the dinner you both had just been at fading away from her mind as she relished in the safety that you brought to her.

Pulling her from her trance, you guided her into the living room. As you backed away, you watched how she took in each of your movements - the sway of your hips, the effortless grace of your arms, the never ending smile that sat upon your face. To her, each aspect was a manifestation of beauty, causing her heart to swell with admiration for you.

Shifting the pin of the record player made a small gasp leave her lips, the familiar sound of her favorite song starting to play filling the manor. The notes shifted through the air as you came back to her, the satisfaction in her figure mirroring the joy found within her eyes.

"I figured it would be nice to end off a nice dinner with a dance, if you'll have me?" Your hands traced a gentle path up her dress, massaging her shoulders before wrapping your arms around her, successfully pulling her in and starting off the small sways.

"Such a doll for me, hmm?"

"I try."

Soft laughter bubbled from your chests, the love found within you two creating a lightness in the room. Her arms circled around your waist, drawing you closer. Her fingers scaled a tantalizing path down your body, completely away for the garments you showed her beneath the thin fabric only house earlier. The room, though charged with affection, carried the increasing weight of desire as the two of you continued to dance.

You had called her into the bathroom, the black dress you wanted to wear hanging just behind you as you finished off your makeup. As you put away the various products, you rose from the vanity seat, a mischievous smile playing on your lips as you heard the click of her heels get closer and closer. It added a sense of anticipation to the air, each step echoing a promise of a tease for her, a promise of the sweet surprise you had for her.

"You called, am-" Her steps came to an abrupt halt, seemingly frozen in the doorway as her eyes raked in your exposed figure. The choice of dark green lace was a deliberate one, allowing one of her favorite colors to swirl around your skin. The lace, starting from secure straps, gradually faded out, growing thinner yet framing your breasts and hips perfectly. Your paired it with matching garters, deciding that stockings would add a nice touch given the dress's slit, which teasingly exposed your legs. You saw the desire starting to burn behind her eyes, and you knew you had gone with the right choice.

"Cat got your tongue, my lady?" Your tone was laced in a tease, being sure to add a sway to your hips as you slowly made your way over to her. Your hands found their place on her hips, your eyes drinking in the slight of her as she was already ready for the dinner ahead of you. Tracing a hand up her figure, you made a slow path between her breasts, along one of her collarbones, and delicately along the column of her throat, easily pulling a shiver from her. You rested a finger underneath her chin, tilting her head slight to meet your gaze. "Or am I just as much of a distraction as I planned to be?"

"Wh-Whats-" She cleared her throat, focusing all the energy within her to not break your gaze, "What's the occasion, doll?"

"Oh, nothing.." You brought your lips to her ear, whispering before littering kisses down her neck. "Just wanted you to know exactly what was underneath my dress while we sit for hours at dinner.."

You quickly pulled away, bringing any and all traces of yourself against her with you, before grabbing your dress and presenting it to her. "Could you help me put it on?"

She took it from your fingers while giving you a nod, undoing the zipper along the back as you turned around. She pulled it over your head, being sure that your arms could easily go through the thick straps of the dress before pulling the rest of it down your body. Her fingers lingered against your hips underneath the fabric, the cool touch against your skin making a small shiver shoot through you. You felt as she took hold of the zipper, slowly pulling it up and covering the skin that only she was allowed sight of, before resting her hands back against your hips.

"Thank you, my love.. Are you ready to leave?" You turned around in her hold, a smile coming to your lips before you kissed her own.

Small chatter turned into a comfortable silence, though there was still an undercurrent of excitement coursing between you two. She lifted her arm up above you, your hand in hers, and prompted you to spin. You did, or attempted to do so, but your heel got caught on a bump in the carpet beneath you. Within the moment, the misstep led to a tumble, and you found yourselves on the floor, laughter filling the room as a blush rose to both of your faces.

You landed on top of her, her arms wrapped securely around you to prevent you from getting hurt. After the laughing had died down, you pulled yourself up a bit, kissing up her neck before planting a soft one against her lips. The blush against her cheeks deepened at your actions, a wave of heat running through both of your bodies as the desire in the room only grew.

You watched as her eyes moved against your form, moving from your dark painted lips, to your dress straps falling off your shoulders, to the sight of your breasts pushing beyond the fabric of your dress - the fall pulling your dress down and uncovering more of your skin. You brought your lips down to her ear, the warmth of your breath traveling against her skin as you spoke, "Like what you see, my lady?"

Maybe it was the suggestive tone of your voice, the pull of your dress, the teasing actions that had been building for hours, but it all caused something within her to snap. The grip she had on your hips tightened as you finished your sentence, causing your breath to hitch, but it didn't prepare you for the other side of the doll maker that you were about to face.

