#watches for girls girls watches ladies watches on sale ladies watch ladies watches girls watch women watchs womens watches on sale womens wa

[florida3exclamationpoints]

SCREAMING

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

luxury & lingerie. a retail au

“𝐀𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲’𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐋𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭. 𝐈’𝐦 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤.”

ᰔ pairing. retail au - rolex salesman gojo x victoria's secret associate reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo is the rolex watch shop's pretty boy & you're the victoria's secret lingerie store's new hire that works across from him. let's just say he's determined to get inside your pants.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, porn with plot (seriously that's all it is), smut, casual sex, possibly comedic, lots of terrible flirting, tiny bit of fluff if you squint, gojo's got a daddy kink that you really have no interest in entertaining, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, creampie, blowjobs, oral sex, praise kink, some degradation, sort of cum play, banter, suguru & choso are in it too (the hot-boy sales trio)

ᰔ word count. 6.5k

a/n. hellooo this started with this concept idea i had of hot retail worker gojo who just wants to flirt with you instead of actually do his job lmfao. this was seriously just a stream of my consciousness. hope you enjoy! and thanks to everyone that wanted to be on taglist for this. creds to @quinnyundertow for the sephora lipstick idea.

The sound of Suguru’s voice was the last thing going through Gojo’s mind right now.

“Anyways, I put the car in reverse, she’s on aux. I’m thinking, she’s gotta have good taste, right? She’s the one that suggested the Maneskin concert in the first place. But you know what she starts playing? Country music. Fucking country music. And I’m not necessarily opposed to a good— dude, are you even listening?”

Choso leans over the polished display case of the mens’ latest Rolex models, staring at the two idiots in front of him. “No, he’s not. He’s been ogling the tits on that mannequin over there for the past five minutes.”

Gojo finally blinks out of his trance, irritated. “I’m not staring at the mannequin, I’m staring at—”

You. New hire. Over at the Victoria’s Secret that was across from his turf at the mall. You were standing on your tiptoes on a mini ladder, wobbling a little, reaching up for a mannequin at the display window to switch out the corny yellow sleeping mask on its face for one that was a more sleek, satin blue. 

The fabric of your uniform slid up slightly, skin of your midriff exposed, and he has to suck a breath in through his teeth.

“I called dibs on that a week ago,” Suguru says from where he stood, lazily leaning on the counter.

“No fucking way. I’ve got dibs.”

“Dibs? Really? I work with a bunch of prepubescents,” Choso groans, tipping his head back to stare up at fluorescent mall lighting.

Suguru’s voice sounds like he’s lax at the jaw. “Is anyone gonna tell her that’s the ladder they use to prop the door open, and not the one to flash Satoru’s horny ass while changing out a mannequin?” 

“I’ll be the one to tell her,” Gojo says.

At the display window, you slowly peel the panties off of the mannequin without a thought in the world to use the store’s modesty curtain, and Gojo, Suguru & Choso are all staring. And probably every other man within the store’s radius.

“Holy fuck,” Gojo says, strained.

“Holy fuck, indeed,” Suguru marvels.

“She’s clueless,” Choso sighs.

“You can have the mannequin, I get the girl,” Suguru offers, something just to get under Gojo’s skin.

“Shut up. I’m going over there.” He stands up onto his feet from the leather client chair he had been sprawled across up until this point of his shift.

“Can’t wait for you to royally fuck this up,” Choso muses with a smirk, arms crossing at his chest.

Gojo grumbles something under his breath when he hears Suguru’s coo of agreement, and then he’s making his way across to the Victoria’s Secret entrance. He unbuttons the top two buttons of his black dress shirt, as if he expects the sight of the skin at his collarbone to have you seduced like a victorian man seeing a lady’s ankle for the first time.

He makes it through the welcoming glass doors that lead into the sultry & dark ambience that you would expect of a lingerie store, and he rounds to the right, stopping a few feet away from you.

You were combing through a rack now, lips pursed in concentration until he clears his throat.

Glancing over, your shoulders tense and you pull your retail headset earpiece down, leaving it hanging by the wire that was clipped to the neckline of your shirt. His eyes flicker to the nametag pinned above the curve of your breast. You look at him with wide eyes. “Oh, hi sir. How can I help you?”

“Oh, no, I’m not a customer,” Gojo quickly corrects you, although he liked the sound of sir from your lips, “I work over there.” He points with a jerk of his chin towards the obnoxiously gaudy exterior of the Rolex watch store facing the two of you.

You blink at him. “Ah, I see.”

“You new here?” Gojo asks, taking a step forward and resting his elbow up on the metal bar of the rack just to get more into your space. “Haven’t seen you around.”

The corner of your lip turns up slightly at his words. “Why? Do you keep a roster?”

“I—no, not really,” he responds, already a little speechless, “wait, a roster of what?” He’d say he does if it’s a roster of pretty girls he’s been fantasizing about tit-fucking all day long, with you being at the top—no, the only one—on that list.

You shrug a little. It’s kind of meek and cute. “Of new hires?”

He breathes in deep. “Yes. Yes, I do. I just like to make sure the newbies feel welcome around here. Y’know, taken care of.” 

You smile, turn to face him and relax your posture. “Oh. That’s sweet. Yeah, I feel pretty welcome here, thanks.”

“That’s good.”

“I mean, everyone’s been really nice to me so far.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, and I really like the break room on this floor. The last place I worked at didn’t have a toaster oven.”

“No way.”

“I wish the clock-in machine was easier to use though…”

“For sure.”

You glance at him suspiciously in the middle of your rant. “Why are you staring at me?”

“Cause you’re real pretty, angel.”

Your brow raises, the keys hooked to the loop of your jeans jingling as you place a curled hand to your hip. “Angel? Really? Cause of— cause of Victoria’s Secret angels?”

Gojo’s stiff, his elbow still resting on the cool metal pole, and he glances up at the ceiling before looking back down at you. “Uhh…sure? Yes.”

“That’s not very original.”

“Man, you’re really making me work hard for this. Unfortunately, that only makes me want you more.” He leans down closer to you, to catch the scent on your skin, and he can’t tell if you’re amused or annoyed from the way your cheeks round as you narrow your eyes at him.

“This is you working hard for it? You haven’t even told me your name yet, watch boy.”

He sees your fingers wrap around the cold metal bar of the rack, and he tries hard not to picture them wrapped around something else, but to no avail. You jut your hip out to bump him, pushing him out of your way, before you start rolling the rack down the store.

He trails behind you. “My name. It’s Satoru. But to you, I can be dadd-”

You stop in your tracks, turning around to face him with a scowl, but he was too distracted by the shape of your backside to be reflexive enough to stop himself in time, and he ends up crashing right into you. The momentum has you falling back with a gasp, tripping over the foot of the rack, and his arm flies around your waist to keep you upright, and then pressed up against him too just for good measure.

His face is just inches away from yours. “Shit. Sorry.”

Your arms are squished between his chest and yours, pinky tickling the skin at his collarbone, and the contact has him reeling. “I-It’s fine,” you say, lashes fluttering, “now let go of me, before I file a harassment complaint.”

He instantly retreats, releasing you, watching you stumble a bit before gaining your balance again. “God, no, please,” he sighs, “I really need this job.”

“You don’t act like it,” you mumble. You fix your hair in front of him and tuck the fabric of your shirt that came loose back into your jeans. He doesn’t have to touch your cheeks to know they feel hot, he can tell from the purse of your lips and the way you won’t make eye contact with him. 

The voices of a couple women are heard from down the aisle, as well as the plastic clinking of hangers on racks as they peruse the sheer bralettes dangling in color-coded fashion. Gojo sees you struggling to pull the rack you were working with away to the side to let them through, and he comes up behind you, gripping the metal bar to do it for you. He catches the fragrance of your hair at the crown of your head, and he inhales slowly.

The women walk by, throwing a few curious glances at the two of you, and Gojo doesn’t move from where he’s holding onto the rack and has his arm pressed against yours, his only lifeline to find some reason to touch you right now.

You start pushing the rack forward again, and he continues to follow you, keeping a more respectful following distance this time. He’s distracted by the pair of crotchless panties hung over your shoulder. He picks them up by the string. “Who the fuck actually wears these?” he asks, dangling them in front of his face and turning them around in the air to inspect it.

Your eyes are set forward for your destination. “Middle-aged women that are desperate to seduce their husbands before those men ride the high of buying a $100k watch by fucking a twenty-something-year-old instead.” You snatch the pair from his hand. “I’m rooting for those women. The men at your Rolex store? Not so much.” 

He’s on your heel until you round to a smaller section of the store, wheeling the rack over to a corner near the collection of lace panties sprinkled across cubbies under dim purple lighting. He glances over his shoulder and takes note that this area’s tucked away from the eyesights of the cash registers and storefront. 

He hears you sigh, then say “Why are you following me?”

He meanders closer to you with his hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks. “Because…y’know, like I said, I wanna make the new hire feel settled in.”

“I literally feel so very unsettled by you right now,” you say to him with a wry expression as you start sorting through lace underwear, referencing some chart in your hand to get it right.

He walks up to you and peers over your shoulder at the illustration, and notices the way you stiffen a bit but also lean back into him. “Huh…so the cheeky panties go in the left top & bottom cubes. And they’re the ones with medium coverage and…” he squints his eyes at the chart, dim lighting doing him no favors, “and they have an alarming fit.”

You scoff through your nose. “It says alluring fit. Can you read?” 

“I— shut up. Yes I can read.”

You twirl around to face him, a hint of an amused smile to your lips. His eyes widen a bit at the sight of it, until he registers it’s a cheeky one, like those panties.

“Watch boy is illiterate. Must be why you still work in retail.”

“Yes, keep being mean to me, new hire. It’s hot,” he groans, hands still in his pockets as he leans towards you. You don’t shy away, just keep on looking up at him in this little corner he has you in, a twinkle in your pupils now that he wasn’t seeing earlier. 

He’s surprised when your finger hooks the fabric in between two of the buttons on his shirt. You play with the material, pinching it, but never tug on it. “What’s a grown ass man like yourself doing still working for commission at a mall?” 

“Okay, ouch, a little too mean,” he backtracks, watching your tongue briefly swipe across your lip, “let’s be a bit nicer.”

Now you’re tugging on the fabric, hooked finger pulling him closer to you until his hands have to fly out of his pockets and his palms press against the wall, caging you into it. “Illiterate and can’t take a dig. Pick a struggle,” you say to him with a sweet look up.

He’s getting the sense that you’re into him too. He grabs hold of your waist, thumbs rubbing your torso over the fabric of your uniform just to get a feel. “Well,” he starts, bringing your hips forward to his, pressing the erection he was building against you, “this illiterate retail worker could fuck you real good if you’d just give him the chance.”

A small gasp leaves your lips, eyes widening and you tuck your bottom lip under your teeth. Fuck, he wants to kiss you. Wants to be the one biting your lip right now. Your hand grabs his forearm, over the veins strained from his grip on you, your nails sinking into the skin left exposed by his rolled up sleeve. “It’s…It’s real well, watch boy. You’d fuck me real well.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’ll fuck you real well,” he tells you, as his head tips towards your cheek, lips brushing against it. It was just a tease, so he pulls away but still looks down at you in closeness. There’s voices around the corner, but he doesn’t really care.

“You’re awfully forward,” you breathe out, and he almost goes insane at the soft whimper that leaves your lips when he can’t help but jerk his hips forward a bit. 

“Y’know what? Fuck it,” he grumbles, pulling the rack across behind him so he’s created a covered haven for the two of you against this wall, and then he kisses you.

There’s a yelp that he muffles from you as his lips move against yours, slow, because you're new to him and he wants to savor it. His hand finds the small of your back, spreads across it, pushing you to arch towards him, and his teeth catch your bottom lip when he feels your breasts press against him. You’re pliant, opening your mouth for him, and he takes up the offer to taste you. Soft & warm pressed up against him, a subtle sweetness on your tongue, and he only pulls away because you squeeze his shoulder hard.

You’re breathing fast, cheeks shy, a little cutely cross-eyed from his proximity when you look up at him. “I-…okay, I’m a little mad that you’re a good kisser.”

He hums, tip of his nose brushing against yours slightly and you grip the collar of his shirt to keep him close. “I’ll kiss you nice in a lot of other places too.”

It doesn’t really take much convincing after that.

“Oh…oh my god—,” you mewl, back against the mirror of one of this fine lingerie establishment’s fitting room stalls, legs wrapped around his waist as he fucks you raw with the aim to please.

“Shit, knew you’d be tight,” he groans, pressing a kiss to your jaw when you tip your head back in pleasure, throat loose with a moan, “pretty little new hire. Just had to break you in.”

“S-Satoru,” you moan through a breath, the sound of his name on your tongue having his cock twitch inside your walls, mixed with the pain of the grip you had on the hair at the back of his head. 

He has your shirt bunched up along with your bra, tits exposed for him. His head dips to pull a nipple through his teeth as he feeds you with a few slow, deep thrusts, and his eye catches the earpiece of your headset, still clipped to your shirt, bouncing around with every one of his movements inside you. “Really hope that thing’s off,” he mumbles against your skin, “but if it excites you to have it on, I—fuck, I wouldn’t really mind either way.”

Your hand flies to his bicep when he runs his thumb over your clit, legs wrapping around him even tighter. “More. Need more,” you say, head in a haze, and he really could’ve cum inside you right then and there but he holds out to enjoy some more time buried in the warm pleasure of your cunt.

“If you want something from me,” he grunts between thrusts, “you’re gonna have to beg me for it, love.”

“Fuck me harder,” you cry, eyes shut closed, and he almost feels sorry for you.

“That’s a demand,” he informs, pinching the flesh of your ass and enjoying the way you clench around him from the action, “I told you to beg.”

“Please, oh my god, please—,” you start, moving your hips against his now, and he hears the lewd sound of your flesh slapping more fervently against the mirror. “Please fuck me harder.”

“Good girl. Pretty girl,” he praises you, thumb finding your clit again as a reward, “see what you get for being so nice to me now.”

He bucks his hips harder, your arms wrapping around his neck in desperation, chin resting at the top of his head as his lips fall to your neck, and he kisses, nibbles, sucks, anything to get that sweet taste in his mouth while he draws stars over your sensitive bud, eliciting broken whimpers from you over and over again. 

“Gonna let me cum inside?” he asks, feeling his balls jump at just the thought of filling you up, his thighs feeling hot from the anticipation of you giving him the permission. “All that shit talk earlier about me being a dumb mall worker, but you’d still let me finish in you, right?” His hips stutter slightly, vision starting to blur, and he feels your walls flutter tightly too, “cause I bet it turns you on that you’re letting this dumb retail man fuck you senseless in a flimsy little fitting room right now, regardless.”

“Satoru, please,” you’re begging, the crack in your voice hoarse like you’re about to cry from the pleasure.

“Answer me,” he demands, retreating the thumb that was toying with your clit. He pulls one of your arms from where it was wrapped around his neck to pin your wrist to the mirror. “You want me to cum inside you or not?” 

Your hips press so harshly against his that he hardly has any leeway to thrust anymore, and it makes him hiss in protest, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass to let up. “I want—mhh, I want you to cum inside me, please, please,” you plead, desperate, grinding your clit against the skin above his cock, above the place he was buried to the hilt inside of you.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, the sweet words processing in his head, and he loses all sense of control, motions eager and desperate, chasing after his high and his thumb is barely considerate enough to chase after yours too as it rubs relentlessly over your puffed up clit. You shiver against him, walls clenching around his cock impossibly tight, legs wrapping around his waist possibly even tighter, and he feels every nerve as you come undone around him. The gripping sensation your orgasm had on him has him faltering with harsh thrusts forward, and he holds your hips flush to his as the first spurt of his cum spills into you, followed by more with repetitive juts of his hips until he’s emptied himself entirely into you, and you’re just pumped full of him.

You swat at his chest, squirming as he leaks the last drop from the tip of his dick, and he can tell you’re overstimulated.

“Sorry,” he says through a short exhale, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, and he slowly pulls out of you, cock falling limp over his thigh, and he holds you until you find footing on the ground, albeit a bit wobbly. 

“Oh no,” you mewl, clenching your thighs together when you feel his cum starting to drip out, and he quickly bends down to hook your panties up back into place. You give him a pointed look. 

“What? The easiest clean-up is not letting it out,” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to him so he gets to feel the plushness of your bare breasts against him and he kisses the top of your head. “You’re real good, new hire. Or whatever the fucking proper way to say it is.”

He can tell you’re rolling your eyes even though your face is buried in his chest.

“You’re a dumbass,” you say, sounding muffled.

—

Gojo spends about 90% of his shifts meandering across the shimmering tile floors of the mall to the Victoria’s Secret, and only spends about 10% of them actually being a watch salesman. His boss was starting to get real fuckin’ fed up with him, threatening to fire him yesterday for the two-hour lunch break he took because he was eating you out in a storage closet, but he really couldn’t be bothered to care. He was an addict, and he needed to get his fix. Not before annoying the shit out of you, though.

“Alright, daddy’s home. Let’s get to it. I’m on my lunch break,” he says, walking right up to you in the middle of your shift while you’re folding slip dresses onto a display table, his hand reaching for your waist but you retreat from him.

“For that, get the fuck away from me.”

He sighs. “I’ve been wanting to touch you all day long. Do you purposefully walk your gorgeous self across the front of the store that many times just to tease the hell out of me? I’m suffering.”

“I walk across the storefront because I’m doing my job,” you mumble to him.

“No, I swear, you do it to—”

“Sweets,” one of your coworkers calls out to you from the other end of the store, the one with a pink buzzcut that acts kinda scary. “Is that man bothering you?” she asks through a smack of her gum, “want me to call security?”

“Yes.”

“What—”

After a couple of minutes of vindicating himself to mall security that he is not a threat to public safety, which you watch in amusement with no help at all, he’s shortly back at your side in a different section of the store to annoy you.

“When are you gonna wear one of these for me?” he asks, holding up a pair of jaguar-print panties. 

“Never,” you say to him, scanning the tags on the underwear in a box of new arrivals, “those are ugly.”

“Okay, how about these,” he says, pulling a pair out of the box. “They’re see-through. I like that.”

“No,” you say, snatching it out of his hand.

“Oh c’mon,” he groans, doing a quick glance over his shoulder to check if the coast is clear before taking a step forward, pulling you to him by a finger hooked through the belt hoop of your jeans. “I’ll buy them for you. Ring me up.”

You look up at him, hand placed on his chest but you weren’t pushing him away just yet. “Really? You’re gonna buy me panties from the store I literally work at? At least have the decency to shoplift them for me.”

He has a smile on his face when he leans down closer to you, both hands now playing with the loops of your jeans. “Ohhh you’re into criminals. Will you tackle me to the ground if I do?”

“Yes, to arrest you. Not to fuck you.”

“Why not both?”

“Satoru,” you chastise him when you hear footsteps around the corner, and now you’re pushing him away and clearing your throat before busying yourself with the box again as a few customers walk by. Gojo shoves his hands in his pockets, and then his eyes widen a bit when his knuckles hit something.

“Oh yeah,” he says, “I got you this.” He pulls out a small, shimmering black tube and holds it out to you with an up facing palm. 

You lean forward to glance at it. “Is that…lipstick?”

“Yeah,” he says, “the lady outside Sephora was giving out samples.”

You cross your arms at your chest. “The lady outside Sephora was giving out free samples of lipstick to you?”

“Can you just take it already? My arm’s starting to hurt.”

You swipe it from him and inspect it. Popping the cap open, you twist the cheap plastic adjuster so that the tip of the wax peaks out. It was a deep shade of red. “Did she try to talk to you?”

“Uhh, yeah. Something about how this new formula is smudge-proof or something. Was hoping we could test that out.”

You roll your eyes. “She probably wanted to test that out. With you.”

“What, are you jealous?” 

“Not really, no,” you say and hand the lipstick back to him. He looks at you puzzled. “Lipstick isn’t really for me, sorry.” 

“I literally saw you wear some the other day. That’s what gave me the idea,” he says, “of turning my dick into the shade of your lipstick.”

“Could you be any louder?” you hiss at him, glancing at a coworker who could’ve potentially been in earshot.

He shrugs and pinches the tube of lipstick between two of his fingers, holding it up between the two of you. “You sure you don’t wanna?”

Turns out you were not too opposed to the idea, but he had to earn it by making you cum a couple times in the janitor’s closet at the end of the floor. He likes having to earn the sight of you on your knees, it turned him on way more than he had expected.

“My jaw is so fucking sore,” he complains, opening and closing his mouth a few times to stretch it out, then runs a hand across his jawline. “You were a lot less sensitive today. Took way longer.”

“Maybe you’re just not as good as you think you are,” you say, pulling the buckle of his belt loose, sitting back down onto your heels to get more comfortable while you undress him.

“Bullshit. Should’ve used that insult maybe the first or second time I gave you head. It’s too late now, after the filthy things you’ve said to me in your desperation to cum.”

He watches you flutter your lashes a few times, fingers stopping their movements, and you shift a little from where you were seated on the ground. You were aroused, but still committed to the attitude. “I don’t have to do this for you, you know.”

He shudders a little. “Wait, you seriously don’t want to? You don’t have to.”

You sigh. “You were supposed to demand me to do it anyways. Would’ve been hot.” You pull his belt loose and your thumb and index finger pinch the button open with ease. “You don’t wanna fuck me, though?”

“Of course I want to fuck you, I will always want to fuck you. But the last time we got rowdy in here, I almost killed you when I knocked the shelf over.” A chill runs down his spine. “Not taking any more chances.”

You giggle a little at the memory while zipping down the front, then your fingers dig into the fabric of both his slacks and his boxers, pulling them down until he’s sprung free, fully thick and hard, courtesy of the cute sounds you were making earlier while his tongue was playing with your clit.

“Are you not gonna put the lipstick on?” he asks.

“No.” You grab a hold of him mid-way, giving an experimental tug, and raise from your seated position onto your knees. 

