#I really need to take care of the buttons for the petticoat so I can mark that element DONE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

feral-ella-flynn · 3 years

Text

Paying the Toll, pt 2: M Troll x F Human, SFW (for now)

Part 1

Male Troll + Female Human

still SFW (so far)

2.5K/6.5K word draft

tagging @feralprose @monster-bait @apocalypticromantic666 @pre-schoolervengance @bresilienne-ami @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic @dont-call-me-a-faerie @kirmalight (comment to be tagged in updates!)

I bet no one expected this to be updated! Including me! This installment is definitely not as long as I intended, because I got really hung up on details--that’s why I’m posting anyway, to get some momentum so that hopefully the third part will be both longer and not so tardy.

Escaping a goblin raid on your village leads you to a bridge, but you have nothing to offer the troll who guards it for a toll...except yourself

You wake in darkness. At first you aren't sure you're awake at all--it's only by touching your own eyelids that you can feel sure they're open. It seems to make no difference between the thick, pressing dark around you either way.

“Mattie?” you whisper, your voice thin and hoarse.

There’s no answer, and understanding comes crashing down on you, like floodwater overwhelming a dam. You are not in your cramped room under the eaves of the big house, Mathilde is not sleeping on the narrow bed an armspan away–if she’s lucky, perhaps she was able to hide in the cellars or the attics, somewhere that was safe enough until the goblin raiders felt they had run out of things to raze and ravish and moved on. Or perhaps help would come, from the regiment billeted outside the market town, or from rangers who might have been near enought to see the smoke. If Mattie was unlucky….

A sob catches in your dry throat, then turns to choking dry heaves that leave you shuddering. Bile burns on your tongue. You huddle into the nest of furs, remembering now where you are and how you came to be here, naked and alone in the pitch black.

Not alone. There is the hush of leather brushing against stone, a faint musky scent.

“Brúsi?”

“Aye.” The troll’s gravel-rough voice is low and close–you almost reach out, ready to blunder once again into his arms rather than be alone with your fears.

The scrape of flint is loud enough in the silence to make you jump. Sparks illuminate the troll, kneeling at your side, and as he coaxes the tinder to unfurl into flame you hastily wrap a fur around your bare flesh. Whatever mood made you so bold before has been banished by your nightmares.

“Is it morning?”

The troll shrugs. “Near enough.”

“Shall I–shall I make breakfast for you?” Your fingers knead anxiously in the soft nap of the pelt that you clutch closed over your chest. “What do you like for breakfast?”

The troll–Brúsi–glances at you, his head tilted in the way that is already familiar. You think it means he’s just as bewildered by your contract, and by you, as you are yourself.

“Dried goat,” he says. “Morning meal, evening meal. Unless there is a new goat.”

“Oh. Where do the goats come from?”

He shrugs. “The bridge provides.”

Well. You take a deep breath, pushing the fear and panic of the last day, of the dark dreams, down into a tight ball at the bottom of your stomach, where you can ignore it for a little while. “Does the bridge ever provide eggs?”

And so you begin your month as housekeeper to a troll.

Your clothes are badly stained, and chilly from being spread out on the stone floor, but they're dry and you dress in them anyway, trying to ignore the scrutiny of Brúsi’s dark blue eyes as he watches you. He seems fascinated by the layers as you lace your stays over your shift, tie the strings of your petticoat, and your cheeks burn with a blush as you finally button your gown. You do your best with the tangles in your hair--letting it hide your face until your heart stops thumping in your ears before you twist it into a hasty braid.

There are no eggs. But you take a lantern the troll indicates and follow him into another cave that serves as a store room.

“There is goat,” he says, pointing at the considerable supply of dried meat, “and other goods, if tha wish them.” His gesture at the heaps of bags, crates, jars, casks, boxes–all jumbled together and shoved to one side–is dismissive, as if there is nothing of value to be found. You stare wide-eyed at a bolt of fine silk, at the glint of gold from a carelessly overturned casket with a broken lid.

“What is all this?”

“Payment for the toll, for when there were no goats.”

“You don’t do anything with the things paid for the toll? They just sit and rot?”

He shrugs. “I butcher the goats.”

You can only shake your head, but the practicality can’t be denied–gold and silk isn’t much use in a cave, and it’s with less wonder but more delight that you find flour, oil, and salt.

Breakfast is fried bread--and goat meat.

Once the meal is prepared and cleaned away, the troll vanishes up the dark tunnel. He takes no lantern with him. He also doesn't say a word to you before he leaves, and you stand in the cave for a while, expecting him to come back with instructions, or–well, something. But he doesn’t, and you can only twist your hands in the skirt of your gown for so long. Eventually you pick up the lantern and explore.

There is little enough to see. Other than what you noticed when you arrived, there is an alcove that must be where the troll sleeps, on piled furs that smell musky but not unpleasant. There is the storage cave, although it seems larger than it did at first, because you realize that you can’t see the far wall before the circle of light gives way to darkness.

And then there is the tunnel entrance, where your new employer disappeared, and which presumably leads out, to--your stomach lurches at the memory of being upside down from the sky–the underside of the bridge. But perhaps that had been an illusion, and the tunnel merely led out to an opening in the bank underneath the bridge? You had been half out of your mind with fear, after all. Maybe you dreamed that part.

Maybe…maybe you could simply walk out of this tunnel, out of the dark, and walk all the way home.

Except that you agreed to a contract. And the troll did say he wouldn’t eat you, wouldn’t even touch you, which was more than any of the men at the big house ever promised...none of them had touched you, but you knew that was because you had been careful, so careful, all the time, to be invisible.

It had helped that Mattie made it easy to fade into the background. She flaunted her pretty curls and winsome dimples, and when she sometimes crept into your shared attic room well after midnight she always had a new length of fine fabric for a dress or a necklace of amber beads to show for it. You asked once if she wasn’t afraid of falling pregnant, but she just shrugged.

“I know to be careful,” she said, and hid the coins she’d gotten for selling her latest bauble away beneath her bed.

Thinking of Mattie makes your eyes sting with tears, and reminds you that probably there was no home to walk back to–and if you tried, there would likely be nothing to be done there except burying the dead. You leave the tunnel entrance alone, and busy yourself with organizing the heaped goods in the storage cave.

When Brúsi returns, he brings you eggs, freshly laid and nested in a straw packed basket.

“They had no goat." He shrugs.

Other than struggling to invent new ways of preparing goat meat, most of your time is spent sorting. You find all manner of things in the storage cave, from precious jewels to plain linen fabric. The gems and gold you store in caskets, and then can’t shift on your own–Brúsi laughs at you, and picks them up with one hand, arranging them neatly along one wall as you direct him. You stack bolts of fabric, folding shorter lengths neatly into a another chest, you line up swords with gold wrapped hilts, swords with elaborately carved scabbards, swords that are short, swords that are nearly as long as you are tall, and then there are maces and axes and other things you can’t name. There’s even a pair of pistols in a tooled leather box, their handles gleaming mother of pearl. It’s more treasure than you ever imagined, and you feel that you’re in a dragon’s den instead of a troll’s cave--except that Brúsi shows little interest in the goods, except for the goat meat.

“If you don't have a use for these things, why accept them?” you asked, after the third day of sorting boxes and bundles and barrels, and still not finding the back wall of the cave. You’d found a crown, heavy and lumpy, like something out of an ancient grave, and under it a belt of bronze scales that linked together.

The troll just shrugged. “They are the toll, for the bridge. There must be a toll.”

“Then…" you bite your lip, but blurt "can I use some things?”

“If tha hast a use for them, then mayhap the bridge meant them for tha to use.”

“You make it sound like the bridge is alive,” you murmur, running your fingers over the bolts of fabric, already imagining yourself in a dress made of such soft material.

“The bridge is the bridge,” Brúsi says.

“What does that mean?”

He just shrugs.

You sigh, picking up a bolt of wool–practical, and still finer than anything you’ve ever worn. “If the bridge provides, can I give it a list? I need thread, needles, scissors, buttons…I can’t keep wearing this dress,” you gesture down at yourself. “Not without something else to wear while I wash it, at least, but I can’t make anything without supplies. And for that matter I need soap–”

Brúsi tilts his head. “Tha may always ask the bridge, but it works slowly. Simpler for tha to go to a market.”

You stare at him, your mouth falling open. “I can? I mean, is that allowed? I thought…”

He stares at you, the intense blue of his eyes unblinking, and you finally shrug. “I just thought I couldn’t leave the cave.”

“Not for long, but art not bound to the bridge as I am. Come.” He scoops a handful of coins into a pouch and leads you into the tunnel.

The ground slopes upward under your feet, and after a time there is a door before you, swinging outward. Brúsi ducks under its arch, his broad form filling the opening. When he doesn't move to let you through, you realize that he's blocking the way deliberately. Unease spikes through you.

"Is something wrong?"

"The bridge made tha sick before," he says. “Tha shouldst close thine eyes.” You squint suspiciously up at him–is he laughing at you?–but obey. You hear the rattle of his bone-decorated belt as he steps toward you, but then he stops. “I must touch tha,” he says. “Just to lift tha over the topside.”

“All right,” you whisper. You stifle a gasp as his enormous hands circle your waist, lifting you easily off of your feet, and then after a blur of motion you feel stone under you again.

When you open your eyes, you’re on the narrow stone arch of the bridge. Your lantern flame becomes suddenly pale compared to the warm sunlight that makes you blink and squint. There is no dark and shadowed forest hemming in the river. Instead there is a road, smooth hard dirt fringed with wildflowers on either side, and the rooftops of a village in the distance.

“Where…” You look down at the bridge under your bare feet.

“The bridge is all bridges,” Brúsi says. He holds out the leather bag of coins, and you take it, staggering a bit at the weight. “Buy whatever tha need.”

You hesitate, glancing from the troll to the road. What is there to stop you from walking away and never returning, from making a life somewhere? The bag in your hand holds more money than you had ever expected to earn in your life. There would be nothing to hold you to the bridge…except your promise.

“Tha canst not escape the bridge.” Brúsi seems to be reading your thoughts, although he’s not even looking at you. He’s gazing down at the water. “Every bridge tha sets foot on will be this bridge, until the toll is paid.”

“Of course.” The bag of coins drags at your arms, and you fumble it open, taking out a handful. “I should be able to get everything I need with these–it would be dangerous to carry all the rest of this.”

The troll frowns, glancing from you to the distant rooftops. “Danger from other humans?”

“Only if I seem to have more money than I should,” you assure him hastily. “It would get attention from the wrong kind of humans. I'll be careful.”

The coins bite into your palm as your fingers clench unconsciously. The frown creases his forehead, not smoothed away by your reassurances, and you half expect him to shake his head and pick you up under his arm again, ready to toss you back under the bridge.

“Please?”

You bite your lip too late to keep the word in, but there are lazy curls of smoke rising from the distant chimneys, and you can hear the lowing of cattle nearby, the friendly chime of chapel bells...and all you can think about is cheese. Cheese, and fruit to pair it with, or potatos, perhaps. Honeycakes. Your stomach rebels at the very thought of dried goat.

Brúsi jerks his chin toward the road. “Go, then. The bridge will be waiting for tha to return.”

You hand off the sack of coins–your shoulders more than grateful to be relieved of its weight–and the troll adds it to the other oddments that dangle from his belt among the bones. He folds his arms.

The handful of coins you kept are barely enough to make your pocket sag with their weight, but you can feel them as a reassuring lump under your skirts. You run anxious hands over your hair and stained gown, smoothing uselessly at wrinkles.

“I wish I had been able to bathe properly,” you mutter. “I look like a ragamuffin.”

But your hands and face are clean, your hair neatly tied back, and dusk is not far off, so perhaps your bare feet will not be noticed. You step from the cool stone of the bridge to the warm hardpacked dirt of the road.

"I'll be back s--" Your voice breaks off as you glance over your shoulder. The bridge behind you is a simple one of wooden logs, straddling a stream that a child could leap across. Gooseflesh prickles the back of your neck. You hurry down the road towards the village without looking back a second time.

#exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster lover #m monster x female reader #troll boyfriend #Brúsi the Bridge Troll #troll lover #Feral Flynn Fics #monster romance #fantasy romance

282 notes · View notes

penny-anna · 3 years

Text

a hundred buttons

“It’s this dress,” Yennefer admitted. “It fastens up the back with about a hundred miniature buttons. It’s, not strictly possible for one to remove it on one’s own.”

Jaskier snorted. “Oh? Well, how would usually get it off?”

“Usually I just,” she said, and motioned, trying to convey the general idea of I unfasten them all at once, with magic. “Whoosh.”

His eyes widened as he grasped the problem. “Ahh, I see,” he said. “That does sound very awkward.”

Temporarily bereft of her magic, Yennefer finds herself in a tricky position.

(On Ao3!)

The room was too small for Yennefer’s liking, and she paced it from end to end, keeping her ears pricked up. There could be someone standing right outside the door, waiting for her, and she’d never know. There could be someone lurking outside the window. She lifted a corner of the curtain, peering out at the empty blackness.

She dropped into a crouch, making certain that the knife she kept strapped to her angle was still secure. Standing up, she resumed her pacing. Her corset was beginning to chafe at her, pressing uncomfortably snug around her ribs.

She was itching for this to be over.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs. Geralt’s bard put his head into the room. “Evening,” he said, though it was well after midnight. “Still up?”

“Evidently,” she said. “Any sign of Geralt?”

He pulled a face. “Not a whisper. I take it you haven’t had any luck with the curse, then?”

“For the last time,” she said, “it is not a curse. A curse I could handle. The lingering effects of a magical void are the farthest thing from a curse.”

“If you say so.”

“In fact one might say it’s the precise opposite of a curse.”

Smacking his lips, he said, “it’s all the same to me.”

He, of course, had felt nothing at all, even when he was standing in the void itself. He hadn’t felt its deadening silence, its stomach-churning emptiness. He hadn’t felt anything vital inside himself go dark.

No, he’d just stood there with his hands on his hips and said, “what’s got into your pair, then?”

She was tired. She hadn’t realised how much she’d come to rely on her magic to give herself little boosts, after a long and difficult day. She said, “I can’t imagine where he’s got to.”

“Well, he’s away in a huff, so probably nowhere in particular,” said Jaskier.

“He isn’t in a huff,” said Yennefer.

“Hmm, I really think he is,” the bard said. “You know, because you so unfairly snapped at him that this entire situation was his fault?”

“It wasn’t unfair.”

“Even though this whole mess is quite patently no-one’s fault,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “and there was really no need for any shouting or throwing things or storming off in huffs.”

“Debatable,” she said. “Did you come down here just to irritate me?”

“Ah, no, I came down because I forgot my pack,” he said. “And, I suppose, to say that I’m going to bed.”

“Alright,” she said. “You do that.”

“Are you staying up?” he said. “Because if so I’d appreciate if you could stop rattling about. This house is very creaky.”

“I shall rattle as much as I like,” she said. “I’m waiting for Geralt.”

He tilted his head to the side, and stepped fully into the room. “Much as it doesn’t behove me to express concern for your wellbeing,” he said. “Given how much of a huff he was in there’s every chance he won’t be back before morning, so I wouldn’t bother.”

There were times – not infrequently – when he’d go out of his way to remind her that he’d known Geralt longer and therefore knew him better. Oh, he’d said airily, Geralt can’t stand sheep’s cheese. Oh, Geralt always gets like this after a hunt. Geralt doesn’t like it when people touch his weapons. Geralt won’t like this. Geralt doesn’t do that. It was difficult to gage if that was what he was trying to do now, without being able to look into his mind, but she didn’t think it was. He seemed to be making a sincere attempt to offer her some advice.

She had to admit, privately, that she felt a little better for having him in the house. Unlikely as it was that they’d be attacked by marauders or wild beasts or monsters in the twelve or so hours before the effects of the void wore off, she was painfully aware that she was limited in her ability to defend herself and that if the worst did happen, the bard’s help might be better than no help at all.

But his being aware of that most uncomfortable facet of the situation – the thought of his having the gall to feel protective of her – made her skin crawl.

“It’s fine,” she said curtly. “I’ll wait up for him.”

“Hm,” he said.

“What?”

“Are you alright? Aside from the obvious, I mean. You seem a little – frazzled.”

She was tired. She was sweaty, and itchy. She wanted badly to complain to someone and since Jaskier was the only person around for miles he’d have to do.

“It’s this dress,” she admitted. “It fastens up the back with about a hundred miniature buttons. It’s, not strictly possible for one to remove it on one’s own.”

He snorted. “Oh? Well, how would usually get it off?”

“Usually I just,” she said, and motioned, trying to convey the general idea of I unfasten them all at once, with magic. “Whoosh.”

His eyes widened as he grasped the problem. “Ahh, I see,” he said. “That does sound very awkward.”

He looked her up and down, pursing his lips. She avoided his gaze.

“Well,” he said at length. “Night, then.” Turning, he left her alone.

Yennefer stood in the middle of the room, listening to his footsteps recede up the stairs. After a moment, they faltered and then began to descend.

Leaning back into the room, he said, “would you like some help?”

“From you?”

“I do have,” he waggled his fingers, “some experience removing ladies’ clothing. And very dextrous hands.”

“I’ll wait,” she said.

“All night?”

“If necessary.”

“Are you sure?” he said. “I promise not to tell anyone. Not even Geralt. I, I really do understand how, hm. Uncomfortable this must be.”

Yennefer heaved a sigh. Her corset creaked faintly beneath her dress. Oh, but she ached to have it off. “Fine,” she said.

“Goodness,” he said, upstairs in the bedroom, peering at her back in the flickery lamplight. “They are small, aren’t they? You can barely see them.”

“Just unfasten it,” she said. She felt a gentle tug at her neckline as he began to ease the first button out of its hole. “It’s a very fashionable and elegant design,” she said stiffly. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“It is very nice,” he agreed. “I suppose this is the sort of thing one usually has a ladies’ maid for.”

Or a husband, Yennefer thought.

“So this void business,” he said, working his way down her back, carefully teasing out each button. He was being more delicate about it than she’d expected, trying not to damage the embroidery. More delicate than Geralt would probably have managed to be. Well, she supposed, he’d always had a healthy respect for nice clothes. “Did it – hurt?”

“No,” she said. “It wasn’t pleasant. But no.”

“I see,” he said. “Good to know.”

“Worried about Geralt?” she said.

“Naturally.”

“It’s uncomfortable,” she said. “That’s all. It’ll pass.”

“Let’s hope it passes soon.” He was almost all the way down her back. “I imagine it’s worse for you. Isn’t it?”

Geralt was hampered, by the loss of his signs, but by no means was he rendered powerless. He wasn’t stripped bare, the way she was. She wasn’t entirely sure he understood – that he realised that, although they’d both had something taken from them, his loss wasn’t the same as hers.

She said, “I can handle it.”

“Good grief,” he said. “How far down do these go?”

“Most of the way.”

He reached the small of her back and dropped to his knees to keep going. “Ah,” he said, his face perfectly level with her behind. “Quite a view.”

“Bard,” she said, “if you say one word about my backside my first act when this wears off will be to flay your skin from your body.”

“Understood,” he said, reaching, cautiously, for the buttons. “I shall keep my comments to myself. Although, if I might say, they are all complimentary.”

“I am currently mentally cataloguing all the spells I know to flay a man alive.”

“I’ll be quiet.”

He finished unbuttoning her, in silence and – to his credit – clearly taking care to touch her bottom as little as humanly possible. With a sigh of relief, she pulled the dress down her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

She stood in her corset and petticoat, her arms and shoulders bare, gooseflesh rising on her skin in the chilly room. It wasn’t a position she’d usually like to be in when alone with a man she didn’t fully trust.

But then, she supposed she must trust Jaskier; there was no way she’d have agreed to this otherwise. Somehow she hadn’t noticed that she had come to trust him.

“Goodness,” he said, rising to his feet. “Laces too?”

“Corsets usually have them,” she said, putting her hands upon her hips. She was very glad she didn’t have to look him in the eye for this.

“Shall I –”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“It would be worse,” he said as he began, cheerfully, to unlace her. “I once had a tryst with a lady who was wearing – five layers of petticoats. We had to put them all back on in rather a hurry, and then I managed to tie myself to her stays and her husband was coming up the stairs so we were both panicking –"

There was the faintest creak on the landing outside. The bedroom door opened.

They froze, Jaskier’s fingers stilling on her laces. Geralt was standing in the doorway, staring at them. Yennefer stared back.

He walked like a cat, in spite of his considerable bulk. Bereft of her magic, Yennefer hadn’t sensed him approaching at all. The look on his face was utterly inscrutable. She hadn’t the slightest idea what to say and evidently Jaskier didn’t either.

At some length, Geralt said, “what are you… doing?”

“I’m undressing your lover,” said Jaskier. “Why, what does it look like I’m doing?”

Geralt said nothing at all. There was no change to his facial expression. Turning upon his heel, he walked back down the stairs.

Jaskier resumed unlacing her corset. “Do you suppose he understand that was a joke?”

Yennefer said, “I wouldn’t count on it.”