Within an instant, your back was against the floor, hands pinned above you by your wrists as one of her knees settled between your legs. You looked up at her in shock, though it easily morphed into an expression of desire as her lips trailed up your neck, leaving lingering kisses and mirroring the action you had done just moments before. The heat of her breath coursed around your neck while her other hand traveled along your body, pulling fabric out of the way, squeezing and scratching your skin in the claim to be hers.

"You're right.. I do love what I see.." Her voice was low, thick with the lust and desire that had been swirling within her for hours. It didn't falter, didn't stutter as she spoke, a newfound dominance running through her veins and driving her actions. It made a delicious heat begin to pool between your legs. "I think it's just about time you've been taught a lesson.. Isn't that right, doll?"

Your breath hitched, her words making your thighs shut in an attempt to gain some sort of friction, only to make you let out a loud whimper when her knee prevented such. You watched as she pulled away, her lips turning into a smirk as she watch you wreath beneath her. She brought her lips to yours but didn't indulge you in a kiss just yet. They ghosted above yours, mere centimeters apart as she spoke against your lips, "I could get used to a view like this.."

You could only image what you looked like beneath her - shocked, flushed, filled with desire, desperate.. Desperate for her, her touch, her lips, her tongue.. A part of you loved that she enjoyed it, causing a raging flame to ignite inside of you.

You tried pushing yourself up to meet her lips, only for her to pull away at the last second. Amusement filled her features, a wonderful darkness filtering over her eyes that made your core throb. She slowly made her way back to your lips, resting just above them. The close proximity always seemed to make your heart race, the organ hammering in your chest hard enough that you were sure she could feel it against her own. Her perfume made you dizzy with lust, only adding to your arousal as she took over all of your senses. Your voice was breathy, lost in your throat, just above a whisper as you spoke, as you begged for her. "Please, Donna… please-"

She crashed her lips into yours, finally giving you the beginnings of what your craved, stealing all the breath from your lungs and devouring the moans and whimpers that escaped your throat. You felt her tongue brush against your bottom lip only for her to take your bottom lip between her teeth, pulling it as she backed away slightly.

The look of pure desire she was throwing at you only mirrored your own - dark eyes fluttered against each others features behind half lidded eyes, cheeks and chests flushed a pink hue, chests heaving to catch breaths that were willingly stolen away..

Her lips met yours again, but only for a few moments. They trailed down your jawline, plump lips meeting your neck and leaving deep marks against it. You threw your head back as a moan tore through your throat, your back arching as you felt her fingers rubbing against your clit above the fabric of your undergarments.

She continued to kiss down your body, her hands letting go of your wrists and allowing your hands to immediately meet her shoulders. A growl left her throat as she met the fabric of your dress, annoyed with the barrier between her and the rest of the body. She moved quickly, picking you up and bringing you up the stairs to your shared bedroom as one of her hands worked on the zipper of your dress.

The door slammed shut behind her, your body quickly landing on the bed as she pulled the dress off of you. You backed up until your hands met the pillows behind you, watching as the goddess pulled her own dress of her body.

Her pale skin was illuminated by the moon, her body shining in beauty before you. She took her place back above you, hands running along the edges of your lace bra before her lips met your collar bones again.

You were getting drunk on her as she hands smoothed over any and all of your skin. She teeth nipped at your skin, tongue soothing over the marks after pulling away. One of her hands made their way to your back, unclasping your bra and tossing it somewhere within the room.

Her tongue traced over your right bud, making your back arch, only for her to take it in her mouth moments later. Her other hand toyed with the other, smoothing over the bug until both were in stiff peaks. She littered marks across your chest, making sure to give the other bud the same amount of attention before moving kissing down your stomach.

You felt her hand back at your core, her touch light enough against the fabric that it was purely a tease. You bucked your hips slightly, only for her to bite your thigh in response, trailing her tongue over it right after. She did this again and again until she thought you were going to behave, her lips planting a kiss against your mound before she slowly started pulling the fabric down your legs.

She worked at an agonizingly slow pace, lips kissing down one leg and up the other before you felt her tongue lick through your folds. The action made you take in a sharp breath, only for it to get lost in the moan that tore through you. She worked her tongue in and out of you, collecting your juices and moaning at the taste, the vibrations shooting through your body and making a familiar knot form in your lower abdomen.

Your fingers dug into the sheets beneath you as she took hold of your thighs, locking your hips in place as her tongue licked up your slit, only to start circling your clit immediately after. You felt one of her hands shift along your leg, the touch moving underneath your thigh before nimble fingers circled your entrance.