“But—”

“I told you, lipstick isn’t my style,” you say, eyes flickering up to him when you kiss the tip. He sucks a breath in.

“Damn, okay. I was genuinely curious if it was smudge proof. The lady was really hyping it up,” he says and he sees your shoulders drop.

“Enough of the Sephora lady,” you mumble, pressing your lips against his tip again, but as less of a kiss.

There’s a sulk in your posture from where you look up at him on your knees. His heart does this weird thing where it aches a little, and he wants to get rid of the pout on your face with a few sweet words, but he settles for pushing the tip of his cock past your lips instead. Works all the same in the end. “Good girl,” he groans when you take him all the way to the back of your throat, and your fingernails dig into the skin of his thigh as you let out a muffled moan.

“Fuck…” He pulls his hips back slightly, allowing you to adjust, but when you swallow and his tip feels the roll of those muscles, he’s pushing into your mouth again. “C-Can you take more?”

You try your best to give him a nod and you bob your head once, tongue swiping over the vein that was throbbing the proof of his need for you right now. 

“I’ll finish fast, baby,” he tells you, voice husky, fingers combing through your hair gently, “just take it how I want it, and I promise I’ll be quick, okay?”

You nod again, thumb rubbing the skin near his groin in reassurance. You squirm a little and press your thighs together when he grips your hair tighter now, encouraging your head to bob up and down on him, and you do as he wants. Your cheeks hollow out, sucking on him, and he swears he’s already close to cumming.

“Yeah…fuck, yeah,” he grunts under his breath, “good. Just—just like that. You’re so good. Pretty girl,” he juts his hips forward to see if you can take it, and you do, “on her knees for me.”

Your throat vibrates with a moan, and he sees you squirm even more. You take him all the way in, to a place deeper than the back of your throat, so well without a gag but there’s a prickle of tears in your eyes, and he rubs your cheek softly while he feels the sweat collect at his temple. “Oh fuck, I’m— shit, baby. I’m close.”

You drag your lips across his length, retreating with a thorough hollow to your cheeks, and release him with a pop and your tongue stuck out connecting a string of your spit to his tip. Your hand immediately starts to rub him up and down as you look up, and the soft panting leaving your lips and fanning across his cock has him swallowing hard. “S-Sorry, needed a break.”

“That’s okay,” he says, swiping at some of the saliva pooled at the corner of your lip. “Take your time.”

You kiss his tip in acknowledgment, then take him in again, this time both hands working at the base as you bob up and down, more free with your moans and the sensation of them reverberating in the canal of your throat makes him grip your hair with both hands, desperate.

“Yes—fuck, yes,” he grunts, head tipping back and hitting the door. “Real close. Your mouth feels so good, you’re driving me insane.”

You suck on him, hard, taking him in to his favorite place that’s at the back of your throat, and when your hand reaches out to play with his balls, paired with the sensation of fast exhales through your nose onto the skin of his groin, his eyes close shut and strained and he’s jerking his hips forward to spill his cum down your throat. “Fuuuuck. Oh my god.” He exhales, watching you swallow over and over again as he pumps into your mouth, then he slowly pulls out when he feels that he’s done.

You sit back down on your heels, hands now neatly folded on your lap, looking up at him and his thumb prods at your bottom lip for you to open your mouth. You do as he wants, tongue hanging out in the process, and he sighs in satisfaction when he sees you’ve swallowed it all. “Beautiful, baby. Come here.”

With a hand wrapped around your arm, he gets you up on your feet and kisses you. You hold onto the fabric of his shirt for purchase, and he pulls away to rest his forehead against yours. “Doing okay?”

“Mhm,” you nod, tightening your grip on his shirt, “I liked it. Liked it when you said I was good.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “More than good, angel. You’re perfect.”

—

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. You look like you could use a break,” Gojo says to you in Victoria’s Secret on a random Saturday morning. He usually always works on Saturday, but he’s never seen you here on a Saturday before. Apparently you were picking up extra shifts since you were going on vacation next week, something about a wedding in Spain. But you’d worked six consecutive shifts in a row, and the exhaustion was starting to show.

“I don’t know…your store scares me,” you respond back to him. You were behind the register, and he was pretending to buy forty-two pairs of panties just to talk to you.

“It’s not scary. I just want to show you around,” he says, standing up straight from where he had been leaning over the counter.

You eventually give in, toying with your name badge as you make your way around the counter to him, eyeing the smile on his face before he leads you through the aisles and eventually across the mall to the Rolex watch store.

It wasn’t horribly busy for a weekend, but there were still a few clients around. Choso was helping out a regular, a man who has bought four $200k watches within the past two months, and Choso’s been biting his nails worried he’s going to have to play witness in a tax evasion court case should that client eventually get caught by the IRS for fraud one of these days.

Suguru comes around the corner the second he sees you walk through the polished glass doors, and Gojo’s already annoyed.

“Hey, it’s the new hire,” he greets you, stretching his hand out and you accept it in a shake. “I’m Suguru.”

“Not really new here anymore,” you say to him after introducing yourself, “been here for a couple months now.”

“Oh really? Time flies. Thanks for all the shows, by the way,” he jerks his head off to the Victoria’s Secret store, “I’ve enjoyed watching the 101 ways you can remove a bra on a mannequin. Might have to incorporate some of them into my personal life.”

Gojo scoffs. “Yeah right, like a woman would let you within a hundred feet of her bra.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow with a sleazy smirk on his face, before leaning closer to you. “Should we prove him wrong about that, darling?”

Gojo hates the way he sees you blink your lashes at him and blush, so he’s grabbing your hand and walking you across the store, away from Suguru. He circles you around to the back near one of the display counters. Ladies’ new Datejust models, pretty classy and feminine. He walks to behind the counter, with you staying on the other side, like you were a genuine sale.

“See anything you like?” he asks, resting his elbow on the glass and peering down through it.

You blink at him. “Uh…of Rolex watches?”

“Yeah.”

“Mm…” you press your index finger to your chin and glance at a few. “I like that one.” You point with that same finger and he follows the line with his eyes.

“Hm,” he says, using his key to unlock the case, then slides the opening to the side to gently pull the watch out. “Oystersteel and yellow gold, 18 karat. Wanna try it on?”

“Sure.”

He releases the safety clasp, pulling apart the band, and slides it through your hand down to your wrist, then fastens the clasp until he hears a click. You immediately raise your wrist up into the air, twisting it to assess, and there’s a sparkle in your eyes.

“How much is it?” you ask.

“Thirty.”

“Thirty-what?”

“Thirty-thousand.”

Your jaw drops. “Oh my god. Get this thing off of me.”

He laughs and his hands find the clasp at your wrist, unfastening it and you’re trembling a bit as you shake it off before he catches it in his palm. “Not my fault you literally chose one of the most expensive watches we have in this section.”

“This is insane. How do people afford any of these?” you ask, feet wandering and now you’re clearly curious as you inspect the cases.

“We have more affordable watches available for lingerie store workers,” he tells you, clicking his tongue to get your attention and you turn around then follow him to the other end of the counter. He points at the glass. “These are all under three-thousand.”

“Oh…” you peer at them with interest, and he watches you. His eyes fall to your wrist.

“Here,” he says, sliding the display case door open, and pulls out another watch, “I think you’d look nice in this.”

He shows it to you for a second before releasing the clasp and holding onto your hand to slide the watch through it. After fastening it, he looks up at your expression, and his heart’s beating a bit faster. You turn your wrist in the air to marvel at the watch, and he thinks your eyes look stunning from the way the shimmer of the watch reflects off of them.

“Wow,” you say.

“I knew you’d look good in anything rose gold,” he says, both elbows on the counter as he watches you, “this one’s only a couple thousand.”

You’re still a little speechless as you look at it, right index finger tracing the dial. He wants to buy it for you. He could, it’s not much of an issue, he’d just have to kiss goodbye to that used gaming PC he’s been eyeing on craigslist for the past couple of months, but something in his gut tells him it’d be worth it. Something in the soft look in your eyes right now tells him it’d be worth it.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, his voice quiet.

“That it’s beautiful,” you say to him, swallowing and then extending your wrist out to him. “Sorry, wearing it for too long. Probably lost a few hundred bucks in value just from the two minutes it was on my wrist.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll buy it for you.”

Your mouth gapes. “W-What?”

“I mean—if you actually like it. Then, I don’t mind,” he says, suddenly a bit flustered.

“Satoru. That’s insane. This is a two-thousand dollar watch.”

He shrugs. “I know, but it looks good on you. I can’t shoplift this one for you, though. But I’ll buy it if you actually want it. And if you lie and say you don’t like it, just to be nice, I’ll read right through it. So be honest.”

“I…” you start, “I really can’t accept that.”

His eyes are level with yours, and something about your persistence in your refusal just makes him want to buy it for you even more. But he’s not gonna push it anymore. He’ll just try to work towards a day where you’ll accept it from him. Where it won’t even be a question to want to decorate you in something as pretty as you are.

“Alright. Then give it back, it’s probably only worth a couple hundred now.”

a/n. hope you enjoyed!! this was fun to write. it was supposed to be longer but i cut it short so maybe part two lol?? i also wanna write versions for choso & suguru in this au lol maybe like a multi in one verse kinda thing haha i like the idea of a hot watch salesman trio. thank you for reading 💕

taglist: @ohsehuniiee @lost-resonance @whereflowerswenttodie @horisdope @therealestpussyeater @satorminniett @tobaccosunbxrst @alekssashka7 @ritsatoru @angrychinchillanoises @shleepyking @crimsonmarabou @mxlktae @bloopsstuff @slut-4-gojo @lil-cinn @wateronlyhaha @strawberiicreme @wintertoru @mo0nforme @whispersofbeskar @who-can-touch-my-boob @quinnyundertow @ramluvr @anthastudios @sabokunsmalia @ninjaturtletoes @rylierev @dvarlinggg @heyitsmirae @sleepyyammy @lofasofabread @lolthatsnice @tetsuski @bakuhoethotski @sureconfused

[narcissarina]

So! Something more normal.

Leon’s s/o gets new lipstick. She’s not sure about it and asks Leon to see if it smears.

Leon might be alittle confused but he’s happy to help.

So his s/o just starts kissing him. All over his face and collar. They pepper his checks with lipstick marks. Afterwards, he’s absolutely dotted with them.

The lipstick didn’t smear though. And it might just be Leon’s new favorite.

FINALLY, A NORMAL REQUEST!!😭😭 LET US FORGET THE THONG AND GETTING A WEDGIE INCIDENT AND PRETEND IT NEVER HAPPENED😭😭

Smooch Swatches💋

The moment you come rushing to Leon to nag him to come with you so you could buy another pair of lipsticks because you had finish the old one.

You want to get a few lipstick in different colors for different aesthetics that you plan to wear, Leon came with you in the mall as you go in to the usual shop where you always buy your cosmetics.

Leon offered to pay for your expenses, “are you sure?” You asked Leon while looking at your own reflection to the small mirror and apply the sample nude color lipstick on your lips.

Leon nodded as he watch you apply the lipstick to your lips, “I’m sure…” he said, you pop your lips and look at the color, “does it smear?” you asked Leon while your eyes is on the mirror, confuse as he is—he tilts his head, “don’t lipstick smear?” he asked.

“come here, baby.” You called, Leon leans down to your level as he was caught off guard when you started kissing his left cheek and the side of his left eye. “This color doesn’t quite suit me…”

Leon chuckles and smiled at you, showing off his white teeth, “I think every color suits you best, sweetheart.” he said lovingly, he was falling hard and he’s so god damn lucky that he was the one who snatched you up.

You took out your tissue and wipe the lipstick off of your lips and apply the maroon one and start peppering Leon’s face with it, he could only take it and melt at the feeling of your lips.

How many lipstick had you tried on and swatch on to his face?

Around three or five, Leon’s face and neck is full of different color of the lipstick you have tried on, and Leon love every second of it.

The sales lady was amused at the sight, “oh my…” you and Leon swear you could hear the two ladies giggle and mutter to themselves, you were too busy spoiling him kisses with different colored lipstick and finding blank space to his face and neck.

You froze as you realized, “Oh my…” you blink your pretty lashes towards Leon, “hm? Why did you stop?” he asked as you point to the mirror, he looks at himself and chuckle, “I’m so sorry, I’ll remove them once we get home.”

Leon looked at himself in the mirror and brush off one lipstick on his face, “huh, it doesn’t smudge proof once it dried.” He remark and looked at you. You could only chuckle and pull him towards the register.

People were looking at you and Leon’s way, eyeing Leon from his face to his neck—covered with the lipsticks you tried on. The cashier raised a brow and flashes the two of you a smile, “oh my, you have such a loving girl. Aren’t you lucky, sir?” the cashier spoke to Leon, he agreed and handed his card.

This might be Leon favorite thing whenever you two go out shopping, he wish that your lipstick ran out quickly so that the two of you could get a new one and be your lipstick swatch again.

He still has few things to take care back at the D.S.O, if his co-workers saw him, they’d tease him about it. But he’d be proud to show it off and that his girl is spoiling him with kisses.💋

This request is cute>:D i hope i delivered😭😭🙏 sorry it took a while, I went out to watch a movie lol.

[princessbrunette]

playlists for the readers … ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ³ ᵔ ꒱ྀིა

bunny!reader ♡

just girly fun vibes — she likes her music catchy, pop-y and fairly relatable. rafe never lets her play her music in the car unfortunately, because he cannot be seen speeding down the road blasting the pussy cat dolls.

🎀 cassie — ditto

🎀 kali uchis, steve lacy, vince staples — only girl

🎀 frank ocean — sweet life

🎀 coco & clair — pretty

🎀 sabrina carpenter — feather

🎀 flo milli — never lose me

🎀 cassie — miss your touch

🎀 childish gambino, jhené aiko — pink toes

🎀 flo.rida, wynter — sugar

🎀 kali uchis — honey baby (SPOILED!)

🎀 angels — my boyfriends back

🎀 foxy brown, kelis — candy

🎀 lana del rey — music to watch boys to

🎀 jhené aiko — maniac

🎀 fergie — clumsy

🎀 ciara, 50 cent — can’t leave ‘em alone

🎀 shelley duvall — he needs me

🎀 nancy sinatra — sugar town

🎀 heidi montag — i’ll do it

🎀 nicki minaj, jeremiah — favourite

🎀 kali uchis — melting

🎀 lady gaga — boys boys boys

🎀 cassie — long way 2 go

🎀 the pussycat dolls — when i grow up

🎀 tom tom club — genius of love

🎀 beyoncé — freakum dress

🎀 gwen stefani — bubble pop electric

🎀 marina — primadonna girl

🎀 madonna — material girl

🎀 pussy cat dolls — stickwitu

🎀 leven kali, syd — do u wrong

🎀 kiana ledé — mad at me

kitty!reader ♡

listens to her music to feel cool n edgy. shes one of those people that think she’s a bitch but she’s not at all, just a lil grumpy. wants everyone to know she liked deftones before it was cool.

🐈‍⬛ pixies — is she weird

🐈‍⬛ arctic monkeys — mardy bum

🐈‍⬛ black box recorder — child psychology

🐈‍⬛ the smiths — pretty girls make graves

🐈‍⬛ ethel cain — crush

🐈‍⬛ mazzy star — she’s my baby

🐈‍⬛ radiohead — creep

🐈‍⬛ chris isaak — wicked game

🐈‍⬛ limp bizkit — rollin’

🐈‍⬛ the pretty reckless — makes me wanna die

🐈‍⬛ pearly drops — bloom for me

🐈‍⬛ deftones — root

🐈‍⬛ fka twigs — two weeks

🐈‍⬛ deftones — romantic dreams

🐈‍⬛ hole — doll parts

🐈‍⬛ margeaux — hot faced

🐈‍⬛ siouxsie and the banshees — she’s a carnival

🐈‍⬛ kip tyler — she’s my witch

🐈‍⬛ deftones — mascara

🐈‍⬛ soho dolls — bang bang bang bang

🐈‍⬛ enigma — sadeness

🐈‍⬛ DANGERDOOM, MF DOOM — perfect hair

🐈‍⬛ radiohead — idioteque

🐈‍⬛ björk — come to me

🐈‍⬛ the nbhd — fallen star

🐈‍⬛ arctic monkeys — crying lightening

🐈‍⬛ deftones — diamond eyes

🐈‍⬛ the smiths — girl afraid

🐈‍⬛ ethel cain — unpunishable

🐈‍⬛ mitski — townie

🐈‍⬛ gorillaz — kids with guns

🐈‍⬛ evanescence — taking over me

deer!reader ♡

she’d say her playlists are all over the place — but it’s organised mess. she has them perfectly collated and in her head they make perfect sense. don’t put her on the aux though, not because the songs aren’t good but because the vibes are all over the place.

🍪 shura — 2shy

🍪 minnie riperton — les fleurs

🍪 april march — chick habit

🍪 benee — kool

🍪 camille saint- saëns — … le cygne

🍪 the little dippers — forever

🍪 allie x, mitski — susie save your love

🍪 she & him — why do you let me stay here?

🍪 lesley gore — i’m coolin’ no foolin’

🍪 sza — prom

🍪 the penguins — earth angel

🍪 SALES — renee

🍪 cleo sol — sunshine

🍪 japanese breakfast — be sweet

🍪 kate bush — cloud busting

🍪 mazzy star — halah

🍪 the mamas & papas — dedicated to the one i love

🍪 scissors sisters — filthy / gorgeous

🍪 fiona apples — shameika

🍪 fleetwood mac — mystified

🍪 margo guryan — under my umbrella

🍪 erykah badu — apple tree

🍪 mort garson — plantasia

🍪 sza — sweet november

🍪 quadron — sea salt

🍪 corinne bailey rae — green aphrodisiac

🍪 sade — lovers rock

🍪 ella fitzgerald — moonlight serenade

🍪 cigarettes after sex — truly

🍪 tv girl — heaven is a bedroom

🍪 the velvet underground — femme fetale

🍪 clairo, coco & clair — racecar

🍪 james blake, rosalía — barefoot in the park

🍪 tame impala — nangs

puppy!reader ♡

never seen without her walkman — loves running around and dancing to her upbeat music. her playlists will remind you of days in the sun and dancing in summer rain.

🐶 her’s — love on the line (call now)

🐶 HAIM — summer girl

🐶 the la’s — there she goes

🐶 stacey q — two of hearts

🐶 faye webster — right side of my neck

🐶 bakar, summer walker — hell n back

🐶 beabadoobee — sunny day

🐶 dominic fike — babydoll

🐶 jungle — back on 74

🐶 pinkpanthress — attracted to you

🐶 duran duran — girls on film

🐶 shuggie otis — strawberry letter 23

🐶 sixpence none the richer — kiss me

🐶 matilda mann — bloom

🐶 HAIM — falling

🐶 311 — amber

🐶 earth, wind & fire — boogie wonderland

🐶 lorde — ribs

🐶 lesley gore — sunshine lollipops and rainbows

🐶 stevie wonder — all i do

🐶 the human league — don’t you want me

🐶 the turtles — happy together

🐶 pet shop boys — west end girls

🐶 clairo — bags

🐶 pat benetar — love is a battlefield

🐶 the psychedelic furs — love my way

🐶 scouting for girls — she’s so lovely

🐶 noisettes — wild young hearts

🐶 the all eyes i — beat goes on

🐶 tame impala — elephant

🐶 sublime — waiting for my ruca

🐶 mgmt — boogie down

[chestharrington]

Fixation

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: SMUT (fingering, handjob, p in v). Dubious Consent (coercion, power imbalance, failure to pull out), unhealthy/probably illegal power imbalance, stripper!reader, gator is an asshole (like extremely), degradation, misogyny, sexual assault (by a non major character), brief violence, kind of stockholm syndrome if you think about it, unhappy ending

Summary: Gator Tillman’s fixation of the week just so happens to be you, for better or worse.

A/N: If you know me personally please do not read this thank u <3

The foggy clouds of your breath were painted pink by the glow of the neon sign— The Venus Lounge— with a cute little clamshell opening and closing and everything. 

You had a velour sweatsuit pulled over the skimpy costume you’d wear for your next dance, hot pink and bedazzled across the ass. It was trendy maybe fifteen years prior, so it cost just about nothing when you bought it at a bin sale. 

Sweet, strawberry-scented vapor poured from your lips as you exhaled. You hated this stupid thing— you’d rather smoke a cigarette like a goddamn adult. But the owner insisted, “You ladies gotta stay smelling nice and sweet and respectable for our clientele.” Which was fucking stupid considering they came in smelling like sweat and mud and body odor. 

From the alley, you could get a sneak peek of whoever was coming your way for the night— the big spenders, the handsy ones, the cheap ones… and Gator Tillman’s stupid entourage, who you avoided like the plague.

You made the mistake of getting cozy with him. Once. A few well-paid lap dances, then a private dance in one of the dimly lit back rooms. He’d been handsy, and you relished in it, in him. A handsome, powerful guy who looked at you like you were the hottest woman he’d ever seen. You sucked him off in the private room and he gave you a hundred to shut the fuck up about it. Like you were some sort of whore.

Gator. What a stupid fucking name. His dad was a grade-A cocksucker, so it made sense that he’d name his son something so goddamn stupid. The other girls were scared of Roy, with good reason. Their boyfriend get too rough? He’d brush it off— no domestic abuse charges on his watch. The man is the master of the house, and the woman is his property. One girl swore he came onto her, and she got a broken arm when she brushed him off. A lot of people thought that stepping to the Tillman’s meant winding up dead. 

Fuck that. 

You hadn’t wanted to wind up in this town anyway. You were married, once upon a time. You had the tattoo of his name on your hipbone, a shitty rental house in West Texas, and a wedding band he bought from a pawn shop. He found a job up north, and you followed like an obedient puppy. 

It wasn’t your fault he’d racked up gambling debts— that he owed the wrong people money he didn’t have. And it wasn’t your fault that he was fucking a waitress at the local diner— thin, blonde, perky. The divorce was settled quickly— but you were left penniless, in bumfuck North Dakota, in Tillman territory. 