#the witcher #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #yennskier

260 notes · View notes

cummingforkylo · 3 years

Text

The Prince Of Alderaan Chapter I

Summary: It’s the spring of 1813, you’re the daughter of Viscount Huntington and after your family went through a scandalous season last year your parents have decided it’s time for your debut in society as a marriageable young lady. You’ve had life long expectations about what this would mean, charming young men excited by the prospect of being your suitor, lavish dances, and falling in love. What your debut season turns out to be is far from your innocent imaginings, especially because the Prince of Alderaan is in London for the season and with him all kinds of dark intentions.

Read it on AO3 | Send me a ko-fi

Rating: Explicit...eventually

Word Count: 6,117

Warning: None as of now

Pairing: Kylo Ren x reader

Notes: This story is inspired by the netflix show/book series Bridgerton. It’s kind of a crossover because I do use some themes and characters from the show but it is mostly a Kylo x Reader fic. I am still in the process of writing it but it is all planned out. I’m hoping to post weekly but I don’t have any set schedule as of right now. I promise you this is not going to be super historically accurate so don’t expect that lol. I’m just here for a good time. I really hope you like it!!

Dearest Lords and Ladies of London,

As the social season of 1813 fully blooms in the spring air, I pose one question, what scandal awaits our starved apetites? Last year we enjoyed the delicacy of the great Huntington family being almost brought to their knees by the Viscount Huntington’s love of gambling. This year we can feast upon his youngest child and only daughter being presented to society for the first time, perhaps earlier than she should have been to in an attempt to make up for their problems last year. We also will get to try a taste of exotic flavor as the Prince of Alderaan has returned to London for business reasons unknown(but will surely be found out by this writer). As those of us who keep up with world politics know, the Prince is the current ruler of the Kingdom of Alderaan as he and his militaristic political faction ousted his mother, the Queen Regent, from power only a few years after his father abdicated responsibilities and is in places unknown.

Yesterday, the young ladies of high society who are debuting this season were presented to Queen Charlotte of England and of course, it was an event filled with who’s who, how did this girl prove herself silly or charming or cold and who managed to scrape by with Her Majesty’s much desired approval. Miss Daphne Bridgerton was chosen as the Queen’s diamond of the season, and was, to use the Queen’s word, “Flawless.” It will be interesting to see how many suitors Miss Daphne may be entertaining over the next few weeks. Miss Huntington, who’s family had very nearly been shunned by all of society last season proved to be quiet but charming and earned herself almost no regard from the Queen but did fair better than the young Miss Philippa Featherington who swooned almost the moment she was presented to the Queen.

Yes, Lords and Ladies of London, we are in for quite the season, I am sure. I can assure you I will be with you every step of the way. None of you know me, nor will you ever(no matter how hard I am sure you will try) but I know you. I know your business and every dark little secret that you think is private and I will gladly be sharing it with the rest of the society. I’m sure we will all become very well acquainted over the next few weeks.

Yours most sincerely,

Lady Whistledown

***

Everything was silk and cotton, ruffles on skirts, rouge, curls and words of the latest scandal sheet that had been delivered to the door of 3201 Grosvenor Square earlier in the day. You were of course readying yourself for the Danbury Ball that evening, it would be your first ball after being presented to the Queen of England herself and to society as a whole so it must be perfect.

“What did it say of me again, Mama?” You asked as you stood facing the large mirror in your room while your maid, Ella, tied up your stays. She pulled them tight but not so tight you could not breathe, fainting at your first ball would hardly do, it would be unacceptable outcome to both you and your parents who hoped to find you an excellent match this season.

“Do not concern yourself with what some horrid writer thinks of you, dearest.” Mama said, looking up from the paper in question. You had read it through and found your name mentioned multiple times, none of which had been terribly favorable. Of course she referenced the scandal that had taken place in your family the year previously but that had been covered endlessly in older scandal sheets and no one found it of much interest anymore. Lady Whistledown was new she had more interest in reporting the new scandals….and yet, she had mentioned it. So it would be fresh in any suitors mind, a thought that caused you discomfort. You would hate to fall madly in love with some beautiful lord only to have him find you detestable due to something that happened in your family over a year before. You had been looking forward to your season since you were a child, you imagined it always bathed in beautiful spring sunlight, you imagined yourself surrounded by affectionate suitors, flowers, music, charming conversation and always…options.

Now that your season was here, you found it tainted by the mere memory of scandal but you were not going to let it stop you from finding love and enjoying the beauty of being out in the eyes of society. Marriage eligible. Despite what Lady Whistledown had written, you felt yourself ready for society, ready for all that it could bring you; and your Mama was right, you should not let the words of a gossip writer concern you. Ella had finished with your stays so now it was time for your petticoat and then your gown, fresh from the modiste. Once it was on, buttoned, straightened, and thoroughly fussed over Ella stepped back and you examined yourself in the mirror. The dress was fashionable in every aspect, powder blue, high waistline, short puffed sleeves, and square neckline that showed off more than you had ever been allowed to show before. You felt it swish around your slippered feet and you felt exactly how you had always dreamed of feeling just prior to your first ball.

“Mama?” You prompted, glancing over your shoulder to where your Mama was still poring over Lady Whistledown(even though she had told you not to concern yourself). Lady Huntington finally looked up and gasped. Standing up, she rushed to your side.

“You are a vision, dearest.” She said, smoothing a section of your hair. You smiled, allowing your eyes to linger on your own reflection again. Your heart sputtered with excitement, tonight could very well be the night that you would first lay your eyes upon the man you would wed.

“We truly do not need to worry about what the Horrible Whistledown woman writes, because you are such a gem that all the gentlemen at tonights ball shall be vying for your attention. “ Mama said. You looked to Ella,

“Do you agree, Ella?” You asked, reaching out for your maid’s hand, you had known her for years and she was your closest confidant, especially after all you had endured last season.

“Oh, My Lady, my opinion hardly-“

“I do very much value your opinion, Ella…and I’d believe you if you were to tell me I look like a fool. Please.” You said, squeezing her hand.

“You look lovely, my lady.” Ella said, you gave her a look that practically begged her to tell you the truth. “That is the truth, my lady. You’ll need your best gloves but you look just as your mother said, a vision.” She said. You smiled and looked back to the mirror, allowing yourself another moment to take yourself in. Perhaps it was a silly thing to do, perhaps you were being vain but you had to be flawless to be viewed as eligible and that was what you intended on doing.

***

Kylo Ren had changed his name years before and still sometimes invitations were addressed to his past name. Especially when he was here in London; he believed his mother had something to do with that and he despised it. Of course, no one would refer to him as that name to his face, no one had the courage to do that; but he still found it irksome to look at the letter sitting on his desk that invited him to the Danbury Ball tonight addressing him as Benjamin. Even worse was the gossip rag that had been delivered to his address that morning not only mentioned him but even the author of that drivel had managed not to refer to him as his detested past name. And yet, high society here in London could not be bothered to at least address him as his title. It had his mother’s doing written all over it and it put him in a truly foul mood. There was a knock on his door and he looked up from his desk,

“Yes?” he called and the door opened, revealing the butler.

“A General Hux here for you, Your Grace.” He said in the snooty high society accent of a well trained London butler.

“Yes, let him in.” He said dismissively. He went back to the work in front of him while he waited for the wretched man to enter. He was in no mood for Hux, his chiding or his warnings about tonight’s events. Yet, he had to humor the man even while they were here in London. General Hux commanded Alderaan’s army and even though Kylo commanded the General, he needed to keep the abhorrent man at least semi happy.

“Ren,” Hux was already speaking as he walked into the room. Kylo stood, deciding to ignore the fact that Hux had not bowed or showed any amount of respect for his position as he entered the room. Kylo held his hand out for the General to take, Hux clasped it, and Kylo maybe squeezed his fingers harder than he had intended to.

“Hux,” He said in greeting. “How are you?” he asked in a tone that implied he didn’t care at all about the answer.

“Well. Enjoying London so far. Ah,” Hux had spotted Lady Whistledown’s sheet on the desk and walked over, picking it up. “You received this as well?” He asked around a smile.

“Of course, I believe it was delivered to all the households in high society.” Kylo said, he picked his tailcoat up from over the back of his chair and pulled it on. The ball was in a few hours and he needed to begin to get ready, to make himself presentable for society so he hoped he could rush Hux out by appearing busy.

“It mentions you.” Hux said, looking at the paper in one hand while the other arm was tucked behind his back in a way that was clearly commonplace for him due to his military background. A refreshed wave of irritation washed over Kylo as Hux told him something he already knew,

“Yes. I have read it.” Kylo said through a clenched jaw.

“You know this means all the young ladies and their Mama’s will be out for your favor.” He said. Kylo didn’t want to hear it, he knew it to be true but listening to it from a man he could barely stand was not something he wanted to tolerate.

“I know. It does not matter.” He said.

“You would be wise to marry.” There was the chiding Kylo had expected. “People will only take you seriously when you have an heir…and an heir,” He looked at Kylo meaningfully, “A legitimate heir, requires a wife.” He finished in clipped tones. Kylo realized he had been clenching his fist, his brow furrowed, anger coursing through him. He slowly released the clenched hand.

“Do you forget who you are speaking to?” He asked, his voice going from the simple boredom of before to fury.

“No, Your Grace, I merely am trying to impress upon you the importance of something you seem to have entirely written off. Just because you want to behave like a petulant child and irritate your mother-“ Hux was cut of mid sentence due to Kylo crossing in front of his desk and grabbing the shorter man by the front of his tailcoat. Kylo dragged Hux towards him, their faces close, fury burnt through the Princes’s expression.

“You’ve forgotten your place, Hux.” He snarled and then because he did not wish to start a brawl with his army’s general in the study of his London home he shoved Hux away so hard the man stumbled. “I am aware of the situation and I do not need your counsel. Now, I will see you at the events tonight. Remember who you speak to next time.” He warned. Hux hastily fixed his collar, adjusting it as he caught his breath, still looking shaken. It was not the first time the Prince had brutalized him in such a fashion and neither of them thought it would be the last.

“I shall see you tonight.” Hux said before turning to leave. He paused at the door,

“You would do well to reign in that temper, Your Grace, if you do wish to secure an heir and your position.” Hux warned and then he was out the door. Kylo stood there, shaking with rage, it bubbled inside him and in an explosion of movement he lashed out and sent a stack of books flying from their position on the desk. They crashed across his desk as they went flying, upending a inkwell, throwing papers into the air and making a giant clatter as they hit the floor. Kylo stood back, seething as the Butler hurriedly entered to clear it up.

***

The Danbury Ball was just as Kylo had suspected, stuffy, hot, and dull. It was filled with the smell of ladies perfume and powder from the wigs worn by the musicians. It was also filled with young ladies and their Mama’s flocking around him begging for his attention either for themselves or for their daughters. “Lady This from That estate in the country, Your Grace, I can play any Mozart you’d like on piano.” “Lady Whatever, Your Grace, please meet my daughter Miss Whatever. We have three homes in London alone thats not to mention our country estate. So you can assume her dowry is sizable.” “Your Grace, what an honor that you would attend-“ “Prince Ren, I’d like you to meet-“ It seemed to go on and on and there was no escape, unless he were to leave entirely and he knew that was unacceptable.

Kylo refused to be bested by the hordes of young women, all bright eyed, rose cheeked and dressed in the most fashionable of gowns. No, he would hold his ground, be polite but dismissive and leave it at that. How dull. Leaving it at that. Lots of the girls were attractive but most of them would prove to be proper young ladies who would never be caught dead alone with a man, let alone in any of the compromising situations he might find enjoyable. It was true that it would be easy enough to lure one of them out to the garden and from there some kind of seduction would be simple, a kiss on the neck, a hand on the waist and the girl would be so flustered and excited that she wouldn’t know how to say no. For a moment he found himself entertained at the idea but then he glanced around at the girls batting their eyelashes at him, smiling and trying to make themselves as demure and eligible as possible and he was bored once again. The idea of compromising one of their virtues had been exciting for a fleeting moment but the excitement had died the moment he truly considered acting on it.

Kylo excused himself in what was probably an extremely rude manner to the woman who had been trying to ask him if he hunted. He felt as if he was being hunted himself as he walked away from her and the other ladies who were waiting for their opportunity to talk to him. He finally found himself a tiny pocket of peace, just off of the dance floor by a window that looked out onto Lady Danbury’s gardens. He stood for a moment, finally getting to enjoy a second of peace and quiet when a voice next to him spoke,

“I’m shocked to see you here.” Kylo stiffened, because he recognized the voice. It belonged to his mother and he hadn’t heard it in years. It made his chest tighten, if his hands had not been clasped behind his back they would have trembled. Before he looked at her he set his jaw and his eyes hardened,

“Queen Regent,” he said in greeting, tilting his head down slightly but barely meeting her eyes.

“Ben,” Leia started but Kylo sucked in his breath through his teeth so she had to pause, but she continued without correcting herself, “I am so glad you’re in London for the season…there is so much you can accomplish. Starting with healing your relationship with Queen Charlotte.” Of course, the instant she spoke to him again it was about all his failings, all the things he needed to fix.

“No, Your Grace. It is not my plan to heal anything with her, she is not the leader of England just as you are not the leader of Alderaan.” His tone was cross but quiet, he didn’t need anyone hearing the way in which they spoke to one another. Leia glared up at him for a moment, Kylo could feel his mother’s eyes burning into him as if the glare could actually turn to fire and scorch his clothing and then his skin.

“At least tell me you’re coming to these events looking for a wife.” She said after a moment of silence between them. Kylo looked down at her and watched her turn around to face the ballroom, placing both of her hands properly on top of her beautiful gilded cane. When he didn’t answer she took his arm, pulling him slightly to look at something. He tugged his arm out of her grip but looked where she was looking, “Daphne Bridgerton was named the diamond of the season. She was chosen by the Queen.” She said to him. Kylo’s eyes caught on Daphne, a pretty young debutant but thoroughly uninteresting to him. “She would make quite the wife, and being married to a Prince is a big step up for her. I’m quite sure she would be interested.” She was speaking hurriedly as if she knew he was about to walk away from her and to be fair, that was exactly what he wanted to do.

“I am not getting married, mother.” He growled, his voice still low. “Especially not to some girl who’s in the pocket of an English Queen.” He snarled before turning from his mother and stalking off.

Walking into the ballroom of your first ball was somehow better than all of your fantasies, all your dreams seemed to have lead to this moment and as you stepped in from the entry hall you lost your breath. It was a swirl of white gloves, beautiful light dresses, curls immaculately done up, men’s tailcoats jostling as they danced, and golden candlelight danced over the whole thing. You felt as though you had inhaled bubbles from the sips of champagne you had on holidays.

The ballroom at the Danbury’s estate was a large, high ceilinged room with many beautiful crystal chandeliers hanging down providing glowing golden candle light. On the mantles of the multiple fireplaces were spring green garlands, white roses tucked amongst the greenery. It had all the charms and refinement you expected from your first ball. The center of the room was the dance floor and just off to the side, below a grand staircase the musicians played beautiful, joyful music. Many people danced and still more mingled around the edges of the dance, sipping drinks, talking and trying to impress.

Your mama walked in behind you and it was her hand on your back that stopped you from staring all around with wide eyed wonder. You had been to balls before, but it had been as a child, not as a lady eligible for marriage and this was so vastly different.

“Close your mouth, dearest.” Mama said “Lest you catch a fly.” You snapped your mouth shut. Mama lead you to a table that had little cards connected to dainty pieces of ribbon on them. Dance cards. You found your name and Mama helped you tie it around your wrist and it finally felt real. You were here. You were finally going to be able to be a real lady, you could meet the love of your life this very night. Perhaps he would sweep you off of your feet and you would be wed by the end of the season. Did anyone get proposals after one night? You were sure that you had heard of a woman who had managed to get a proposal after only a few hours but you had to remind yourself of how rare that was. There were plenty of young ladies here tonight that had been searching for multiple seasons for a husband and had yet to find one. A lot of those girls didn’t even have a scandal in their family’s history and you did, you had to remind yourself of this so you remained beyond reproach. You had to be perfect. You straightened one of your gloves at your elbow and began to make the rounds.

It came naturally to you because it had come naturally to your mama and she had taught you very well. You greeted everyone by name and title, smiling but not too wide, never looking upset or dowdy. You spoke with Lord Humphies about hunting and Mr. Banbrook about music. You were even able to answer Monsieur De la Rue in acceptable French. Mr. Banbrook was the first to ask you to dance and so he took your hand and lead you out onto the dance floor. His arm wrapped around your back and he began to lead you through a fairly quick waltz. You began the dance dizzy with excitement, Mr. Banbrook was quite handsome, he didn’t have a title but he had money and he smiled while he talked and that charmed you. Something happened as you danced though, you realized your head wasn’t swimming with happiness, your heart wasn’t pounding hard and fast in your ears, there was no excited butterflies dancing in your stomach. You didn’t feel as if you had inhaled champagne bubbles. No. This was no different than dancing with one of your older brothers. Even the steps felt too familiar.

The conversation was lifeless as well, he talked endlessly about all the things he had, and all the things he used to decorate his house with. You had long since left the topic of music behind and you found yourself staring off just over his shoulder, a pleasant smile plastered onto your face.

“I have quite a few stuffed deer heads on the walls of my study out in my country estate.” Mr. Banbrook said, you had to blink a few times to bring yourself back to reality. “They’re really quite beautiful.” He added when you didn’t answer right away.

“Oh, yes. I’m sure they’re lovely.” You said politely.

“Here in London I tend to fashion my home with art more than my hunting trophies-“ he continued and your mind wandered again, it was a thrilling moment when he spun you away from him for a moment and you joined with another gentleman before being spun back to your original partner. How could this be? Mr. Banbrook was perfectly suitable, maybe nothing special but, shouldn’t your first dance at your first ball bring some excitement?

After the disappointing dance with Mr. Banbrook he signed your dance card and promised to come back for another dance later in the evening and you were relieved when he left you. It’s just this first one that was bad, there are plenty of other gentlemen here. You told yourself this over and over again. The first man was not bound to be the man you married. There was a part of you that had hoped that the first dance with a man would be something magical, something that would have sent your heart into spasms of excitement, would have put stars in your eyes, and butterflies in your stomach.

The next man to ask you to dance was Lord Kensington, he was handsome if a bit more bumbling than Mr. Banbrook. He stumbled over his words when asking you to dance but you reserved your judgment until you had danced. Lord Kensington had a title of his own and seemed completely taken with you. He kept his hand tight on your back as you danced. When the music picked up, you hoped and hoped. Please, let this give me every feeling I’ve ever wished for. But when he stepped on your toes and you had to tell him with a polite giggle that it was quite alright, you knew there was no chance. In what world would the man you were going to fall in love with step on your toes, smell of fish and stare at your chest while he tried to keep up with the steps to the dance. You hoped that the disappointment did not show on your face.

By the end of the dance it was hard to pretend you were enjoying yourself, but you attempted. He signed his name to your dance card and you thanked him. Soon. Soon. Someone will and it will be just as lovely as you’ve always imagine. Even if he isn’t the one you marry. It will feel like butterflies and champagne bubbles. You tried to tell yourself this after each man you had a dance with disappointed you. None of them were interesting, exciting, or like the spellbinding man you had always dreamt of.

No, you continued to have your feet trodden on, your back squeezed too tightly, be nearly put to sleep by the conversation and generally underwhelmed. Even the men who were perfectly lovely seeming sparked no interest in you. You tried very hard with them, listening to every word, dancing as prettily as you could, you tried to create the feeling you had dreamt of. The feeling you had when you first entered the ballroom, the rushing excitement, the pulsing happiness, the feeling of possibility. It never happened. The moment when you thought you might feel it, it just fizzled away.

You finished a dance with Lord Fernside and retreated to your Mama, she had been talking with Lady Featherington and the Viscountess Bridgerton when you came over. She detangled herself from the women and turned to you,

“None of those men were your fancy?” she asked, you wondered if she could so easily read it on your face.

“No, Mama…how did you-“ You asked.

“People have been talking,” Never a good thing. “It seems lots of people have been saying you seem…cold. Uninterested.” She said. You felt hot with anger suddenly. You had done nothing wrong, in fact you had played the part of interested and excited as well as you could under the circumstances.

“Uninterested?” You gasped.

“We will discuss it later, for now try and look happier, dearest.” She insisted. You took a deep breath and looked around the ballroom, hoping to calm yourself. You found your eyes drawn across the dance floor to the other side where a man stood almost a foot above the people around him. Besides being shockingly tall, he was broad with waves of dark hair, and a striking features. The oddest thing about him was that he was looking straight back at you. It was as if your eyes had been drawn towards him because you could feel the intensity of his gaze. Your heartbeat quickened, you could feel it in your throat, your hands even seemed to tingle. You knew you shouldn’t stare at him and yet neither of you averted your gaze.

“Hux,” Kylo said in greeting as Hux appeared at his side. He did not take his eyes off of the girl across the dance floor from him. She was the first girl at this nightmare of a ball who he did not find completely banal. Maybe it had been the way she had looked around the ballroom with such misery that it nearly rivaled his own. Or maybe it was just because he found her attractive.