They dipped into your core, the stretch quickly turning into a dangerous pleasure as they pumped in and out of you. They curled in a way that made you see stars, brushing against the spongey spot within you and making moans spill from your lips with ease. Your body burned for her touch, your walls clenching around her fingers and making her groan at the feeling of you.

Her fingers picked up speed, her lips wrapping themselves around your sensitive bud and sucking at the same time. You felt your thighs begin to shake with your impending orgasm, the coil within you tightening a dangerous amount only for you to be left on a high.

She stilled her actions, kissing down your thighs while she looked up at you. Your breathing was heavy, your breasts rising and falling with each intake as you tried to ground yourself from a peak that was taken from you. Just as you were about to speak, her tongue circled your clit again, her fingers moving at a brutal pace as she aimed to give you what you oh so craved..

With every thrust of her fingers you were pushed harder and harder against towards the edge. You felt your mind grow hazy with desire, the amount of lust coursing through you making you putty in ecstasy's hold.

Your knuckled turned white at your hard grip on the sheets, your throat growing sore as she pulled loud moans and whimpers from your chest, her pace never slowing.

Your thighs shook on either side of her head, your climax slamming into you and making you moan out her name. Your body shuddered with the wave of pleasure that consumed you as she helped you rise out for first orgasm of the night.

She gently pulled her fingers from your core, your half lidded eyes watching her taker her fingers into her mouth and lick them clean. Her lips trailed up your body, the gentle touch of her lips making your heart soar before she met your own.

When she pulled away, her eyes met your own, desire still prominent within them. "Don't think for a second that I am done with you tonight, amore mio.."

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐚/𝐧: OKAYYY?? OKAAYYYY AHHAHAH this served as a reawakening of my RE8 brainrot and i dont know what to do this was so fun holy fuck but also holy fuck? 😏

first donna fic done teehee. i might write for her more because she is such a beautiful character, but like all the lords of RE8 i wish they did so much more with them. there is so much backstory and lore missing and i just NEED a whole game or something released just for them. you cant make these characters interesting as hell and only give us crumbs when it comes to their lore

i loved playing around with this side of donna. she is so quiet and shy within the game that it's always interesting for me to see how she can be portrayed

i hope you all liked it! I'm sorry it took me a hot minute to get here, lovely anon;; but i really enjoyed writing this one

xx,

~ 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: (tagged anyone who asked/wanted to be on the "all works" taglist)

@autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @finnja555 @barbarasstar @vendocrap8008 @gwendolinechristieiscute @lilfartbox1 @agathaandgwenslesbian @lvinhs @elvira-dear @kimiinou @ladybathoryy

ask to be added if you'd like

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

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flowerandblood · 6 months

Text

Laughter from the depths (Oneshot)

[ nobility! • Aemond x rusalka demon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, virginity loss, fingering, angst, smut, violence, descriptions of injuries, mention of murder ]

[ description: Aemond and his family are deprived of their main estate in the capital in favour of his half-sister and have to move to a rural mansion that has long been neglected. There is a superstition among the village people that the nearby lake is home to Rusalki, beautiful female demons who tickle boys who peep at them to death. Angst, slavic demonology. ]

This oneshot is something special for me because it focuses on the lives of the people in the Slavic villages from which all my ancestors came. I am Polish, so what I am writing about has references to Polish beliefs and Polish traditions, but I suspect it was the same for all our Slavic neighbours.

In order to convey the realism of the era and the atmosphere that prevailed there, the nobility talk among themselves in French, and Polish, which I have also used here, replaces the language of Old Valyria, as some kind of relic of the past, something unworldly in the eyes of the aristocracy. Of course, all the dialogues are translated into English in brackets, but I wanted to show what my national Slavic language looks like.

I would like to point out that until the 1970s, superstitions about rusalki and other demons were very, very strong in the villages. The large percentage of people who could not write or read, the fear-mongering by local priests and organists who made money from exorcisms and banishing demons did not help at all in rationalising the events of their lives.

Slavic demonology is incredibly rich and elaborate, and often the same demons are named differently in different countries. The name Rusalka came to Poland from the territory of present-day Belarus; the same water demons were previously called topielice, panny wodne or boginki. However, the name Rusalka was adopted by Romantic writers such as Adam Mickiewicz and is therefore used most frequently today.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

They were finished. The moment his father died, he, his mother, sister and brothers lost their main residence in the capital, which from now on belonged to his half-sister, his father's daughter from his first marriage. His last will came as an unpleasant surprise to them all.

He had bequeathed them his country estate where no one had lived for years, filled with dampness and mustiness. For weeks their mother tried to get the manor house in order, pretending that their father's decision did not hurt her at all, that they would at least get a break from the hustle and bustle of the city.