Well, it was a good thing you still had your looks. 

You saw the police cruiser pull into the lot, heard the slam of the car door and the mindless chatter between the valiant boys in blue. Those assholes did about as much for the city as a tick does for a dog. Your phone buzzed against your hip, warning you that your break was up. You took one more puff from your vape and slipped back in the door to the dressing room. 

You warned everyone that Gator and his boys were out there as you slipped out of your jogging suit and adjusted your dancewear beneath— a baby blue bikini set that you’d bedazzled by hand. You slipped a sheer skirt overtop and surveyed yourself in the mirror. There was still a flush on your cheeks from being out in the cold, but it would be fine. 

You slipped out onto the floor, passing by crowded tables. It was busy, even for a Saturday, which meant more money to take home. A hand grabbed your ass and squeezed it in a meaty paw. It was some drunk old guy who probably couldn’t even get it up anymore but had maintained his pervy inclinations. You bit your cheek to keep from saying anything and kept making your rounds.

“You want a dance?” You’d ask the safe guys— the ones who looked nervous to be there, whose eyes kept flitting around like they’d get caught any moment. Their button-ups were ironed, their slacks pressed. Usually, they had a nice fountain pen in their pocket. Clerks, CPAs, any of those nerdy desk jobs. 

Most of the time they declined, too nervous to go that far, but occasionally you’d get a yes, do a bit of grinding, and walk away with a nice tip. 

You’d done a few lap dances by the time you passed by Gator and his crew. Your money was tucked into the band at your hip, concealing your ex-husband’s name. 

He called you like a dog– whistling low. You froze, and turned to face him, all smug and pleased with himself. 

“You need somethin’, Deputy?” You asked, jaw clenched, raising a brow. “Because if you do, you can ask like a gentleman. I’m a lady, not a dog.”

He laughed, glancing back at his pack of asshole cops to make sure they saw the next part. “Really? ‘Cause it seems to me you’re actin’ like a bitch.” They all laughed, because of course they did. They thought he was so, so clever. Before you could respond, he held up a fifty-dollar bill between two fingers. “C’mere, girl. I want a dance.”

Your eyes flicked between him and the fifty between his fingers. You were broke, but was it worth it? He saw your hesitation and his smug grin grew. “Aw, you need it that bad, huh?” He patted his thigh twice. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Anyone in their right mind would’ve said no, and walked away with their dignity intact, but he was right— you needed it bad. 

So you approached and tried to pluck the money from his hand, but he pulled it away, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Nuh-uh, Sweetheart. Gotta earn it first.”

You huffed in disbelief, taking a step back. But meeting his gaze told you how serious he was. You swallowed your pride and straddled his lap, grinding to the beat. 

It felt degrading, dancing on him while his friends all leered. Your tits pressed against Gator’s shirt, his hands firm on your hips, even though he knew he wasn’t allowed to touch. If you called him out on it, he’d probably just say it was nothing he hadn’t done before.

It could’ve been one song, or maybe more. Probably more. When he finally removed his hands, he nodded for you to get off. You swallowed uncomfortably and took a few awkward steps back. 

“The money,” you said weakly.

His face scrunched slightly, like he was considering it. “Eh… I don’t think you earned it, Sweetheart. I mean, I’m not even hard.” 

He got a real kick out of that, and out of the kicked puppy look in your eyes. You swallowed it down like a bitter pill and met his gaze. “It’s not my fault that all the blow you do is killing your dick. Keep your fuckin’ money, Gator. I don’t want it.”

Which was a lie. You wanted it more than anything… but you knew you’d pissed him off. You could see the vein popping at his temple, the way his hand clenched around his beer bottle. Better to pretend you were better off without it and walk off with some dignity left.

It took about three steps to realize that there was a little less pressure on your hip than there used to be. Your hand felt along the band of the bikini and came up blank. He’d taken your fucking money. 

You heard him giggling behind you once he knew you realized, but what was the point? Who would you call to get it back? The police?

By the end of the night, you counted your meager earnings and tucked it away in your bag. Without your dancewear and the makeup and the heels, you could pass for the average citizen of Stark County. 

You bundled up in a parka before you walked to your car, a shitty, beat-up car nearly older than you were. One of the side mirrors was ripped off, and the bumper was caved in, but she ran. 

Tucked into the windshield was a tiny note, in a messy, nearly illegible scrawl— Impress me next time. You crumpled it and tossed it onto the asphalt.

  You saw him again on Monday. The club was closed on Sunday, due to an ordinance that Roy Tillman had put in place about businesses of ill repute operating on the holy day. You wondered what he thought about his son bankrolling the lives of half of the strippers who worked at the club.

He was alone, though, which scared and comforted you in equal measure. You watched him from afar, sitting at the bar, drinking a White Claw and puffing on that stupid fucking vape. 

There was a girl in his lap, one of the newer dancers who didn’t know better. Whatever. She’d figure him out soon enough. 

Mondays were slow. You did a few dances onstage, made the rounds, flirted with some of the regulars. Gator was blissfully elsewhere, which you loved. 

The night had been pretty tame until just before last call, when an overserved realtor got loud and handsy. 

“C’mon, why don't you take me back to one of those rooms without the cameras?” One asked as you gave him a half-hearted lap dance. His breath was like a punch bowl at a senior prom, and his fingers dug into the plush of your ass. 

You winced as he pulled you harder against him, and you felt the uncomfortable prod of his dick against you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He was grinding up against you, sweaty at his temples and forehead. He was deceptively strong, holding you down against him so he could rut against you and get off. “Ya know, the private rooms for the big tippers. Better than all this over the clothes stuff.”

“You need to stop,” you said, as firmly as you could, shoving at his chest to really get your point across. He didn’t let up, and gave you a smarmy grin as he began roughly moving your hips of his own accord. “Hey, stop it, asshole.”

“Hey, you’re the one offerin’ me a dance,” he said. “I sold a nice big house today, got a real good commission. I could tip ya real good if you’re nice.”

“Let me go!” You shoved at his chest, slapping at him, but he just grinned. You were just wondering if biting his ear off would do the trick when you felt yourself pulled off him and tossed aside on the floor like a rag doll. 

Then there was the soft sound of blows landing against a stomach. Then the crunch of a broken nose. The wheezy rattle of the realtor’s breath once he started spitting up blood and teeth. Each punch made you flinch until finally, it relented. 

“Should’ve let her go, asshole.” Gator’s knuckles were bloodied, and you realized he was holding out a hand to help you up. You took it, nervously, and readjusted your costume where the realtor had tugged at them. “You hurt?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine but is— I mean, is he gonna be okay?”

Gator’s brows furrowed as he spared a glance toward the bloodied pile of meat on the floor. He spat in his direction and shrugged. “Who fuckin’ cares? Goddamn lowlife.”

You wondered if he could sense the irony. His face lit up in recognition, then he knelt beside the realtor, patting him down, searching for something. He stood and held up a fancy, monogrammed leather wallet. 

He sifted through, retrieving bill after bill. “Here. Y’earned it.” It was more cash than you brought home in a week. More cash than anyone should carry on themselves at once. 

“I’m not taking that,” you said weakly. “I can’t.”

He rolled his eyes, tucking the money in your bra. “Such a fuckin’ bitch, you know that? Can’t even say thank you or nothin’.”

He left you standing there over the broken body of the asshole realtor, who may or may not have been dying. Either way, you figured the Tillman’s would handle it. For better or worse.

  “I didn’t fuckin’ do anything,” you argued, which was a lie. And it’s not like anyone would listen even if it wasn’t. Police are on their way, they said. They’ll deal with thieving filth like you.

Well… they didn’t have to get quite so personal. You sat outside the Manager’s office at the stupid fucking sex shop, picking at your cuticles until you heard the police cruiser roll up outside. You heard the door slam, and muffled chatter until you saw him walk in.

“Well… look who got herself into some trouble. And here of all places too.”

Fuck. Gator Fucking Tillman. 

You glanced up at him for a moment before returning to your nails. The shop owner was talking the deputy’s fucking ear off until you heard the question you dreaded. 

“What is it she was tryin’ to steal? I mean… there’s a lot to choose from, I’ll tell ya that.”

You watched with a thin sense of dread as the shop owner laid out your would-be haul of lingerie that had been stuffed into your purse. Gator grinned as he glanced over at you, then back at the lingerie. 

“Can I have the office? I need some privacy to interrogate the perp.” The manager complied, bending to the will of the law or whatever. Gator grabbed you by the arm and tugged you inside, closing the door firmly behind him. 

You watched as he strode towards the nice armchair behind the desk, then sat down, legs spread wide. He unzipped the stupid police vest and shrugged it off, so it landed in a pile on the floor. For a moment, it was quiet as you stared at him dumbly, then he snapped his fingers. 

“What? You want me to tell you why did it? Three fucking guesses.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “No, I want you to try it on.” 

You swallowed, and when you spoke your tongue felt dumb and heavy. “What?”

“You heard me. Try it all on, and tell me if it was worth the trouble.” He looked at you expectantly, and when you didn’t move, he sighed. “It’s this, or I take you to the station, get you booked, and all that. I doubt anyone’s gonna pay your bail, so that’s a few days before arraignment. Then it’s a court case for larceny, and let’s be honest, you’re guilty.”

You stared at him, speechless. He stood up suddenly, grabbing his things before you interrupted— “Wait! Wait. Just… sit back down.”

He grinned. “There’s a good girl. Make it good for me, yeah? You know how.”

You huffed, heart pounding as you grabbed the first set and turned around to change. You had just pulled off your shirt when he cleared his throat behind you. Your hands shook as you turned around, barely covering your tits. 

“C’mon, I said to make it good, Sweetheart,” he said with a thinly veiled sense of amusement. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

The fucking asshole. But you took a breath and steadied yourself. “Okay,” you whispered, more to yourself than anything. 

His gaze was intense, tracing each curve and dip of your body as you moved. You slipped the bra on, clipping it shut with shaking hands.

“Alright, now you can turn around,” he said, nodding towards the panties in your hand. “And do it nice and slow for me.”

Your face burned with embarrassment as you turned around, working the buttons of your skirt so you could slip it down your legs. It fell into a pile around your ankles and fanned out like a flower. You hooked your thumbs into the panties you were wearing, pink with little flowers spotting the fabric. As slowly as you could manage while terrified and pissed, you slipped them down your legs. 

When you spared a glance at Gator, he was smirking right back at you. “Give those here,” he said, holding his hand out expectantly. 

“What?”

“Geez, you’re fuckin’ dumb. Lemme see ‘em.” He more or less snatched the panties from your grip, smiling like the cat who got the cream as he held them up. “Might have to keep ‘em. Evidence.”

You swallowed down your annoyance and pulled the lacy panties up your legs. When you were finished, you turned, arms crossed over your chest protectively. Shockingly, he was quiet as he looked at you, eyes raking over your tits, and every bare piece of skin he could see. It felt like you stood there under his gaze for hours before he finally spoke up. 

“It’s not doin’ much for ya, sweetheart. I mean, you don’t look very fuckable.”

It landed like a blow to your gut. He was an asshole, so it should’ve meant nothing… but he knew exactly where your soft spots were, and just how hard to dig his fingers in. “Fuck you, Gator.”

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” he cooed, patronizing and smug. “So fuckin’ sensitive, huh? Can’t take a joke. C’mere, lemme see you.” He grabbed your wrist in the tightly packed office and tugged you forward, so you practically stumbled on top of him.

You flinched as his hand moved up the back of your thigh, warm and calloused. When he gave your ass a rough squeeze, you closed your eyes and shivered. 

“Ya know, I saw your husband the other day.” His finger traced along the name on your hip— Jack. Every loop and whorl of the cursive claimed by his touch. “Looked real happy with that girl of his. Sarah, right? The waitress he was fuckin’ behind your back?”

You swallowed hard and said nothing, but he was more than happy to keep running his mouth. “Well, she’s not special. I’ve fucked Sarah too, and she just laid there like a dead fish the whole time.”

“Maybe you just weren’t that good.” You smirked as you replied, unable to resist being a bit of an asshole right back. 

“You gettin’ smart right now?” He gave your ass a quick slap, making you squeak. “I was trying to give you a compliment, but you don’t fuckin’ deserve it. You’re so fuckin’ used up that you don’t even know what good is.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure you think that. It’s easy to blame it on the girl when you can’t make ‘em cum, right?”

His jaw clenched, anger painting his features. “Wouldn’t you fuckin’ like to know, huh?” He caught sight of the smirk on your face and shoved you back. “Put on the next one.”

Fucking dickhead. You rolled your eyes and quickly stripped off the lingerie, throwing it in his general direction once it was off. You weren’t as graceful in dressing in the next set. Why give him a show and let him win? Once it was on, you crossed your arms and looked at him expectantly. 

“Well?”

He cocked his head to the side, a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, I like it better than the first, but I don’t think your heart’s quite in it. Gimme a twirl.”

You gave a slow turn, then met his gaze again, raising a brow. He ran a hand over his mouth, looking you up and down. You caught the slightest movement as he spread his legs a little wider. It only served to highlight the bulge in the front of his stupid fucking cargos.

“You’re really enjoyin’ yourself, huh?” You snapped, eyes narrowed. He laughed, following your gaze to his lap. 

“Well,” he began, lazily moving a hand to cup his growing hard-on. “I could always find a way to enjoy myself more. Bet you’d like that, huh?”

You ignored him and began trying on the last set you’d attempted to steal. A bright red set, skimpier than the others, which you were sure he fucking loved. Before he could ask, you gave a slow twirl. 

“Atta girl,” he cooed. He was blatantly stroking himself over the fabric, eyes half-lidded. You swallowed hard, watching the sight before you. It was like something out of a bad porno. Or a really good one. Jury was out. He patted his thigh, nodding you over. “C’mere, I won’t bite.”

A moment of hesitation passed through you, wondering if this was really what you wanted. It was like you could hear his voice in your head, asking if you could do any better. You sighed and slowly settled onto his lap. He looked at you with a funny sort of expression— not so much that he was smug, just… a bit pleased. 

“You gonna give me a dance?” His hand rested on your thigh, fingers tapping erratically. You shook your head and he rolled his eyes. “Is this ‘cause I didn’t pay the other night?” You scowled. “I mean, I think you owe me now. I paid ya back a hundred times over thanks to Mr. Realtor from the other day.”

   You stayed silent and still, looking anywhere but his face. He took your chin between his fingers and turned you to face him, so close you could taste the fruit flavor from that goddamn vape on his breath. 

“Remember how turned on you got just from havin’ my cock in that pretty mouth of yours?” He said, voice barely above a whisper. He ran a thumb along your bottom lip, tugging at it slightly. “I still remember the way you had to slip a hand between your legs to play with yourself.”

You made a weak sound in the back of your throat as you remembered it— that desperate, all-consuming need. Maybe it’s because he was an asshole, or maybe it was all of the authority. Maybe that’s why you shoplifted anyway. Because you knew he’d be the one to show up. 

“You ever been with someone as big as me before?”

You shivered. “No.”

A wide smile spread across his lips. “Since?” You just shook your head. “Betcha been dreamin’ about it too. Stuffin’ that greedy little pussy full of your fingers whenever you think about me.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t quite deny it. It wasn’t a frequent fantasy, but it was there. “You’re a real narcissist. You know that?”

He grinned. “That’s not a no, is it?” He leaned in closer, nuzzling against your throat, his breath hot. “Bet if I slipped my hand inside those panties, they’d be fuckin’ soaked.”

And despite your better judgment, you fucking whimpered. All but confirming it. 

“Yeah, I thought so,” he cooed. His hand found purchase on the small of your back, and when he applied the smallest bit of pressure, you found yourself giving in. Slowly, your hips ground against his, making a soft sigh escape your lips each time your cunt met his clothed dick. 

“Want me to find some music?” He asked with a boyish grin. “I bet I have Pony somewhere on my phone.”

You shook your head before he could even try to grab it. “I’ll kill you if you even try.” He laughed, just a bit. It was rare to hear him laugh and have it not be at your, or anyone else’s expense. 

You grabbed his hands, moving them to your waist, just at your ribcage. The tips of his fingers brushed against your tits, and he smiled.

“Takin’ charge now, are ya? You could’ve just put ‘em right here.” He moved his hands up, cupping your breasts in his large hands. You moaned softly as he gave a slight squeeze, arching into his touch. “ See? That’s much better, huh? Just take what you need, baby. I’ll give it right to ya.”

Take what you need? You could do that. You moved your hands along his chest, fighting the urge to just tear off his shirt and reveal the white tank top you knew he always wore beneath. Instead, you slipped your hands to his goddamn cargos and made quick work of the button and zipper. 

He sat back and watched as you spit into your palm, his eyes hazy with arousal. You slipped your hand inside his pants and slipped beneath the band of his plaid boxers. A low groan escaped his lips when you wrapped your hand around him and squeezed.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Just like that.” His head fell back, leaving the plane of his neck for the taking. Your lips pressed against the skin there, leaving a mixture of soft kisses and bites as you worked him in your hand. 

Gator’s stamina was absolute dogshit. You could tell when he was close from the way he’d pulse in your hand and whimper like a fuckin’ girl. You’d just have to squeeze him at his base to stave it off, give him a few seconds to cool off before you kept going. 

“You want me?” You asked, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. 

“So fuckin’ bad.” He was bucking up into your fist, chasing the sweet pleasure of your soft hand around him. 

A smile spread across your lips. “Then earn it.” You pulled back, meeting his gaze as you removed your hand from him. 

He sat there, panting and staring dumbly as you sat atop the desk and spread your legs invitingly. “C’mon, Gator. You’re a smart boy, you’ll figure it out.”

He huffed with annoyance as he stood, towering over you as he pulled off his shirt to reveal that fucking tank top. He leaned down just slightly, so his arms were caging you in. “I’ll fuckin’ earn it, alright. I’m gonna own this pussy by the time I’m through.”

He knelt between your legs, kissing his way up your thighs. You cried out as his teeth dug into the plush skin, leaving an indentation that would probably turn purple the next day. 

“You’re such a fuckin’ asshole.” He just grinned, clearly pleased with himself. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your panties and tugged them down. 

He was quick to drag his fingers through your slit, coating them in your arousal. The wet sounds of him playing with you, spreading you open for him, made your cheeks burn with embarrassment. 

“I’m an asshole, but you clearly fuckin’ like it, huh?” He said, holding up his fingers, glistening with your juices, as proof. His smirk made annoyance and arousal bubble up within you, tangling in an utterly infuriating way. “Relax for me, yeah? Gonna stretch you out, make you feel real good.”

You moaned softly as his fingers pressed against your entrance, teasing you with the idea of being full. A gentleman would start off slow, work you up to two fingers gradually. Gator Tillman wasn’t a fucking gentleman, but you didn’t care. 

“Shhh… open up for me,” He said, speaking not to you, but to your cunt. “That’s it, atta girl.” A low whimper escaped you as his fingers pressed inside, thick and stretching you just right. Your walls fluttered around the intrusion, needing him deeper, more, more.

“Jesus Christ, Gator,” His fingers flexed at just the right spot, making you cry out desperately. He grinned, then pressed a kiss to your thigh as he began fucking you with his fingers, acutely aware that the slightest twitch of his fingers could make you fucking sing for him. 

It’s a funny thing he does with his fingers— not quite jackhammering them in and out like most of the other guys you’d been with but not exactly too far away. And you were fucking whining for it, your hips canting against his fingers until he finally had to throw his arm across your pelvis to just, in his words, keep you fuckin’ still.

It felt good, but you were also very aware that he was purposefully, or, worse, unknowingly avoiding your clit. The more you considered it, the more convinced you were that it was the latter. He was homeschooled, apparently, by his religious nut father, which meant his sex ed was probably just porn, and not even the decent kind. 

You squirmed slightly. “Gator—”

“’M busy.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed. I mean, sure, he was good with his hands, but you would also appreciate that skill applied elsewhere. Whatever, you weren’t helpless. 

His eyes narrowed as you moved a hand between your legs, circling your clit in time with his fingers. Your head fell back as a string of moans escaped your lips. That’s what you needed. 

“God, you’re desperate,” he muttered, but he didn’t bother to redirect your hands. “I coulda done that.”

You would’ve laughed if you weren’t already so close, the pressure and attention to your clit exactly what you needed to fall over the edge. 

“I feel you squeezin’ my fingers,” he said, voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “Wanna cum that bad, huh? Can’t even take what I give ya? Are you that fuckin’ needy?” When you didn’t think to answer, he leaned over and bit your thigh again. Harder.

“Fuck!” You shouted, annoyed that you’d have a second set of bruises to cover. But your annoyance melted right back into the siren call of pleasure. 

Moans tumbled from your lips before you could bring yourself to answer. “Yes, I’m that needy,” You gasped as his fingers moved deeper, harder with every thrust in. Your fingers moved faster on your clit, making your legs twitch on either side of Gator’s shoulders.

He let you teeter there on the precipice for a little longer, until you were sure you were going to tumble straight into sweet ecstasy. So close you could taste it, sweet and heady on the back of your tongue. 

And like that, Gator pulled away, slipping his fingers from your cunt and leaving you wanting. You sat there, panting and frustrated as he wiped his fingers off on your thigh. “Too fuckin’ bad. Bend over.”

He slapped the side of your thigh as he stood and looked down at you expectantly. Your legs wobbled as you stood in what little room he provided you, tits brushing against his chest for just a moment as you turned and bent over the desk. 

“Isn’t this a pretty sight?” He grabbed your ass, kneading the plush skin roughly before landing a rough smack. You winced at the sting as you spared a glance over your shoulder. He landed another slap on the opposite cheek, then spread you apart with his thumbs. “You’re fuckin’ killin’ me, you know that?”

He was quick to free his cock from the confines of his cargos and boxers. Over your shoulder, you could see the heap of clothes he’d made on the floor. In the back of your mind, you noted the very careless way he treated the gun in his thigh holster, but said nothing. It was hard to focus on improper gun handling when he had his length in his hand, stroking it slowly as he took in the sight of you. 