“Your Grace,” Hux said, looking up at him and then following his gaze across the ballroom. “Has someone actually caught your eye?” he wondered. Kylo quickly averted his eyes, not wanting to admit anything to Hux, his lip twitched towards a snarl but he reworked his face into disinterest once again.

“She’s attractive is all. Who is she?” He asked.

“Miss Huntington, daughter of Lord and Lady Huntington.” Hux said. “From what I’ve gathered this is her debut season but her prospects do not look good considering the scandal her family suffered last year.” Hux said.

“Scandal?” Kylo asked, the memory of a page in Lady Whistledown’s paper that morning floated back to him. Huntington. Gambling.

“Her father has a gambling problem and lost the family quite a lot of money, they were in some amount of debt. It seems they managed to dig their way out of debt and have returned to proper society.” Hux informed him, leaning in towards him to speak, Kylo wished it was proper to push him away. “I think it was mentioned in Whistledown this morning-“

“I do not care what is written in that fucking paper.” Kylo snapped. Hux was quiet for a moment and then,

“She is far below your station, Your Grace.” Hux said as he watched Kylo’s eyes drift back towards the girl across the ballroom. “And with that kind of scandal, who knows if she even has a dowry anymore.”

It was true. She was far below his station. Far from the Queen’s diamond of the season. Far from the choice his mother would have made for him. He could imagine the irritation he would cause his mother if he was seen with the girl. Choosing to dance with her out of all of the many, more appropriate ladies to choose from.

“Well, thank you for your input, General.” Kylo nodded to Hux and started to cross the ballroom towards the girl.

You had to hurriedly force yourself to look away as he looked back towards you, you had already been staring for too long. He was going to think you improper. Maybe you were improper, because you had never even spoken with the man and he was making your heart pound, making you lose your breath.

“Dearest,” Mama said, taking your arm. “The Prince is coming this direction.” She said. Prince?! He was a prince. You had locked eyes with a Prince and hadn’t even realized it.

“Prince?” You asked, shocked. Before your mama could answer you he was standing in front of you. All eyes were upon the two of you. Everyone who had been standing nearby couldn’t help but notice when a prince stepped directly in front of a young lady. You had to remind yourself that were, in fact, the lady he had stepped directly in front of. You looked up to him, struck again by how how tall he was. Your eyes met and you were again struck by how handsome he was. Struck by how intense his gaze was. Struck by how hard your heart pounded. How it migrated up from your chest and into your throat. You remembered yourself in a hurried movement and curtsied, “Your Grace.” You said, trying to remember everything you knew about Princes. This must have been the Prince of Alderaan. You racked your brain for his name. Benjamin Solo. No. Kylo Ren. He had changed it from his family name. Prince Kylo reached out for your hand, you held it out to him and he took it, gracefully bowing his head and kissed the back of it.

“Miss Huntington,” he said, he was unsmiling and yet you didn’t find yourself missing it. His face didn’t need a smile to be beautiful. “Would you care to dance with me?” he asked.

“Of course, Your Grace.” You said. Without another word he offered you his arm and you took it with a shaking hand. He lead you on to the dance floor and pulled you in towards him. The music was beautiful, another fun waltz but this already seemed entirely different from your first dance of the night. Your mind whirred, trying to come up with all that you knew of Prince Kylo. His reputation was not a good one, cruel, quick tempered, cold and unsettled were just a few of the things you knew of his reputation; but a reputation was not necessarily reality.

In the first moments of the dance, everything seemed to blur around you. It was like you could not focus on the outside world and the only focus was on him. Everything you wanted to happen in all your other dances with other men tonight was happening now. Your heart raced, your smile was genuine and butterflies danced in your stomach.

“Are you enjoying London, Your Grace?” You asked.

“Not at all.” He said, glancing away from you. Your brow furrowed, but you recovered quickly,

“I’m sure all of these balls and the season’s events must feel silly to you.” You offered with a smile. Prince Kylo’s eyes met yours and you felt your mouth go dry.

“Yes, they do. Especially silly when I have every stupid girl at this ball vying for my attention when I try to make it very clear I do not care to give any of them an ounce of my attention.” He said. At first you were shocked at the way he talked about other ladies, calling them stupid as if it wasn’t an insult. As if it was just a fact. Then, you realized he was giving you attention. He must have thought there was something special with you, something different, something worth giving attention to. Your heart leapt at this thought and you looked up at him, eyes meeting his.

“It must be exhausting being so desirable.” You teased lightly, you wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t made it seem obvious that he felt you were worth giving attention to. You smiled at him in a way you hoped was flirtatious. As you smiled you watched his expression change from interest to something that might have been akin to disgust.

“You’re not so different from any of these other girls, are you Miss Huntington?” he asked. It took a moment for your excitement and interest to turn to confusion and embarrassment and then finally indignation. Had he just implied that you were stupid?

“Excuse me?” You asked, unable to restrain the anger you felt.

“You were staring at me from across the ballroom, were you not?” He asked, his voice wasn’t so much teasing as it was mocking. Heat flooded your cheeks, embarrassed, you hurriedly looked away from him. Your jaw set and your heart pounding but not from excitement anymore, but instead from anger.

“I only looked at you because I felt you staring at me.” You said, your voice dropping lower.

“You felt me staring at you?” He asked, now sounding amused. The hand he had on your back moved upwards, towards the exposed skin of your upper back. You felt one of his gloved fingers brush against your skin, shivers seemed to erupt through your body even though you were flushed from anger and the exertion of dancing.

“Yes. You looked at me with such…such…intensity that I felt it.” You insisted. He scoffed, his lip twitching up towards something like a smile. It irritated you and to your even worse irritation it interested you.

“I believe you are mistaken. I caught you staring at me long after I looked away from you, Miss Huntington.” He said seriously, his dark eyes seemed to burn. His hand against your back squeezed, the finger that lay across the skin on your back dug in slightly. You felt dizzy, your breath left you in a sharp exhale. You wished that this waltz was one where you switched partners, even for a brief moment, so you wouldn’t have to look at his burning eyes and the way his lips seemed to twitch as he thought or listen to the way his voice was so deep it reverberated through his chest. You had finally gotten what you had wanted from the night, the excitement from a dance, the rushing happiness, the kind that bubbled through your veins like champagne, the excitement that made you tingle. You got all the feelings you wanted but they conjoined and mixed with fury and embarrassment. Kylo leaned in towards you, he was so close you could feel his breath, he was too close, you could hear his smirk as he spoke,“You stared at me, my lady. How improper.”

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren reader insert #ben solo #kylo ren au #regency!kylo #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfic: tPOA #kylo ren smut #writing

124 notes · View notes

the-fiction-witch · 2 years

Text

Favourite Game

MOVIE DEATH OF A SUPERHERO

COUPLE DONALD X READER

RATING SMUTTY

I pressed the gummy little grey buttons watching the little metal spirals move winding forward the little quaver packet soon enough it fell to the bottom of the machine so I grabbed it and stuffed it in my bag with the rest of the chocolate, candy and snacks I had gotten from the machine. once my bag was full I hurried away from the block of vending machines, going over to the elevator waiting there a moment while the numbers decreased and soon enough the doors opened, I smiled at the couple who were already inside they nodded back and left the elevator I gave them ample space as they left and quickly headed inside clicking the button for the floor I needed. I waited, listening to the humm of the elevator till I arrived at the floor I needed I hurried out and followed the signs even if my feet already knew the way. I counted the little rooms passing the nurse station with a smile until I found his room, I tapped on the door a few times before opening the door shutting it behind me hurrying around the corner seeing the usual site of Donald sat in his bed with the various wires and cables coming off from him, sat with his hat on his head, in his tattered radioactive tee-shirt, his little shorts on even if the hospital blankets surrounded him his little hospital table as he sat drawing his comic characters

"Aww hey y/n" He smiled at me

"Hi" I giggled going over and giving his cheek a kiss grabbing my sanitiser scrubbing my hands a while

"You always do that"

"I had to touch elevator buttons, and vending machine buttons, you don't know what people got when they come into the hospital," I explain

"your too cute" he laughs at me "don't you wanna santize me then?"

"You are not contagious my love" I smiled "how are you feeling?"

"Much better, then your last visit" he says "how are things with you?"

"Fine, same as always" I shrug "how goes the... Whatever they call it?"

"Alright I suppose. This one fucking hurt!" He whines moving his right arm

"Did it?"

"Yeah, why do they always give me the new ones? I mean I don't mind everyone has to learn but I keep getting the training nurses and this one could not find my vein couldn't find it for twenty five minutes. And I really needed to pee so that didn't help matters" he complained

"Awww my poor baby" I cooed stroking his arm a little trying to avoid the various things

"I just wanna go home, so I can have you to come take care of me" he smiled taking my hand

"Ummmm? Come take care of you in your big cosy bed, maybe in my little nurse dress?" I smirked and I jumped as I heard the sudden change, I hadn't really noticed the bleeping of the monitor on his arm constantly checking his heart beat I'd sort of just blocked the noise out as I was so used to hearing it when I visit him but all of a sudden the pase jumped up "what was that?" I asked as it returned to normal

"..... nothing" he answered sheepishly

"Oooohh?" I smirked

"Y/n whatever your thinking-"

I smirked already excited at the idea I could play my most favorite game to play whenever Donald's in hospital, the can I make his alarm go off game.

"Do you like when I wear my cute little nurse dress?"

"... I do"

"Which one specifically? My cute little baby blue nurse dress with the cute little petticoats? Or that thin black nurse dress we bought, the one you like to call my matron dress?" I smirked stroking his thigh

"Uhhhh I like both just depends"

"On what? Weather you want your cute little nurse girl in her little ribbons and petticoats or if you want your matron in the little latex dress" I smirked letting my hand crawl up his leg gently stroking his shorts

"Uuuuuuughhh yeah" he gasped

"So? If you could have me in which one? Right now?" I smirked sitting on his bed putting my leg over the over intently getting close to him but far enough he couldn't do anything

"Uuuuuuughhh I Uhhhh I guess the... Black one" he blushed hard I could hear the monitor getting faster and faster with each thing I did

"Ummmm your always such a good boy when I wear that one" I smirked slipping my hand under his shorts taking a grip of him in my hand feeling he was rock hard already slightly leaking precum down his head given he'd been locked up in here a good few weeks now and we couldn't do anything my last two visits, and given he's been hooked to the monitors and such he likely hasn't been able to do it himself instantly he melted into me his face reading only of pleasure and submission his jaw falling loose unable to remove his gaze from me

"Y/n... Sweetie please" he whines

"What? What does my sweet boy want?"

"More. Please" he begs

"Alright" I smirked leaning forward letting him kiss me he happily kissed back excitedly kissing me hard and passionately as I gently and softly moved my hand back and forth letting him moan into my mouth I could hear his heart rate monitor going crazy but it wasn't enough not quiet yet I took his hand as gently as I could letting him rest it on my breast he didn't need further instruction taking a firm grip of me groping and folding me with his hand working on its own purely fueled by his hormones

"Uuuuuuughhh! Y/n baby! Yes! Fuck! Fuck!" He groaned pulling me closer again and just as he did -

The alarm almost deafeningly loud erupted from the machine proclaiming his heart rate was alarmingly fast instantly he panicked and I giggled giving his nose a kiss and jumping off the bed into my chair making sure to not look suspicious as a barrel of nurses came in concerned

"My goodness donald are you alright!" The nurse said

"Yeah uhhh I feel fine" he answered sheepishly given how close he already was but they where so concerned checking the machine the wire, the connection, checking his heart over and over "I said I feel fine, must be your machine"

"The machine is fine, it had been reading high all morning, then began violently increasing" one nurse explained

"Well I don't know what to tell you, me and y/n have been sat.... Talking. And it just went off"

The two nurse's shared a look between them and then back at us as I tried to contain my giggles the other nurses left and the two stood and stared donald down

"Tell the truth or we'll have to get your doctor down"

".... We might have... Been. Kissing" he blushed hard his whole face turning red

"Kissing?" The nurse asked holding the monitor screen and it's history

"We... Might have been, talking. And kissing" he admitted

"And touching" I giggled almost trying to get him in trouble

"She started it she was doing it on purpose to try and wind me up to make the alarm go off" he whined pulling his blankets close almost going under it from his embarrassment

"You two do this alot" she sighed

"She is my girlfriend!" He whined from under the blanket "I haven't seen her in a week, you can't blame is for wanting to kiss and cuddle"

"Set it to a more relaxed level, and tell is when you get here so we can be prepared" the nurse said before they headed out shutting the door behind then and he came out from the covers

"Your mean to me"

"Love you" I smiled giving him a kiss which he happily returned

"Love you too. But your still mean" he complained

6 notes · View notes

dreamescapeswriting · 4 years

Text

The Time Traveler ~ KNJ [Request]

↱↱↱Word Count: 3.3K

↱↱↱Genre: AU! Time Travel AU! Fluffy

↱↱↱Pairing: Time Traveller!Namjoon x Modern!Reader

↱↱↱A/N: For reference this is set in 1858! I had a lot of fun writing this and yall have turned me into a soft bitch by making me write fluff so be prepared when I come at you with HARD ANGST without happy endings. That being said, I love you all

It was just another dark night in the lab for Namjoon the only thing lighting up his workspace was the moonlight peaking through the basement window and the small flicking candle that was sitting at the edge of his desk, he'd been working so hard on trying to get his product right all week and it was getting close to the night he was supposed to be presenting it to his boss. The thought had come to him in a dream and he was doing his best to get everything to work correctly,

"Goodnight Namjoon," Jin called from the top of the basement stairs, Namjoon didn't even bother giving him a message back, he was too focused on the wristwatch in his hand. Jin was one of the other inventors that worked in the building but were lucky enough to have a ground floor office instead of the basement that Namjoon was forced into. If it'd worked everything out correctly in his notebook of wonders the watch would work perfectly alongside the giant clock that was centred in the middle of town and he'd become a rich inventor as he had always dreamed as a kid and he'd finally have an office out of the basement. His head turned to look out of the small window and he looked at the clock,

"8:20 pm." He said to himself turning the hands on the small wristwatch to the right time before clicking the button into place and all of a sudden there was a breeze rushing through the basement, Namjoon's head looked from left to right trying to determine where the wind was coming from when there was a flash of bright green light and his vision went cloudly. Everything around him was blurring around him but he was stood in place, people rushed around him but in blurs of vision. The building crumbling around him only to be built back up around him in the blink of an eye, he had no idea what was happening but before he could wrap his head around it everything slowed down and his vision returned back to normal. He was standing in the same basement only this time there were strange fittings on the wall, they looked like small candles but they didn't burn when he touched them.

"I'll be right up there Lady Katherine- Ah! Who-How?!" Your voice came out scared and Namjoon shook his head as he took in your appearance you looked like no one he'd ever seen before. You were wearing pants and they were a fabric that Namjoon hadn't ever seen, you were also sporting a white long coat with a badge on the front with what he assumed was your name on the front.

"Can I help you?" Your voice came out more calm than before and you walked into the room,

"Where am I?" Namjoon questioned as you walked over to a set of drawers and began looking around inside of them,

"My office, what's your name?" You questioned going over to him with a small pen-like object in your hand, he was so confused by everything going on around him. This was his office from what he could remember and yet here you were, a lady, telling him that it was your office.

"Kim Namjoon, w-what is that?" You flashed a light in his eye and he dove backwards hitting a small bed that was behind his legs, he sat down and you sighed going over to him and tilting his head around. His heart began thumping when your hand came into contact with his skin, he'd never been like this around a woman before and now here he was practically nose to nose with you as you stared down into his eyes.

"You must have bumped your head or something, do you hurt anywhere?" You questioned letting go of his head and taking out a small notebook which you got from a pocket in your white coat.

"No, I just...What year is this?" You looked up at him and blinked at him, wondering if he was serious or if this was some kind of joke from the doctors upstairs.

"If this is some kind of joke I'm not in the mood, I have a school full of kids waiting for me and I don't want them to get sick." Namjoon frowned as you spoke so openly and freely like this, he was clearly in another time for if a woman spoke like this in 1858 she'd be thrown into the kitchen but he liked it. He liked that you were so open and honest with him it was like a breath of fresh air, he stared a little longer into your eyes and he realised how beautiful they were.

"S-Sorry, no. No joke, I just I don't know where I am or what year this is...I know this used to be my office but I'm not sure what happened." You stared into his dark brown eyes as you tried to decipher if this was some kind of elaborate prank. The doctors in the offices above you all thought you were a joke anyway so sending someone to prank you wouldn't be totally out of the question, since they hated what you were doing there. You were giving free health care to anyone that might need it, you were a skilled doctor, nurse and minor surgeon - for things like cuts, scrapes, small wounds but nothing large and they hated it. Their way of working was getting all of the money they could from people who didn't have a lot to give.

"You must have seriously hurt your head, here...I erm...I don't feel comfortable leaving you here so you're gonna come with me to the school. I'll keep an eye on you there okay?" Namjoon nodded at you,

"You're in 2020 by the way, and I'm Dr Y/l/n, you can just call me Y/n though I don't really like being called Dr." You laughed nervously, there was no point in lying to yourself by saying the man wasn't good looking because he was, he looked like God's hard carved him in stone and sent him down to torture everyone.

"Your clothes, we might want to do something about them." He was dressed in an old victorian style coat, suit trousers and a waistcoat.

"My clothes? Look at yours, you're wearing pants!" He exclaimed still a little shocked that you were wearing something that wasn't a full-length gown with a petticoat,

"Well, here in 2020 women can wear whatever they want and do whatever they want." You patted his shoulder and that's when you noticed the time on your watch,

"Oh shit, we don't have time. You'll have to come in those. If anyone asks you're a street performer who had a head injury." Although he didn't know what most of the words meant he nodded along with you and got up from the bed, following you up the familiar set of stairs but coming out onto a different set of halls. Instead of the usual six doors that lined the floor, there were three doors, a flight of stairs and what he assumed was more doors up there.

"This way," You whispered grabbing a bag from in front of the door and walking out onto the front doorstep,

"Sneaking off with clients, are we? Maybe you have lost your mind, you should have just stuck with medical school darling!" You rolled your eyes slamming the door behind you,

"Who was that?"

"The man who owns the building rents it out to scumbag doctors who rob people blind." Namjoon nodded and watched as you walked over to a small automobile, he only knew what it was because he'd seen something of similar design within Jimin's notebook back home.

"Get in," You laughed as he stared at the car with wide eyes, you started up the engine and began driving in the direction of the old Catholic Church,

"This place has been standing for years 162 years, my great, great, great, great- Well you get the idea, Grandmother used to work here as a nun. Always looking after the children the church took in." You said as you pulled into a line of traffic,

"162 years ago?" He thought on what you had said,

"Would be around 1858? 1859? My maths is a little funky." You laughed nervously, although you'd only just met him he had the ability to make you more nervous than anyone you'd ever met before, you weren't even this nervous when it came to your exams.

"162 years!" Namjoon yelled almost making you swerve the car, he stared down at his wristwatch and stared at the time, and then at the small clock that was on your car the numbers flashing 20:34 pm.

"You're really not okay, are you? I promise I'll take a proper look when we get to the church." He shook his head and started rambling on about how he was from the future, that the watch on his wrist was what he had invented in 1858 and he was from the past.

"Okay...You're really scaring me." You whispered not knowing what to do, you could have picked up anyone and now you had them in your car.

The nun that was staring at you was starting to freak you out, you'd been looking over one of the boys while you left Namjoon in the corner of the room to wait for you.

"What?" You questioned looking away from Jimmy and up to her face, there was something about a Nun that made you want to confess everything you'd ever done in life even if the things you had done weren't sins.

"He looks familiar, are you dating?" You scoffed at her and rolled your eyes,

"No, I'm looking after him." You tapped Jimmy on the shoulder and he walked away and straight over to Namjoon, you and the sister turned to watch Namjoon. He had a group of boys all sitting around him and listening to whatever he was saying,

"Been telling them stories about this place, said he knows about them first hand...He's crazy." You laughed at the sister and she walked away from you, you made your way over to Namjoon wanting to hear what he was saying about the church.

"We had the first can opener in 1858, not to mention my best friend Jin began inventing lights." You folded your arms over your chest as you listened to what he was saying, he seemed to be fully convinced on every detail he was telling you.

Namjoon watched from the corner of the room as you pushed a pair of glasses onto your face and began cleaning up a wound on someone's knee, you somehow looked more beautiful than before and he wanted to speak to you. He'd had nothing on his mind except you all night, he'd been planning on asking you out until he realised he wasn't from his time and he had no idea where he could even take you. Then thoughts of how he would ever get home came to his mind,

"Y/n!" Both of you looked up to see a nun calling you over,

"Hobi, go and sit with Namjoon. He'd got some awesome stories." The little boy nodded and rushed over to Namjoon while you went to greet the sister that had called you over. When Hobi reached Namjoon he noticed how much he resembled another one of his friends back home,

"I'm Jung Hoseok," The little boy couldn't have been any older than 10 and he must have been related to the man that Namjoon once knew.