Although he loved her he laughed cruelly at her words, shaking his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. Their servants and farmhands were simple villagers who could not even sign their names.

The only ones who knew the magical skill of writing and reading were the local priest and the Jews. The Jews were the ones Aegon was most friendly with, spending whole nights in their inns.

He and his family were decent Catholics attending church every Sunday.

They attracted great interest when they arrived in their carriage. The simple-minded people often came to church from distant villages barefoot and washed their feet in a nearby lake, only then putting on their shoes, usually having only one pair that they could not destroy.

Although he and his family knew the language of his ancestors, they preferred to talk to each other in French so that no one would understand them. However, he listened one day to a loud conversation between two boys, the sons of the village miller, who lived by the lake with other children.

"Tutaj mieszkają prawdzie rusałki! Wodne panny! Boginki! Nocą tańczą i śmieją się głośno, jak gdyby miały biesiadę, demony szatana. (This is where the true Rusalki lives! Water maidens! Goddesses! At night they dance and laugh loudly, as if they were having a feast, demons of Satan.)" Described one of them excitedly, swallowing his saliva quickly seeing that everyone was listening to him.

"Nie zwracają uwagi na dzieci, ale nasz kuzyn, Janek, raz próbował złapać jedną z nich, został wciągnięty i załaskotały go na śmierć! A miał się chłopak żenić na wiosnę! I na co mu to było? (They don't pay any attention to the children, but our older cousin, Janek, once tried to catch one of them, got pulled in and they tickled him to death! The boy was supposed to get married in the spring! And what good was that to him?)"

Shaking his head as he listened to this nonsense, his younger brother approached him, looking at them curiously.

"As-tu entendu, frère? J'ai lu que les Rusalki sont comme des nymphes grecques, belles, vêtues de robes blanches translucides avec des fleurs dans les cheveux, qu'elles dansent pendant la pleine lune et jouent toute la nuit. (Have you heard, brother? I've read that Rusalki are like Greek nymphs, beautiful, dressed in translucent white robes with flowers in their hair, that they dance during the full moon and play all night.)" He whispered, and he snorted, adjusting the material of his black cuff.

"Je t'en prie. C'est une absurdité. Les superstitions des villageois ordinaires. (Please. This is some nonsense. The superstitions of ordinary villagers)." He said lowly, Daeron fell silent and lowered his head, ashamed, never bringing up this subject again.

During the sermon, the priest made it clear that he was worried that the local people still used witches and quacks, believing in all sorts of demonic activities that were obviously the result of infernal forces.

"Za stosowaną opłatą ja bądź organista zajdziemy do Waszych domów by wypędzić te bestie. (For an applicable fee, I or the organist will visit your homes to exorcise these beasts)." Said the priest, and he pressed his lips together and chuckled under his breath, arousing the interest of his mother, unable to believe that someone even so well-read was preying on the naivety of these poor people.

They didn't understand what real medicine or science was, they didn't understand that when a disabled child was born to them it wasn't the fault of a charm or that a goddess had stolen their infant, but a congenital disease.

That when gales and hailstorms came it was not the Hanged Man, the demons that suicides who died by hanging themselves became walking through the fields, but it was ordinary weather, no demonic activity.

He was appalled at how much separated him from these people, dirty, simple, living in their own dark and cruel world, housing whole families in single rooms, sleeping sometimes even with their own cattle.

Although his attitude towards the people who, after all, worked on his manor, handled his crops and harvested for a pittance was harsh, he was not a man without compassion or heart.

When it was reported in the evening that the miller's son had fallen from a height into the water and almost drowned, that he had broken his leg and needed a doctor he rushed there on horseback together with his sister.

When they arrived people were standing with candles, crying and wailing all around him, begging him to call a doctor, that they could not afford it.

He and Helaena approached the boy, he couldn't have been more than twelve years old, he had an open break in his leg, his bone sticking out of the wound, he was pale and unconscious, shaking from the cold.

"Mówię Wam, ludzie, przysięgam, to Rusałki go z wody wyciągały, uciekły z piskiem gdy wybiegłem! To pewnie one swym śpiewem go przyciągnęły! (I'm telling you, people, I swear, it was the Rusalki that pulled him out of the water, they ran away with a squeal when I rushed out! It must have been them with their singing that attracted him!)" His father mumbled beside him, but he didn't listen to them recognising that he was talking such nonsense because he was in shock.