“You’re gonna pull out, right?” You asked, chewing your lip as you looked at him.

He rolled his eyes, the tip of his cock notched right at your entrance, making you arch against him. “You’re such a fuckin’ bitch. I’m not stupid, I’ll pull out.”

The prettiest groan escaped him as he rocked against your cunt, coating himself in your dripping arousal before the head of his cock nudged at your entrance. 

“You want me?” He asked, his breath coming in pants. Your body felt like a fucking live wire, hyperaware of the feeling of him, just barely outside of where you craved him.

You nodded. “Uh-huh. I want you. So bad, Gator.”

He sank into you, nice and slow, so he could relish in the warm, soft feeling of your walls around him. A sappier man would’ve said it felt like heaven. Gator wasn’t sappy. 

“Goddamn, you’ve got the tightest fuckin’ pussy,” He managed once he’d bottomed out, every inch of him fully sheathed inside. “Forget what I said about you bein’ used up.”

What a gentleman. You whined softly, pushing back against him to silently beg for more. He put a hand on the small of your back and pushed down so your back arched even more. Then he fucked you in earnest. 

The noises you made should’ve been illegal— some form of indecency or something. Loud and whiny, desperate for more. Your nails scratched at the laminate of the desk, seeking something, anything to hold onto for purchase as he fucked you within an inch of your life. 

He was so big you could’ve sworn you felt him deep in your stomach, even though you knew physically that was impossible. Each thrust punched out a keening moan from your lips, a swear, a breathy whine, or just his stupid fucking name over and over again. 

He reached a hand beneath you, so his rough fingers could play with your clit. “This is what you wanted so bad, yeah?” He asked, voice breathy as he quickly rubbed your clit. “Say thank you.”

“Thank you, Gator.” You were practically babbling. Thank you thank you thank you. 

Over your shoulder, you watched him using your body, chasing his high. Every slap of your ass was for his own gratification, just to see it jiggle. He was only rubbing your clit so he could feel you squeeze him even tighter. 

You didn’t care. You fucking loved it. Even as he manhandled you, lifting your thigh and placing it on the desk so he could fuck you deeper, you just laid there and took it like a fucking champ. 

“Woulda fucked you sooner if I knew it’d be this good.” His voice wavered slightly with the effort it took to maintain the relentless pace he had set. He slapped your ass hard, making you yelp and clench around him. 

What you’d said earlier was right— you were needy. You rocked back against him, meeting him with each thrust. The sounds of his hips hitting your ass with each thrust were nearly as pornographic as both of your moans. 

Gator didn’t shut up most of the time, but when he was buried inside of you he could mostly only manage pretty moans. 

“F-fuck, sweetheart. You’re… you’re really workin’ for it, huh?” His words were interrupted by low moans and grunts. “C’mon. Give it to me.”

He let you do most of the work, rocking back against him, making you fuck yourself on his cock. And he looked fucking smug about it too. 

The switch snapped suddenly when he grabbed your hips and fucked you without abandon, skin slapping against skin as he roughly bullied himself inside of you again and again. 

“That’s it. Just lay there and take it, sweetheart.” His voice was breathy and strained. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “Fuck! That’s it. Just like that.”

He came suddenly, thrusting deep and hard as he spilled within you. It annoyed you that he looked pretty when he came— his mouth ajar, eyes fluttered shut, his body trembling just slightly. 

And then you were annoyed because he fucking lied. He pulled out after he had ridden the aftershocks with a few shallow thrusts and quickly redressed. 

“You didn’t pull out,” you said, your voice was strained with annoyance and anger as you looked back at him. He was getting dressed, making sure he looked alright. He didn’t even care to get you off. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shrugged, trying to appear unbothered by it all. But you saw the annoyed tick in his jaw, the anger beneath it. Like a rattlesnake all coiled up, ready to strike if you made the wrong move. You were never on equal terms. You were no better than prey. And you should have known better, right?

Annoying, hot tears welled on your lashline, and you prayed to any higher power that he wouldn’t notice as you wiped at your eyes. You stood, doing your best to redress in silence, doing your best to remain small. He slapped a fifty on the desk and you flinched. “Buy some Plan B if you’re that fuckin’ worried about it. Jesus Christ.” He paused as he reached the door. “I’ll tell the manager we got it all sorted out. Isn’t that good enough for ya?”

You stood there, unsatisfied and used, with his cum leaking out of you, and stayed silent. It wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t anything at all. 

You walked out with fifty dollars, streaked mascara, three sets of lingerie you’d throw in the trash, and a newfound desire to get the fuck out of Stark County. And, maybe, some misplaced hope that next time might be different.

[3liza]

the other thing about duvets is i dont like that theyre a big pillowcase. this is more trouble than its worth imo. i think duvet covers should actually be two separate pieces, or one long piece in a taco format, and you just spread it out on the bed or floor, spread out the duvet on top, and THEN fasten the top of the duvet cover closed with either buttons or a concealed zipper along the edge. zipper texture unpleasantness could easily be tucked inside a padded border so it doesnt scratch you at night.

duvet covers were introduced to the usa in the 1960s as a part of the "scandinavian" interior decor movement during midcentury modern (they were brought from Sweden, so not actually scnadinavian, but americans dont know the difference and we dont care [edit: i am being informed sweden is actually considered part of scandinavia, i had been previously misinformed]), apparently from the Habitat store in London. i thought Biba was involved for some reason but I may be confusing a bit of documentary i watched with something else. in the documentary, the older lady they were interviewing who used to work at the department store that she claimed popularized the duvwet (either Habitat or Biba) talked about how the sales girls were trained to "demonstrate" the "convenience" of the duvet vs the traditional British method of quilt+sheets, and she remarked she got so good at it she could put the duvet in the cover in about 30 seconds. however when she tried to demonstrate for the presenter she got completely flummoxed by the damned thing. it was at that point i knew duvets were a mistake

anyway im finding some interesting gadgets for securing duvets rn, the one that looks least ugly is a thing that looks like a fabric-covered button that snaps into another button using a tack that pierces the duvet and cover layers. the other solutions also seem fine but are all ugly plastic doohickeys that would bother me on an aesthetic basis. the tack would probably damage the fabric but if you're not using your nice linens i bet it doesn't matter much, especially if the duvet cover is a rustic textile of some kind

the wikipedia article about the duvet is very interesting. i especially liked the part about how previous attempts to introduce it to england were failures

one of the other home bedding issues in the usa is that home washers and dryers and apartment washers and dryers are generally not big enough to effectively wash a down duvet or a quilt thats larger than about a Full, depending on thickness. this bothers me. feather down is especially irritating in this respect because it will get mildewy instantly if it isnt bone dry immediately after laundering. mentioning Sweden yet again, a friend showed me her shared laundry facilities in her Swedish apartment once and they DID have large, industrial machines that could easily take a duvet. she said this was typical. america continues to be difficult to live in for no good reason. its like literalyl everything you do here is 160% harder and more expensive than any other "comparable" country

[lexirosewrites]

Okay not slick Sunday related but you like angst and I got inspired. Sorry it ran away

So it's post s4, Eddie starts withdrawing. Steve thinks it's from the party in general, but it's just him. He's kind of hurt/insulted and decides after trying to reach out that if Eddie doesn't want to know Steve and all that if what he said in the UD was bs then he doesn't get to know him as a person, though it kind of hurts cause he has a small crush on Eddie. He’s bi, thought Robin and Eddie were aware at least even though they’ve never talked about it.

Well cut to him finding out that everyone else is hanging with them, inviting them separately to things until Steve find out that the party, including Robin went to go see a movie (the lost boys) and Steve was so excited to see it with Robin. (They do this as to keep the peace not malicious intent) So when she's not available Steve goes by himself to stare at the guys and ladies in the movie, except when he gets there he sees the whole party front row and it breaks everything he got left. He feels excluded, like everyone was kicking him out.

So Steve withdraws, the few calls that come he ignores, or he rejects offers to hang out. He starts switching shifts with Kieth and then just stops showing up and quits. I like to believe his mom is a good but misguided mom, so she's worried about her boy. She takes him to Indiana for a doctors appointment.

He goes on these meds to help with his depression episode, (I'm basing this off how my therapy worked) once a week he has to go to Indiana for therapy appointment. So on top of that, his mom starts to think maybe he’d be better off in a larger city, closer to his therapist, maybe find a school that she can persuade her husband to let Steve attend. She knows her husbands is just an attachment best that runs her parents company. She brings it up as softly as she can and Steve promises to think about it, give his friends the benefit of the doubt.

So it’s the end of summer, the kids are going back to school for the 1987-1988 school year, everyone is getting together before everyone goes to schools across the country, Steve decided to host the party. Robin is over the moon that her platonic soulmate seems back to his old self (once again basing this on my own history with antidepressants) if not more bubbly. His mother is there, tanning as all the kids play in the pool, keeping an eye on her boy.

It’s the happiest she’s seen him in the last few weeks, even though his bad days are still prominent. Alls good until Eddie and his Uncle show up, cause he had invited them, he was part of the party, but there was a lingering atmosphere about them. The kids and Eddie are splashing in the pool, Steve just withdraws watching them letting Robin do the rambling she does. She’s going on and on about stuff and starts a story where Eddie had taken her to Indiana to her first gay club and she got to kiss her first girl and she’s just so excited and happy and Steve is just frozen.

That’s what he was planning to do, help Robin meet her own community other than he and Eddie, to branch out. He’s happy for her she’s finally gotten a kiss, but she just gushing about how Eddie did this, Eddie did that, and some part of Steve’s brain just gave up. To him he was finally replaced in Robin’s life.

Without a word and shaking hands, Steve just walks to his mom and whispers that he wants to go to Indiana and start a new life. She just nods and walks him inside and away from others, of course Robin follows (I don’t know, maybe worried or angry that Steve just blew her off after ignoring her for so long). Either way, his mom lets him lay down in the downstairs guest room, away from prying eyes.

She’s already planning the move and her connections while shooing Robin outside. So plans are made, after the party, the week school starts there is a for sales sign and moving truck.

I feel like Dustin would be the one to find them on the way out, ready to tell Steve about his exciting first day as a sophomore. Steve just tells him that he’s gotta move on, that he’s just a phone call away. He’s all but begging Steve, asking who he’d spend time with and watch movies. Steve just tells him they can do that over the phone or he can get Eddie to hang out.

Steve leaves with his mom while Dustin goes and begs Eddie or the others to stop him from leaving. Of course no one knew and the only thing left was a note on the door to Eddie asking him to watch over the kids.

Steve lives better, going to school to be a teacher. He’s got an apartment that he lives in just off the school Campus. It’s been a few years, calls between the group and the kids are graduating. Of course Steve has to go back for graduation, he surprises them. Dustin refuses to not let him go and Robin and Eddie sit and catch up. He comes clean about how he felt pushed out and needed help to work through everything and once he finishes school he may come back.

Let’s just say when Steve talks to them about his last few relationships and they’re just shocked cause they had no idea that Steve was bi. Steve just plays it off that but admits that he had the tiniest crush on Eddie which makes him sputter and ask why he hadn’t said anything. Steve just says he knew Eddie didn’t like him so he wasn’t going to bring it up which leads to both talking out their misunderstandings and apologize.

Let’s just say if there’s a few trips to Indiana for Eddie in the future and then when Steve decides to go back home they become “roommates”

god i am such a sucker for steve suffering and thinking nobody loves him🥺 (don’t read too deeply into that)

[steveshairychest]

Time travel au where Steve is the last one to go through the gate in Eddie's trailer, except when he comes out, he's not in his Hawkins anymore. Instead of being greeted by the sight of his friends safe and sound and Wayne's mug collection, he's standing in some random guys trailer.

He gets shoved out the front door and into the strange new world that is undoubtedly Hawkins, but not the Hawkins he remembers.

Everything feels wrong. The people look strange in their weird clothes and a lady across the park screams into a flat rectangle in her hand. The trailers look the same but there's something about them that's definitely wrong. Some guy blows smoke in his face while walking past and instead of the gross smell of cigarette he was expecting, it smells sweet, almost like strawberries. He's so fucking confused. He knows he's causing a scene by walking around gaping at everything, but what else is he supposed to do? Steal a car and drive off? He's never seen cars like this in his entire life!! Do they even work the same way?!

Maybe he has a concussion. Maybe this is his version of a vecna hallucination.

And then things only get more confusing when a little girl runs over to him and beams up at Steve like they've been best friends forever. "Hi, Mr Harrington! Why are you here?" She can't be older than 9.

Why does this little girl know him? He stares at her and his confusion must show because she tilts her head and frowns. "Are you okay, Mr Harrington?"

She keeps calling him Mr Harrington, is he a teacher here? Oh god, does that mean there's another version of himself running around here?! Wherever here is.

"I'm... fine. I'm just a little lost." He walks away before he scares the poor girl with his rising hysterics. Steve knows these roads like the back of his hand, he's driven them his entire life, but he takes a million wrong turns because there's suddenly so many new streets he's never even heard of. Where there should be a huge clearing, there is now a building so high Steve swears it touches the sky and the tree him and Robin used to have picnics under is now gone and replaced with a parking lot filled with more weird cars.

"What the fuck? What the fuck?!" Steve finally makes it to where his house should be and there's... nothing. It's just a block of land for sale. It tips him over the edge. He can't remember the last time he cried but right now he is balling and hiccuping as he stumbled down the street he grew up on. But it's wrong. It's all so wrong. People drive past and give him weird looks, a lady even stops jogging and takes out the tiny earplugs that play music so loud Steve can hear it, and asks if he's OK. "No, I'm not. This isn't real. This isn't real!"

It has to be vecna. He's got him. That's why he's stuck in this nightmare. "You have to play music! Give me your plug things! Make them play anything! Get me out of here." The woman refuses and does nothing but stand there in shock as Steve sinks down to the sidewalk and starts singing Everybody Wants to Rule The World as loud as he can.

"I'm calling 911. You need help." Steve doesn't hear her. He's singing so loud people are starting to come out of their houses to see what's going on but that doesn't matter to him. This isn't real. Vecna has him and he needs to get out.

When the ambulance pulls up, Steve's run out of tears. He's cried himself dry and he's resigned to the fact that any minute now, Vecna is going to snap his arms and legs. "I'm ready." He says quietly to no one but himself. He'd rather it be him than any of his friends. He knows they are probably watching him and trying to bring him back but it's too late. He can't hear the music they're playing.

"Steve?" A familiar voice drags him out of his own head, but it can't be real. He heard that voice take its final breath just mere minutes ago, he can still feel his drying blood under his fingernails. Steve lifts his head and there he is, it's Eddie, no doubt about it. His long hair is tied up in a bun and his eyes are sparkling with worry as he crouches down in front of Steve. It's then that Steve realises Eddie is in full paramedic gear and he's pulling all sorts of things out of a bag to check on Steve.

"Eddie, you're alive." He whispers in disbelief as Eddie checks him for any head injuries. "Where are we? How do we leave?"

Eddie pulls back and there's panic behind his eyes as he slowly helps Steve to his feet and gestures to his partner to grab the stretcher. "Steve, love, I need you to tell me what happened. Why aren't you at work?"

At work? What is Eddie going on about? And did he just call Steve love?!!

"Eddie, this isn't real. I need to leave. I can't stay here with you." He says it slowly so that Eddie understands. He may be some figment of Steve's weird dream imagination and he doesn't want to freak the poor guy out by telling him he's actually dead.

Eddie breathes in and out, his hands a little shaky as he helps Steve onto the ambulance stretcher. His partner helps get Steve set up in the back of the ambulance before they're driving off. Eddie reaches out and holds Steve's hand gently, the gesture surprising but not unwelcome. "Steve, baby, this is very much real life. You're in Hawkins. It's March 21st, 2023. Your name is Steve Harrington, remember?"

"Wait, what?!" Steve tries to sit up but Eddie gently pushes him back down. They hit a bump in the road and Eddie swears softly under his breath about his partner's driving. "It's not 1986?!" He's panicking. He can feel his heart rate spike and his breathing starts to quicken. Eddie tells him to stay calm and just breathe in and out but Steve can't hear him.

Maybe this really isn't Vecna. He'd be dead by now if Vecna had him and Eddie's touch feels too real to be a dream.

Before he knows it, his vision is going spotty and then he's out; the panic and absolute absurdity of it all finally getting to him.

"You'll be okay, Stevie."

Except this isn't the Steve Eddie knows and loves. His Steve, his darling husband, is currently having a dilemma of his own back in 1986.

[smuttysabina]

A Month With Aespa (Ch 1)

(Aespa x Male Reader, 1850 words) Tags: Blowjobs, ownership kink, nice outfits, cum

Many would say that wasting your vast inheritance on such a vulgar thing would be an insult to your grandfather. But you knew the old bastard well enough to know that he would be cackling over how his well-maintained fortune would be wasted. After all, having the entirety of Aespa serve you for a month is worth the immense price that came with such an... indulgence. The gorgeous idols must listen to your every whim, though actions that would bring them lasting harm or hazard their careers were off-limits. The negotiations had been difficult in the extreme, but once enough zeroes had been tacked on to the sales tag the executives had seen reason (Well, that and several of them got vigorously pegged by the maids, the deviants).

So when the promised day comes, the beautiful girls of Aespa arrived at your estate, each of them dressed like dowried princesses. Garbed in elegant gowns, their hair subjected to onerous treatment, bedecked with flashy jewelry, their makeup the work of untold hours. With delicate, measured steps they move down the red carpet towards your (admittedly modest) mansion, eyes locked on the front doors. Looking down at them from the windows above the door, you greedily drink in the heady sight of these idols entering your domain. But it would be a poor host to not welcome such goddesses into your home, and you hurry down to the entryway just as the maids are opening the doors. You greet Aespa with the warmest of smiles, graciously inviting them in and humbly putting yourself at their service. The girls respond with cautious politeness, still not entirely sure as to the exact nature of their stay here.

To ease their minds, you take them on a brief tour of the residence, showing them the more relevant rooms for their stay. You discretely avoid the more... interesting rooms. Grandfather had been quite the randy goat up until his passing, always plowing the maids and relishing in exotic activities with them. So there are more than a few doors in the home that lead to, interesting accoutrements of pleasure. As well as to avoid any awkward revelations, you keep things short as a kindness to the girls, walking about in all that finery is quite exhausting. You end things by their personal rooms for their stay, surely they will want to settle in, and touch up before supper?

The maids give you coy smiles as you watch them prepare a proper meal for your new residents. The Old Man had been fond of helping around the kitchen, and while you ordinarily would honor his memory, you think it wise to show some restraint. After all, you must be at your best for your guests' first meal. Scurrying maids are sent to fetch the idols, no doubt playfully smirking at one another as they gather the girls for their dinner. The ladies enter the dining room in a cavalcade of expense, both in flesh and cloth, as radiant as they were when they first passed through your entryway. Karina in her deep black gown, fringed with lace and concealing her ample bosom; in comparison, Giselle's more modest breasts are on full display, pushed up by shapely dress edged with silver. Winter's attire is as pale as her name, demurely covering her chest while cascading down around her legs. Finally, Ningning is garbed in a dress that puts her lithe legs in the center of attention, while above her breasts are hardly covered as well. The entire ensemble is stunning, truly a feast for the eyes as they array themselves about the table; gracefully sliding onto stools that support their natural poise. You clap your hands, and dinner is served.

A simple three-course meal, supported by some truly excellent wine is laid out for Aespa to enjoy. Comprised mainly of dishes that are unlikely to make a mess (it would hardly be suitable after all the effort they put in for tonight), the ladies dig in with surprising enthusiasm; after all, they will be out of the public's exacting eye until they leave. You entertain them with light conversation, Grandfather didn't raise an uncultured boor after all, gently teasing out details of their lives and helping them relax. Karina leads the conversation, she seems naturally chatty and does a superb job in filling the silence. Giselle serves as a wonderful accompaniment to her, spicing the conversation with saucy stories as well as a healthy helping of sass. The other two, Ningning and Winter, remain mostly quiet throughout, shyly answering questions but rarely sallying forth with their own. After a suitable amount of time has passed (what sort of host would rush his guests?), you politely invite them to the lounge, perhaps they would like a nightcap to round of their meal? They graciously accept, and following you into a perhaps over-decorated parlor (Grandmother had loved her gilt), seating themselves on a pearled couch facing your chair. They sip gingerly at their drinks, enough to be polite but still have control over their senses; eyeing you with expectant curiosity. You had wined and dined them after all, some sort of... appreciation was social implied.

You could hardly be blunt about such things however, even if they were slaved to your whims by contract for the next 31 nights, it would be churlish to outright demand it. Giselle had been the feistiest at dinner, and her bosom was on such provocative display throughout supper... You cock an enquiring eyebrow at her, pointedly glancing at the pillow ever so discretely placed before your armchair. Aespa were hardly blushing virgins, they had undergone the rigors of idol training, no doubt engaging in frantic couplings with their compatriots or subject to extensive lovemaking from fans. So Giselle is able to pick up on your subtle cues, but seems resigned to her oncoming task. With a sigh of faint annoyance, she gathers herself and proceeds to kneel before you, perfectly placed between your outspread legs. She looks up at you with bemusement, a river of defiance still flowing through her as she prepares yourself. With the utmost politeness you tell her, "Upon your breasts, please", and she begins. Taking your already stiffening manhood out of your pants, she lowers her head onto it and takes you in her mouth. In that moment you knew that you were completely justified in your expenditure; even with an utter lack of enthusiasm, Giselle's skills were impeccable, even your lustiest maids could not compare. You unconsciously sigh with pleasure, tastelessly forgetting for a time that you had other guests to entertain, only able to focus solely on this idol's bobbing head... Your breath hikes with excitement, and Giselle pulls off of your cock, stroking it in workmanlike fashion as she angles it towards her exposed breasts. With a groan, you anoint her vast expanses of pale flesh with your creamy seed, long ropes of it spewing over her breasts until they are glistening in the soft lighting.