"Nice to meet you, Kim Namjoon." They shook hands but namjoon's mind kept wondering as to where you had gone, you were no longer in the room you were all gathered in.

"What is it, Sister?" You asked as she dragged you through a series of hallways and into a confessionary room,

"I have nothing to confess." You said quickly as you noticed the confession box she was leading you towards, she rolled her eyes at you and pulled you into a backroom.

"Here...I knew I knew his face!" She pulled out an old dusty photo album and began flicking through the pages until she found what she was looking for. Sitting there in the middle of the page was a black and white photo of the building you worked in, sitting in front of it were seven men all dressed in the same style of clothes Namjoon was wearing.

"Inventors Kim Seokjin, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Jung Hoseok, Min Yoongi, Jeon Jungkook and Kim Namjoon." You read out as you ripped the photo from the album, Namjoon was the spitting image of the Namjoon in the photograph but it was impossible...No one could time travel, the wristwatch hadn't even been invented in 1858 it was invented in 1868 and even if it was...Why would he come to 2020?

"Can I borrow this?" As soon as the nun nodded you practically sprinted from the room and over to Namjoon who was talking to the children,

"Mr Kim, can I speak with you for a second?" The kids all protested and you took him out to an empty hallway and showed him the photograph and pointed the man that looked like him out to him.

"I remember this! We'd just gotten the new building after Jungkook blew up our first one." You stared up at him as you realised that all of what he'd been telling the children was true and what he'd told you in the car was true.

"You're really from the past?" He nodded and looked at you, sliding the photo back into your hand.

"How did you-"

"I invented this," He pulled up his wrist in front of your face and you stared at it, it was just like an ordinary wristwatch,

"What time did you set it to?" You questioned, the watch had no year or date on so you assumed it would only work by time.

"8:20 pm." You nodded, you understood how it had worked to get him here but no the mechanics behind it, you were smart but you weren't time travel and expanding the universe kind of smart.

"I want to go home." He told you as he looked away from the watch,

"Well, I would start by setting the time to-"

"No...I want you to come with me." Your heart started to pound against your chest as though it was trying to leap out and connect with his,

"You don't even know me, I don't know you-"

"We know enough, I know you're a wonderful doctor who is doing so much for people here who don't deserve it...You can come back with me....Make a real change in the world, become some of the first female doctors to make a positive change." The longer you stared into his eyes the more appealing it sounded to you, you had no one here. You were alone in the world, your family had all died when you were younger so it's not as if you had anyone to miss.

"But the kids-"

"Will be just fine without you Y/n, you've taught a lot of us how to do things we never thought we could do without a doctor." You looked over your shoulder to see the same Nun who had given you the photograph,

"This is a once in a lifetime opportunity...Think of the stories you'll have to tell people when you get to 1858...You could write books about it," She joked and looked at Namjoon as if she was trying to read his mind.

"He is of pure heart, you are of pure heart. Go for it." You smiled softly at her and gave her the photograph back,

"Life is an adventure go and live it." She kissed your forehead and you walked over to Namjoon,

"Is that a yes?" You nodded but then yelled no, rushing out of the hall only to come back a couple of seconds later with the huge bag you'd brought with you.

"Ready." Namjoon linked your hands and you felt a jolt run up and down your body, Namjoon blushed as he looked down at you with a smile.

"So turn it to this," You began turning the hands on his watch so it would say '6:58' or in digital time 18:58 and Namjoon clicked the button. The breeze came first and then the flash, you watched in awe as the building around you began to change. Your hand gripped Namjoon's tightly as the building caught fire and was put back out building itself back up once again, everything was too fast for you to begin to process and just like that it was over. You were standing hand in hand in the middle of the same church hall,

"Come on, we should get you back before people see you." You looked down at the floor, it was tiled differently, the halls were lit with candles and you heard footsteps.

"Quickly." Namjoon laughed dragging you through the door and out into the streets, horses were lined up everywhere and the only thing that was lighting up was the moon and bright lanterns on poles.

Namjoon brought you down into the basement where he'd invented the watch and looked up at the clock tower, in your time you'd moved 3 hours in front and the same here, everything was so new and wonderful.

"I just- We just-" He nodded as you tried to process everything that had happened.

"Travelled in time?" He finished and you dropped the bag of items onto the floor,

"I'm in the past...I'm in the 1800s?!" Your voice didn't seem panicked, which was good because you weren't. You were excited to be there so excited that you grabbed Namjoon by the lapels and kissed him passionately, he was shocked at first but he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around you bringing you closer to his body.

"You're going to make a real change here," He whispered pulling back from you and running his hand over your cheek, you smiled at him and looked around.

"Though we are going to have to something about your clothes." You laughed as you remembered saying the same thing to him in your office back home.

The sister looked down at the photograph with a fond smile, her wrinkled fingers gracing over the image of seven inventors and a female doctor standing in front of a building, 'Inventors Kim Seokjin, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Jung Hoseok, Min Yoongi, Jeon Jungkook, Kim Namjoon and Doctor Y/n Y/l/n.'

"They look so happy." A voice said from behind her, she turned around slowly to see a man standing there with a smile on his face,

"You're late," She laughed turning the page over to reveal another series of photographs of the same group of people, only this time gathered at Kim Namjoon and Y/n Kim's wedding, all smiling at whoever was taking the photograph.

"They were though, very happy. Young and in love." The man smiled as he got closer to her, wondering how she knew all of that from one photo but that was a secret she was never going to tell anyone. If anyone heard what she had in her mind they'd think she was crazy, time-travelling doctors from the 1800s? They'd have her locked up. She stared down at the photo of the Y/n she used to know so well, smiling widely at the camera, a bouquet was in the air flying towards a group of females and young children are trying to catch it. The moment looked perfect and Y/n looked happier than the Nun had ever seen her before.

Tagline:

@writingdreamsnottragedies @yoongisdumplingcheeks @snowy-meowl @lynnthevirgo @jooniesdarlingdimples @fan-atic-blog @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @callingmyangel @rjsmochii @btsiguess-kpop @kneel-begyourpardon @taestannie

121 notes · View notes

platypanthewriter · 3 years

Text

Keg-King of Elfland’s Sword: REWRITTEN Ch. 1/10

Billy Hargrove and his sister travel across the ocean to his mother’s hometown, looking for answers about his past--but he’s distracted the very first night by a man he meets at the Hunt Ball, and starts to wonder whether the past or the future is more important.

Part One/Two/Three/Four/Five/Six/Seven/Eight/Nine/Ten for @ihni

It wasn’t like the dances in New South Wales, nor yet was it like the ball Billy had attended in London, where everyone had seemed to blur together in endless lines of pearl buttons and curly white wigs. His first sight of Hawkins society was a confusion of colors and heights—the person offering to take his coat, he realized, pulling his eyes from the constellations of candles, was at least partly horse, and clapped their hooves over it, bowing. He bowed back, pulling Max forward through the doorway—she was as wide-eyed as he, her gaze catching on a woman floating near the punch bowl with a face either covered in moss, or made of it.

Billy wondered, watching the dancers, whether he could be less careful here—whether iron was more easily avoided, and he could apply himself at a stranger’s dinner table without burning his hands. The keys at the inn—where they’d flung their dinner clothes on and their baggage anywhere in an excitable flurry—had been iron, and he’d dropped them twice before Max took them, rolling her eyes.

He suspected there would be no such dangers here, in a house where the footmen greeting the carriages outside were horses themselves, formed of water. In the center of the room, surrounded by the most candles—and, he noted, after some consideration, floating flames with no visible source—were two empty ornate chairs, like thrones. Between them was a huge head, cut and seared bloodless from some hairy, fanged, one-eyed beast, on oilcloth, and he registered how many of the dancers had bandages, and torn clothes.

He’d stand out, he realized, smug in the knowledge that his new ocean-blue tailcoat brought out his eyes, and the embroidered brown brocade of his waistcoat complemented it perfectly. As he was congratulating himself on his lack of cravat, and the unbuttoned shirt that exposed his collarbones, the dance shifted to pairs.

A young man with a bloodied scrape across his face, a flower crown, and a wide grin spun his partner down the room. Billy stumbled, cataloguing fine shoulders under the torn and bloodstained shirt, collarbones gleaming with sweat.

Billy’s arm and shoulder pulled nearly asunder as Max yanked him, wide-eyed and wandering towards a person whose silvery ruffles matched their wheeled ambulatory device. Billy glanced at her, then back to the dancer, whose teeth and eyes gleamed in the candlelight. “I need that arm, give it,” he whispered, “I—I have to—dance—”, he trailed off, yanking at Max’s grip on his arm.

Her jaw firmed. “Stop gawking,” she hissed. “You look like a pillock. I want to talk to that person about their wheels. Alas, we should really greet the sheriff. We’d be kicking our heels in our rooms at the inn if he hadn’t invited us, Billy—”

“Right now, I have to go dance with him.” Billy pointed, and Max stood on her toes, still a head shorter than he, until he lifted her by her securely corseted waist, and she kicked out. “The one dancing. Everyone’s watching him.”

“You’ll have time after— Billy!” She squirmed, growling like a trapped fox. “I’m fourteen,” she snarled, her cheeks reddening. “You can’t put me on your shoulders, Billy, it’s a ball—”

“I’d suffocate in petticoats,” he told her, and she snorted a laugh, then smacked his head.

“Oh, I see him! There, with the—ah, the flowers on his head? He’s dancing with someone?”

“With the flowers,” he agreed, “—and the smile.” The grin was heady in the heat of the room, and Billy took a steadying breath. It didn’t help—everything smelled strange and exciting, unlike any ball he’d ever attended, the air full of the oils for the whirring machinery helping a woman with a fishtail dance, and the smell of the burned flesh of the beast on the dais, and the garlanded flowers.

Max folded her arms, comfortable with the corset boning supporting her weight in his hands. “You could, someday, dance with me when you escort me to a party.”

“I require the thrill of the chase,” Billy told her, and she snorted unbecomingly, like a horse, then reached behind her shoulder to knock on his head.

“...at least turn around a few times so I can search. Mr. Hopper did send a sketch. There can’t be a great many blue men here tonight.”

Billy had agreed when they opened the letter, but here in Hawkins—where the Hunt Ball celebrated not a stag or boar caught for the feast, but victory over a one-eyed beast whose head was the size of a horse—he wasn’t as sure.

Max patted his hand. “Turn a quarter turn to the right,” she ordered, and he shuffled obediently. “Again!” She pointed, as though she stood on the prow of a ship, and he laughed, spinning slowly with his sister’s feet swinging against his knees until she yelled, pointed, and smacked his head. He sat her back on her feet, but she held onto his jacket.

“Take me over there, your right respectable rudeness. We can ask about your dancer.”

“No need.” Billy allowed himself to be dragged away, eyes on the spinning white flowers and gleaming dark hair. “I’ll ask him myself.”

“What if he’s married?” She rolled her eyes, and nearly jerked Billy’s shoulder out of its socket when the idea spurred him towards the dancing again. “Walk, idiot. If he’s married, he won’t be less or more so in the time it takes to greet Mr. Hopper. Don’t make me go alone, he’ll think I’m a lost parcel.”

“You are,” Billy mumbled, straightening his tailcoat. “I should have left you in the train station where I found you. How do I look,” he muttered, frowning down, and she groaned loudly, putting an arm through his and dragging him through the crowd to see a man about his father’s age, and blue. He looked as though he half thought they were entertaining—after watching Billy progress across the room like an untrained dog on a lead—and half wished they’d leave him to his conversation with a tiny dark-eyed woman who kept laughing, tears in her eyes.

Billy blinked at them, noting the small woman’s pink hand on the sheriff’s blue one, and the man’s smirk widened. Max kicked Billy’s leg, aiming unerringly at the bone. “Sher—Mr. Hopper?” he tried, saving his revenge for later.

“I am, and this is Ms. Byers.” Mr. Hopper nodded at the small woman, and she blinked at them, laughing again, and wiping her eyes. “I beg your pardon,” she whispered. “I’m a bit...overwrought.”

“Ah,” said Max, freezing in place, and Billy rescued her with a smile he’d checked in the mirror.

“Mr. William Hargrove and Ms. Maxine Mayfield,” he said, offering Ms. Byers a hand—her fingers trembled against his—then shook Mr. Hopper’s, as Ms. Byers shook with Max. “May we get you anything? Punch?” he asked, ignoring Max rolling her eyes.

“No,” Ms. Byers said, smiling. “I’m overwhelmed by happiness. My boy is home tonight, thanks to the Hunt.”

“Is he?” Billy asked, lost, and the sheriff nodded to the great head on the dais.

“They brought home more than one trophy tonight. They rescued two of the town’s children,” he said, glancing towards the group of bandaged and bloodied dancers.

Ms. Byers took a deep, shaky breath, and asked Max how far they’d come.

“New South Wales,” Max told her, then, “Australia,” when she cocked her head.

“...you’re young, for such a long journey,” Ms. Byers' gaze lowered, and her eyes welled up again. She cleared her throat. “I h-hope you are enjoying it?”

“...we are,” Billy tried to reassure her, feeling the conversation had headed onto shaky ground.

“I received word only of Ms. Mayfield,” Mr. Hopper said, raising his eyebrows. “I am relieved to see her accompanied on such a long voyage. But your father worked here, once upon a time. I am surprised he didn’t write about you.”

Billy bit his tongue on an explanation of his father’s low regard.

“I am grateful for my brother’s company.” Max gave her most even and insincere smile, “—as it would be hazardous, for one of my youth, travelling alone.”

“We are relieved you have him,” Ms. Byers said, her eyes searching the room. “It is not safe, alone, always. Though the Hunt does its best.”

“I am here as her shield.” Billy patted his belt, where his sword would hang, and he saw that she took his meaning.

“Get much use, does it?” Mr. Hopper asked, his brows drawing together. “I’ll take no issue with a hand raised against the wilds, but we’ve had too many fights, as of late.”

“I’ll keep him in line,” Max promised, glancing up and elbowing Billy when his gaze strayed back to the dance floor.

“How old are you?” Ms. Byers whispered to Max, who set her shoulders.

“Nearly only five years, and I’ll be twenty!” she said, and the sheriff looked as though he very much wanted to laugh. He squeezed Ms. Byers’ hand, and Ms. Byers swallowed, dabbing her eyes with the kerchief she had wadded up in her other hand.

“I’m glad you’re not alone,” she told Max. “If your mother could see you, she would know not to be worried. Your brother loves you very much.”

Billy readied a smile, then startled as Max grabbed his hand in both her lily-white gloves and squeezed it like she was juicing a lemon. He tried to shake her off, squeezing his lips together over language inappropriate for a ball, and Max narrowed her eyes at Ms. Byers.

“More than my mother does,” Max said, in the tone of someone throwing down a gauntlet, and Ms. Byers’ face fell.

“I’ll keep her safe and well,” Billy promised, and Max huffed a sigh.

“I don’t need minding,” she hissed, and Billy thumped his side into hers, making her stagger.

“The dragon-craft that brought us was only constructed last year,” Billy began, and that was Max distracted, explaining its speed to a smiling Ms. Byers. She got distracted, as usual, describing her continued attempts—thwarted by crew—to climb the rigging, and speak to the dragon.

Billy listened with a smile, his mind half soaring between shining ocean waves and gleaming dragon scales, and half watching the dance floor, where his flower-crowned target spun and laughed, after fighting a monster to rescue a child. When he heard the word “pirate,” he rolled his eyes, imploring, “Good sheriff, as a man of the law, try to discourage my sister. She’s never more than three dull conversations from stealing a dragon ship and raising a flag with a skull and crossed swords.”

“A temptation shared by us all,” the sheriff replied, toasting her, and Billy made a fist and thumped it on the top of her head.

“Look, now you’ve corrupted him.”

“I would never!” Max grinned. “We saw the Pirate Queen, you know.”

“We may have done,” Billy interrupted, sighing. “At the very limit of our telescope, we saw a dark blotch—”

“She was standing on her dragon’s head,” Max said, twining her fingers together, and stretching, her eyes focused on visions of piracy.

“Every hour it was the Pirate Queen, listen.” Billy yanked the chain of his keepsake out of his shirt, and held up the battered shell, despite Max trying to smack it out of his hand. Her cheeks were reddening until they nearly competed with Ms. Byers’ gown. Billy held it out of her reach, and ran his thumb around the edges, and Max’s voice came out with the watery echoes of low-quality keepsake enchantment.

“There, that’s her,” echo-Max said. “There! Billy! Billy, it’s—oh. Oh, no, it’s—it’s not.”

Echo-Billy’s voice joined her. “Max, that’s an albatross.”

“No, wait! I see her! I see her now!” echo-Max cut off, muffled, as actual-Max climbed her brother like a tree, grabbing the keepsake. She dropped to the floor, feet wide-set, her arm up to guard, and Billy laughed, raising his hands.

“You’ve disarmed me. Return my keepsake, fierce Amazon, I’ll keep your secrets close.”

“I’ll record something over it first,” she hissed. “Something flatulent.”

“Give it back,” he pleaded, circling her and grinning.

Max tossed her head, crossing her arms. “Because it was your mother’s. I’ll surrender it for her sake, not yours.” She held it out by the chain, and he put it back on.

Ms. Byers was staring at it. “I suppose your mother's message was too—familiar? That you would erase it?”

Billy laughed, clearing his throat, and Max rescued him.

“She gifted only the keepsake, it came with no message. If it had,” she confided, cocking her head to grin up at him, “—he would not have filled its chamber with my nonsense about an albatross. I would be safe from his brotherly abuses.”

Ms. Byers was laughing, finally, still wiping her eyes, when a thin, pale boy walked up next to her, and she beamed at him, throwing both arms around his waist and hauling him into her lap so he kicked and giggled. They both made soft gulping noises, sniffling, and her fists clenched in the shoulders of his jacket.

The sheriff watched, his face set, then frowned at Max and Billy. “Will Byers,” he said, and they nodded, exchanging uncertain glances. “They were lost in the woods,” he told them, “—and ran into the fachan.” He pointed to the head on the dais, and Max grimaced, wide-eyed, just as the music leapt again, and a girl about Will’s age ran up, stumbled to a halt next to the sheriff, and eyed Max and Billy suspiciously. Ms. Byers beamed at her, as little Will grabbed both the new girl and his mother, and demanded a dance.

As another reel started, Billy leaned close to Max’s ear. “Do I look as well as I may,” he whispered out of the side of his mouth, watching the dancer, whose friends were carrying him around, and whooping war cries. He heard yells of “Wheeler!”, “Byers!”, and “Buckley!” and wondered which he was.

“I beg your pardon, Ms. Byers,” Max sighed, “—my brother has seen someone on the dance floor, and he’s having heart palpitations.” Ms. Byers snickered, steadying her hands on her glass of punch, as Max looked Billy up and down, then smacked his shoulder until he was low enough for her to assess. She pinched his cheeks a few times to redden them—he batted her away, laughing—and pulled forward some of the curls he’d carefully combed back and tucked to hide the almost-points of his ears. “Bite your lips hard ‘til you get over there, so he’ll want to kiss you,” she advised, and pushed him back. Ms. Byers was cackling into Mr. Hopper’s shoulder, but Billy ignored them, bouncing his heels to try and track the bright-eyed dancer.

By the time he’d sidled through the crowd, the flower crown was twirling again on the dance floor, its bearer laughing with—Billy tore his eyes away to inspect the partner—a human woman, he thought, though her ears looked rather pointed, from across the dance floor, and through the largest flower crown. He couldn’t tell whether the crown had antlers, or she did.

“Thomas Hagen,” said a voice in his ear, and Billy smirked to cover his start, turning to see a freckled grin. “But Hagen ‘the Elder’ s are everywhere, so Mr. Thomas, to most." He followed Billy's gaze to the dancers. "You are watching Harrington.”

Am I, now, Billy thought, raising his eyebrows at the memory of the name in his father’s leftward slanting script. “William Hargrove,” he introduced himself. "Billy, to most." He cocked his head, letting his gaze drift back to the dance floor. His target careened his partner with the headdress towards the musicians, spinning away every time at the last minute, and no one faltered, though all were laughing.

“Those two fill most of each other’s dance cards,” Thomas told him, and Billy nodded, watching the partner crouch, jump, and get spun over Harrington’s head. He’d shed his jacket, if he’d ever worn one, and rolled up his sleeves, so the muscles of his arms shone in the candlelight. The flowers, up close, were tiny and white, and also speckled with blood. Billy hoped it belonged to the monster, imagining Harrington swinging his sword through its neck.

“...Steve’s in love with her,” Thomas tried again, and Billy nodded again, appreciating the angle the light had on flowers, and gleaming dark hair, and tight, gleaming leather breeches. “He won’t want you.” Thomas punched his shoulder, and Billy raised his eyebrows, glancing over, and considering whether it was worth punching back.