"Retournez au manoir et ordonnez à notre mère d'appeler un médecin. Sans médicaments, il aura de la fièvre et ne passera pas la nuit. (Ride back to the manor and order our mother to call a doctor. Without medicine he will get a fever and won't survive the night)." He said to her coolly, Helaena nodded.

He looked around, feeling his heart pounding hard and then he spotted her. He saw her face between the reeds, her big, curious, bright eyes clad in long lashes, when she noticed that he had caught sight of her she furrowed her black eyebrows and sank back into the water.

He looked there thinking that she was just a girl who had decided to swim, that it was impossible for what they were saying to be true, but no one surfaced there again.

He shuddered when a villager said to him that he had brought his cart and horse, that he would follow him to the manor, and he agreed.

The boy was laid in one of the rooms meant for servants, when the doctor arrived from a nearby village after a few hours the boy already had a fever and convulsions. The doctor said he was in an agonal state and there was no point in treating him anymore.

His mother decided to give him medication anyway.

Helaena and her maid kept vigil with him all night. He went back to his room and locked himself in it, trying to sleep, but all he could think about were these bright eyes shining between the lake reeds in the moonlight.

Despite the doctor's assurances that the boy would not survive, he lasted the night, but with such a monstrous break he had to be taken to the hospital in town, where he was transported by cart along with his family at his mother's expense.

The next day, the people of the village gathered outside their manor house to give them gifts, homemade cakes and breads, eggs, vegetables, milk and cheese. Everything they had, everything of value in gratitude for their act of grace.

He thought with pain as he watched his mother and sister's conversation with these people through the window, that he had judged them as clueless and simple-minded, seeing them as a mere grey mass, when they were simply people like him, for some reason condemned by God to such a harsh, ungrateful fate.

These thoughts kept him awake, and even though he knew it was madness, he thought about going to the lake in the evening to see for himself if what he had seen was true or just a mere prediction.

He had to prove to the rational side of his mind that it was just a figment of his imagination that had occurred under the influence of extreme emotion.

Therefore, he left the manor during the warm summer night, dressed in just a white chemise, tucked into his breeches with braces. He walked through the fields, hearing the loud pounding of his heart, having the feeling that the space around him at night was incredibly unsettled and dangerous, that something was lurking and watching him in the shadows.

He had the feeling that he was losing his sanity.

And then he heard it - loud splashes and laughter.

He stopped between the trees, breathing nervously, and that's when he spotted them, the star-shining figures of young girls, water flowers woven into their loose hair, dressed in beautiful white, embroidered, translucent robes from under which one could clearly see their bodies, some of them completely naked, standing in water up to their waist, apparently just taking a bath.

They were talking animatedly to each other, comfortably spread out on the grass or dancing, eating fruits, some of them swimming or splashing the others with water, taking it as a form of teasing and fun.

He had the impression that he was looking at some mythological scene, that he was just watching nymphs in the bath, beautiful, wild and unpredictable.

His heart was pounding like mad, he could not take his eyes off them.

However, one of them spotted him in the distance and squealed loudly, the others immediately rose up, frightening him, reminding him of the boy's words about killing men who peeped at them.

But they fled instead, one by one sinking into the depths of the water, disappearing beneath its mirror, leaving him with only the restless sound of the water and the silence around him.

He walked on trembling legs closer to the shore on the rustling grass, breathing unevenly, feeling as if his heart would leap out of his chest.

He sat down on the sand, looking at the depths in front of him and the great reflection of the moon that was painted on it, thinking only that this was true, that all around him lived beings that could not be comprehended by the human mind.

He shuddered and jumped up in place, moving away, hearing rustling among the reeds, noticing the same pale face as before, her eyes shining with concern and curiosity, her hair wet, some of its strands stuck to her face, on her head a wreath of tiny fresh flowers she must have woven for herself that night.

"Chłopiec. (The little boy)." He heard her voice, trembling, uncertain, determined, frightened. "Przeżył? (Did he survive?)"

He thanked God that as a child he had applied himself to learning the language of his ancestors, that he had even felt proud to speak it until he discovered that everyone in the salons of the capital spoke only French.

"Tak. (Yes)." He heard his own low voice, and felt a shudder at the thought that he had forgotten how melodious and pleasant the language was, at once hard and soft, rustling like the leaves of the trees, reeds and grasses around them.

They looked at each other for a long moment in silence, her gaze softening slightly.

"Uratowałeś go. (You saved him)." She said after a moment, her voice tender and warm, incredibly pleasant to his ear. "Ty i dziewczyna z włosami jasnymi jak księżyc. Czy to Twoja żona? (You and the girl with hair as light as the moon. Is that your wife?)"

He licked his lower lip, looking at her with wide-open eyes, feeling his heart pounding like mad, his body all tensed up.