Giselle gives you a disparaging look as she surveys the mess drying upon her chest, before rudely letting your penis fall back onto your belly unsupported. She stalks back to the couch, rejoining the other girls, who give her glances of silent support and relief. You charmingly request that Winter take her place, and discover that while her countenance may be icy, her mouth is not. Her delicate technique allows you to engage your guests once more however, striking up a conversation with Aespa about their past experiences. Karina, her bubbly personality much more subdued, is still able to to keep up an exchange, studiously ignoring her groupmate's head moving between your thighs. When the time comes, you gently hold Winter steady as your thick semen surges into her warm, inviting mouth. She lets out the meekest noise of disgust as she swallows every last drop, her tongue dutifully milking your shaft until it is totally drained. She then shyly follows the same path Giselle did, and hurriedly sits back down on the couch, drinking her nightcap with much more enthusiasm now.

You take stock, and come to the unfortunate conclusion that your manhood would only be able to perform with any decorum only once more. Which would leave one of the lovely ladies of Aespa bereft of your desert tonight, an unconscionable failing for a host of your impeccable breeding. You muse upon the thorny issue, before deciding upon the most correct course of action that would satisfy all. Beaming, you beckon over both Karina and Ningning, groping around for another pillow so that they would be able to both kneel comfortably. Ningning eyes your slowly shrinking cock with a clinical air, while Karina gives you haltingly awkward smiles as she takes the initiative in leaning towards your crotch. She starts by tenderly kisses and sucking upon you, until your manhood swells up in readiness once more. Then Ningning passionlessly joins in, the both of them licking and kissing up and down your shaft with varying levels of enthusiasm. You sigh at the beautiful sight, the two of them looking up at you as they satisfy every inch of your cock, truly this is a wonderous moment to burn into your memories. You benevolently cup their cheeks in appreciation, thanking them whole-heartedly for such a magnificent performance. Surprisingly, Ningning seems to thaw a bit at your compliments, her reserved manner softening slightly due to your genuine attentions. While their mouths may have been putting on quite the performance, the pair's hands had been hard at work as well; plying your balls and encouraging them to rise to the occasion. An unashamed moan announces the arrival of your final climax, spouting out over both Karina and Ningning's faces, covering them in watery droplets dredge from the depths of your testes. Karina pouts at the mess you made on her makeup, while Ningning shows a vague glimmer of appreciation, while still giving a look of bland revulsion.

The pair rejoin their groupmates on the worn couch, Aespa now putting on a united front as they stare expectantly at you. Winter, looking a touch queasy, Giselle, her out-thrust breasts still sticky with your semen, and Karina and Ningning, faces thoroughly splattered with your seed. With the utmost politeness you sheath your manhood, pleasantly thanking for a wonderful night's entertainment; cordially inviting them to return to their rooms for the night. Of course, should any of them wish yo share your bed, you would be honored to oblige them. Aespa stand and bow graciously, Karina courteously declining your invitation this night, making vague promises for a later date. You smile amiably, shooing them off so that they may recover in peace from this erotic affair; their gifts had been more than satisfactory. They leave the lounge in a far more stilted manner than when they started the evening, their previous grace inhibited by their embarrassment. Truly it had been a marvelous night, and as you yawn and stretch, you muse upon the joys the morning will bring....

(A/N) This is likely to be a multi-chapter work, depending on how well this first one goes I will add more on. This was for sure more of a setup chapter with a good amount of fluff with some spice at the end :3

[cameronspecial]

rafe x ocd reader. Maybe there at the mall and something’s happens inside of one of the stores, rafe brings her to the fitting rooms to calm her down .

Death By Clothes Rack

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x OCD!Reader

Warnings: OCD Compulsion and Obsessions

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.0K

Masterlist

Rafe didn’t truly understand what OCD was until he met her, like most of society, he thought it was just something that made people annoyingly tidy. Meeting Y/N gave him a better comprehension of what anxiety disorder is. It is much more than what the media portrays and Rafe knows this because of his first-hand experience of seeing how distressing the obsessions and compulsion can be for his girlfriend. His fingers are laced with hers as they walk through the boutique. Y/N is looking for a dress for one of Rafe’s work events. She finds a classy black dress and goes to try it on in the changing room.  Upon seeing it doesn’t compliment her in the manner she wants, she returns it to the wooden hanger and walks back to the rack with Rafe in tow. She mindlessly places it onto the bar and begins to walk away, but stops when she spots something that gets her obsessive thought train going. The dress she just returned to the wrack is facing the wrong direction and not in the right spot size-wise. 

What if someone’s feelings are hurt because they thought they were trying on one size, but it is another so it doesn’t fit them? What if someone cuts their hand on the paper tag sticking out of the dress? Another error the girl has made. What if someone accidentally pulls too hard to fix her mistake and the whole rack comes down on them? These things could happen and it would be all her fault if they do. She has to make sure it doesn’t happen. Her first order of business is to remove the dress she put back and fix the direction it hangs, then she finds the section for its size and places it between two of its brethren. She notices the unequal distance between the hangers, which begins the urge to rectify the problem. Metal grinds against metal as she moves the hangers half an inch apart from each other. Her breathing quickens once she realizes there isn’t enough space for all the clothes to be spaced evenly. Rafe notices the internal struggle in her mind, knowing she is debating how to get everything the perfect way she wants it. To get it in a way that no one would get hurt. He hovers his hand over her right shoulder because he knows when she goes through her compulsive cycle that she doesn’t like to be touched, yet he still wants her to feel comfort from its presence. 

“Darling, can you come with me please?” he begs, holding his hand out to her. Her hand freezes on top of the next hanger, “I- I- I can’t. I need to fix it. It needs to be fixed. Someone can get hurt.” Rafe nods in understanding. He lifts a finger to beckon over a sales associate. “What can I help you with, Sir?” He gives her a tight-lipped smile, “I was wondering if you can look over this rack and make sure no one touches it until we get back. My girlfriend is worried that something will happen if they touch it.” The associate tilts her head at the strange request but immediately agrees to do as asked when Rafe flashes her his black Amex card. He turns toward Y/N, “Darling, this nice lady is going to watch over the rack for us. Now, will you come with me?” Even with her back facing him, he can tell the gears are turning in her head before spinning around to look at her boyfriend. “Okay.” Her hand laces with his and he leads her to one of the changing rooms. He pulls the curtain across the bar to give them privacy. He hesitates to place his hands on both of her shoulders, silently asking for permission to touch her. She bobs her head. He can feel her shoulders relax at the contact. 

Her feet bring her closer to him and she rests her face against his chest. His mouth dips to her ear, “Tell me what’s going on through your head.” “I’m so so scared someone is going to get hurt because of something that I did,” she cries, tears beginning to pool in the corner of her eye. “I don’t want to be the cause of anyone's suffering.” Rafe’s hold tightens around her, “I know you don’t, I know. I promise you, Darling, that it is unlikely for someone to get hurt because the hangers are wrong.” 

“But it’s not impossible though. What if something does happen?” 

"I’ll be honest. I don’t know what would happen if it did. I do know though that if it did that you didn’t mean to and that’s okay because accidents happen sometimes.” 

“They do.”

“How about this? You trust that the sales associates know how to properly hang the items in their stores, right?”

“Yes.”

“So how about we ask one to fix it for us and we can know that it was done properly. Would that help?” 

He feels her breathing start to even out and this reassures him that he is helping. “Can we please do that?” she whispers. He runs his fingers through her hair, “Of course, Darling. Let’s go.” So the couple goes back out to the floor and gives their request to the sales associate. They watch as she removes each hanger, handing it over to Rafe to hold while she arranges everything. Once she is finished, Rafe asks Y/N to wait for him in the car. Y/N complies with his invitation, needing a break from being out in public. He turns to the associate he learns is named Kira. “Thank you so much for the help, Kira. My girlfriend has OCD, so sometimes she gets stuck in a compulsive cycle that can just get worse. I really appreciate you being so understanding and helping us. You get a commission, correct?” he verifies. Kira nods, “It was really no trouble going through all that. I could tell something was wrong and I’m glad I could help. To answer your question, I do work on commission.” “Perfect. I’m going to make some calls to a women’s shelter and ask them to send over the size clothes they need. Would you be able to pick stuff out for them? You can get them as much as they need,” he offers. Kira grins, “I would love to help you do that.” “Great, I’ll be in contact then,” he confirms before leaving the store.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

WHEN YOU WERE A CHILD, the world was a small, uncomplicated place. Mom and Dad don't have much money to travel abroad and their jobs only allow for little leisure, so the furthest vacation spot is a beach four hours' drive from your home city. School fills your days with lessons, friends, and the promise of weekend sleepovers. Every day, you stroll down the same street and greet your neighbors by name. Happiness was as close as your mother's freshly baked blueberry pie.

But now? When your world becomes wider and the reach of your hand becomes longer, it seems that happiness finds further hiding places. It grieves you that childhood was too brief; that bubble of safety from the world's woes and tribulations burst before you could even appreciate it.

The five-year-old you looked in the mirror, twisting your tiny feet to see the new shoes from all angles. Despite your repeated protests that you preferred the blue one, your mother purchased the bright pink one—she said it matched her favorite dress, and mother knows best, so you don't have to bother thinking about what you wanted. You shrugged to yourself; at least it's better than your old one.

Walking down the hall, you found your father. He's not in his usual play clothes – he's dressed for work, eyes crinkling as he smiles. "My little princess, you look so pretty!"

You beamed at his praise, chubby cheeks glowing. Nothing makes your heart sing like Dad's smile. You spin around like a princess in a fairy tale, showing off your shoes by stomping gently on the wooden surface.

“Mom bought it for me. It's not blue, but I like it!”

Dad chuckled. “Well, at least she spent my money on my favorite girl.”

Your mother emerged from the kitchen, your lunch bag in hand. “I saw them on sale at the store and just knew they'd be perfect for school,” she says proudly. Your father turned to you, opening his mouth to say something but, Mother interrupted. “We'd better get going or she'll be late for class.”

Dad sighs, mumbling a “yes, I know,” and kneels to sweep you into a tight hug. Your secret handshake is special – finger guns with “pew pew” noises, then knuckles bumping before more hugs and kisses. Your mother rolled her fondly eyes. “You two are always conspiring, sharing your little secrets. Now say goodbye, Daddy has to get to work."

You dislike it when Dad has to leave for work—in fact, you prefer him to Mom. But, Mom said he had to go or else there would be no food on the table for dinner; Besides, Daddy will definitely come back home and you can play with him again. You waved, forcing a smile to look as happy as possible.

"Bye, Daddy!"

"See you soon, princess." With a wave of his hand, your father answered and vanished behind the wooden door.

As Daddy's car pulls away from the curb, you hear Mom walking over to where the car keys are kept. You take a deep breath before exhaling slowly, but that strange tightness in your chest persists—one that usually occurs when it's just Mom and you. She opened the door and told you to go to the car. You followed her in silence, eyes fixed on the pattern on your new pink shoes.

Sliding into the backseat, you peer out the window. The car engine started, and the radio played the same playlist. You watch the buildings and trees move backward. Mom glances at you in the rearview mirror and corrects you about your slumped posture, saying it's an ugly look for a young lady. You sat up straight in your chair and muttered an apology. Satisfied, your mother returned her attention to the road.

Secretly, you wish it could be your dad driving you to school instead. He's more fun, telling silly stories to make you laugh, and doesn't mind your messy crayons or clothes that don't match perfectly. Your mother always finds fault with anything that is unclean or out of place.

Looking up at the clear sky, you hope the sun will soon be above, indicating that lunchtime is approaching. Lunchtime means it's a few hours until sundown, and dinner will soon be served.  You want to quickly see Dad and hear whatever stories he has during the day—that is, if he comes home. Lately, work has been keeping him from home more and more. However, if he's too busy, then tomorrow will do—Sunday sounds fun. He never missed a Sunday with you.

The weekend comes quickly, and you can barely contain your excitement when Dad takes you to the park Sunday morning. You walk hand in hand down the busy sidewalk, you chat a mile a minute about school. Laughter and barking greeted you both.

A fluffy golden retriever catches your eye, and you tug Daddy's hand, pointing excitedly. “Can we get a puppy, Daddy? Please? I'd take such good care of it, I promise!”

Your father chuckled, then shook his head. “You know how your mother feels about furry friends making a mess in the house.”

Disappointed, you scruff your shoes in the dirt. Dad never refuses what you want, no matter how ridiculous it is, unless it contradicts Mom. Unfortunately, the majority of what you desire is always something your mother despises. You continue walking.

Then he points – an ice cream cart! “Can I have one?” You ask, only to remember. "Mom said no sweets before dinner."

Dad crouches to meet your downcast eyes. “But Mom's not here. And you and me, we're partners in crime, right? I won't tell if you won't. What do you say we keep our sweet treat just between us?”

Gasping for joy, bubbles of laughter escaped your lips. "Okay!" Dad got you cones, of course, chocolate ones, and you swung your clasped hands and gawked at all the colorful, melted options. There's no better way to spend a Sunday than taking a stroll with Dad in the sunshine.

Monday night, however, was spent with you lying in bed with a fever ravaging your little body. Through the haze, you hear raised voices carrying down the hall—Mom scolding Dad for letting you have that ice cream.

“I can't believe you disobeyed me, Peter! One ice cream and now she's sick as a dog.” Her shrill voice pierces your pounding head.

“C'mon Anna, the girl's allowed a treat now and then.” Dad's calmer rumble does little to quell your mother's fury.

“If you'd listened to me from the start, this never would've happened. But you always think you know best.” Their arguing grows more heated, and you curl into a tight ball, wishing you could disappear.

Your mother's booming footsteps grew farther away as their conversations ceased. You open your eyes. When your door creaks and you turn around, the light from the corridor peeks through a tiny opening, and your father's form fills the frame. He sits next to you with a strained, contrite expression on his face.

“Hey, honey,” he started. “I'm sorry our secret got out. Mom's just worried about you being sick.”

You try to smile, though it comes out as more of a grimace. “S’okay, Daddy.” You said, and he stroked your damp hair tenderly; concern etched deep.

“Jesus, you're burning up. How about a story to take your mind off feeling bad?”

As if on cue, you remember – “The Nutcracker, please!”

With a kind grin, your father got up to get the cherished book. He takes a seat next to you, acts puzzled as he flips through a book and clears his throat.

"Now let's see, how did this story go again?" You chuckled at his attempt to divert your attention from your fever.

Soon later, he starts reading aloud with a low, comfortable voice. Sometimes, he stumbles over long words or loses his place, but each time he simply smiles sheepishly before continuing on. His favorite part is the dialogue, as he frequently adopts a different voice to portray different characters. You find yourself entranced, following each magical adventure.

For a little while, you can forget about the uncomfortable heat covering your body and Mom's angry shouts. In these quiet moments with your father, nothing else matters but his gentle company. In this once kinder world, he is still your father and you are still his favorite daughter—his one and only. Even if getting an ice cream is what makes you sick, you would do it all over again just to share this time with him.

By the story's end, your eyelids grow heavy enough, but not quite heavy. Dad chuckled, closing the book. “Still awake, little love? You must be feeling better.”

Your lips curve into a smile, glazed eyes glistening as flushed cheeks rise. “Mom signed me up for ballet classes,” you mumble sleepily.

A gasp escaped his lips, his forehead shot upwards emphasizing the already existing wrinkles. He looked at you with irises the same color as yours. You chuckle from his reaction, but your smile fades when his features swim and blur before you like figures in a dream. His gaze was always so kind, looks darker than you recall. Stubble shadows his jaw. When he smiles now, it doesn't reach as far.

He said your name—but it sounded foreign, it felt wrong. Why can't you see him clearly anymore?

“My little princess, you’re going to be the greatest ballet dancer the world has ever seen.” You wanted to answer, to hold this moment with him forever; but heavy eyelids won the battle and ultimately dragged you down. As the darkness enveloped you, Dad's hazy face was the last thing on your mind.

Thin curtains block the dreary morning light as you begin your daily ritual of waking up. The city has just woken up below; fog still hangs on the streets of London as you pad barefoot to the kitchen, the hardwood cold under your feet.

Filling the kettle, you set it to boil and retrieve your favorite chipped mug from the shelf. Your hand reaches for a packet of instant grounds—two scoops of it go inside, followed by a splash of cream. After lifting the whistling kettle, you poured in the boiling water slowly before taking a tea spoon to stir. The sound of the drizzle striking the glass was amplified by the apartment's quiet, and a small clink! sound is added each time your spoon meets your porcelain mug.

Lifting the mug, you breathe deep its comforting aroma before taking a careful sip, sighing as warmth spreads through your body. Coffee in hand, you turn to the task of packing your bag, put the essentials: water bottle, warm up shorts, warm up sweater, leg warmers, two pointe shoes, skirts, and a pouch containing deodorant, hair spray, comb, pins , and band aids.

Feeling quite satisfied, you finish your coffee and rinse the mug before leaving it to dry. You go shower and do your skincare routine. Pulling out your clothes drawer, you retrieve the leotard and tights, sliding the familiar fabrics over still-damp limbs.

Before the full-length mirror, you start to stretch. First position – feet turned out, heels together, arms graceful at your sides. Middle split – breathe in, reach for your toes, feel the burn in your thighs. Forward fold, palms flat on the floor, spine lengthening. After feeling warmed up for the day, you slowly got up and grabbed your bag towards the door.

The city was already starting to get busy, with the hustle and bustle of commuters making their way to work. The aroma of freshly baked pastries and brewing coffee wafting through the air. You quickened your footsteps on the cobblestone streets.

When the train door opens, you rush out, clutching your bag tight. Racing up the stairs, you burst through the exit and meet the cold air from the rain. You rubbed your hands against your arms in a desperate attempt to warm yourself. Overhead, heavy clouds hung low. You set off down the sidewalk at a brisk pace.

But, as your building comes into view, you slow down—memories from last night fill your head. It was just here—under the awnings of that little café—that you first took shelter from the rain with him.

Simon. His name whispers through your mind like fog swirling around lampposts. If only the place was still open, maybe you would come in for a sweet warm drink instead of that crowded pub. Must've been nice, you think—it must've been nice to chat between sweets, enveloped in comfort that stretches time to be longer. Maybe he won't be so guarded and you'll get more than a name and a job—a promise to meet tomorrow at breakfast, for example.

Realizing you had completely stopped walking, you shook your head as embarrassment settled on your cheeks. Why do you dwell on such fantasies? Despite his kindness, Simon is just a stranger with just a name, one of many faces in this city that you will never meet again.

With a sigh, you continued your walk and disappeared behind the large doors of the opera.

The heavy doors creaked open as you pushed inside, warmth enveloping your cold body. Long hallway echoed with the conversation of the dancers who had arrived, sitting cross-legged on the cold floor while exchanging a joke or two with each other. You turn into the dressing room. Hanging up your coat, you saw a familiar sight—girls chatting and gossiping as they got ready.

You sat down at one of the dressers, placing your duffel bag at your feet. The sound of a zipper being opened sounded in the air; you bent down and reached for your pouch. Then, you pull out your trusty lip balm before applying it to your lips and gently massaging in the colorless formula.

Just then, a girl came and stopped at the door frame, panting. “It's up! The casting announcement is on the board!”

Squeals of excitement and joy were heard as they rushed to see who got what role. You hurriedly closed your balm, returned it to the pouch before getting up from the chair following the others. They had gathered at the end of the hall, jostling to see a piece of paper stuck to the board.

Air fills your lungs slowly when you inhale. It felt like your hammering heart was going to drop to your stomach as your legs started to swing. The pessimistic side of you says to turn around—why bother? It said tauntingly, you know which role you ended up having. But the hopeful side—the little girl still full of dreams stored somewhere in your ribs—insisted on peering and feeling.

As you stepped into the crowd of dancers, they turned around and some started smiling at you. One of them, Jasmine, approached you after calling your name.

“You did it! You got the role!”

As she hugged you, you scanned down the long list. Your eyes freeze on the main role. The Swan Queen. Beside it is printed in big black letters, your name. The Swan Queen.

You detach yourself from Jasmine's embrace, muttering excuses as you flee down the hall to the toilet. Step by step opening each stall to make sure the space is totally empty, you then lock yourself in one of them and sink into the closed toilet lid. Your mind is racing with a plethora of feelings as your eyes are fixed on the sections of tile plaque.

Joy, pride, disbelief... But underneath it all lies a hollow ache you can't place. Why? Isn't this what you've always wanted, to to become more than just another dancer in the group, to stop at precisely the thirteenth, and somehow take on the role of the Swan Queen—the one who shines the most on stage? Perhaps it's the self-conscious part of you, believing that the director must have made a mistake and mistook you for someone else.

Or perhaps this emptiness was once occupied by the never-ending quest for approval. In truth, that person no longer exists; you have no one left to tell this good news to. The chairs in the crowd were empty.

The cost of keeping everyone at a distance, indeed.

You clutch on your leotard, the fabric wrinkling in your tight grip. Gazing up at the ceiling and inhaling again, you make the decision to push up on unsteady legs and get out of the stall.

The hallway seems louder than before. Every footstep and whisper amplified in your mind, eyes tracking you as you pass—all judging, wondering. A flush creeps up your neck. You speed up your steps, hoping to quickly get out from under their scrutinizing gaze. However, no matter how hard you try, your ears cannot be deafened by the snatches of hushed conversation that follow.

“Can't believe they chose her; she's so soulless on stage.” Your throat constricts, and your hands are clenched into pale fists.

Claudine's piercing stare cuts through the crowd as your eyes meet. She rakes her gaze over you slowly, as if trying to decipher what the director found so special. You lowered your eyes, hurriedly passing to the safety of the empty dressing room. Grabbing your bag with shaky hands, you flee once more to the practice studio, desperate to lose their judgment.

The studio door's knob turned, and as you pushed slightly to get a glimpse inside, the hinges creaked. With the coach and pianist, the director was engaged in a serious discussion. He gives you a quick glance and gestures for you to enter.