“Hasn’t said so yet,” Billy replied, rolling his shoulders as the music came to a close. He angled himself to intercept the blur of golden waistcoat, flower crown, and bloodied face he could see through the crowd.

After sidling through what was probably the entire population of Hawkins, Billy spotted his dancer again. He finally got in front of Harrington by the punch, and took a deep breath, his eyes following a trickle of sweat down the side of the man’s face. It dripped into the unbuttoned neck of his shirt, and Billy shut his mouth and swallowed, nearly having drooled. “Dance with me,” he blurted. “...Billy Hargrove. I'm.”

Harrington had just tipped in a mouthful of punch, but he held out a hand, swallowed, and wiped his mouth. “Steven Harrington.”

Billy was watching the wetness of the punch on his lips. “...Mr. Harrington. May I have this dance? Or any.”

“Why not,” Harrington laughed, chugging another glass of punch, and then took Billy’s hand in his, cold and damp from the punch glass, and dragged him back to the dancing.

The complex pattern kept whirling Harrington away, but he kept returning to grab Billy’s hands and spin him around, all smiles and shining eyes and warm muscles under Billy’s hands as the room spun around them. Billy breathed in the smell of white flowers, and felt dizzy.

The next dance the antlers returned, and Billy wandered off to the punch, took a deep, steadying draught, and remembered he had a sister, because she punched him in the side.

“Max,” he wheezed.

“My thanks for escorting me to the ball, sweet brother.” She raised her eyebrows, and took his glass of punch. “I have appreciated your company at every divine moment. Ms. Byers said to watch the punch, by the by. Since they ride out on the morrow, it was supposed to be all sugar and mint, but that just means everyone with a flask dumps it in. She said by an hour in, it’ll be alcohol enough to fuel a dragon ship. When are we going to dance?”

“I can still smell flowers.” Billy watched for the flower crown, and Max groaned.

“What are you doing? Did you even get his name? Make sure when you’re walking towards him, it isn’t through a road.”

Billy laughed, shoving her head down. She flailed, nearly spilling the punch, and he mussed her hair. “I’m not—”

“Or into a river. You’d probably forget to swim.” She held the sloshing glass of punch at a wary arm’s length with both hands, glowering up at him.

“I’ll push you in the river,” he growled, swiping a hand at his cup again, “—and I did get his name, as it happens. It’s, ah. It’s Harrington.”

“How’d you know?” She blinked up at him, and automatically took a swig of the punch, before coughing. “Dear god.” She wiped her eyes. “—that’s not for fueling engines, it’s for cleaning them. How’d you know it was him? You already got a dance with him?”

“I…” Billy swallowed, yanked the cup back, and drained it. “I didn’t know it was him. I can’t—it won’t work, anyway. He’s engaged, or as good as. The one with the antlers. I’ll just—I’ll have to write...home.” He took a deep breath, staring into the cup. “Tell him I failed.”

Max rocked sideways, thudding her shoulder into his ribs. “You did get a dance with him. That doesn’t sound hopeless.”

“It was never going to work—” he hissed back, and then the music stopped abruptly, with the musicians joining in cheering and clapping with the crowd, as the floor cleared around Ms. Byers. She was carrying Will, flailing and giggling, to one of the thrones, while the girl they’d seen earlier furtively approached the second. A thin woman waved and cheered at the second child, who flashed a smile.

“Come sit with me, this chair is huge!” Will Byers yelled, and his mother kissed his cheek, squeezing him so hard he squeaked. The other child nodded, setting her jaw determinedly, and skirted around the enormous severed head. Her nervous glances were fixed more on the crowd than the dead monster.

Harrington and his antlered partner stepped up next to Ms. Byers to lift the chair, and the two children held hands, waving. Another few people ran out of the restless crowd, all bandaged in various places, and helped lift the chair, as Will whooped.

“...I should have run out,” Billy told Max, watching, and she snorted.

“I think it’s invitation only.”

“Maybe he needs help. Maybe he needs me to carry him—”

She smacked his thigh, and he snickered.

Once the chair was aloft, they carried it around, amidst whoops, and whistles, and drunken shouts like, ‘King and Queen of the Hunt Ball!’, ‘Welcome home!’, and ‘So glad you’re safe!’ The crowd smacked Harrington and his cronies on the shoulders and back, as they whirled the laughing children around in the chairs. Ms. Byers cried, and so did her kid, slinging his arm over the arm rest and clamping his hand over hers.

“Whose thrones are those, really,” Billy leaned to ask Max, realizing there was more happening than Steve Harrington lifting something heavy over his head.

“I heard there’s a bit of contention,” Max whispered back, waggling her eyebrows.

“Oooo,” Billy folded his arms, leaning in closer.

“This is Nan Wheeler’s house,” Max pointed at Antlers, and Billy nodded, listening. “She led the hunting party, and shot the arrow that felled it. She sought Barbra Holland, who went up the mountain two days ago, to visit her little sister’s grave in the mausoleum there.”

“Oho,” Billy nodded. A tiny crab scuttled out from under the monster’s eyelid, and then a few more, and Billy’s mouth fell open again. “They…” He frowned around, cataloguing the bandages, and Harrington’s scraped knuckles and scabbed-up face. “Her friend is still missing,” Billy realized. “Antlers’.”

“They turned around, because of that beast, and in aid of Ellie, and Will Byers. I talked with him after you went off all starry-eyed—he was missing for nearly a seven-day. Ellie was missing nearly two months.”

Billy reached out and squeezed her shoulder, and she ducked away, grinning.

“I promise not to wander away,” she told him, smiling, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

“I could lock you inside a trunk,” Billy mused, and she elbowed him. “They ride again tomorrow? Thus the horrid punch.”

“They ride again tomorrow,” Max confirmed. “Nantlers Wheeler hesitates to fill the other throne in celebration, while Barbra is not yet found.” Billy snorted at the nickname, then opened his mouth again, but Max rolled her eyes, waving him off. “I did ask,” Max sighed, “—who would sit beside her. I heard Harrington, or Holland, or perhaps Byers the younger—but it’s the Hunt Ball, Billy. It’s not her proposal, it’s who—who she decides—who deserves the laurels.” She jerked her head at the procession, and Billy nodded, eyes lingering on Harrington’s biceps. Max rolled her eyes, sighing. She waved to little Byers, and dragged Billy closer when little Byers waved back, his smile gleeful as the throne tilted and swayed with its carriers.

Billy waved, and Harrington waved back, grinning over.

“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Max whispered, as Billy kept waving, until Thomas grabbed his hand.

“Noticed he danced with you. Hargrove,” he whispered, leaning in, and Max leaned around to give him a puzzled glower.

“Lucky me.” Billy tried to pull his hand back, and winced at Thomas’ grip.

“He’s King of the Hunt Ball, you know? He’s always King. Nan Wheeler sits next to him as Queen.”

It wasn’t hard to imagine how grand it would look—Harrington in his finest, instead of sweatstained and bandaged, and Wheeler at his side, borne through the air on the shoulders of their friends. He must have made some kind of face, because Max elbowed him.

“Byers wants her,” Thomas whispered, “—but she’s not for him.”

“Little Byers?” Billy raised his eyebrows at the laughing, crying child, and Thomas squeezed his hand until the bones ground together.

“Who the hell are you,” Max muttered at him.

“The elder Byers, Jonathan. Steve dueled him.” Thomas leaned close. “—he was watching her, with a telescope. Sketching her through the window.”

“Why didn’t she duel him?” Max wrinkled her nose. “I’d have—”

“Steve found out first, didn’t even wait for me, his second—” Thomas hissed back at her. “He fights for her— he'll never look at you.”

“I hear you.” Billy shifted to slam their shoulders together, and yanked his hand loose while Thomas staggered. “—do you want to fight with steel, or are you content to whine, and pretend good manners, and gossip like a—”

“No! Billy,” Max hissed. “You’ll be thrown out. You’ll miss the dance. Billy.”

“Oh, Max,” Billy said, baring his teeth in a wide smile, and keeping his eyes on Thomas, “—in fun, of course, don’t worry—”

“They wouldn’t dream of stopping us.” Thomas snarled back, his grin fixed and unnatural. “An exhibition match, to first blood.” He spun away, shaking his fists in the air, and shouted, “A sword! And a referee!”

“What is this place,” Max whispered to Billy, her eyes shining. “Instead of dancing, we can duel?” She watched in bewilderment as the dancers gathered around them, laughing, shouting, and—to her delight—placing bets. “You had better win, brother mine,” she said, rummaging in her pocket.

“Harrington,” Billy called, rolling his shoulders as the man’s brown eyes met his, sparkling with amusement. “A favor, if I win!”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Thomas told him, but Harrington considered.

“...within reason,” he agreed, and Billy whooped, peeling out of his tight-fitting jacket, and handing it to Max.

“A dance,” Billy said, bowing, “—or perhaps a kiss?”

Harrington laughed, ducking his head as the hunters around him whistled.

“Oooo,” Max whispered, glancing up at Harrington. “Is this...common, here?!”

“Fairly,” he answered, pulling his gaze from Billy’s open shirt to look at her. “Why are they fighting?”

“Over you,” she shrugged, and Harrington choked, coughing. Max smacked him hard several times on the back.

Another antlered person wafted towards them, the silvery train of her dress shining after her. “As it’s my house, I’ll keep watch.” She held out the hilts of two fencing sabres, and looked Billy dispassionately up and down. “...They’re dulled, as humans are fragile. First blood. No death.”

Billy took a deep breath before accepting a sword, wondering whether he’d feel the dull, frozen ache of cold iron—but either the blood he’d inherited from his mother was indeed as fae as the Lady offering the sword, and it was some fae metal, and harmless to him; or else the madness rotting in his blood acknowledged that the sword was probably not iron, and didn’t set fanciful pains running up the veins of his arms.

Billy whipped the sabre through the air a couple of times, eyes narrowed. Thomas struck a stance, his off hand up in a pointlessly stylish wave, and Billy tested his defense. It wasn’t terrible, for a man who smelled more of whiskey with a dash of punch than the reverse, though he was focusing too much on trying to end the duel. Billy raised his eyebrows, dancing away from a wild swipe near his knee.

It became apparent pretty quickly he was in no great danger from Thomas, who seemed continually surprised to find his blows swinging into thin air, and was beginning to pant.

Billy spun to the side, nearly into a bystander. The circle was growing smaller, and the shouting louder.

Harrington was still watching, and Billy paced around the circle, dodging Thomas as he shrugged out of his waistcoat, waving it at Max. She glared at him, rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms. He threw it, somewhat hoping it hit her in the face with a brass button, and then Harrington leaned out and caught it, grin wide.

Billy pointed his sword, holding Harrington’s gaze. “Wish me luck?” Harrington laughed, shaking his head, but saluted back, and then Thomas was attacking again. The rhythm was easy, once Billy settled into it—simpler than the dances, just practiced muscles stretching and flexing, and Harrington’s grin, and cheering.

Thomas was starting to look a little wild, drenched in sweat, and when he stumbled backwards, wiping his brow, Billy realized the fight was nearly over. He was irritating Thomas into ever more desperate swings, enjoying his snarls, when a new round of whoops and cheers went up to his left, and the crowd parted to admit another fencer.

She walked in and threw an arm around Thomas’ shoulder, tossing back a cup of punch, and her curls. She stared, smiling, at Billy, and unbuttoned her jacket. Thomas yowled like a cat, and she tugged her sleeves off in turn, without breaking eye contact with Billy. He couldn’t help but grin back, even as she walked over to Harrington, handed him the cup, and tossed her jacket over the man’s head.

As the crowd whistled, Harrington growled, trying to free himself from the jacket without spilling the cup.

Billy raised his eyebrows, licked his lips, and dropped his sword on the ground. He turned to stare Harrington in the face, peeling out of his shirt and sauntering over to drape it over the man’s arm. Harrington was laughing, his smirk widening as his gaze traced the sweat gleaming on Billy’s chest. The musicians had started again, in the corner—a jig. Billy leaned in close to tug the flower from Harrington’s jacket, and breathed in its fragrance. Harrington watched, mouth hanging a little open, and Billy spun back to the duel, tucking the flower into the curls over his left ear.

The crowd was beginning to chant “Carol! Carol!”—and he could immediately see the difference, as she shoved Thomas out of the impromptu arena with her foot. Her stance was deep and steady without being showy, and she didn’t try for the obvious openings he gave her.

A good opponent was a heady pleasure, letting him show his best side to Harrington, and soon he and Carol had matching grins, circling each other. She was tired, though—her flowing shirt showed the same patches of dried blood as all those who had carried the thrones around in triumph, and she had a purpling bruise along her hairline, from her eyebrow to her ear. The point of her sword drooped a couple of inches, and she narrowed her eyes, sinking her stance deeper as though it had been on purpose. She tossed her sword into her left hand—Billy raised his eyebrows—and wiped her right on her trousers.

“Harrington,” she growled. “Candelabra.”

Harrington spun to the low dais by the thrones, where a heavy brass candelabra's flames were gleaming off the sharp teeth of the monster. He grabbed it, and tossed it to her. The wax sprayed across her chest and face, but three of the five candles stayed lit, and she laughed low in her throat, holding the candelabra in front of her at arms’ length like a buckler.

“My lord is fickle,” Billy protested, flashing a smile at Harrington, who did a weird curtsey with all the clothes he was holding, like they were skirts.

Billy hadn’t had much faith in a lit candelabra as a buckler, but her stance was sure, and it was more effective in her hand than many a buckler he’d seen, turning his blows aside with the slightest tilt of her extended arm. With the candelabra at arm’s length, though, heavier by far than the sword, he could see the barest tremble beginning in her wrist and elbow, and he pressed forward to end the fight. The still-lit candles dazzled him—her, as much as him, he thought, nearly slipping on spilled wax, and parrying her immediate thrust.

He flicked his saber to cut the two remaining lit candles, and one toppled. Carol kicked it off to the side, swinging around to nick the leg of his trousers, and he spun away.

Max whistled with two fingers in her mouth, and the candelabra tinked against the edge of his sword again, just nudging it the half-inch over so the tip went well wide of her thigh.

After the dancing, and the hours, days, and weeks of travel, Billy was growing winded. Her blade nearly took his ear off, and he scuttled backward, as her next swing scraped across the chain of his necklace.

Thomas cheered. “Carol!” he yelled, at the ceiling. “Carol, my sweet, my song!”

She was panting outright now, her arm shaking with the candelabra. The people around them were yelling both their names—Max the loudest, with his.

Billy let her chase him a bit, sidling around the edge of the laughing crowd until she pressed in, baring her teeth in a wide grin, the melted wax hitting his arm and chest as he ducked along the throne to block her swing, and flicked his blade to draw a few drops of blood from her shoulder.

“First blood!” cried the antlered woman, like a bell, and the tip of Carol’s blade hovered in a blur in front of Billy’s left eye. She staggered back, stumbling and dropping both the sword and the candelabra, but Thomas and another woman were there to catch her. Nan Wheeler was leaning against Harrington’s shoulder—but he waited, watching Billy, so Billy picked up the sword Thomas, then Carol, had used, as it rattled across the floor, and scooped up the candelabra. The other antlered woman stepped in front of him to accept the swords, so by the time he reached Harrington, all he held was the candelabra.

“I gift to you my spoils of war,” he said, bowing with every flourish he could manage, and Harrington’s grin widened.

“The Hargrove Candelabra,” he laughed, and Billy stumbled closer, as though the floor had tilted—or Harrington were the kind of celestial body to affect the tides, and the moon, and pull comets around to light his way. Billy was powerless to resist. “Am I your lord or your porter?” he asked, tossing Billy’s shirt in his face, and then his jacket, but his cheeks were flushed, and he flashed a smile. Billy caught his clothes in one hand, and stretched, peeling wax from his pectorals. He used his thumbnail to scrape at the rest. Harrington bit his lip, but drew Wheeler away by the arm, so Billy waved them back to the dance.

Billy allowed Max to pull him away, and thus made the acquaintance of one Lucas Sinclair, a boy who came up and bowed to her. She accepted a dance—though the music was unfamiliar—so he stayed close and showed her, and reluctantly Billy, the steps. After two songs, Max pulled him away into the dancing. Billy watched as she accepted a dance with another boy, and they began to chat. As he watched, she turned to frown at Billy waving her hand up and down at him and rolling her eyes, and then when he made understandably offended faces, she stuck out her tongue.

The boy half-collapsed with laughter, and Billy went to get more punch, ladling a massive ice cube into his glass and tossing back the horrible mix of flavors with a grimace. He was glad Max had come, he decided, again. It was a common thought, recently, but even more deeply felt as he neared the end of his efforts, and his stomach threatened to turn itself inside out every time he opened his mouth.

When the antler crown—Nan Wheeler—stepped away from Harrington again, and he turned away from the dancing, panting for breath, Billy stepped into the space she had left. “Free again?”

“Ha,” Harrington panted. He threw an arm around Billy’s shoulders, leaning into him, and Billy felt himself flush at the proximity to Harrington’s grinning face. “Little worn out.”

“After the heroics of the day?” Billy asked, then realized Harrington was watching Wheeler dance with someone else—the same someone as before, Billy thought, possibly, trying to remember. He looked like a soulful lover out of a painting, staring wistfully, and Billy felt a sting of annoyance at Wheeler, for being beautiful, and graceful, and winning love she didn’t value at all.

Harrington shook his head, turning a somewhat stiffer smile on the world at large, and laughed. “He’s doing a better job lifting her spirits.”

“...I understand that’s your sacred duty?” Billy asked, wondering if a kiss would get him a meeting of steel at dawn, more serious than his earlier sword dance with Thomas and Co.

Harrington bit his lips, and when he stopped, they were pinker, and moist. Billy licked his own, trying to pay attention to what Harrington was saying. “Ms. Wheeler...lost someone, as well. She is—thinking only of the search, until her friend is found.”

“...but she sits aside you, as Queen,” Billy offered grudgingly, disliking the set of Harrington’s jaw. "If you're her many times and future king—"

“I suggested the children sit the thrones,” Harrington said with a laugh, “—so she would not have to choose a King of the Hunt to sit beside her—me, or Byers there—”

Oh ho, Billy thought, eyebrows raised.

“—or maybe she would have left it free, for Barbra. Barbra Holland, the friend we sought. The friend she seeks still. There...” Harrington swallowed, watching the antlers waltz with the elder Byers, and Billy watched the movement of his throat. “There’s no formal arrangement. Between us.” Seeing the muscle work in Harrington’s jaw, Billy tried not to hope.

They didn’t dance long, Wheeler and the interloper—the interloper Billy was grateful for—before stepping away from the dance floor and consulting closely, their faces within an inch of a kiss.

Harrington cleared his throat, and laughed. “We’re—we’re riding out again at dawn. To look for Ms. Holland. They—they’ll be planning, for that.” He didn’t look like he believed his own words, watching the woman Thomas had said he loved, and Billy put an arm around him.

“I think I know the steps, now, if you’d admit another partner,” he said against the side of Harrington’s head, and didn’t press a kiss to his jaw, despite the fascinating trickle running along it.

“I’m tired,” Harrington whispered, watching Antlers Wheeler, and Billy sighed.

“Perhaps some punch?” he whispered back, his entire awareness on Harrington’s weight against him, the smell of sweat, blood, and flowers, and the shiny depth of Harrington’s smiling brown eyes. Whatever the strain of perilous lunacy fermenting in Billy’s blood, he thought, it was a marked improvement on Ms. Wheeler’s, for her to have Harrington ready and willing and yet be disinclined to pluck him like a ripe fruit.

“Today’s been a day longer than some years.” Harrington gritted his teeth, finally looking away from Wheeler. “Might need to sit down.”

“Where?”

“Maybe the balcony? I can dance aft—”

“I hear you’ve a fine hand with steel.” Billy thumped their hips together, his arm securing Harrington as he nearly toppled.

“A better one with a club,” Harrington said with a grin, frank, before nodding at the monstrous head, “—and I was not unaided, in that battle.”

“How is it there are many here, that are not, ah—” Billy’s eyes flicked from an owl in a hat, serving itself punch with the spidery arms it kept under its wings, and then to the grisly trophy between the thrones. “—that I would not call—precisely—I haven’t met many—”

“Fair Folk,” Harrington snorted. “We are invited to their ball, in thanks for aiding them against that villain. They prefer we call them fair, over mentioning what they are not.”

“And Wheeler is also...fair?” Billy grimaced, but Harrington just sighed, casting his gaze again upon her.

“The fairest. Really, it—it was she who felled the beast,” he sighed, hauling Billy around to the side of the head, now dripping silvery, long-legged crabs as though they were blood. He waved his free arm at a cluster of arrows. “—her arrows strike true, no matter which, I mean, whose heart she aims her—”

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll empty my stomach on yon beastie,” Billy cut him off, wrinkling his nose. “Let me distract you. Before you fall out a window, sighing into a rose.”