"Nie. To moja siostra. (No. She's my sister)." He replied in a trembling voice and she blinked, cocking her head as if she didn't understand the meaning of the word.

He drew in the air loudly when he heard the loud splash of water as she rose from her knees, walking slowly towards him among the tall grasses and lily pads, the level of the lake now only reaching her thighs.

He could see her robe, all soaked through, clinging to her beautiful naked body, her skin the colour of pearls, her nipples were darker, like gemstones placed on her soft, firm chest.

He had never seen a naked woman before in his life.

She emerged from the grasses onto the shore, standing before him without a shadow of shame or fear, as if she understood perfectly how beautiful her body was and that he could admire her was merely an act of her grace.

"Ktoś odebrał Ci coś, co do niego nie należało. (Someone took from you something that didn't belong to them)." She said quietly, as if in surprise, and he realised, horrified and embarrassed, that she was talking about his eye patch, his scar on his cheek and in the presence of her beauty he was overwhelmed by the magnitude of his ugliness.

He swallowed with difficulty, terrified and shocked as she moved slowly, lightly towards him, afraid to make any move, not knowing if she would then suddenly transform into an aggressive, terrifying beast.

He felt both discomfort and excitement at the same time when she sat down next to him and he could look at her shamelessly naked body from so close, her robe all wet, covering absolutely nothing. He shuddered and drew in the air loudly as she reached up with a slight movement to his eye patch and grabbed her aggressively by the wrist.

Her pupils narrowed dangerously in rage, her expression changed, she pulled away from him and took a few steps back as if she was about to scream and call out to her friends, but she hesitated, looking at him with wide eyes.

He raised his trembling hand to his eyepatch, breathing loudly, he could see that she was watching his every move alertly, that what he did now weighed on whether he would live or die.

He slid the material off his face, for the first time in front of a stranger, for the first time in front of a woman, feeling oddly exposed and weak even though she was the one who was naked.

He was afraid that he would see disgust, that she would run away screaming, but he saw that her gaze slowly became gentle and curious again, her expression calm once more, her forehead straight and clear.

It seemed to him that she was reactive and curious about everything like a small child.

He swallowed loudly as she moved across the sand on her knees towards him, not a trace of her earlier aggression and rage. She sat even closer to him than before, leaning over the scarred part of his face, over his artificial white eye.

She looked at him with some kind of disbelief and shock, her lips slightly parted, as if he were some kind of magical being, not her. To his surprise, however, the expression on her face did not show any terror, he could feel the drops of water from her hair and her robe dripping onto his trousers, his hands clenched into fists on the grass.

He had no idea what he was feeling, many emotions running through him at once.

Fear, anxiety, excitement, curiosity, delight.

He gasped, pale, as she raised her hand, this time glancing at his face, as if to see if he would once again try to touch her. He didn't move, though; he didn't want to make the same mistake.

He felt a shudder when her moist, warm, soft, delicate fingers touched his scar and ran over it in a gentle motion that seemed to him like the ruffling of a feather.

"Czy sprawiam Ci ból? (Am I causing you pain?)" She asked quietly, glancing at his healthy eye, and he only shook his head, enchanted, his throat compressed, unable to get the words out, his heart pounding like mad.

He fascinated her.

She didn't run away from him.

He wondered if he could ask her a question.

Would he enrage her again if he tried?

He feared she was about to leave once and for all and he would never see her again, regretting for the rest of his life that he had remained silent when she sat being so close.

"Uratowałaś go? Tego chłopca. (You saved him? That young boy.)" He muttered lowly, looking at her with wide eyes. She took her hand away immediately, frightened, looking at him anxiously, her lips tightening as if she wondered if she should speak to him.

She looked down at her thighs, running her fingers over the sand, all around them was the pleasant, quiet sound of water, the rustling of grass and the singing of crickets.

"Tak. Topił się. Taki młody. (Yes. He was drowning. So young)." She whispered, and he licked his lips dried with stress, feeling that this was his chance, that he had won her trust.

"Nie zabijacie dzieci ani kobiet. (You don't kill children or women)." He murmured, and she looked at him alertly, measuring him with a gaze so impenetrable that a shudder went through him.

"Nie. Tylko mężczyzni próbują wziąć to co nie ich. Jak gdyby byli naszymi mężami. (No. Only men try to take what is not theirs. As if they were our husbands)." She said coldly. He pressed his lips together and swallowed loudly, subconsciously understanding what she was talking about.

They were killing men who tried to take them by force.