“(Y/N), it's so wonderful to have you here. I know this role is in excellent hands with you.” His kind words did little to calm your fraying nerves, but you took the crumbs of his appreciation.

More dancers arrive behind you, their excited chatter filling the hallway. Risking a glance over your shoulder, you catch sight of familiar faces: Jasmine, Sophia, Eloise, long-faced Marie—surely she's not used to not being the main star, and you feel like you've taken her place even though you're not good enough. You swallow hard and turn back, placing your duffel bag in the studio's corner.

The director clapped his hands to get everyone's attention. “Bravo to each of you for earning these coveted roles through your talent and dedication. Now, let us begin our work to bring Tchaikovsky's magic to life for our audiences. Places everyone, we'll start from the beginning!”

Your shoulders rise as you inhale a deep breath. Swan Lake. First time becoming the Swan Queen.

Does the director know that his gaze carries a heavy weight? The more sighs he lets out, the more you suffocate, as if the air has been tainted with butane and you've reached the vertigo stage. His eyes followed your every move, but it was his lips that showed dissatisfaction. Something isn't up to his expectations, and it's not the techniques and poses your ballet teacher has been drilling you in since childhood. You are deficient in something that you are unaware of.

The director calls to a halt, praising and giving notes to the other dancers before turning to you. You brace yourself with a deep breath.

“Your technique is truly flawless as always. But I wonder, could you try injecting just a bit more... feeling?” he began. “You portray her innocence and loneliness beautifully. But what is missing is the glimmer of hope she finds in Prince Siegfried's promise to free her.”

Hope? The girl had lived most of her life as a swan; what silly hope did she still have and seek in a man? As if their hearts have the ability to keep a promise. Swan Lake wouldn't be Swan Lake without the prince declaring his love for another woman and Odette jumping off the cliff from the realization that her dreams had ended in vain. Is it not more fitting that she feels only emptiness—the result of years of loneliness leeching any warmth or longing from her soul?

You tell yourself that, if not merely to cover up your poor performance. The director is many years older than you and has directed and seen many ballets throughout his life. If anyone knows how to bring a character to life, it's him.

It begs the question, though, of whether a cursed being like her seems capable of wishing for miracles or fairy tale things like love. Can a withered flower, beaten down by countless rains, still hold the memory of the sun in its crumpled petals?

“I'll do better.” You said.

The director gives a pitying smile; you felt small beneath him. “Good.” Then raising his voice, “Well done everyone today. Let's call it a day and start again tomorrow fresh!"

Snatching up your bag, you rush towards the exit before anyone can speak to you. With your head down, you push through the doors and into the night. Breathing in trembling, you let your legs carry you down the well-known pavement. The sights and sounds of bustling London blur around you.

You shouldn't have believed that girl. You shouldn't have given that dreamy girl the chance to lead a version of herself that has grown far beyond her—because you know her judgment means nothing, just a limited view of the world through rose-tinted glasses. She is that way because a liar once said that she would make a great ballet dancer, and she stuck to it like a devoted disciple to the words of her God.

It was stupid, perhaps a misplaced self-confidence. With your every step, the negative voices in your mind grow louder, jeering relentlessly at your foolishness. This was a mistake from the start. As if you could ever do Odette justice. Best tell him you're stepping down; let Claudine or Marie have the role they deserve. Your heart is heavy, weighing you down to the floor. 

You almost pass by without noticing, but there, through the haze, glows the warm orange light of that pub. The one Simon and you ducked into that stormy night, where you shared pleasantries over pints of bitter. As you watch the door open and close for the newcomers, you halt.

You're not sure which Satan incited. But when you push open the pub door, warmth immediately envelopes you, scents of ale and smoke mingling with the bustle of chatter. A lively folk tune played on the sound system as patrons laughed together in the booths and around the bar. Steeling yourself, you approached awkwardly.

The bartender looked up, his eyes widening briefly before his lips curved into a flirtatious smile. "Well hello gorgeous, what can I get for ya?"

Warmth floods your cheeks and you shift from foot to foot. “Um, do you have anything non-alcoholic?” You said, awkward voice breaking easily. Why did you come in here again?

He raised an eyebrow but maintained a friendly smile. “Sure do, love. Give me a mo.” As he turns around to prepare your drink, you glance around helplessly.

Faces blurred in the dim light—all engaged in lively conversation. You sit alone at the bar like you're waiting for a friend while watching everyone else meet theirs. A feeling of loneliness overtakes you – what were you thinking coming here?

Bartender returns, sliding your drink across with a wink. “On the house. Let me know if you need anything else, yeah?”

Giving a mumbled thanks, you take a sip acting busy. As you sit alone nursing your drink, you believe you understand why. Deep down, beneath all the self-doubt and shame, is a glimmer of truth you loath to admit – you desperately seek companionship, if only for a moment.

And the only person close enough for you to consider a friend is a masked stranger you will never see again. That's pathetic; you're pathetic. Clinging to the irrational part to watch Simon walk through that door. He claims he's a regular here—his “I'm here often enough” seems to make you hold out for the chance of running into him again.

Twenty minutes pass in a haze, and Simon still hasn't appeared. Maybe he's not a regular after all. You finally glance at your phone—it's time for your usual subway.

Signaling the bartender, you place some cash on the bar as a tip. “Thanks again,” you murmur, then gather your coat and slip out into the chill night.

“Sorry,” you mumble when you bump into a figure about to enter.

“No worries, love,” a British-accented voice replies smoothly, and you glance up, thinking it's someone. A stranger—tall, broad shoulders, but not Simon. Perfectly coiffed hair and skin as smooth as porcelain. He shot a charming smile at you. “Off somewhere?”

Instantly on alert, your eyes start looking for a way to get away from him. “Just heading home, thanks.”

Making a sidestep, his arms extended to block your path. Your mind's alarm goes off. His gaze burned as it swept over you, lingering in places it had no right to be before he licked his lips. You felt a cold sweat run down your back.

“Don't be like that, darling. I just want to chat. Buy you a drink, maybe?” His smile grows, and the sick glint in his eyes shows how much it amuses him to see you trembling.

“Sorry, I—”

“I believe the lady said she’s not interested, mate.”

A gruff, familiar voice cuts through the haze. You whip your head around to see Simon standing there. His face is half obscured by his black mask, but you'll recognize that steel gaze everywhere. For some reason, your heart gradually calms down in your ribs.

“And who the fuck are you?” the other asked angrily, puffing up his chest. A daring move, you think. His too-tight t-shirt reveals his consistent gym muscles, but if Simon is his opponent, you can be sure he's no match.

“Just not a fan of creeps harassing women. Now do yourself a favor and fuck off before I make you.” Simon threatened.

The color drains from the guy's face when he sees Simon's seriousness. He walked away, swallowing his wounded pride with a huff. The pressure recedes from your rigid frame as you watch the figure leave before turning to Simon.

"You hurt at all?" he asked, doing a scan of you to check for himself.

You shake your head, then manage a shaky “No, I'm fine. Thank you.”

Simon looked at you, then looked behind you towards the pub. When he turns back to you, his eyebrows raise slightly questioningly.

“You were in there your own?”

The warmth from his question traveled across your cheeks, striking a contrast with the night breeze. You didn't dare to meet his eyes, choosing to settle on your shoes instead. Despite having come here just to meet him, feeling under his judgment is like getting a shot of adrenaline into your legs—so much so that you want to run to get away from him.

“I, um…” Words fail you beneath your embarrassment.

How pathetic you must look—a lone girl nursing a drink with no companions, seeking solace in other people's conversations. You can't, however, just reveal your total lack of friends. Your mind searched frantically for a convincing reason.

“Just… needed to clear my head after a long day of practice. Thought the atmosphere might help.”

Even to your own ears, the lie falls flat. You didn't know if Simon noticed. Though you're pitiful, he doesn't furrow his brow or look at you that way. He asks no questions at all, not even about poor attempts at lying, and he doesn't press people on matters they would rather leave unsaid. Simon doesn't pry; you think that's his good quality.

Simon looked up at the dark sky instead. “Getting late, this is. I'll walk you to the tube.” He nodded, gesturing down the empty sidewalk.

Thick clouds rolled low. The two of you make your way towards the subway station, passing one by one the buildings constructed from buff-colored brick. Simon is striding beside you, his long legs eating up the pavement with ease. Secretly, you steal glances at his broad figure against the lamplight. Your eyes follow the line of his shoulders under his leather jacket—the way it molds into muscular arms.

This is different from your first meeting. There's no need now for nervous small talk to fill the quiet; you're not much of a talker, and Simon also finds more peace in silence.

Simon's presence feels more companionable than awkward. Warmth bloomed in your ribs as your lips curled into a small smile before it disappeared again. You both walk in wordless sync before you become bored and break it.

“I didn't really expect to see you again.”

Simon glances down at you, his brows quirking questioningly. Did you sound ungrateful? You rush to explain. “I mean, it was all like a chance thing, running into each other like that. Figured it was just... a one-time thing, you know?”

He thought about your words for a moment. “Funny how things work out sometimes.”

Up ahead, the glow of the station sign begins to appear. You bit the inside of your cheek as you slowly slowed down your pace, but you made sure it was unnoticeable. Your journey's end draws near, but you hope this togetherness can last longer.

Summoning your courage, you try, “Were you meeting someone at the pub? Before…” Your words trail off, but he seems to understand.

“Nah, wasn't meeting anyone,” he said casually. “Just fancied a drink, is all.”

You nodded, acting satisfied, but actually feeling a little disappointed. It seemed that he was in fact a frequent visitor, coming and going on any given evening; it was just for a drink, like before he met you. Meanwhile, you cling to the prospect of another chance to meet like a lifeline. As the station came into full view, your eyes fell, brewing more embarrassment and desperation in your stomach. Maybe he has someone waiting for him. What were you thinking, letting yourself hope?

Yet, though small, the rebellious part of you refuses to let this end.

"What do you usually drink?" You ask again, grasping for any excuse to extend your time, no matter how little.

“Bourbon,” he replied gruffly. “Kentucky, usually. Good drop.”

Twenty-three years old, but this discussion is still foreign territory for you. Your fingers can count the few times you've tasted alcohol—each occasion marred by your mother's voice in your head, warning of its evil. It's rather comical, considering how it once became her loyal companion for several years—that damned thing became the only thing she looked for after coming home from work and gulping it down flat on the living room sofa to dull her broken heart. You cannot yet judge her as a hypocrite or someone who has learned from her mistakes. As if a single glass would transform you into some fallen woman. It was always all or nothing with her; there was no concept of moderation.

Such inhibitions are not for Simon, though. A man of the world who has seen and done things that you could scarcely fathom. For him, a pint after work is as regular as taking a breath.

All too soon, you reach the stairs leading down to the station entrance. Your feet stopped when he did. Turning your body to face him, you gathered your courage and looked up. His eyes meet yours, and you see him about to open his mouth behind his surgical mask. No, you can't bear to hear that final goodbye.

“Do you..” You started. “Like anything else to drink, besides bourbon? I probably have… something at my place.”

There was a change in his gaze before he returned to his usual guarded gaze. Your cheeks screamed on fire at the implication that you didn't quite mean to make. Such an invitation should be the last thing a girl like you offers to a stranger she's only met twice, particularly at this hour. To your defense, though, he's now an acquaintance, and desperation influences people to do the unthinkable. The nights are getting colder and your lonely apartment won't do.

It seems that your question surprised him too. Simon scanned your face carefully before releasing the tension.

“Tea.”

When Simon replies with a single gruff word, you can't help but smile, ducking your head to hide it behind loose tendrils of hair. Lifting your eyes once more, you find him staring at you. Two people engaging in a silent game of deciphering, each trying to unravel the secrets of the other piece by piece.

“Tea,” you repeat softly, as if savoring the taste of the word.

Fingers twisting together, you steel your nerves before turning toward the stairs to lead the way down. You hear his footsteps fall solidly behind you. Not daring to look back out of fear that this dream will shatter, you mentally urge your feet faster.

At the platform's edge, mist curls between the rails like grasping fingers. Simon was standing right next to you. Slowly, the lights of an approaching train emerge, growing brighter by the second. With a weary hiss, the sliding doors open in front of you in welcome. You turned to Simon, then stepped aboard, and he followed, as you already knew.

SUPPORT ME THROUGH KO-FI! CHECK MY WRITING COMMISSION. SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS HERE.

[maddiethedogstories]

Sarah's Playground - 1

As I looked around the park near my apartment, I couldn't help but appreciate how beautiful the weather was. The sun was shining and there was a light breeze keeping it warm, but not to hot. It was perfect tank top and skirt weather, and I was taking full advantage of that.

My name is Sarah Jenkins. I'm 22 years old, blonde, and, if you don't mind me saying so myself, beautiful. I love this type of weather, because it really lets me show off the curves that I've worked hard for. Okay, so maybe not that hard, but I still like showing them off.

You see, about six months ago I was at a garage sale and came across this beautiful ruby necklace for sale. The old woman running the sale sold it to me for a steal, but gave some cryptic advise of 'being careful what you wish for,' and some other bullshit nonsense.

That night, I wore the necklace out for drinks with my girlfriends. At one point, I said something like, "I wish we had some more drinks," and, like magic, some dude immediately bought our table a round.

Now, I have been into the ABDL scene for a bit and understood pretty quickly what was going on based on all of the smutty diaper-fetish fiction I'd read. The old lady at the garage sale was clearly a witch and sold me a magic amulet that granted all of my wishes. Score.

I also realized pretty early on that I would have to been careful as I altered the world, because, I know based on those same stories, magic like this can have a downside if you aren't careful with it. So, for the last six months, I've been incredibly careful. That said, I've also changed a lot of things.

One of the first things I changed was my body. I was never bad looking, but, I had a dream. You see, I have always wanted to be the perfect, most beautiful ABDL Mommy possible. So, I made myself into my dream Mommy. I'm 6'6" tall. My double-D breasts are firm and, more often than not, full of breast milk, ready to feed any hungry adult baby.

I am also fit. I gave myself a large, feminine ass, but the whole thing is made of muscle. I can lift most other adults and easily carry them like small children. My arms are ripped, and I have large hands perfect for spanking disobedient littles.

I've also changed the world to better suit my fantasies. Currently, based on my wishes, when people turn 18, 25 percent of people are randomly forced to regress to adult babies by society. Those people are forced to act like giant toddlers for the rest of their lives. Other people can adopt and care for that portion of the population, doing to them whatever they want, within reason.

Looking out across the park on this beautiful day, I am pretty happy with how things turned out. Beyond the normal sights of parents and their children playing at the playground, young men and women out on runs or sun bathing, and elderly couples out for a stroll, the park is filled with adults of all shapes and sizes acting like the giant babies I've turned them into.

I stopped and watched as one particulary cute young woman wearing nothing but a yellow onesie and gigantic diaper squats down, balls up her fists, and pushes a huge mess into her pants. I watched as she blushed, her adult mind aware of how humiliating it was to shit her pants, but unable to stop herself out of fear of being punished for violating the rules of society I created.

Being the bad witch in charge feels so good!

I continued my stroll through the park, enjoying watching two 30-year-old men in nothing but diapers crawl in a sandbox as there caregivers looked on like disinterested parents letting their kids get energy out at the park.

As I continued, I saw an 18-year-old woman beant over an older man's lap, her bare ass in the air and a pull-up bunched around her ankles.

"Naughty girl! You are an adult baby now, not an adult! You do not take your pull-up off! I'm going to have to demote you to diapers for this!" The man said as he ruthlessly spanked the young woman, who was clearly struggling with her new lot in life.

It's music to my Mommy Domme ears.

Speaking of ears, what was that noise? I reached into my purse and found my cellphone alarm going off. Was it time to go home already? My tits ached. It must be feeding time for my own little ball of joy.

To bad I can't bring her out here. For my own amusement, I've left my own adult baby completely aware of how the world was prior to my intervention. When I take her out in public, she tends to make a scene. Oh well! Time to get back to Mommy duty!

I started walking down the quickest path home, the ruby necklace dangling in my ample cleavage glittering in the sunlight.

NEXT CHAPTER

[oneforthemunny]

omggggg i’m gonna need more mafia!eddie with pregnant reader 😭😭😭 please i beg of you

I’ll do a little blurb bc I was inspired so enjoy :)

“Oh, Eddie, look at this.” You gasped, padding over to the small glass case.

Eddie and the boys (plus Max) had business in the city, which meant he was yours for the day. Taking you shopping, spoiling you for the remainder of the time. He’d taken you everywhere you wanted, insisting on starting off at Tiffany’s. You’d gotten emotional that your favorite ring was a little too snug now that you’d started to swell in every place, thanks to the pregnancy, so Eddie was adamant about getting you a replacement for the time being.

The small case contained a bear, a rattle, and other small, fine baby trinkets. You pressed your hands together, eyes watering at the sight of them. “Oh, isn’t that just precious?” Your lip wobbled. “They’re so tiny look!” The itty bitty baby bracelet, that looked like it might fit on Eddie’s thumb, was bringing on your own water works.

“That is.” Eddie hummed, rubbing your back soothingly. “Very cute.”

“Oh, it’s just so small. We’re going to have a baby that small.” You babbled, swiping at your eyes.

Eddie pulled you into his side, pressing a kiss sweetly into the side of your head. The baby hormones were in full swing, the tiniest things setting you off with emotion.

“Would you like to see any of the pieces, Mr. Munson?” The sales lady asked politely, white gloves already reaching for her keys.

“Just get one of each for us, Theresa.” Eddie waved to her flippantly.

“Would you like the rattle engraved?” Theresa asked, waving another sales assistant over to box up the items. “With a name or a message?”

“W-We don’t have a name yet.” You whimpered, lip wobbling in a different name now. A complete turn around from before.

Eddie sucked in a breath, the sales girl’s eyes widening in fear. “That’s ok!” Theresa blurted, urgently and a little nervous. “You can always bring it back when you have one, and we’ll engrave it for you. Complimentary of course.” She added.

Eddie nodded in approval, a dismissive jerk of his head as he crowded you gently. “See honey? We’ll bring the baby back and we could even get the date engraved too.”

You wiped your eyes, feeling a little silly, head still spinning with emotions way out of your own control. “Do you promise?”

“I swear, kitty. I’ll bring you back with the baby and you can get whatever you want engraved.” Eddie stroked your cheek sweetly, the pad of his thumb grazing over your cheek bone.

Sure enough, he was true to his word. Months later, you had your teeny tiny bundle of joy in your arms. Baby Bea with her little Tiffany bracelet on her chubby little arm, swaddled in blankets while you watched them engrave her month and date on the rattle.

[daydreaming-in-hyrule]

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗘𝗦𝗖𝗢𝗥𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗟𝗔𝗗𝗬 𝗟𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 (prologue)

synopsis: tales of old will always regale the listener with praises and recognition of the feats of esteemed gerudo champion urbosa. but time wears thin on the stories of pivotal companions, and most of them will ultimately leave out one vai, arguably just as important — a warrior, an advisor, a personal guard. most of all… a friend, and yet so much more; the chief’s light in the approaching darkness.

pairing: urbosa x f!gerudo!reader [reader is her personal guard & advisor]

word count: 544

warnings: use of Y/N, urbosa’s mother’s name is azrah, and reader’s mom’s name is isir. also a little bit of my idea of how urbosa’s lightning abilities were first discovered :)

a/n: not yet onto the main storyline! originally I was gonna just dive right in and start with the cutscene of her entrance in age of calamity, but I thought it’d fit together better if there’s a prologue and a little bit of introduction first. and I adore the idea of urbosa’s hair just sticking up all the time as a child bc she hasn’t learnt to fully control her lightning, I think it’d be so cute 💕

anyways, enjoy! <3

After a whole week of steadily rising temperatures that made even the desert-adapted citizens of Gerudo Town suffer, the scorching sun seemed to have taken mercy on the town. Children played in the streets, and vendors’ loud sales pitches rang through the air.

The Gerudo chieftain stood underneath the minimal shade of a palm tree, her personal guard standing to attention beside her. Their eyes followed the movements of two children, playing together with loud giggles and shouts that could probably be heard even from across town.

“They grow up so fast, don’t they? It feels like only yesterday when they drew their first breaths.” The chief’s tone carried a hint of nostalgia, as if memories from her own childhood were stealing their way into her thoughts.

“It truly does, my lady.”

“I am sure it’ll be no time at all till they’re grown… and then my daughter will take the throne.” The chief paused, shifting her gaze to her daughter’s playmate. “And what of your little one, Isir? You plan on beginning her training when she is of age, and inducting her into the guard?”

“Yes, Lady Azrah. I come from a long line of chiefly guards; it is only natural that I give her the training she needs to prepare her, should she be chosen as the next chief’s personal escort.”

A flash of yellow light caught Azrah’s eye and she looked at the children in surprise. “Isir… did you see that light? What was—”

The guard turned to the girls and alarm flared in her eyes. “Hey! Y/N! Put that down!”

Isir rushed forward to gently pull the small dagger out of her daughter’s hands, the blade glinting in the sunlight as she took it away from the children. Her child pouted, and Azrah’s daughter gave a little whine of protest.

“But Isir! We were playing Guards and Thieves!”

“Urbosa, you can do that without the knife,” Azrah crouched to place her hand on the little vai’s shoulder, unable to stop a smile from forming as she brushed a lock of unruly red hair from her daughter’s forehead. “Now, run along. I’m sure Hefza will give you a voltfruit — but only if you ask nicely.”

Urbosa’s eyes lit up again and she grinned, grabbing Y/N’s hand and turning to rush off into the streets to find the vendor. Azrah watched the children run off, a small frown creasing the space between her eyebrows. She could’ve sworn that she saw… something crackling, wreathing around Urbosa’s fingers. Something that charged the air around the girl and put a metallic taste in Azrah’s mouth. Perhaps there was a reason Urbosa’s hair refused to lay flat for more than five minutes at a time.

The Sage’s gift… could it be? But that would mean—

“My chief, with all due respect, I think those two will drive poor Hefza up the wall. As it is, she’s one of the few vendors who humour them in their little games.”