Harrington laughed aloud. “I think...I—I’ve no dances left in me—”

“Then a fight—” Billy leaned to take the lobe of Harrington’s ear in his teeth, letting them graze over it as Harrington startled. “—or a fuck.” Billy smoothed a hand down Harrington’s spine, and squeezed him through his breeches. “Let me drive you to distraction,” Billy whispered against his ear, and felt Harrington’s skin heat.

Harrington swallowed, staring at him, then flushed, biting his lips. “Wait,” he asked, turning away, and lifting his hand to cover his face. “Wait, wait, wait—you—” He laughed. “The—this set is nearly ended, we—wait,” he mumbled, and Billy nodded, stepping back.

The music paused, the musicians meandering—or floating, or in one case, clambering up the wall and across the ceiling—towards the punch, and in the sudden milling crowd, Harrington pulled him away. They ducked and wove past the thrones, away from the light of the candelabras, and into a darker, narrow hallway.

Next Chapter=>

Completed on Ao3 as peterqpan, but I’ll post the whole rewritten work here!

#Swords and smooches #Lust at first sight #Billy is overwhelmed by Steve being Steve #Steve's delighted to be swept off his feet by a dashing stranger #monsters #fairies #duels #I'm peterqpan on Ao3 #platypan #platypan FINISHED FIC

6 notes · View notes

jihoonluvclub · 5 years

Text

Eminence (M)

About: Your king asks you to his chambers late at night, and you would do anything to prove your worth to him. Pairing: King!Dokyeom x Servant!Reader Genre: Smut Warning: Explicit content, choking, oral (giving), bondage, impact play, rough sex Word Count: 4.2k

You were called in to the king’s personal chambers, freshly washed linens in hand as you walked through the large yet empty corridors. The guards were gone, save for the few keping post outside the castle. One of the older servants had told you the king wanted new sheets delivered immediately to his room.

When you questioned why that would be, as you had already been asleep in the servant’s chambers, she would not say. “Take them now, least you anger the king. He asked for you by name. Now go, child.” She rushed you off, not allowing you to change out of your nightdress and back into your uniform.

You feet hit the cold marble of the palace as you rushed to his door. Three knocks on the large gold gilded door and you were almost shaking. You were called in by him, leaving you to push open the large frame to his bedroom.

You were surprised and almost frightened really. King Lee usually didn't call anyone into his chambers unless it's affiliated with work or regarded meetings so why were you of all people there. You felt horribly aware of yourself in that moment. You usually wore a white or grey button up dress, a petticoat underneath and an apron on top. And here you were in a thin cotton slip, hardly hiding your form. You were far from presentable.

You bowed immediately when you entered. Seokmin was sitting on a throne like chair that was pulled up to a table as he gestures for you to come deeper into the room. You had never been inside of this room before, only the older, more experienced servants were allowed to clean his private quarters.

You were astonished by the things you saw. Large oil paintings of greek myths, silk curtains pulled from intricate stained glass windows. Even the table he was still at was gold with floral moldings along the edge. You slowly took it all in. The chandelier that hung high from the ceiling and illuminating the room brightly was probably worth more than you life.

Sitting in the middle of the room was a king size bed. Dark blue sheets made of satin or silk stretched over it. Everything here was made for a king. You almost felt as if you were not worthy enough to even view a room this beautiful. You walked over to the king, stumbling on the fur rug on the ground as you made your way to the table. A blush was creeping along you features as you bowed once more.

“I apologize your majesty… I'm a bit clumsy.” You laughed nervously scratching the back of your head. The king only smirked and began to get up from his seat. He stalked over towards you and though he was less than a foot taller, it felt as if he was towering over your form.

He wore his king raiment which was all black and accented with bits of gold. A lopsided smirk never left his face as he looked you up and down. You should have felt more terrified. He was known as a mad king. You had seen it yourself once, he had a man beheaded right in the throne room for the juries and adversaries to witness.

He didn’t look far from you age, now that you can see him up close. His features were striking, befitings against the opulence he surrounded himself with. You have never felt smaller in front of another person. He circled you slowly, watching your reaction as he stalked around you like a beast cornering its prey.

“Do you believe that you are a good servant?” The king asked you, his voice low, authoritative, powerful.

Your face flushed and your words began to stammer. You knew you were not the best servant. At times you were not even a good servant. You feared many times you would lose your job or even your life due to your mistakes. You were far too clumsy, something the older servants chastised you about.

Your heart was racing and you knew King Seokmin could hear it, you know he could feel your nervousness. “Yes. I am a good servant, Your Majesty.” Your voice shook out, frail and unconvincing. Seokmin let out a laugh and smiled at you fondly.

That smile that played across the king's face made your body heat up in ways it shouldn't heat up. Your knees weakened. You never really could pay too much attention to the king’s features but looking at him now, up close, you could see just how good looking he was.

Those dark eyes were dangerous and they stared at you with such intensity that it felt like you had been electrocuted. There was static coursing through your veins. Your breath caught in your throat when Seokmin placed a hand on your shoulder. The king was touching you and it was getting too hot now. Your heart was hammering against your ribs and you were feeling a bit light headed. The king made you feel so vulnerable, so weak and beneath him. A nonexistent power struggle.

That rough hand moved slowly from your shoulder up your neck almost teasingly. The small, brief moment when that hand gripped your neck just a bit more firmly made you suppressed the sound threatening to come out of your throat. That hand finally reached your chin before this digits reached your jaw. You felt like you could collapse against the ground.

“What makes you a good servant…?” Seokmin paused and came closer, leaning into your ear. “My good servant?” He spoke in that low, husky voice of his that had you becoming more weak.

The hot puff of air against your ear and neck almost made you whimper, almost. Seokmin being this close was doing things to you and it was slowly driving you insane. You needed to respond but you weren’t exactly sure what to say. You were not the best really at your job but you did do a lot of work, and you tried harder than anyone else, even if it was in vain. You were good at organizing things and you were phenomenal at listening and doing what you are told to do.

“I… I work hard. I try to at least... I figure you saw something in me to call me sir…” You replied and Seokmin chuckled near your ear and god, his laugh was sexy too.

The slight brush of lips against your neck almost sent you crumbling down. The king came back up and looked directly at you. That intense stare was back and that not so shy hand was sliding down from your jaw back to your shoulder.

The other hand started at your waist and slid down to your hip. The initial gesture made you twitch and the king laughed at your movements. He was so close to you in that moment. You knew you shouldn't have been staring mindless at Seokmin’s lips but they looked so pleasing, so kissable and temping. The king saw this and that lopsided smirk was back again only it appeared more devious.

“Oh I've been watching you for a while now. You are one of my favorites, if not my favorite servant thus far. But how would you surpass the others and truly become my favorite servant?” There was a glint in his eyes that flashed power. Raw, unadulterated power. He's been watching.

The king had to know you were clumsy at best. That alone doesn’t give you the right to be considered one of his favorites so what else did the king see in you? You weren’t exactly sure but you had been silent for awhile and the king was awaiting an answer. You gulped and tried to think of a way to answer.

“I-I… I could serve you more personally… Anything you need I can take care of.” Your voice wavered as you spoke and you knew that wasn't as convincing as it sounded in your head.

The king's eyes had darkened and his lips pulled into a smile. That hand on your hip slowly rose and revealed a bit of skin by pulling up your nightgown. The coolness of the room hit your skin and you shivered involuntarily.

That hand soon went around to the small of your back and ran gentle circles there before pulling you closer. You could feel his hardness press against you. Seokmin leaned down towards your ear once again, nipping at it before you let out a whimper at the action.

“More personally? How about you show me? Show me how you want to serve your king.” You almost doubled over with those words. Seokmin’s voice had a hin of lust to it.

Your cheeks flushed and you were at a loss for words. You were at a loss for control honestly, the king was in control of this situation. You needed some guidance, you had no idea what to do right now, your mind drawing a blank.

“Sir, I'm better at taking orders rather than doing things on my own.” You looked down and spoke sheepishly.

Your nerves were on edge and Seokmin was still so close to you. you could smell his cologne and feel the heat of his body. The king came back up and stared at you once more running his hand up your back slowly. Your body was aflame from the contact. You felt yourself being back up against the table, the look on his face saying he was in control.

“Kneel.” You were on your hands and knees in an instant. His command went straight through you to your core.

“Sir-”

“You will speak when spoken to.” A demand that immediately shut you up. “Serve me well my sweet servant.” He said with a commanding voice.

The king grabbed your chin, forcefully hiking it up so you were looking right into those eyes again. You understood quickly and you began to shakily lift your hands up, working your trembling fingers on his pants.

The king watched you, removing his hand from your chin as he amusedly watched you continue on. You struggled to unclasp the buckle at his waist, amusing a laugh from him, but you removed it regardless. You unbutton the pants with ease, his underclothes falling down with his pants soon after. His member was hard and ready, straining upward as it begged to be touched. It was larger than you expected, eliciting a small string of fear to curl inside of you at the sight.

“You're going to be a good servant and serve me, right?” The king spoke with heat in his voice. You nodded your head and took a hold of his thick length.

“Yes. I will be a good servant, your Highness.” you replied.

You began stroking his member slowly, experimentally moving your hand along its length. Your tongue started off doing some work soon after. You licked the underside the king's cock following a vein from the base all the way to the tip. You did this a few times, listening to Seokmin’s breath catch in his throat.

You swirled your tongue around the tip tasting some of the precum beading at the tip before you engulfed the head. You sucked lightly and swirled your tongue around it, making a show of how delicate and gentle you were with your movements. The king placed his hand on top of your head roughly as a warning.

“Serve me properly or I will take matters into my hands. Trust me, you do not want me to take matters into my own hands.” The sharp edge to his voice struck just as much fear in you as it stuck desire.

You know you should follow orders, properly serve him and listen, but you also wanted to be deviant, to see how far he was willing to bend. You wanted to see what the king would do to you. Thinking about it made you suck harder on the tip of his aching cock, just before moving further down the shaft.

You went a little more than half way and the tip already brushed against the back of your throat. You weren’t entirely sure if you could take it all down but for your king, you would try to do your best. Having him moan out from your ministrations gave you a sort of power you had never felt before.

You began to bob your head back and forth, sucking at each chance you got. One small hand was on Seokmin’s hip while the other was stroking the parts of the cock not in your mouth. You let the hand on the king's hip move down to massage his thighs. You earned a sharp intake of breath from Seokmin as your tongue teased along the thick vein on the underside of his cock.

You had built up a steady rhythm, earning groans and grunts from the man above you. The hand in your hair was pulling harder, making you wince in pain as you continued to work his cock. Then you felt pressure on the back of your head, pushing himself further down your throat.

You instinctively pulled back, but you were held in place by his strong grip. You panted through your nose as best as you could, holding back the urge to gag from the intrusion. Tears sprung to your eyes as you looked pleadingly up to your king.

“You are here to serve me. If I want you to choke on my cock then you will happily do it, understand?.” Seokmin said, his voice rose a bit and the command sent shockwaves through you.

You attempted to relax your throat, knowing only worse things would come if you disobeyed. You went further down his length, saliva and precum all but spilling out of your mouth as your tongue stretched out. Everything hurt; your hands from being clenched, your knees from kneeling, your throat from the girth and length of his cock, you scalp from the hair he fisted.

You still felt the need to continue, to show him you were the best he could ever have. You bobbed your head until you could get use to the feeling. Sometimes you gagged, sometimes you moaned, but with the hollowing of your cheeks, you were able to get moans flowing from his lips again.

The king stared down at you in amazement, rocking his hips into your eager mouth. Your folds were once again dripping in arousal, having gotten used to the invasive feeling of his cock down your throat. Your hand moved down to your sex, you hips slowly rocking against your palm in a means to release some of the growing tension.

That was not overlooked by the king. He took notice and grabbed your arm roughly, replacing your wander hand with the tip of his boot. “If you want something, you must ask me first. Do something out of line like that again and you will be sure to not have a good time. You serve me,”

A quicker pace was set up through the moving of his hips, making you struggle to keep up with his demanding thrusts. Tears pulled in your eyes as you throat was used for his pleasure. And for a blessed moment, he pulled out of you, allowing you to gasp for air. His hand was still in your hair, holding you from slumping against the cold tiles of his room.

“Am I… pleasing you, Sir? Am I serving you well?” you asked out of a need for reassurance.

“Oh you're serving me so well. Such a good girl.” He spoke.

Good girl.

That did it. That small, simple compliment made you moan out. You wanted to hear it again. You wanted to be told that you were doing well and that you were a good girl once more. You grabbed his length again, widening your jaw as far as it would allow. You sucked him harder, hands roaming every inch of visible skin as your tongue pressed roughly against his cock.

“Oh god! Your mouth feels so good on my cock.” Each filthy word that spilled from his mouth spurred you on. His compliments were like an addiction.

Your jaw screamed in protest as you continued on, wanting the satisfaction of making him come from just your mouth. The king was trembling, his hips losing their once strong and steady pace. You could feel him breathe deeper, almost panting as he moved your head along his length.

You went to move your head back and you were stopped. He moaned out your name, the sweetest sound you had ever heard, as he came. His hot release filled out mouth, spilling down your chin as you tried to swallow it down. The warm substance stung your raw throat. The feeling of you swallowing caused his hips to twitch against you.

He pulled you off of his slowly softening length, still impressive in its resting state. You still remained on your knees despite the pain you felt as the flesh dug into the floor. Everything was worth it though, that one minute you watched him lost in delirious pleasure was all you needed.

He gestured with his hand for you stand, you did so immediately. Seokmin gripped your jaw roughly and stared daggers into your eyes. Those eyes were cutting through you by the second.

“Get on my bed and touch yourself.” Seokmin spoke in that kingly voice of his and you almost let out a moan upon hearing it.

Your chin was released and you made his way towards the bed, quickly removing your dress. You could feel his eyes on you, watching your nude body move. You laid down on the bed, spreading your legs for him. Your fingers moved across the entrance of your sex, gathering you slick before moving to your needy nub.

You met the king’s eyes, dark and blown out with lust. You moaned as your fingers danced along your slit. His eyes were trained on your fingers, watching as you brought yourself pleasure. It was a sight completely different than before. You were slow, gentle and methodical as your hands roamed your curves.

One hand gripped your breast as the other entered a digit inside of your wet core. You bucked your hips upward, head thrown back as you moaned out. Your hair was a halo around your head as you tossed it back and forth with each pump of your fingers. By the third finger entering you, he was hovering over you. Watching your brow furrow as you grew closer to your climax.

His hand rested on your throat, pressing down into the sensitive muscles. You shamefully moaned out, close to coming from just the feeling of his hands on you. The danger of it all edged you closer. He leaned in, biting down onto the side of your neck. His lips wrapped around the red mark left behind, sucking the flesh into his mouth until you moaned again.

“Good girl.” The king caressed your somewhat messy face before kissing you bruisingly. You instinctively moaned into the kiss.

Your lips were still raw from your previous endeavors, but this kiss was breathtaking. Seokmin’s tongue invaded your mouth as you let yourself be taken by the king. Seokmin pulled back, biting your lower lip between his teeth, eliciting another moan from you. His eyes were full of lust and that look alone made your walls clench down on nothing. Seokmin sat up from you with a smirk and leaned back, guiding you down so you were on top of him.

The king began to rub his newly hardened length along your wet folds. You moaned and rocked your hips against it. You didn’t know if you would be able to take his length but it was enticing nevertheless.

He said as he placed his arms behind his head to watch you. You let out a deep breath before taking a hold of the king's cock and placed it at your entrance. You started to sink down slowly. The initial stretch and burning sensation hurt but there was pleasure there. So much pleasure and you were moaning out as you sank down about half way.

You had never felt so full in your life. Each movement down elicited a gasp from you as you held onto Seokmin’s chest. He must have gotten impatient with your slow movements because in an instant you were as filled as your body would allow. He was buried deep inside of your pussy, stretching you in ways you could never have imagined.

You moved your hips upward, only to be met with his moving ones in a quick snap. You began to set a pace, slower than the one your king wanted. You cried out as his fingers played along your clit. He was watching closer than you had thought. His fingers moved in the same patterns yours had, teasing the swollen bud as you bounced on his lap.

“Don’t come unless I tell you to.” He spoke as you began to get lost in pleasure.

His girth hit every spot inside of you that made you see stars. Each time he entered you was like the first, rough and sensational. You needed his hands off of you, you needed his hips to slow down and for you to catch your breath. There was no way you could hold back with him working your body over like that.

The pace sped up and you couldn't hold back anymore, not with way that sweet spot inside of you was getting pressed against hard with each thrust. His fingers circled your clit just right, causing your legs to shake and your core to tighten against his cock.

Don’t, don’t, don’t. You begged your body to stop, to stop feeling anything. You didn’t want to disobey him again.

“I-I… Oh god I'm sorry I can't… Ohhh Sir, I’m sorry! I'msorryI’msor- Ahh!” You cried out as you came. Your orgasm washed over you fast and hard, causing your heart to beat faster than ever while your hands trembled.

Seokmin stopped his movements immediately. He lifted you off of him and tossed you on to the bed. You landed on your back with a thud before a hand was around your neck again squeezing harder. Seokmin looked angrier than you could imagine a face as sweet as his looking. Your eyes widened in fear.

“I really didn't want to do this but I guess you can’t listen to direct orders from your king. You're being a bad girl and bad girls get punished.” He snarled those words and you shook in fear or maybe in excitement.

Your neck and hair were released as Seokmin got up from the bed. You gulped when the king walked over to a closed door and went inside. He reappeared by the bedside with a small box in hand, now completely nude. He turned and opened the box out of your sight.

He bound your hands with a piece of cloth, the worn cotton digging into your wrists as he tied them above your head. He had a riding crop in hand, the soft leather of the tip was traced along your skin. The object was traced along your thighs, your breasts, even brushing against your cheek.

The crop cracked against the top of your thigh, causing you to arch upward, screaming out in a mixture of surprise and pain. Another crack on your other thigh had tears streaming down your face. Warm welts from the force of the crop grew on your skin, red and inflamed.

“Apologize for your disobedience” Seokmin spat out. You didn't think you could still be turned on by all this, but you were. Your clit throbbed in need as the crop landed across your side. A moan made its way out of your throat.

“I-I’m s-sorry your Highn- Ahhhhh!” Another crack of the crop came down and you had to regain yourself. “I’m sorry for disobeying you. I'll be so good. P-please…” Your voice strained as more tears fell from your eyes.

You realized you were crying, not from the pain, but from disappointing him. The strikes soon stopped as Seokmin gripped your jaw and slowly tilted your head to lock your eyes with his. You were whimpering by then.

“I don't know if I believe you. You're going to have to prove yourself.” There went that intense stare and kingly voice of his that sent heat throughout your entire body.

“I-I-” The rope was grabbed and you were yanked forward and kissed hard. Your mouth was invaded and you kissed back as best as you could. The king pulled back and smirked at you. He then gave you a gentle kiss before sitting back up and you over. He hiked your hips up and moved your legs apart.

“You're going to serve me.” He said before placing the tip of his cock at your dripping entrance.

You pushed back against him, “Yes, Sir.”

t took no time for all of the king's cock to fill you once again. You moaned loudly and Seokmin pulls on the rope to make your back arch. He hit all the spots inside of you that made you scream in pleasure.

Seokmin was going harder inside of you, the sound of slapping skin echoed throughout the chamber along with the elevated sound of your moans. Seokmin dug his blunt nails into your hips, holding them tight enough to leave marks. More marks were fine. Just added in on the rest of the bruises that covered your body.

You were on the brink of orgasm already but Seokmin wasn't going to let that happen. The king slammed in one last time before pulling out causing you to whine at the lost. He flipped you back over and spreads your legs wide before sliding back inside in one movement. Your mind was growing numb as you laid there and he fucked you harder than ever.

The movements sped up and you began shaking as your climax was reaching soon. “I'm not letting you off just yet. If you want to come,” He thrusted particularly hard into your pussy, “you're going to have to beg for it.” He said and kept up his rough movements.

You could barely think straight or comprehend anything anymore but you knew you needed to come. “Please… Let… Let me… Come, please!” You whined and begged. You could hardly tell if your words made sense together, coming out in a sex-hazed slur. Everything was overwhelming.

His fingers were on your clit, rubbing rough, tight circles over the bud. “Come for your king.”

You shook in place, thankful he was holding your hips up for you since you lost all control of your body in that moment. Your climax hit you like a bullet, white hot and blinding. You shook violently, your back arched, and your eyes squeezed shut. Seokmin was still thrusting into you as you calmed down, your orgasm finally washing over you. All you could do was whimper as his large member split you in half with each movement.

With the scream of your name Seokmin slammed in one last time before coming deep inside of you. His warm come filled you, and much like with your throat, it spilled out onto the bed, too much to be held inside of your body. Seokmin pulled out of you with a sigh, hands rubbing your back as he rested against your shaking form.

He threw his body back onto the bed, untying your binds as he rested. “I had you bring those in because of this, but I don’t think you are in any condition to change linens.” He said as he pointed to the bundle of cloth that brought you into the room in the first place.

He scooped your limb body up in his arms, carrying you to the adjacent bathroom. A warm tub was filled with steaming water. He eased you both inside of the large body of water, the warmth instantly setting you at ease.