"Ale Ty nie próbowałeś mnie dotknąć. I uratowałeś tego chłopca, mężczyzno z białym okiem. (But you don't try to touch me. And you saved that boy, man with the white eye)." She said softly, looking at him curiously, leaning on one hand, her body curving like a spiral, slender and beautiful, shining in the moonlight.

He tried to look at her face but did so with difficulty, feeling a strong throbbing in his breeches. He was afraid she would see it, so he lifted his knees higher to shield himself.

She shuddered when he made the move, alert, but when she saw that he had merely changed position she relaxed again, settling down next to him in a half-lying position.

"Dlaczego mężczyźni to robią? Co takiego robią swoim żonom, że aż tak bardzo tego pragną? (Why do men do this? What do they do to their wives that makes them want it so much?)" She asked curiously, looking at him with a lightness that surprised him; he had the impression that her mood was as changeable as the weather.

He swallowed loudly, wondering how he should explain it to her, what to say to her to please her.

"Gdy mężczyzna bierze kobietę za żonę, stają się jednym w obliczu Boga i całego świata. Łączą się podczas nocy poślubnej swoimi ciałami. (When a man takes a woman as his wife, they become one in the face of God and the whole world. They unite during their wedding night with their bodies)." He said in a trembling voice, and she blinked, turning her head, her gaze bright and intrigued, listening to him intently.

"Ciałami? Dlatego próbują nas dotknąć? (With their bodies? Is that why they try to touch us?)" She asked as if she had just solved a riddle, and he nodded, not knowing what more he could say, embarrassed.

"Dlaczego są tak agresywni? Czy to bolesne? Krzywdzicie swoje żony? (Why are they so aggressive? Is it painful? Are you hurting your wives?)" She asked, wrinkling her eyebrows, clearly trying to compare the behaviour of the men she'd experienced with what he'd said and form a meaningful picture in her head.

He swallowed loudly, feeling his heart pounding hard as he played with the fingers of his hands.

"Nie. Dobry mąż nie krzywdzi swojej żony, tylko daje jej przyjemność. (No. A good husband doesn't hurt his wife, he just gives her pleasure)." He said uncertainly, her eyes shining, she moved closer to him, so close that he could smell her skin, the scent of water and flowers, her face flushed and soft, on her eyelashes the drops sparkled like small diamonds.

"A Ty? Jesteś dobrym mężem? (And you? Are you a good husband?)" She asked warmly, as if she recognised that she liked him, that she would not hurt him. He looked at her with slightly parted lips.

"Ja...ja nie mam jeszcze żony. (I…I don't have a wife yet)." He mumbled, breathing unevenly, feeling that he was already completely hard, she was so incredibly beautiful that he couldn't believe she was actually sitting in front of him.

He thought despairingly, although he had always laughed at men who ran after women, that he must have just fallen in love.

She blinked at his words, looking intently at his face, her gaze roaming over his nose, his lips, his cheeks, feeling that he was hot even though the night was pleasantly cool.

"Dlaczego? (Why?)" She asked and smiled. He felt a tightness in his throat, he was having increasing trouble putting his thoughts together into meaningful sentences.

"Nie wiem. (I don't know.)" He muttered, himself having no idea why, at the age he was, he still refused his mother when she said he had found a suitable candidate.

He didn't want to take as his wife a girl who would only be with him out of an unpleasant obligation, unable to look at his face every day.

"Skąd mężczyzna i kobieta wiedzą, że chcą zostać jednym? (How do a man and a woman know that they want to become one?)" She asked curiously, and he gave her a quick, embarrassed look.

He was silent for a long moment, unable to say anything.

"Gdy kobieta pragnie mężczyzny, staje się mokra między udami. Gdy mężczyzna pragnie kobiety, staje się tam twardy. (When a woman desires a man, she becomes wet between her thighs. When a man desires a woman, he becomes hard there)." He said in a trembling voice, watching her reactions, but she seemed even more intrigued by his words and drew in air loudly, her cheeks blushing a little more.

"Kiedy jest tak mokra jak ja? (When she's as wet as I am?)" She asked innocently surprising him completely, taking his hand in hers and slipping it between her warm thighs, pressing it against her womanhood, sticky and moist with her juices.

He looked up at her in disbelief, breathing rapidly, terrified and aroused, he felt like his length was about to explode with desire.

"Tak. (Yes)." He whispered, she parted her lips slightly as he ran his fingers over her soft folds, he felt a point under her skin from which her whole body shuddered, looking at him with fear and warmth at the same time.

She began to breathe faster and relaxed her grip on his wrist as he began to massage her in slow, circular motions, just as he had read in books in which he had discovered with embarrassment how men satisfy women.