Azrah laughed at Isir’s wry words, turning to her guard. “We’ll pull them out if — no, when — she tires of being the Thief in their game. Until then… let them play, Isir. Let them be children. These carefree times will desert them sooner than you think.”

divider credits: @/saradika-graphics

[rafeinterlude]

𓂃ㅤ⭑. Exterior Gambles

Summery : basically the hunger games with outer banks characters !!

Warnings : none for now

mood board : ⛏️

a/n (1) this is my first time seriously writing a fanfic so be nice, tell me if there’s any grammar errors !!

Words : 567 ( I thought it would be more 😞 )

  CHAPTER 1 : 𓂃. ㅤ Reaping Day : District 12 (JJ MAYBANK)

   It was reaping day, July 4th. A day every 12 to 18-year-olds across the 12 districts dreads, until the day they wishfully turn 19 to finally be free from the horrible tradition that haunts every family. Then the freshly 19-year-old focuses on demanding, mind-numbing work in the districts. 

Like everyone else throughout District 12, Jj Maybank awoke in his ancient unsteady bed with paper-thin covers. Thoughts of what the day would bring clouded everyone's mind. It was quiet in a coal-filled district, normally on a day off he would hear loud children playing outside in sunshine hidden by gray trees and people selling in The Hob, Jj would be there seeing what was for sale so he could feed himself and his dad (if he’s feeling generous). But of course not today when the peacekeepers are on high alert getting ready for the annual reaping.

Jj had to get dressed up nicely with a warn-down suit from his cousin, it was mandatory to dress up for the ‘special’ event as the Capitol put it. Which was his least favorite part of the reaping (other than getting chosen but he didn’t want to think about that possibility, what would his dad do without him? he would sincerely die without his only son taking care of him even though he didn’t appreciate it but what was he supposed to do? it’s his father.)

After he bathed the most he had in months and put on his ‘appealing’ clothes he headed out with the rest of the district getting a sharp sting on the tip of his index finger which turned into a scar after it had been redone for 4 years. Then he went into the line of other 16-year-old boys most of whom he recognized from school and The Hob but noone he was willing to talk to and they were waiting just like the rest of the district to see what 2 people would be torn from their families and closest friends.

Jj looked up at the overdressed woman who walked across the stage and stood behind the microphone in between the 2 fish bowls with everyone’s names from 12-18. She had the weirdest accent he’d ever heard and had the most ridiculous makeup he’d ever seen (before her he had never even seen makeup before) caked onto her face which was especially horrible even more than last year.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor," she called out to everyone anxiously watching her, teens wanting to know if they'll be alive next year and parents in anticipation to see if their children will be safe.

"Ladies first," the exotic-looking woman said then walking over to the female bowl and swooshing around with her hand over the hundreds of names of innocent children before picking one up taking it over to the microphone, and said,

“Eris Vapser,” The 13-year-old girl with grayish blue eyes that perfectly matched the sky and dark umber hair whom Jj had only seen her a handful of times before, as she gingerly walked towards the stage with everyone staring at her seeing her stood to the right of the announcer close to tears.

“And now for the boys!” she happily shrieked and seemingly snail-walked over to the male bowl of names, she picked one up and shouted..

“Jj Maybank!,’ she yelled across the district.

a/n : (2) i know that cannonitcly Pope is richer then John b but it would just make sense if he was in district 11, also i’ve watched all of obx and read/ watched all of the hunger games so that means… I will probably get so many things wrong so.. don’t expect everything to be perfect. ( also kinda based on Crimson Rivers on a03 by zeppazariel ) ALSO ALSO some direct quoting but that’s only for the reaping. Popes perspective will be next !!

tags : @haven247 @hewwokitti @redhead1180 @rafecameroninterlude @lustnluv @rafesbimbo & thank you for beta reading (i changed it up a bit) @rafecameronsgun

[fleet-of-fiction]

Jake Kiszka // OC

Summary: The year is 1820. Jacob Thomas is the second born son of the Polish-American Kiszka family who have recently bought property in England. The affluent family have caused a stir in the old aristocratic London social circles after purchasing Belvoir Hall. A country estate which once belonged to the Hanover family. After the death of Sir Oliver Hanover, his debts too many to count, ashamed and disgraced his widow and two daughters move to live with their Aunt at nearby Ivy Grange, a small manor on the Kent border. After returning to recover some personal items, Eleanor Hanover catches the eye of the flirtatious second son. (All locations are fictional)

Warnings: Loss of virginity. All the usual foreplay shenanigans and sexual descriptions you have come to expect from the erotic corners of my mind. Nothing too nefarious. Just delicious regency era raunch.

Jacob was ascending the stairs when the bell began to chime. He turned, curiously, as the chamber maid appeared at the foot of the staircase to greet whomever stood on the other side of the door.

"Who is it, Kitty?" He asked, his boots making low thrums on the stone floored lobby of Belvoir Hall.

"It's Lady Eleanor, Sir." Kitty replied, standing aside so that Jacob could get a good look at her.

Immediately, he was amused by her. As was his nature. To stand there with an egregious grin that was neither comfort nor welcome. His long, dark hair surpassing his shoulders against a white linen shirt that was unseasonably open to his bare chest.

He liked the way her eyes were immediately drawn to his flesh. A small flush appearing in the apples of her cheeks as she lifted her gloved hand to cover her astonished mouth.

"Lady Eleanor." He said curtly, in the American drawl that had been talked about at great length between Eleanor and her friends. "What can I do for you?"

She was a bold thing, he noticed. Clearing her throat before gathering a stand-offish demeanour about her. Turning, ever so slightly, to ensure that her escort was still standing by the waiting carriage behind her.

"Would it be possible to speak with..." She faltered on the correct title,"...Mrs.Kiszka, please?"

Jacob's lips parted as he continued to smile. Enjoying the way she fiddled with her tiny little clutch bag, flustered and pained by his arrogance.

"My apologies Lady Eleanor, but my Mother is currently indisposed. May I be of service to you?" He said it with an edge of insincerity, as if the service he wished to provide her might not be the one she so desired.

Straightening up, she placed a hand to the edge of her bonnet. Careful to ensure her pretty, dark curls were still in place. His eyes followed the movement of her fingers.

"As I understand it, your Mother and Father procured much of our substantial library in the sale of our house." She managed to say, keeping her voice plain and steady, not wanting to give him any indication that she was completely intimidated. "There are a few titles which are dear to my heart and I have come to appeal to their good nature and ask that I may reclaim those books."

He was young and foolish. Never too enamoured with a girl to ask for her hand in marriage, but often interested enough to play with her heart until he was bored of it. Since arriving in England, the rogue in him had been left untamed.

The way he leaned against the door frame, his shirt unbuttoned, was making her uncomfortable. But still, he did not move to properly attire himself. He did not cease in his relentlessness to bribe a coarse word from her lips.

"I see no reason as to why you may not have what you desire." He said sardonically, opening the door a little wider. "Kitty, please show Lady Eleanor to the library."

There was a little hesitation as she approached the door. His arm slowly moving out of her way, his smile never once leaving his face as he watched her enter. Knowing her way to the library but following the servant obediently, she dared to glance back at him standing there as she turned the corner.

Kitty had also been part of the house sale. Similar in age to Eleanor, she had grown up playing in the endless corridors and secret rooms which littered the top floors of the manor. Taking her position as chamber maid on her fourteenth birthday. No longer Eleanor's playmate. It had made little difference, the two of them remaining friends in the convening years.

As the library door closed, Eleanor fell into her friend's excitement. Kitty, unable to retain her sense of propriety, embraced her old friend tightly, giggling as they both enjoyed a sweet reunion.

"Oh, Kitty! I have missed you!" She exclaimed, looking around the old room to happily notice that nothing had changed. "I feel as if I have come home."

Kitty smiled bittersweetly. "Oh, my Lady... the place hasn't been the same since you left. I dare say everything looks as it once did, but it's a different Belvoir Hall these days."

Grasping her hands tightly, Eleanor lead her friend over to the leather couch that centred the walls of book shelves. A table and a lamp that had once belonged to her Father sitting idly at the side. This room had been her absolute favourite. A quiet place to contemplate.

"You must tell me everything, Kitty! Mother has been dying for news over at Ivy Grange. She mulls over it day and night, how we lost Belvoir and everything within it. She's melancholy, I tell you. Simply ghastly. Aunt Helen has been at her wits end. Give me something I may take back for her that may make her smile, wont you?"

Kitty's eyes moved towards the door, afraid to speak ill of her new masters. Leaning in so that her whispers did not travel beyond her dear friend's ear.

"It's their children, my Lady!" Kitty said spritely, cupping a hand around her mouth. "The master and his wife, they are nice enough people. Came here because of a population boom, as they explained it, returning to their European roots. Although I was lead to believe they are Polish? I don't think they speak Polish. Anyway, their children are a different matter. The eldest one, Joshua, he is an odd creature if ever I saw one. Keeps to himself mainly. Rather studious and contemplative. He likes a drink though, and to converse with any who will listen after a few sips. The one who greeted you at the door, that's his younger twin. By five minutes as I understand it. He and their younger brother are tyrants. Jacob and Samuel. I have seen the youngest one with his hand up a few skirts, many a time. You remember Bessy? Your Father took her on just before he died. She did not stand a chance. He's had her up against the wall almost every night since they arrived. And Jacob? His tastes seem a little more sophisticated. But I've heard tale that he has refused to marry. The young girl, Veronica, she's been sent to a school somewhere up north. She was here all of a week before she was gone."

Their conspiring was etched all over their faces as the door clicked and opened. Kitty unceremoniously jumped up from the couch, flattening out her pinafore and hair as Jacob strode in with all the confidence of a man who knew his place.

"Leave us." He said, lowering his voice and his gaze.

Eleanor raised a protesting hand. "If it is all the same to you, good Sir, my escort is waiting outside and as a guest I am certain you must provide me with one whilst I am within."

The corner of his mouth turned upward. "As you wish."

Kitty stood with her back to the door. Her eyes firmly set on the window, overlooking the gardens outside. Fingers knotted together at her front, as she had been taught to stand whenever attending a room. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jacob take a seat on the opposite end of the couch. Certain he was being far too bold.

"You are welcome here any time, Lady Eleanor." He said smoothly, crossing his leg across his lap. "It must still feel like your home."

The kindness with which he spoke took her by surprise. His insincerity and arrogance were still bubbling beneath a veneer of charm, his arm outstretched towards her on the back of the couch. She noted the way he looked at her, without a hint of propriety.

The flush within her cheeks began to resonate between her thighs. The fabric of her petticoat becoming uncomfortable. Her corset feeling as if it might constrict her chest into breaths she could barely take in. The sensation washing over her completely unwanted, leaving her desperate to flee.

"You're very kind, Sir..." She began, trying to remain composed.

"Call me Jacob, I insist." He replied before she could finish, a subtle waves of his hand revealing the silver lines of an old scar running up his forearm.

"Jacob." She uttered, the name spilling out of her mouth like spun silk.

He liked the way it sounded on her lips. Admiring her budded peaks and poised demeanour as she sat bolt upright with her hands within her lap. Her attempt to hide her rosy cheeks beneath the rim of her bonnet made him eager to cup her chin within his hand and lift her gaze to meet him.

"You are not yet married, Lady Eleanor?" He asked, shooting a disparaging look towards Kitty, "May I be so bold as to ask why a beautiful woman such as yourself has not yet accepted the many proposals I am sure you have received?"

Kitty could feel his eyes burning into her. Her mouth was set in a thin line, biting back the urge to speak ill of her masters son.

"You may not." Eleanor replied, " I am here to collect my books, nothing more."

He noted the thin line transform into a triumphant smile on Kitty's face.

"Very well." He allowed, swiftly moving away from the couch. "Pick out your beloved books and I will have them sent to you as I'm certain there will be many."

There was a hint of reproach as he took his leave. Eleanor felt the wind leave her lungs as he closed the door behind him. The interaction so brief, so inconsequential. Had she imagined the way he had looked at her?

"Careful there, my Lady." Kitty warned, "He's a tyrant, remember?"

Ivy Grange was much smaller, less grandiose than Belvoir. It had taken Eleanor several weeks to acclimatise herself to the surroundings. Where once there had been a full service staff of housekeepers and groundsmen, stable hands and game keepers there was now only a handful of people to keep the land and rooms. It still felt somewhat shameful. To have lost everything so suddenly and to see another in the place where you once stood.

For days after returning from Belvoir, Eleanor did not feel quite herself. Taking air in the garden and keeping herself occupied with the piano in the day parlour. It had felt strange to be a guest when it still felt like her home. But it wasn't that which kept her unsettled.

As she strolled around the rose bushes, taking in their scent and admiring their soft, round pink petals she was reminded of that symbiotic stare. His arrogance and his kindness at war with one another. He was an enigma, she had decided, as she studied the rose stems.

Why did he come into her mind so vividly and so uninvited? She found herself irritated with all the thoughts which had plagued her. Wondering if he had meant to steal from her the emotions she had felt that day. Is this what tyrants did?

"Ellie?! Oh, Ellie... where are you?! Must you always be where I can't find you?!"

The voice chimed over the mid spring breeze. The child like call of Elizabeth Hanover, Eleanor's younger sister.

"I am here!" Eleanor called back, lifting her head to be seen over the pink and green. "What has got you all excited?!"

At fifteen years old, she was entirely the opposite of her sister. Eleanor was only bold because she feared the interrogation of being asked why she had not yet married. Elizabeth was still young enough to enjoy not being asked that question. Still full of hope and wonder. Eleanor had no desire to marry a man who would no doubt drink himself into a stupor every night and gamble away their wealth. Sir Oliver Hanover had much to answer for when it came to his eldest daughter.

"Oh, Ellie! There's a Gentleman come to call for you. He's ever so handsome! He's American, with that long hair. And he has asked to speak with your directly. Ellie...is he one of those Kiszka's that moved into Belvoir?"

Eleanor could see that her sister had been instantly charmed. She placed a loving hand on the cool, flushed cheek of her little sister. Her eyes looking up expectantly.

"I expect so, yes." She replied, looking up over the lawn towards the house. "He greeted me when I visited the other day."

Elizabeth clasped her hands together. "Which one? The youngest one? I have heard he is terribly handsome. And the man at the door was terribly handsome..."

"Lilibet, please." Eleanor said, stroking the cheek slowly. "Calm yourself down. They're just silly boys."

"You always say that." Elizabeth replied, feeling the excitement drain from her, "He's speaking with Mother. And I don't think he's a silly boy at all. I think I would be greatly flattered if one of them were to call for me."

Of course, it was Jacob. Under the guise of returning the books she had chosen from the library. A chest full of them stood at the foot of the door, a look of absolute satisfaction on his face.

Eleanor's Mother, Lady Anne Hanover, had already agreed to Jacob escorting her eldest daughter on a stroll around the gardens whilst the books were placed in the smaller library at Ivy Grange. A look of consternation was exchanged between Mother and daughter before Eleanor invited him out into the warm spring sunshine.

"I did not mean to cause offence to you the other day, Lady Eleanor." He began, following her lead down the path which meandered down from the back of the house. "I'm sure you are aware that I, too, am as yet unmarried and grow weary at being questioned."

Eleanor politely nodded. "There was no offence, caused. Sir...I beg your pardon, Jacob."

There it was again. That smile as she spoke his name. His entire body turned to face her. Still amused by her. Still charmingly arrogant.

"I dare say our parents were hoping a change of location would bring about some changes in our marital statuses. As yet, none of my siblings are betrothed. Although they hope that my sister will return from her schooling up north with news of a proposal."

Eleanor could feel that tightness in her corset again, that familiar ache in her stomach. She stopped to admire the flowers.

"May I ask why you have called upon me like this, Jacob? It seems to me that you have no desire to marry and courtship would be far too much of a commitment for you. Because, as you can see, I have no desire to be courted."

"Is that so?" He replied earnestly, gesturing for her to lead them further down the path. "I had wondered if Kitty had filled your head with nonsense about me and it appears that I was right."

She dared to look at him directly. The sun beating down behind him, forcing her to raise a hand against her eyes. She noted the details of his face for the first time. The sensual way his mouth moved, the tip of his tongue moistening his lips. A tiny mole on his cheek and a little upturn of his nose at the tip.

"Where did you get that scar on your arm?" She asked, deciding that she was going to humour him.

He was quite taken aback, but did not hesitate in his response.

"When I was a child my brother and I were having a disagreement. He thought it could be resolved with fists and so we fought. I ended up with my fist cutting through a glass cabinet that had belong to my Grandfather and the result was the opening of my arm." He traced the silver line with a curious fingertip. "Joshua saw the blood and immediately ran to fetch our Mother, who promptly fainted at the sight of it. I don't think either of us can remember what the disagreement was about."

Eleanor nodded and proceeded to guide him into the seclusion of the pond which sat behind a row of beeches. The lily pads were in full bloom and the fish scuttled up to the surface as their reflections appeared on the rippled surface.

"Am I to believe that you are not the tyrant I have been informed of?" She asked pertinently. "Is that why you have come here? To ensure that the stories which proceed you are not to be believed?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I would be interested to hear which stories are circulating. My Father intends to host a party in the coming weeks. To formally greet everyone and make their proper acquaintance. I'm sure you will receive your invitation shortly, but I would hate to be stuck in a room full of people who think me a tyrant."

The wind picked up. Pulling a curl from Eleanor's head. He took note of it immediately, reaching to push it back from her face. She did not flinch from the touch as he thought she might. There, at the side of the pond, they were completely alone and unescorted. Jacob sensed a shift in her manner with him.

"Only that you and your younger brother have had your fill of the women around here in such a short space of time. With no regard for their honour." She said curtly, with no regard for his feelings, eager to see if he would respond graciously.

He was no longer amused. No longer arrogant, even.

"I cannot speak for Samuel. He is younger than I am. Likely his behaviour will catch up to him if he is not careful." He sighed then, almost as if it grieved him. "My only wish is to find a girl who will run free with me."

Yes, he was a rogue. But he was no tyrant. She peered into his soft eyes and saw all the promise of a man who couldn't exist within the walls expected of him. Walls that had kept her, too, caged like a wild animal for others to spectate.

"Why is it that you carry yourself so arrogantly?" She dared to ask. "You do yourself no favours."

There was an errant smirk there on that beautiful mouth.

"Better to be thought of as something that I am not, than something I am failing at being."

Eleanor could not deny that she was intrigued by him. If she had ever been intimidated, it fell by the wayside as she watched him gently fan away a bee that came to buzz around their heads. Ordinarily, she would have panicked and swatted it away herself. But she could not keep her eyes off him.

"What, precisely, might you be failing at being?" She probed further.

"Romantic." He replied stoically.

There was a change in direction of the breeze. It brought about that curl from behind her ear. He would have trespassed a kiss, but the hour was growing late. Instead, he positioned that curl back behind her ear, his hand lingering a little longer at her face.

"I think it would be remiss of me to say that you are not without romance, Jacob." She said, almost breathlessly. "But I fail to see how any of that has anything to do with me."

He almost laughed. A low, breathy mocking sound that hurt her feelings.

"You are not blind, Lady Eleanor. Nor are you stupid." He said then, all the laughter fading. "You do well to be careful with me, I am but a man. And though I strive to do better, it is true that I have known my share of women."

"Perhaps you are tyrant after all." She said quietly, her eyes falling listlessly to his lips. "Perhaps I have need of one."

As the carriage pulled up outside Belvoir Hall, Eleanor Hanover smoothed out her emerald green dress. Adorned with lace at the neck and wrists, she checked her reflection in the carriage door window and admired the warm, welcoming lights resonating from her former home.

London society was buzzing with excitement for the first formal occasion hosted by the mysterious new American family. There was no mistaking that they were new money. Mr. and Mrs. Kiszka, without any further titles, welcomed Lords and Ladies to their sprawling home with all the uncertainty that came with being new money. But money they had, in abundance.

It was clear to see as Eleanor stepped into the ballroom. Adorned with silk flowers which hung ostentatiously from the ceiling and climbed in vines down the staircase. A string quartet were playing lively music in the corner while the waiting staff mingled with silver trays of champagne.

Aunt Helen was the first to make a comment on the choice of flowers. Lady Ann agreeing with her most excitedly as they tried to pick the place apart and make it appear that they were happy to attend a party in the place they had once called home.

"Where do you suppose the sons are?" Elizabeth asked, scanning the room for handsome young men.

Aunt Helen, although old and dithering, placed a firm hand on the young girls shoulder. "Now, now, Lilibet. Have a care for your reputation."

The young girl rolled her eyes. "It's a party, Aunt Helen. Am I not allowed a little fun?"

"Fun you may have." The old woman replied sourly, "Dance if you wish. But stay away from those Kiszka boys, I have heard... things."

It didn't take long for their arrival to make heads turn. People gathering to ask how they felt in their old home, being hosted as guests. Eleanor took her opportunity to step back from the fray, smiling and nodding as she took a glass of champagne.

Parties had never sat well with her. The meaningless cycle of mind numbing chat and gossip. The judgements of those attending, pretending to like their neighbours whilst talking ill of them behind their backs. People getting far too drunk for their senses. The music and the joy which came from that was the only reason she attended. But tonight there had been another reason.

"That's Joshua Kiszka on the fiddle." Elizabeth announced, inexplicably coming forth with information she couldn't possibly have procured so quickly. "Look at him, Ellie! Isn't he dreamy?!"

Eleanor looked over the where the quartet were playing. A small, curly haired man playing a wistful tune.

"That man is twenty six years old, Lilibet. There is to be no more say on how he is dreamy." She scolded, watching her sister skulk off with her excitement yet again dulled.

Jacob was sitting quietly in the darkest corner of the room, beneath the staircase where he could watch the party unfold without engaging himself within it. He watched Eleanor arrive, keeping a close eye as she looked for him. Distracted by her sister's incessant wants, he found himself intrigued by the way she took herself to the edge of the room to spectate, in much the same manner he was.