It wasn’t long before you were barely lucid, the water having a calming effect over you. Seokmin moved the messy strings of hair from your face as he soaked your bruised skin with water. You only stirred when his hand brushed against your sex, the gentle movements bringing moans from you.

You opened your eyes for a moment, taking in the amused expression on your king’s face as he stimulated your exhausted form. He caught your lips in a kiss, hands running along your body before pulling you into his lap. Even now he was hard, his length pressing between both of your bodies. You knew it was only a matter of moments before you were taken to his bed for another round, sheets be damned.

#seventeen smut #dokyeom smut #seventeen imagines #dokyeom #lee seokmin #writing tag #halloween 2019 #I'm sorry this is so long!! also there could be spelling mistakes but I'm too tired to fix them rn

409 notes · View notes

chelsfic · 4 years

Text

Chapter 6 - Inherited - Dracula/OFC - Dracula (2020) fanfic

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Summary: Emilie makes her decision and has a steamy reunion with the Count.

A/N: Smut here! Come get your smut! There is also a significant amount of blood drinking. I want to say thank you so much to all who have read, commented, reblogged and recommended this fic! I’m overwhelmed by my kind and thoughtful readers!

As always, if you’d like to be tagged in updates just let me know!

***

Emilie tugged at the high collar of her Sunday dress and shifted self-consciously in the pew. Her younger sister, Anna, shot her a questioning look to which she merely shook her head in reply. Emilie usually took solace in the weekly sermon but this Sunday she was restless and incapable of attending to the Reverend’s words.

Her nerves tingled and her senses were aflame. The light streaming through the stained glass window behind the pulpit was nearly blinding in its intensity. Emilie could taste the colors on her tongue, the sweet, tart reds and fresh, watery blues. The wood grain of the pew beneath her hands was distracting as well. She felt it vibrating with life and saw, in her mind’s eye, the rough bark and shuddering leaves of the tree from which it came. And there was the phantom taste of Vlad’s blood filling her mouth. She knew, without knowing how, that he’d given her this new power, these sharpened senses. Was this how he always experienced the world? It was overwhelming. Emilie closed her eyes and gripped the edge of the pew to ground herself.

It did little to help. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Lucy Steele’s bright eyes go dull with death, the shocking splash of blood painting the side of her neck. She heard the sharp, horrifying crunch of the girl’s vertebrae snapping. And she saw Vlad, her beloved Count, eyes red with menace and blood dripping from his razor sharp teeth. How could she love such a man, such a creature? For love him she did. She could admit that here, in the house of God where she must be true to herself.

Maybe she was selfish but she found that she couldn’t forget his loving caress, the gentle brush of his fingers over her skin. She recalled his words, You have nothing to fear from me. How could she turn her heart against such a man? A man so magnificent, with powers beyond her imagining, who somehow–impossibly–wanted her? The answer came from within: a voice, perhaps her own or perhaps a guardian angel’s, which rang out in her mind, You will not turn away from him.

She did not know where this path would lead. Perhaps one day it would be she hanging limp in his arms and beaming up at his darling face, gratified to give her life to feed him. Or…or perhaps she’d stand by his side, no longer a servant but an equal with marvelous powers of her own. She did not know if such a thing were possible but she felt in her bones that she was fated to give herself over to him. The decision, once made, lifted a burden from her chest and she smiled up at the pulpit. Lit from within by the grace of her own certainty that God would not lead her to the Count if He did not wish for them to be together.

It never occurred to her to consider her love of the Count as a test from God. No god could be so cruel.

***

“Now, my sweet girl, tell me how things are going up at Carfax and don’t try to sugarcoat things. I’m your mother and I can tell when you’re lying. Are you alright up there by yourself with the Count?” Mrs. Andrews patted her eldest daughter’s hand across the dinner table and watched her with concern. Her poor health had kept her from ever personally serving Count Dracula, but she knew his nature as well as her mother had and she feared for Emilie.

“Mama,” Emilie soothed in a voice infused with false confidence, “you don’t need to worry about me. The Count is very solicitous for my comfort. I’m in no danger from him…really.”

Mrs. Andrews held her gaze for a long moment and Emilie sensed that her mother did not quite believe her, but she soon lowered her eyes and let the moment pass. After all–was there really a point in forcing the topic? Their family had served Count Dracula for a hundred years. They’d kept the secret of his long life and dark appetites in exchange for protection and financial security. None of them could rescind the deal now. And in truth, Emilie did look remarkably well. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks rosy with a healthy glow. Mrs. Andrews set her worries aside and proceeded to catch her daughter up on all the village goings on of the previous week.

***

It was dark by the time the wagon rolled to a stop by the Abbey’s servants’ entrance. Emilie hopped off the back and thanked Mr. Thomas for the ride. He brought her back each Sunday along with the weekly grocery delivery. It was convenient for Emilie and Mr. Thomas had been shameless flirting with Mrs. Andrews for years, so he didn’t mind the extra weight in the wagon if it put him in the widow’s good graces.

“Have a good week, Miss Emilie!” he called as she dashed off to the servants’ door and disappeared inside.

She was eager to see her Count. Her mind whirled with questions as she climbed the staircase to the Abbey’s first floor. How would he react when he saw her and knew of her decision to return to him? Would he kiss her again? Embrace her? Would he dip his head into the crook of her neck and bite her as he had Miss Lucy?

She found him in his study, a massive room with vaulted ceilings and walls lined with books. He sat in a wing back chair before the fire. Emilie stood in the doorway watching him. She could see only the side of his pale face, his lovely, thick hair and his hand dangling over the armrest, holding a glass goblet filled with something rich, dark and red.

She strode forward, discarding the small drawstring bag she’d carried with her into town and whirling round the chair to present herself before him. She knelt between his knees, a supplicant before her god, and looked up at him with hope and affection glowing in her features. She longed for comfort, for a confirmation that she’d made the right decision.

She reached out shyly and took one of his hands in her own, pressing it to her cheek and closing her eyes, reveling in the contact.

“My…Vlad,” she whispered, rubbing her cheek into his palm like a cat demanding affection. “I’ve come back to you.”

Dracula smiled down at her, setting the goblet on a small table beside the chair and reaching forward to stroke both hands through her hair, cupping her upturned face.

“My Emilie,” he responded with a playful lilt to his voice, mirroring her word choice. “You’ve made me very happy.”

And then he was pushing her backward and onto the plush hearthrug. He followed her onto the floor caging her body with his arms and legs and bending down to press his lips to hers in a fevered kiss. His clawed hands strayed over the bodice of her conservative dress, pushing under the collar and stroking her delicate neck, the tops of her breasts. Emilie mewled in pleasure and arched her back, giving him the access he needed to reach around and begin popping open the buttons that ran down her spine holding the frock in place.

When he’d reached the final button he sat back, kneeling between her wantonly spread legs and shoved the dress material down toward her waist. She wiggled to assist him and she was soon laying before him in nothing but her stockings and thin muslin petticoat. Her breasts were exposed, glowing in the orange light of the fire and she saw Vlad’s eyes focus on them as they heaved with her gasping breath. He reached out a hand and drew a wickedly sharp nail around her areola, flicking the nipple and eliciting a thrill of panicked pleasure from the debauched girl beneath him. Emilie reeled at the sensation even as she feared the sharp touch of his nails wounding her sensitive flesh.

“Be…” she gasped, trembling as he shifted his attention to her other breast, “…careful….please.”

Vlad smirked and let out an amused chuckle. He flattened his palm over her breast and dragged the calloused skin against her hardened nipple. Emilie shrieked in pleasure and arched into the touch.

“Don’t worry, my darling creature.”

The Count made quick work of his own clothes, tossing them into a heap on the armchair before turning back to face her, naked and glorious in his ferocious lust. He grabbed the waist of her petticoat and ripped it from her body. Emilie gazed up at him in adoration. She’d never seen a naked man before and she was too shy to let her eyes stray downward at first. Instead she raked her gaze over his broad shoulders, his dark-haired chest and flat stomach. He took satisfaction in letting her look, pausing to let her complete her perusal. He quirked his lips as her gaze finally lowered to take in the impressive length of pulsing manhood that jutted from between his legs. A shadow of trepidation crossed her face and Dracula determined immediately to sooth it away. He crawled up her naked body and looked deep into her eyes.

“I will be so careful with you, Emilie. Do you trust me?” his voice was husky with lust but his words were sincere.

Emilie reached up to cup her hand over his cheek and nodded shyly, “I trust you, Vlad.”

He touched her then, like he had days ago in his bedroom. His fingers slid over her sensitive core and Emilie ached with longing and pleasure. She buried her face in his neck and keened into his skin, begging and begging him though she couldn’t say for certain what she wanted.

Vlad smiled and licked his hot tongue along her neck from jaw to shoulder, “You’re a needy thing aren’t you, little one?”

He continued stroking her, savoring her little grunts and moans. She finally came with a thready cry and only then did he shift his hips between her legs and align himself with her opening. She felt the tantalizing pressure of his length pressing against her and then slowly, slowly entering. It hurt at first. Emilie’s muscles went rigid at the intrusion and her face scrunched up in pain. Dracula stilled his movement and looked down at her, laying soft kisses over her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids.

“Look at me, darling,” he whispered, waiting until she’d opened her eyes to continue. “Relax.”

The last word was said with the barest trace of suggestion and Emilie felt the tension immediately flow out of her muscles. Dracula started up again, thrusting his hips with masterful control and holding her face between his palms as he did so. He kept eye contact with her as the pain slowly faded and her belly began to heat with pleasure once more. He bit his lip and arched his back. His control slipped and he began rocking into her with more force, his tempo stuttering into ragged thrusts until he finally shouted his release and dove his face into the crook of her neck to bite down as his cock shuddered and jolted within her.

The sudden sting as his fangs pierced her skin was immediately followed by a rush of pleasure that pushed her over the edge again. Dracula licked, sucked and kissed her bloodied neck, drawing out more blood from her than he had before. She squirmed and moaned beneath him, riding waves of pleasure even as her head spun from the blood loss. Too soon he pulled away, his lips and chin were stained crimson. With a wicked grin he dipped his mouth to hers and pushed his tongue inside. Emilie tasted her own blood on his lips, his tongue. She twined her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and held him there, wishing to prolong the kiss forever. Eventually he pulled away panting with passion and blood lust.

“Now you know how sweet you taste, my darling girl,” he said, dipping his finger into the blood at her neck and smearing it over her mouth. Emilie stuck out her tongue and licked his finger as her eyes fluttered shut. “Oh, dear Emilie, you’re weak aren’t you?”

Without waiting for an answer he brought his finger to the base of his own neck and cut a two inch slit. Blood poured from the wound and he dipped down, baring his neck to her and pressing the cut against her lips. Emilie latched on immediately. She drank the blood he offered, reveling in the idea of her blood rushing through his veins even as she drank from him. She felt the dizziness of only a moment before pass and a wave of energy and strength coursed through her. Her Count was nourishing her with his essence, feeding her just as she had fed him.

He pulled away before she could take too much, pinching the would closed and laying back on the floor beside her. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close to his side, stroking her hair and whispering words of praise into her temple as he laid kisses along the top of her head. Emilie’s eyes grew heavier and heavier until she finally fell asleep, wrapped in her beloved’s arms and warmed by the snug fire in the hearth. They looked like a pair of pagan lovers: nude, covered in blood and skin aglow in the firelight.

Dracula looked down at her sleeping face and whispered, “You really are remarkable, Emilie. You’ll be my perfect bride.”

Note: in case you're wondering this exchange of blood won't be enough to turn Emilie. Drac is just looking to the future and he's establishing a blood bond with her as well as strengthening her for the eventual change.

Tags:

@charlesdances @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @just-mimii @haleyea @dracula-s-bride @irrelevantwriter @felicityofbakerstreet

#dracula x ofc #dracula x oc #count dracula x ofc #count dracula x oc #dracula imagine #claes bang imagine #bbc dracula #dracula netflix #dracula 2020 #chelsfic #tw:blood

45 notes · View notes

typinggently · 4 years

Note

Could you #3 but with tommy in a dress as in La Cabale? Love that story of yours!

Darling, thank you so much!!! 💝

This honestly was such a delight to think about, even though the whole fashion history is really hand-wavy bc it’s late & I wasn’t feeling up to the task of researching the english names for everything ‘^'...Either way! thank you and I hope you enjoy this messy little drabble 💝💝

3. pinning the other against the wall

Warnings: mentions of straight sex, infidelity (The Duchess cheating on her husband - T&A are in an open-ish relationship I suppose), Tommy puts on a show of resisting at one point (he’s very into it and Alfie knows, but since it’s Alfie’s POV I felt the need to state it again)

Let’s say this takes place after Alfie’s given Tommy a nice seeing-to in the boudoir of the Duchess. And frankly, at this point, Alfie is probably more surprised than anything that the game is still on. After all, the Duke has seen Tommy get fucked. Even if he doesn’t realise the sweet Lady isn’t quite that delicate a woman, he should at least realise she’s not the best company for his wife.

Still, he doesn’t stop his well-protected little sweetheart from inviting this obviously promiscuous creature over for tea. And Alfie, too.

One could think that he didn’t mind catching them last time.

Alfie isn’t going to blame him, of course. And on top of that, he knows perfectly well that Tommy has no interest in the Duke anyways.

However, he also knows who Tommy has an interest in. So this whole thing, this tea invitation, is great fun to him. There’s the Duke, who’s salivating all over his wife’s best friend but trying not to show it, and the Duchess, who shamelessly feigns faint after about an hour to escape the room with her friend. So now Alfie waits about 20 minutes and goes after them with some excuse.

Listen. Inventing a cover that allows you to slip by unnoticed and fuck this well-protected little thing as often as you want is kind of a genius move, you have to give Tommy that. And sure, sure, Alfie’s impressed and all, congratulations, but he’s also very interested in catching Lady Violet in the corridor, on her way – somewhere. Honestly, who cares, it’s not like she’s going to get there.

Still fixing some strands of hair, freshly powdered, the lips a perfect, undisturbed and very fresh kind of red. Terribly suspicious, honestly.

So what Alfie does, naturally, is catch the Lady as she tries to slip past him and pull her into one of the rooms. It’s probably a drawing room or music room or something, not like any of them is paying attention.

At first, Tommy’s doing a fair share of wiggling, all pushes and “Christ, let go of me”s. It’s not heartfelt, of course, which is all the more obvious in the way that Tommy isn’t actually pushing him away, and his wiggling is more a way to move against Alfie and feel his hold tighten. So Alfie is kind and nice and does exactly that – big hands wrapped around Tommy’s pretty waist, pushing against him to let Tommy feel his warmth and strength. And to press him against the wall, of course, so Tommy can’t wiggle away when Alfie kisses his lovely throat, tasting a hint of fresh sweat under the powder.

There might be dirty talk. You know, the nasty shit, Alfie asking Tommy about the fun he just had in his amused, slightly condescending way while feeling Tommy up. Hand pushed underneath those skirts, wrapped around one of Tommy’s thighs, whispering into his ear – “Did you make her moan, Love? Was it good? Fucking her in the bed she shares with her husband, hm?”

And this is actually such a cruel thing? Because Tommy literally just fucked this girl, he’s still heated enough to get turned on incredibly easily, all badly bitten-back moans and clawing at the wallpaper in an attempt to keep calm. But at the same time, he can’t get hard again this quickly, so he’s left in that awful state of frustration, hot and needy but unable to do much about it, with Alfie talking to him, playing with the dress – pushing the skirts up, pulling at the strings of his corset, pinching his nipples through the layers of frills at the chest, just being a fucking tease.

Where I’m going with this – Tommy probably makes a run for it now and then, trying to slip away before he ruins his make up (again). But the combination of weak knees, the shoes and the skirts mean that he just doesn’t get far. five steps, ten if he’s lucky, and Alfie’s got him around the waist, pushing him back against the wall. And listen, Tommy can do that only for so long.

The third time (at the latest), he’s pulling at Alfie’s lapels instead of pushing at his chest, leaning in with his sweet doe eyes and his red mouth all “We really can’t kiss, it’s going to smear the make-up, absolutely the worst idea-“ as if Alfie’s the pushing his hands underneath his jacket, working at his buttons and biting his lips. At this point, he’s definitely hard again. Alfie would be able to tell from his flush alone, but the fact that he tries to grind against him helps, too.

The problem is, of course, that there’s the matter of the petticoats etc. Those are in the way. Those little constructions tied around Tommy’s waist. There simply is no way for this to be a quick and easy affair, which means Tommy ends up with his corset half undone, chemise slipped to reveal his kiss-bruised chest, skirts pushed up and belt construction abandoned on the floor so he can wrap his thighs around Alfie’s waist. In that mess of silk (let’s say this dress is red, what about it?) and cotton and slipping layers, Tommy finally gets the (second) fuck that day. And once Alfie angles his thrusts just right, Tommy starts clawing at him, leaning in once more and making his sweet little needy noises until Alfie gives in and kisses him after all.

Which is to say – Once Tommy’s back on his feet, he’s in a complete state. The corset can be done up again, but his skirts are wrinkled to hell and back, his throat and chest and shoulders are bruised with countless kisses, his lipstick is smeared terribly and he can barely stand. No way he’s going back to the tea room.

So Alfie, gentleman that he is, wipes off the lipstick smeared on his mouth to his chin (Tommy’s a very messy kisser when he’s close) and goes to excuse the poor lady. She felt faint.

Now all that’s left to do is get Tommy into the carriage and go home. And if Tommy’s grumpy (which he is, because Alfie once again made him leave early because Tommy’s too lenient and enjoys Alfie’s touches too much and Alfie KNOWS), Alfie just has to make it up to him by gently-tenderly kissing his shoulder and calling him “Love”, “Sweetheart” and “Dearest” until Tommy melts and lets him push his hand under his skirts again. Carriages are very cramped, but the dress is already ruined anyway, might as well stain it some more and make Tommy mewl and shake again.

the prompts 💝

(please don’t send more alfie/tommy prompt requests - I have a lot of doubles and am currently finishing them up :) thank you so much!)

#filth #alfietommy #cabale AU #I need to go and tag all the drabbles tthat way to they're easier to find #but not now #halmost 2:30am #also this is 1k long. which is. long. for filth drabbles.

14 notes · View notes

rectoress · 4 years

Text

SENSES & OTHER ODDLY SPECIFIC HEADCANONS

tagged be: @sheharrowed tagging: you!

1. What does your muse smell like?

clean and with a faint but distinct whiff of elderflower. personal hygiene is capital. tissaia has an impressive collection of cosmetics (soaps, balms, lotions, elixirs, oils, perfumes, creams) but the fragrances aren’t overpowering so that when she dabs perfume on her nape (she is peculiar like that) and on the inside of her wrists, the delicate scent of elderflower can easily be identified.

2. What does your muses hands feel like?

neither cold nor warm. incredibly soft, too. magic isn’t enough to stave off the ageing process so she makes great use of cream and elixirs applied twice a day on her hands and nails. hands are a sorceress’ tool, it is therefore crucial that they are treated not only with dedicated care but with respect - not to mention that hands happen to be tissaia’s great weakness (but that is another story)

3. What does your muse usually eat in a day?

3 meals - though she isn’t keen on meat. her preferences lean towards fresh and warm bread, cheese, eggs, vegetables and fruits. without being gourmet, her tastes are refined. she definitely has a sweet tooth so anything pastry or cake is a winner and something she indulges in quite often. she rarely ever snacks (it’s messy and sometimes leaves crumbs or stains. perish the thought!) but whenever she does, it’ll more than likely be a nice fruit platter or a pastry.

4. Does your muse have a good singing voice?

not really. she isn’t awful but she’s not exactly good either. singing isn’t something she enjoys doing. listening to singers, musicians and people who are actually talented though, yes, by all means.

5. Does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks?

oh my good god, yes! though she never would consider them as either bad or nervous. tissaia is constantly adjusting not only her surroundings but also fixing her own appearance - her hair, rings, necklace, sleeves, cuffs, dress. they are tucked on, smoothed down, dusted, arranged to fall in the precise way she needs to have them. she will rectify the position of anything offending her sense of aesthetics or not fitting her views. it no longer qualifies as a habit or a tick. her visceral need for order, balance and control runs deep - as deep an ocd. it’s never referred to as such but it is utterly compulsive and something, i suspect, has been going on for centuries.

6. What does your muses usually look like/wear?

ah! clothes! she is very, very fond of them. whilst going for practicality and choosing outfits befitting the situations she’s in, she always strives for elegance, sober and tasteful, but elegance. she wears dresses and gowns with lace cuffs, a necklace, rings and she might wear earrings on occasion. her hair is always impeccable: middle parting and pinned in a bun on the lower back of her head. very simple. her footwear is also elegant but speaking to the same refined austerity as her outfits (victorian like boots under the multiple layers of undergarment, petticoat and dress) in spite of an expensive taste she likes flaunting, she does look strict and buttoned up.