He felt her involuntarily spread her thighs in front of him, allowing him to sink his fingers into her hot flesh, her almost naked breasts rising and falling in quickened, rippling breaths, her beautiful face all red, her lips puffy and glistening.

"− oh −" She mumbled simultaneously pulling away and pressing herself against his hand, herself unsure of what she felt, his fingers growing stickier and stickier with her moisture, his movements accompanied by a loud, wet click.

He saw her hand rise uncertainly to his knee and slide down his thigh, making a powerful shudder run through him. Her fingers ran over the bulge beneath his breeches, and he groaned low, surprised.

"Jesteś twardy. (You're hard)." She hummed with some kind of warmth, and he nodded, licking his lips, unable to focus on anything other than the touch of her soft hands between his thighs.

"Mocniej. (Harder)." He gasped, and she obeyed him, pressing her fingers against his manhood and hiding under the material of his trousers, trailing them up and down in a slow motion.

"Cały pulsujesz. (It's throbbing all over)." She whispered, and he closed his eyes, unsure if he had ever been so aroused before in his life, so thirsty for anyone's touch, breathing loudly along with her, their hips moving against each other in the direction of the movements of their hands.

"Czy to oznacza, że powinieneś wziąć mnie za swoją żonę? (Does this mean you should take me as your wife?)" She asked quietly, and he simply nodded.

"Tak. (Yes)."

She moaned sweetly, innocently, surprised, as his finger made its way inside her, teasing her, her body began to push against him, wanting to feel him deeper, her nipples all hard and stiff seeping through the transparent material of her robe.

"Weź mnie. (Take me)." She whispered and he thrust against her, drinking himself into her sweet, wet lips, she moaned loudly into his mouth, clamping her hands in his hair, spreading her thighs in front of him, watching carefully as he pulled his braces off his shoulders and quickly unbuttoned his breeches.

"To może odrobinę zaboleć. Nie obawiaj się, jeśli zechcesz, przestanę. Nie skrzywdzę Cię. (This might hurt a bit. Don't be frightened, if you want me to, I'll stop. I won't hurt you)." He mumbled out, breathing loudly, feeling how much they were both trembling, and she nodded, looking at him with a trusting expression that took him completely by surprise.

He slid into her with difficulty, her insides clenching against him, trying to resist him, however to no avail, the desperate thrusts of his hips and her slippery wetness allowed him to slip all the way into her.

She parted her lips wide and sighed helplessly, wrinkling her eyebrows as if in worry, certain she had never felt anything like this before in her life, this kind of fullness.

With an involuntary, subconscious movements, he began to move inside her, with sure thrusts of his hips filling her, each time he rubbed her right at her entrance a loud, surprised cry came from her lips.

"− czy będę teraz twoją żoną? (will I be your wife now?) −" She exhaled, stroking his scarred cheek with her soft fingers, her breasts bouncing slightly at each of his thrusts, his length pulsed hard inside her at her question.

"− tak (yes) − od teraz będziesz tylko moja (you'll only be mine from now on) −" He muttered and she blushed, looking up at him with a warmth from which he sped up, her insides so wonderfully tight and hot that he lost control completely, their bodies bumping against each other with a loud splat.

"− a ty? (and you?) − będziesz tylko mój? (will you be only mine?) −" She asked softly and he whispered that he will, before he pressed himself into her lips, his tongue forced its way deep into her throat, muffling her moans as his fingers tightened on her thighs, his length piercing her with all the strength he had in his hips.

"− o kurwa (oh fuck) −" He panted into her mouth, knowing, after all, that he was a devoted believer and servant of the church, that he prayed every Sunday, however, no prayer now seemed as salutary to him as the thought that he was about to come deep inside her, that he was about to cum in that tight, wet cunt.

They fucked like a couple in a brothel, like villagers on straw in a barn, wild and hot, their hands clenched on each other's bodies in a final decision that they would not let go until they had experienced fulfilment.

He saw her eyes close as she threw her head back with her mouth wide open and moaned helplessly, almost crying as waves of hot pleasure shook her body, her walls began to clench against him, making him start to moan low, giving in completely, letting his hot seed fill her.

He collapsed on top of her, crushing her with the weight of his body, trembling all over, her small hands embracing his waist, both of them unable to calm down, breathing loudly, writhing beneath each other, his hips moving inside her for a moment longer.

"− zapomnisz o mnie (you'll forget me) − już nigdy nie wrócisz (you'll never come back) −" She whispered in a quivering voice, and he pressed his face against her wet cheek, running the tip of his nose over her skin hot with exertion.

"− mylisz się (you're wrong) − zabiorę Cię z sobą (I'll take you with me) − miejsce żony jest z jej mężem (a wife's place is with her husband) −"

____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

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