His desire to make his presence known was quelled by the eyes he knew would be watching. To approach her in this room would have drawn unwanted attention. As he rose from his seat, he slowly made his way through the crowd. Nodding his head in greeting to those who raised their glasses. His eyes firmly set on Eleanor.

When she reciprocated his gaze, it was as if the music had stopped. She understood completely what was expected of her. The room fell silent to him, her shape was all he could see. He silently begged her to leave with him. From across the room.

"Lilibet." She said, leaning in to her crestfallen sister. "Do you think our rooms have been slept in by one of the boys?"

Oh, she was evil. To use her sister to such an end. But as Jacob ascended the stairs, his eyes reaching back to call her to him, she knew there was no other way to slip out unnoticed.

Elizabeth, predictably excited by the prospect of going to investigate, knew that she was being watched.

"Why don't you keep Mother and Aunt Helen occupied whilst I go and have a look? I can report back."

The idea was not without it's rewards. Elizabeth mulled it over for the briefest of moments before sidling off to keep her Mother and Aunt's attention.

Whatever madness was coursing through her veins in that moment, she heeded it. The candlelit corridor at the top of the stairs was where he waited for her. His shirt unbuttoned in the way it had been that first day she had returned to Belvoir. His hair cascading over his shoulders.

He picked up a candlestick and began walking down the corridor, Eleanor following his silent instruction. He halted at the door of her old room.

"This was yours, wasn't it?" He correctly predicted.

She nodded prophetically. "I suppose it is yours now."

His smile danced in the light of the candle. He opened the door and allowed her to slip beneath his arm, the light of the moon outside flooding in through the open window. He watched her run to the glass, placing her palm flat against it as she looked out over the gardens.

"You look exceptionally beautiful tonight, Lady Eleanor." He said, placing the candle down on the dresser by the door.

She watched him in the reflection of the window. Standing there like a ghost. Her heart fluttering wildly against her corset strings. He looked dangerous standing there like that.

"Thankyou." She swallowed, "You look rather dapper yourself, Sir."

She thought he might correct her, but to her surprise he didn't. He liked being called Sir. He had been called it more often of late. Drawing from it a need to hear it outside the realms of propriety.

"Why did you come up here, my Lady?" He asked, taking the buckle of his belt firmly into his hand. "I do not plan on being an honourable man."

"I know." She breathed, turning to face him in the flickering light of the candle flame. "I did not follow you to be honoured."

His breath ceased. If his expectation had been to steal a kiss, he began to wonder if she would allow him more.

The four poster bed was unchanged. Eleanor had spent many nights in those sheets alone, wondering what it might feel like to have a man at her side. As she glanced over at the bed frame, a flash of something emerged in Jacob's eyes.

"I must confess that I have been completely at your mercy since the moment I laid eyes upon you." His confession came unbound, unlooping the belt savagely from his waist.

Eleanor thought back to that day far more often than she cared to admit. He had ignited within her something which had been dormant. Perhaps opening an answer as to why she was yet to marry. In truth, all the men who had ever asked her had bored her to tears. Not once having elicited from her the visceral reaction in her core that Jacob had with one, fleeting glance.

"Would I be right in thinking that whatever may transpire here tonight, you have thought about it often?" She asked, noticing in the dull light the way his jaw was clenched tight.

"A fair warning to you, Lady Eleanor. If you have yet to know a man's touch. Let it be known before I lose control of myself."

He placed his belt down on the dresser slowly. Never breaking the way he stared at her.

There was a real sense of fear permeating from her in that moment. A kiss or two had been stolen by former suitors. One of them had even managed to draw her into a moment of feverish petting that had been interrupted at the precise moment Eleanor had come to her senses about the stupid boy. But nothing more.

"What kind of woman do you take me for?" She asked, knowing full well the sort of woman she was. " You are well aware that I am unmarried."

"Unmarried women do not always walk through life without carnal knowledge." He surmised, taking a step towards her.

He would have taken strides to cross the room and taken her into his arms without further question were it not for the door opening behind him.

The candlestick that entered first causing Lady Eleanor to retreat back towards the window. The hand which gripped it tightly belonging to her friend, Lady Jane Corbett.

Jacob, in his haste to remove her, caught her in a delirious grip. The hand that reached out to strike him landing in an iron grip around her wrist that would surely leave a mark.

"You brute!!!" She screamed, throwing the candlestick down onto the wooden panelled floor. "I knew you were a fiend!"

He stomped the flame out. Eleanor stood watching in horror as the poor girl was tackled on to the bed. His hand pressed firmly against her mouth lest her screams alert others to the predicament.

"Have you lost your damn mind, girl?!"

It appeared that she had. Eleanor had known Lady Jane all her life. The two of them navigating the same social circles that their Fathers expected them to find suitable husbands within. Coming of age in the same month. Confiding in each other their distaste for all the eligible men who had come forward.

"Release her, immediately!" Eleanor flared, coming to her senses as she realised how harshly he had dealt with her.

He did as he was bade. Stepping away from the crying girl with his palms in the air. Defeat etched across his distraught face.

"I only meant to calm her, Lady Eleanor. You see how distressed she is."

"Indeed I do." Eleanor agreed, helping her friend to rise. "And what is the cause of this distress?"

"I am." He replied solemnly.

"Be more specific." She added, wiping the tears that fell down Lady Janes cheeks.

Jane, certain she had behaved foolishly as she began to sober, looked up at the kindness being shown to her and regretted her decision to follow them.

Jacob had been all that she could think of. Consumed entirely by him. She had been his first conquest after arriving at Belvoir a month ago. Inconsequential to him. A mere plaything. Regretfully rebuffing her repeated advances thereafter.

Lady Jane was a creature of habit. And he had drawn from her a habit she ached to have more of. But she was not pretty in the way that Eleanor was. Nor as interesting. Jacobs desire towards her waning almost the instant he had kissed her.

For that was all it had been. One kiss. In the day parlour downstairs after the Corbett family had been the first to win the race to welcome the new owners of the largest estate in the county. And it had driven the poor girl mad.

"Lady Jane, I meant you no harm." Jacob said softly, with the most kindness Eleanor had seen him muster. "But this has to stop. I have no intention towards you."

She was limp in Eleanor's arms. "There was an intention towards me the day you kissed me..."

It was all to much for her. The champagne and the music and the crushing realisation that Jacob had never wanted her. Turning to Eleanor, sinking her head into her open arms, she was lead back out into the corridor.

"Come along, Janey... let's find your Mammar and Pappar and see that you get yourself home." Eleanor coddled, striking Jacob with the most venomous stare.

He was still catching his breath. "I mean to have you, one way or another."

She caught his scent as she escorted her friend out. His words echoing as she left him stood there. Returning to the party felt like an unfinished symphony. The evening playing out much as she had imagined it would.

Lord Corbett bundled his daughter into their carriage and apologised for her demeanour. There was much talk of her drunkenness in whispers thereafter. For Eleanor it felt as if she had embarked on a journey she'd had no desire to travel. Her eyes moving towards the staircase as Jacob watched her from his elevated position.

Perhaps he was both charming tyrant and the man she had always needed. Her attention was solely transfixed on him. It didn't even matter that her friend had been broken by him. She knew she was willing to enter into whatever this was by any means necessary. What was disturbed that night would remain alight until the next opportunity, she was sure of it.

Midnight was fast approaching when he finally descended. Passing through the remaining guests, ever watchful of her. Greeting his younger brother, who was decidedly drunk enough to have abandoned his shoes somewhere. Elizabeth was asking far too many questions, the inane babble of the older women forcing Eleanor to address them just so that she didn't have to listen to it any longer.

"Yes, Lilibet. I think that one of them has taken over the use of my old room." She sighed, "How strange to think what was once ours is now theirs."

"I'm tired." The young girl complained, "You were gone for so long I got terribly bored and haven't stopped dancing all night. My feet hurt."

"Well, perhaps we should do as our hosts do and remove our shoes." She suggested, "And then I will suggest to Mother that we go home, how does that sound?"

"Yes." She agreed, resting her head diligently on her sister's shoulders. "I've had quite enough for one evening."

"As have I." Eleanor whispered. "As have I..."

When Samuel Kiszka had come calling for Elizabeth she had pouted for days that she had not been allowed to receive him. The rebuff had been taken personally with the Kiszka's making a hasty visit to Ivy Grange to enquire as to why their son was not good enough for the young Lady.

Elizabeth's 16th birthday was fast approaching. All her romantic notions seemed to burn a wildfire once she realised Samuel was interested in her. Insufferable, almost. Amongst the chaos of it all there was was no Gentleman callers at the door for Eleanor, and she began to feel as if she should have trusted her initial instinct about Jacob.

Mr. and Mrs. Kiszka were homely people. They had known struggle. Their position was not yet secured in society simply because they had purchased Belvoir Hall. They seemed to understand this as they sat, nervously, in the day parlour with Aunt Helen and Lady Anne.

"You understand our position, do you not?" Aunt Helen asked, offering them some more tea, even though they had already drunk more than one cup. "Elizabeth is not yet sixteen until the week after next and we cannot have suitors arriving before that time."

It was a fair excuse. One that made little sense. Eleanor had been forced to receive suitors well before she had turned sixteen and now that she was closer to twenty it appeared that there was one person she wished would call for her, after all.

"Well now, we had hoped that our son would pick wisely." Mrs. Kiszka explained, her accent slightly off-putting to the older women. "Lord knows, he needs himself a good wife. And I can assure you, if she picks Samuel, she will be able to return to Belvoir and will want for nothing."

"Be that as it may." Aunt Helen interjected, "Wealth and power are all very good but what is any of that without a title?"

Mr. Kiszka shuffled in his seat. "It seems to me that young Lady Elizabeth is sweet on our boy. And he seems to feel the same, should we not let the young ones decide?"

Aunt Helen was not perturbed in the slightest. "She's a flighty young thing. In love with love. It shall pass, I dare say."

Eleanor was seated by the piano, her nose in a book. Trying to keep herself from entering into the debate as she raged inwardly at Jacob's absence.

"In any case, he's the only one of our sons that has shown an interest in marriage. Our eldest boys are perpetual bachelors." Mrs.Kisza revealed, causing Eleanor to look up from her book. "They have both returned to Michigan to complete some business on behalf of their Father. We don't expect miracles, but if one of them should bring a wife back that would be one less worry."

Aunt Helen raised her cup for more tea to be poured. "And when do you expect them to return?"

"Next month." Mrs.Kiszka replied, her words ripping through Eleanor with such force, she audibly whined.

It drew their attention.

"Whatever is the matter, girl?" Aunt Helen asked, visibly troubled by the sound.

Eleanor put her book down and made her excuses.

"Forgive me, I do not feel quite well..."

It transpired that a month felt unrelenting when the heart was longing for something. He was her twin flame. A scoundrel that was on the same footing as she. She wanted him to ruin her, to love her so passionately that there would never be a parting such as this between them ever again. As the days rolled by, Eleanor found herself in a state of constant melancholy. Frustrated with herself for allowing such a thing to happen.

Elizabeth's birthday arrived with such fanfare that it felt to Eleanor as if she had been asleep for a very long time and had been forced to wake up for the occasion. Her heart was set on marrying Samuel. Who wanted her simply for her status and purity. He would take great delight in that on their wedding night. Which made Eleanor want to burn down Belvoir Hall, with all the damn Kiszka's inside it.

"Why am I not allowed to be in love?" Elizabeth asked, on the morning of her birthday, sitting in the day parlour eating breakfast opposite her sister.

"What a stupid thing to say." Eleanor replied, "Of course you're allowed to be in love."

She watched as Elizabeth spooned a heap of jam onto her bread. Spreading it thickly across the wedge before shoving it into her mouth with little decorum.

"I'm not allowed to be in love with Samuel Kiszka." She added, chewing at the same time. "But you're allowed to be in love with Jacob. I do not find that fair."

Eleanor's head shot up. Her appetite completely withdrawn.

"I am not in love with Jacob Kiszka." She said pointedly, pushing her plate aside.

Throwing her a knowing look, Elizabeth rose from the table and brushed off the crumbs from her dress.

"I'm going to marry Samuel. And you're going to marry Jacob. And we're both going home to Belvoir. And there really isn't much you can do about it." She stated, skulking off to enjoy the rest of her birthday without Eleanor's incessant brooding.

Jacob hadn't known how he would feel upon his early return. The rolling hills of the Kent countryside filling him with a sense of serenity as the carriage rumbled on from the port at Liverpool. Sat opposite his twin and the bride he had brought with him that would surely make their Mother so happy that his absence would be barely noted if he jumped out and walked the rest of the way to Ivy Grange.

The mid summer heat was intense that day. So warm that he threw his coat over his shoulder as he disembarked. The crossroads that lead to Ivy Grange stretched out in the opposite direction of the road to Belvoir Hall.

"Tell Ma I'll be home later." He called, watching the carriage roll on without him.

With the sun beating down so fiercely, Eleanor took refuge in the conservatory. The glass panelled room was airy and light, with all manner of plants growing in the atrium to keep her shaded. It was the one room at Ivy Grange that Aunt Helen had insisted on. With the expanse of gardens below, the view was something to behold. And it kept her distracted whilst the house was busy preparing a birthday feast.

And then he was there. Completely unexpected. She was uncertain at first as she squinted into the midday sun. His form appearing at the bottom of the driveway, walking up the lawn with his coat draped across his shoulder. His shirt unbuttoned. Oh, that damned shirt.

She flew to the conservatory door almost flinging it off it's hinges as she ran to him. The ribbon in her hair trailing behind her wildly, her dress coming up about her knees as she flew down the lawn. He threw down his coat as she approached, opening his arms for her to reach.

He caught her in a spin. Lifting her off the ground. Wasting no more time to give in to the temptations which had been there since the very first moment. She allowed him to do as he pleased. No longer caring for propriety. He placed her firmly to the ground, lifting her chin to meet his waiting lips.

Her foot rising back as he kissed her. It was not a gentle kiss, nor befitting the sort of kiss that should be a first. He was enamoured by the way she seemed as possessed as he, her fingers knotting through his hair as she fought to have her fill of him. Her mouth opening beneath his, welcoming his tongue as if she had wilted at his request.

"You were gone..." She cried through the warm breath of his mouth against hers. "You left me..."

Her reproach was a dagger to his heart. Gripping her shoulders tightly he thought of the breadth of the country he had travelled to return to her. The way he had wrapped up his business in Michigan a fortnight early to make the odyssey back to her. He thought of how Joshua had begged him to stay, their hearts torn into two halves as Jacob pined for Eleanor and Joshua found a love to call his own. They had fought over it. And reconciled over it.

"You will never know what I have endured to be here...to return to you..." He said, so uncommonly soft, his hands resting at the crook of her neck.

She didn't need to. It was laid bare in his eyes as he peered down at her, desperate for more. In haste, she pulled him down the lawn towards the line of beech tree's that secluded the view of the pond from the house.

Pulling at his shirt, freeing him of it as he gathered her dress within the curl of his fists and reached inside the fold of her petticoat. He laid her down on the soft, summer grass. In the shade of the beeches. Her hair fell free of her ribbon, cascading down to reveal tresses of long dark waves. He held his breath against the sight of her.

"I have thought of nothing but this." He confessed, sliding her petticoat up the length of her thighs.

He parted her knees slowly, sending ripples of arousal through her core as he slipped his cold palm up the inside of her legs. She was breathing heavily, her bosom rising and falling against the tightness of her corset.

It was in his mind to take her then and there. The way she pleaded with him, her arms reaching out for his body to covet her.

"Will you be wanting it rough?" He asked, lifting her leg to rest upon his shoulder as he pulled down her stockings. "Or would my Lady like to be serenaded?"

She giggled helplessly. His eyes resting on the wet, gilded pinkness of her core.

"Whatever Sir desires..." She replied playfully.

Eleanor had never seen a man's desire before. She watched him closely, pulling down his trousers to reveal himself. Her eyes widened at the size of it. The way it seemed to be weeping at the tip, the pulse of the veins running down the shaft and how he gripped it fervently in his hand as he ran his curled fist up and down, taking the flesh with it.

"You are a virgin, Lady Eleanor." He said, a fact she had never truly revealed but one that he had known regardless. "I'll not be taking it from you too coarsely."

"Take it from me however you wish, Jacob. Like my heart, it is yours."

He lifted her with careful arms, pulling at the lace of her corset just enough for her breasts to spill over the lace edging of her dress. He marvelled at the round, soft peaks of her hard nipples. Not too big, not too small. Just enough to fill the cup of his hand.

"Take me, Jacob, please...I am begging you..."

She would only cry out in pain.

"No, my Lady...I will not take it from you in the manner I have taken it from others. If my being gentle with you the first time means that you will not think me a brute...as the others did... then I will court you with more aggression afterwards." He came down to her, pressing his hardness against her thigh. "Perhaps on our wedding night I will fuck you in all the ways you desire."

She balked at the way he said it so casually. Without asking for her hand, without formally putting forth his intentions to her Mother and Aunt first.

"You intend to marry me?!" She asked, her voice breaking on the prospect that everything Elizabeth had said that morning being prophecy.

He smirked. A dangerous look that made her begin to weep, too, from her aching centre.

"Oh, my love... look at the way you ready yourself for me."

He swept a poised thumb over her swollen, slippery lips. Immediately her body responded by arching. Moaning a muffled pitch of a sound that drove him to insanity. Her breasts lilting to the side, bottom lip held between her gritted teeth.

She felt like moist silk. He probed a finger at her entrance, pushing it in slowly to her tight walls. Her hips instinctually grinding against the sensation, pushing him to slide a second digit inside.

"The tightest little thing I have ever felt." He said in breathless confessions, leaning over the body as if to claim it for his own. "May I taste you, my love?"

There it was again, that word. That name. She nodded feverishly as he gathered the fabric of her dress and slid down to greet her waiting virginity. His mouth connected with her slit and she let out the most pained shriek. As if a banshee had possessed her. Never had anything felt so consumingly arousing.

As he flayed his tongue against her wet, throbbing clitoris she continued in her song. Whining pitifully against his moving jaw. Feeling how he moaned, too. The taste of her filling his mouth. Swallowing it like sweet honey. Flicking the tip of his tongue inside her as if to elicit more flow.

"Oh dear God...I am going to hell..." She said through agonised cries.

When he appeared from the peak of her mound, he was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand slovenly.

"If hell is a place where I get to do this every night of my life, I willingly submit myself to the devil himself."

Anyone could have chanced upon them. Taking the risk into consideration, she pulled him up to meet her mouth once more and there tasted herself on the tongue which brushed against hers.

"I fear we may be seen." She said, taking a moment to appreciate the way he had finally been romantic with her. "I would have a thousand sweet words from you and a thousand moments like this, but we are not yet married...and I fear we will be caught..."

It was as though he had just made the most astonishing discovery of all time. The way his eyes moved down to her breasts, his mouth following to suckle gently on her hard nipple. She felt as if she might die if he did not do what he intended. The awareness of his body so complete. Virgin or no, she wanted to be taken in any way that would mean she could be free of the mounting frustration.

She had thought he would not heed her words. But the next moment took her to somewhere lingering above the hell she had feared. A hot, searing fire tore through her middle for the briefest of moments as he entered her. But it was not hell that came for her. As the pain subsided, she felt his body weight on top of her moving slowly in thrusts that made her feel as if she had never known pleasure til this moment.

With one hand he lifted her leg to wrap around his waist. His voice low and gruff, his panting warm against her ear. Eleanor, in the midst of it, lapped her tongue against his ear lobe which made him squeeze down on her hip much tighter, leaving reddened marks in her flesh.

"Be loyal to me always..." He demanded whilst pumping into her freshly broken walls. "I must know that I am the only man you will ever love..."

It was his ego talking. The desperate love pouring out in a jealousy that had yet to be seen. Eleanor did not care. The intensity of his eyes had drawn her in long ago. She would have permitted him anything.

"Only you...I swear it..." She replied in hushed tones, feeling him grow quicker in his pace.

All too soon he had begun to fuck into her with all the force of a man who had been driven mad. She took such delight in the way he cast aside his gentleness in favour of depravity. His body falling forward into her bouncing breasts, the fabric in his fists almost tearing at the seams.

The balmy breeze caressed their skin. Jacob feeling near to completion, he pulled out of her slowly and tried to calm his nerves as his coated tip rested against her entrance. A moment he wanted to savour. His thumb running along her moistened mouth, her tongue lapping against it. His mouth lilting open in response.

"I want to see you finish, my love..." He said breathlessly, "Do you understand me?"

Eleanor had a small idea. In the whispers she had heard exchanged between her married friends. Of the crescendo at the end of love making, which sometimes came to them and sometimes did not.

"How will I know?" She asked innocently.

Jacob's smirk returned to his mouth as he kissed her passionately.

"Oh, you sweet girl...you will know. I promise." He assured her, returning his hard cock to the wet warmth of her.

He lightly tapped at her clit with his thumb, making a rhythm on it that made her entire body ascend. He pumped harder, so hard the grass began to give way beneath her into the earth below. Dark smears of mud grazing her hands as he reached for something to hold on to. That would tell her all of this was real.

"Oh, Eleanor..." He grunted, his entire body convulsing above her as he released his seed within her.

The crescendo did not happen as she had imagined it. Not at the same time his did, but after. When he was steadying his breathing and his thrusting had ceased. When his thumb pressed against her clit and she felt the moon and stars of night come out in the middle of the day.

"Oh....my.....goodness.....Oh....."

It would have been easy for Lady Eleanor Hanover to remain unwed for the rest of her life. Languishing at Ivy Grange, haunting the old place like her Aunt did. She was not the romantic little thing her sister was. But still, she found herself in an entanglement she could not free herself of.

Some said that she married beneath her on the day she gave up her title for the man she loved. Others were enamoured by the way their story seemed to be one of love. Lady Jane Corbett stood with silent tears trailing down her veiled face as she watched from the church pews. Vows echoing down the aisle.

And she did return to Belvoir, in the end. 

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