7. Is your muse affectionate? how much? how so?

in her own way. she will express her affection by taking an interest in someone else’s, by remembering details about them or what they enjoy, by gifting them with something she knows they will love - because she observes a lot and makes mental notes. physical display take the form of a hand squeeze, a certain lingering gaze, a brush of fingers, a smile; and then once she is comfortable enough, she will initiate more, may that be an embrace or a kiss. it is never too much, she never is overly affectionate in her display because she is constantly fighting herself and repressing. everything has to be under her control - even when it comes to physical urges and needs. it takes a lot for her to let go without (much) restrain.

8. What position does your muse sleep in?

on her side, in something resembling the foetus position. she is a terrible sleeper so her nights are usually short. she sometimes falls asleep on her back then move in her sleep to settle on her side.

9. Could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room?

not unless she wants to be heard. her footsteps are light.

#tissaia de vries ;; about

7 notes · View notes

possiblypeachy · 4 years

Text

tea & schemes. (11)

―; summary: getting ready for the dinner party is a lot more anxiety-filled than anyone had perhaps thought-- for good reason, too.

―; pairing: jacob frye x ofc

―; word count: 4.4k

―; warnings: light swearing. willard generally making me uncomfortable ksjdksj

―; A/N: They!! Them!! i had a burst of “let’s write” today and slammed out like half of this so please pardon any stupid mistakes kshdskd please do enjoy, however, bc i’m love Them and i want everyone else to too!

―; tags: @vamprose (bebbee) (p.s. do ask if you’d like to be tagged in the future!)

―; part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

― ❊ ―

“Felicity!” Florence groaned, puffing out her chest perhaps more than was needed in order to prove a point. “The seams will burst if you--” Lace tightened again and she sucked in a sharp breath, “-- adjust the corset any further.”

Lissie ignored her, contemplating whether or not to tie it up or continue pulling. It appears she had decided on the latter. “Nonsense.” She unthreaded a portion of the lace, finally allowing Florence to take a deep breath, before simply making the section achingly tighter. “You’re having dinner with nobility, dear; we must accentuate those hips of yours else--”

“I think you forget that I have no plans on marrying Willard.” There was a pause. “He’s a prick.”

Lissie chortled behind her, finally tying the lace up and patting her back, making sure everything was in place. “Yes, but you have to look like you want to marry him and bear those beautiful, golden-haired children of his.”

Florence gagged, turning to collect her crinolette from the chair with a frown. “I’ll have nightmares for weeks if you’re not careful.”

The maid took it from her and gestured for her to lean over somewhat so she could shimmy it over Florence’s body. “Besides,” She began, watching on as Florence did a strange little jig, helping the crinolette settle over her hips and backside evenly. A dastardly curl tugged at the maid’s lips, “Jacob’s to be going with you, is he not?” Florence groaned, rubbing the space between her brows. “It’s not such a bad thing to make him look at your arse--”

“Lissie!” She hit the maid, stopping her from sliding petticoats over Florence’s head. Lissie did that dirty little giggle of hers before continuing with the task at hand. “I don’t-- I’m not going to--”

“Don’t lie to me, dear.” Lissie’s face was so deadpan that it made one wonder how desensitised she truly was to topics like this. Florence, on the other hand, had red-tinged ears and a twist to her lips that told of a loss of innocence. “He’s a handsome man. It’s only right that you might want to… butter the biscuit--”

“Felicity, no--”

“Perhaps a bit of dancing in the sheets?”

“I have no intention to seduce Jacob in the middle of Willard’s estate.” Florence huffed, turning to collect up her skirts and throw them over her head. “That’s… so many levels of sin and I,” Her nose upturned slightly, a certain amusement dancing about in her eyes, “am a woman of great virtue.”

Lissie pursed her lips, bending over to ensure that Florence’s dress fell properly around her ankles. “Well,” She straightened herself again, blue eyes meeting brown, “I would’ve at your age. The naughtiness makes it all the better.”

Florence’s lips curled into an inquisitive smirk, an eyebrow raised as she slid her arms into her bodice, slowly buttoning it with a look in her eyes that was enough to make any criminal confess. “I feel like there’s a story behind that statement.” She flattened the material down, spinning about in the mirror to check how she looked, before dragging her gaze back to Lissie. “Pray tell?”

Lissie rolled her lips inwards, contemplating. Then, with a sigh, she gestured toward that vanity table, encouraging Florence to sit. “Fine. I’ll tell you while I sort out your hair, though you mustn’t tell anyone-- especially not the leatherworker down the road.”

Florence gasped. “You didn’t!”

“It’s…” Lissie huffed out a laugh, clicking her tongue, “... probably not what you think.”

The sky had darkened outside, a mere strip of orange at the horizon and the beginnings of stars dotting the heavens. Florence had made a little home at the dining table, speaking with her brother about the possible events of the night. Every-so-often, he would have to hold one of her shaking hands or made a stupid joke-- as is the way of older brothers-- to calm her poor nerves. She’d end up ripping her hair out and no one wanted that; Lissie would kill him.

“When do you think the carriage driver will be here?” Her voice had a tinge of worry to it, words forced out a little faster than usual. Florence hadn’t stopped chewing her lips since Lissie had finished with her hair.

“Soon, I suspect.” Freddy had said this quickly, wanting to take a sip of tea to brace himself for the question he planned to ask next. “Why are you so… concerned about this whole ordeal? It’s unlike you, Florrie; where’s the girl that was spitting on kidnappers?”

Her mouth twisted into a smile at that, though one of her hands came up to hide it, eyes still proclaiming worry. “He-- Willard-- just feels so much more…” Her eyes dragged across the room as she searched for a word. Finally, her gaze met his again, “... serious. I’m tired of being two different people-- my name may as well be bloody... Margaret when I’m with him. Lying is harder when the prospect of marrying the villain is so very real.”

Frederick hummed, dark eyes glazed with thought. “Father wouldn’t want you to marry anyone you were opposed to. Besides,” The look he gave her was earnest, “all we need is a shred of evidence-- solid evidence-- against him and I can get him arrested myself. Speaking of which,” He turned slightly so that he could look toward the door, “where is Mister Frye?”

Florence clasped her hands together, trying to push the worry into the pit of her stomach rather than letting it loose in her heart. “I’m sure he’s nearby.” Freddy gave her an unconvinced look. “Jacob wouldn’t break his promise to me.”

“You trust him a lot.” Freddy clicked his tongue, stirring his spoon about in his tea. Then, he withdrew it from the cup and pointed it at his sister. “He’s an assassin, you know? They deal in lies and secrecy.”

“Freddy--”

He held his hands up, surrendering. “I’m just making an observation, Florrie. I don’t want you to put all of your coins in one pot only to later realise that it’s actually a tube.”

“Jacob is not a tube--”

A knock came to the door, along with muffled conversation. Freddy and Florence shot each other a look and he rose from his chair.

“It’s Jacob.”

“Or, the carriage driver.”

Florence’s expression soured and Frederick took that as his queue to leave her at the table. Good thing that he did too, else that pompous tie he wore would be strangling him.

Another two knocks rapped against their door and Freddy heard an exasperated sigh on the other side. He fiddled with the lock for a few moments before opening the door, revealing not one Frye but two. How wonderful. He felt his very soul shiver.

“-- you not tell me sooner? If you believe him to be a threat, you could’ve--”

“Evening, Freddy. Looking as handsome as ever.” Jacob squeezed in through the door, tipping his hat-- his top hat-- in greeting as he passed the police officer. Evie followed suit, too caught up in lecturing her brother to even say a quick ‘hello’ to Freddy, who looked like he’d been through a hurricane and a half without the night having even begun.

“-- warned me so I could sort it out. Aren’t you too busy doing that Pearl woman’s dirty work to be attending dinner parties?”

Jacob spun around on his heel, making Evie bump into him, which in turn only angered her further. “Why can I not do both? Didn’t you always want me to be more active in civilised society?” Florence poked her head around the doorway to see Evie clench her fist. Jacob’s head dipped to the side, as if he wanted to invade her space but didn’t want a black eye before the event. “Or, have you finally become aware that I’m the one doing all the work? God forbid that I take a night off, lest all of London fall, right, Evie?”

“You’re impossible!”

He blanked her and peered around his sister in hopes of meeting eyes with the sergeant. “Where’s Flor, Freddy?”

“Why must you always have your own agenda, Jacob?” Evie tried to interject to very little avail; her brother had no desire to continue their argument. He was there for Florence and, by God, he wouldn’t disappoint.

Frederick pointed loosely in the direction of the dining room, other hand raised to his forehead as if that might protect him from an oncoming headache. “Over there, anxiously eating this morning’s loaf, most likely.”

Florence, by this point, had hidden herself from view again, debating on whether she should barge into the kitchen to ask for comfort from Lissie or to suck it all up and face the rage of Evie Frye and the inevitability of tonight’s dinner plans. Just as she was about to decide on the former, hands fumbling with the door to the kitchen, three bodies turned the corner and stopped in place, watching her pat down her dress as though that was all that she had ever planned to do. Florence was a smart woman, but this was one of the occasions in which she certainly was not.

“Hello.” She said, voice wavering in such a way that she sounded like a prepubescent boy. Jacob’s lips tugged upwards.

“You look beautiful.” He replied. Freddy grimaced and Evie rolled her eyes to the side, disgusted by the prospect that their respective sibling might ever feel romantic emotions. Admittedly, however, neither could deny that Florence did look particularly dolled-up for the occasion-- what with a dress that almost matched her eyes in that golden-brown hue and loose curls framing her face. Not to say that she didn’t look nice enough any other day-- anyone who said otherwise would get a pointed look and a scowl-- but Florence had really gone all out for this dinner. There was a tiny part of his heart that felt a pang at this-- why had she put so much effort in for him?-- but he pushed it aside; she was doing what she-- everybody-- thought was right.

Florence’s lips tugged upwards and she took a few steps towards him, keeping them separated by a few chairs around the dining table. “You…” She took in his appearance, “... clean up nicely.”

He barked out a laugh. “Ah, thank you, dear Flor.” He took the liberty of moving towards her, throwing a glance at Freddy to assess how he felt on the situation. Her brother had a hawk-like glint in his eyes, sure to bat any wandering hands back to their respective owners-- whether Jacob’s or Florence’s.

Upon seeing this, she huffed a laugh through her nose and swept around the dining table-- a task that is not difficult to do when wearing such a dress-- to wrap Jacob into a hug. “I like the hat.” She murmured into his shoulder, careful to not mess up the hair that had taken Lissie so long to pin into place. Jacob’s hands hovered for a few moments, taken aback by this show of affection in front of her brother, but quickly threw all caution to the wind and accepted her embrace, planting a chaste kiss atop her head.

At that exact moment, Lissie opened the door from the kitchen, broom in hand, only to immediately coo over the pair of them, a hand pressed to her cheek and all. “Look at you couple of sweethearts!” Jacob and Florence pulled away from one another, though his hand lingered on the small of her back for a few moments before retracting. Florence’s look to the maid was filled with desperation-- a want for her to just stay quiet. Lissie was a loud woman, however. “See, Freddy?” She leant the broom against the dining table so she could take Florence’s face in her hands and squeeze her cheeks together, forcing her to face her brother. “You can’t stop young love.” When her eyes met Frederick’s, they shared a similar look of despair. Then, as her sight trailed to Evie, wondering what she might think of the whole situation, she was met with a look of confusion. Florence would’ve sighed, had her cheeks not been pushed together so tightly.

“Whve do lishen for dhe carrige drivuh.”

Everyone’s brows drew downwards in confusion.

Florence tried to huff to little avail and batted Lissie’s hands away. “We have to listen for the carriage driver.” There was a small chorus of ‘oh’s, to which Florence rolled her eyes. “It is as though I’m the only person here that has any worries about tonight.”

“I doubt he’ll-- what?-- poison us or anything.” Freddy said in an effort to calm. If anything, however, it merely made his sister angrier. The chance of him being strangled with his own tie was increasing once more. “For all intents and purposes, we’re simply going to a dinner party because this Willard bloke sees a future for you both. If he does anything-- this soon after his brother being arrested-- he’ll be throwing his entire family in the doghouse.”

Evie narrowed her eyes. “Willard Molyneux-Herbert? That’s the Willard we’re talking about?” All eyes landed on her, inquisitive, though Jacob’s gaze held a small inkling of annoyance too, borne from a desire for his sister to stay out of this business. “Mister Green has been looking into his family for a while. They’re incredibly guarded, despite being in the public eye so often, and their grounds often have Blighters loitering about-- Jacob,” Evie furrowed her brows, gesturing somewhere as if the entire ordeal was laid out in front of them like a set of blueprints, “if you had actually told me of this matter--”

Three knocks rapped at the door and an obvious sense of relief washed across Jacob’s expression. “Well, dear sister, duty calls--”

“Jacob, no--”

He shuffled himself behind Florence and began to bump her out of the door, Freddy having already gone to greet the carriage driver. With a sing-song lilt to his voice, he replied, “Jacob, yes!” and kicked the door closed with his foot, leaving Evie and Lissie alone.

The maid placed her hands on her hips. “I have a bit of stew on the hob back there, if you’d like some grub before you leave?”

Evie turned to look at her, fatigue the only readable thing on her face, and nodded, pulling out a chair and plonking herself down upon it. “That would be lovely.”

The carriage ride there was tense. Well, Florence thought it was, at least. Her thumbs wouldn’t stop fiddling with one another and even Jacob’s constant poking at her brother barely made her smile. There was just this… sickness in the bottom of her stomach that told her something wasn’t right-- especially after what Evie had said-- and Frederick appeared to be sharing the same worries.

“What do you think she meant?” Florence finally asked as they were carted down some bumpy, dirt road. “Why would Mister Green be looking into his family?”

Freddy chewed on his lip. “His brother was obviously a threat to society. Maybe Mister Green just wanted to keep tabs on a dangerous family?” Florence and Jacob shared an unconvinced look. “I don’t know! I don’t know. All we can do is be careful, I suppose.”

“Do you not know anything about them?” Her gaze turned to Jacob, concern so prevalent in her eyes that it was almost as though the emotion had weaved itself into her very being.

There was a small moment in which Jacob felt bad for not having told his sister about the ordeal earlier; she could’ve told him all they knew about Willard’s family and Florence wouldn’t have been so torn up about the situation. It was difficult not to frown upon seeing her so upset. “I don’t; I’m sorry. Though, I suspect Evie and Greenie know very little too. We’ve been too busy with the Templars and the Rooks at the moment to look too far into some… poncey upper-class family.”

Florence breathed a laugh out through her nose. “Let’s hope they’re merely that.”

The rest of the carriage ride was quiet, with the occasional complaints about the bumps in the road or Freddy trying to keep the lovebirds from becoming too chummy in the back of the carriage. Hand holding was not allowed in front of him! Besides, he would live and die by the fear of the driver somehow sensing that Florence, his master’s ‘beloved’, was fawning over another man.

When they finally arrived, none of them had expected the size of his grounds and the ornate decorations strung about his estate. Florence, in a manner very much like a long-lost princess being shown the home of her recently found royal family, peered out of the window with her mouth agape and a wondrous glint in her eyes. Jacob seemed to be doing something similar-- even with the princess-esque vibe-- to which Freddy was overcome with an immediate sense of tiredness.

“Honestly,” Jacob turned to her, a little quirk to his lips, “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to marry him.”

She hit his arm, the dimple appearing in her cheek for the first time today. He laughed, though it also sounded like an ‘ow!’, and plopped himself back down in his seat. Florence did the same, mischief in her eyes. “He’ll have to buy me a really nice horse first.”

“I have no chance, do I?” Jacob feigned hurt, holding a hand to his heart. “My own lady, betraying me for a stallion.”

“I suggest that we-- you-- stop with your… banter.” Freddy interjected, earning him looks of innocence from the other two. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Florrie, you’re in love with Willard. Jacob, you’re merely our… manservant--” Florence stifled a laugh at this and her brother shot her a sharp look, “-- which means no comments, no compliments, and none of your stupid comedy.”

“Okay,” Jacob huffed out a laugh, “No comments, no compliments, and no comedy: the three Cs. I’ve got it. I’ll be the best manservant the world has yet seen.”

Luckily for Jacob, the carriage slowed to a stop, preventing Freddy from trying to wring him out like a towel. Two thumps hit the side-- the driver signalling that they were finally there-- and Jacob pushed the door open, shoes crunching down on gravel. Freddy clambered out first and, much to Jacob’s disappointment, didn’t use their servant’s hand to help get out of the carriage. Florence, however, would never be beyond taking a chance to hold his hand and, as he helped her out, a little squeeze came to her fingers in an act of reassurance. She glanced around briefly, ensuring that no one was peeking at them through the many windows of the house and that the driver was on the other side of the carriage, before leaning up to place a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. He gave this little, conflicted smile, wanting nothing more than to reciprocate the gesture, but by the time that he would’ve made up his mind, Florence and her brother were already walking towards the grand doors of the house.

It was a beautiful estate and, honestly, Florence would be lying if she said she was unimpressed. Most people dreamt of living in such houses-- castles-- one day, though Florence refused to allow the thought of spending the rest of her days like a noblewoman to influence her image of Willard. He may be absurdly handsome and have that kind of wave to hair that made him seem like some sort of demi-god but he was a prick and Florence would try her best to remember that-- even if he does serve chicken fricassee. She narrowed her eyes. He would be a bastard if he served chicken fricassee.

“I have a feeling that me, being a police officer, and him, having a family now known for criminal activity, won’t be getting on particularly well.” Freddy leant to the side slightly so he could speak quietly to his sister. “I mean, what am I going to talk to him about? ‘Oh, yes, remember when I arrested your brother for mutilating his patients? Good times.’”

Florence’s lips twisted into a smile that suppressed laughter and a hand came to her brother’s arm. “I doubt he’ll be speaking much to you. Remember: I’m the subject of his affections, much to my own discomfort.”

Frederick grimaced at the thought. Why did all this happen to his little sister?

The carriage driver-- a short, middle-aged man-- hurried past both Jacob and the siblings to open the door and announce their arrival. However, it seemed as if their presence was already known; the door swung open to reveal Willard himself, all dressed up and hair slicked back, the colour of his suit a beautiful navy-- much like Florence’s favourite colour. She already felt uneasy and Freddy’s hand came to her elbow to gently usher her forward, though whether this was in an effort to comfort or to subject her to Willard’s greeting first she was unsure.

“Florence, it seems you have stolen the beauty of Aphrodite herself tonight.” He took a step outside, arms held outwards in a manner that was uncomfortably similar to someone beckoning their pet. “It is lovely to see you, sweet thing.”

Both men beside her tensed, for different reasons altogether, but it was comforting, nonetheless, to know that she wasn’t the only one that was feeling the weight of Willard’s words. However, despite the terrible feeling in her stomach, Florence’s lips curled into a polite smile-- dimple nowhere to be seen-- and walked toward him, steps unsteady beneath her skirts. “It’s been too long already, Willard. I must’ve spoken my maid’s ear off about tonight.” She placed her hands in his and he pulled her towards him in an embrace.

It was at this point that Willard seemed to grow cold, pale eyes boring into the manservant over Florence’s shoulder. They parted rather abruptly, her eyes wide, and Willard slid past her to regard the other two. “You must be Sergeant Frederick Abberline, no?” He held his hand out to shake, though his disposition was hardly as welcoming anymore. Freddy’s hand was shaken far more vigorously than he’d expected, shoulder jarring quite uncomfortably. He was barely able to get a word in lengthways, either; Willard had moved onto Jacob. “And, you, are Jacob Frye. I was unaware that others would be coming too.”

Florence’s fingers wrapped around Willard’s arm, her face appearing in the corner of his eye. “He’s paid to help us around the house and on outings by my father; the poor old man gets worried about the wellbeing of his youngest. It would send him into ill health if he knew that Mister Frye wasn’t here.”

“Well,” Jacob and Willard’s eyes were locked for far too long, manly pride likely being the reason for them staring the other down. Willard finally broke away so that he could look at Florence, an uncomfortable smile tugging at his lips, “he needn’t be there while we eat. There’s a parlour he can read in or perhaps the servant’s quarters are more fitting.”

Jacob bowed slightly. “Whatever the sir wishes. I aim only to serve.”

Florence pushed down a grin, her eyes meeting Jacob’s in a fleeting glance-- a brow raised just enough for him to notice-- before she was turned by Willard and escorted into the estate.

The house was pleasantly warm with the aroma of, what was most likely, their dinner wafting about the halls already. In that moment, Florence realised that she’d have to put dinnertime etiquette into use; she couldn’t gorge herself on potatoes like usual, she supposed. What a shame.

The interior was just as grandiose as the exterior, with plush red cushions strewn about on lounge chairs and golden-framed paintings on every wall she could possibly see. Florence was half surprised that there wasn’t ambient piano music echoing into every corner of the house. As they all turned a corner, they were met with the meek little smile of a worker who half-bowed and scurried away like a rat caught stealing bread. There was a strange sense of uneasiness in the interaction, though Willard paid it no mind, guiding Florence along the halls with a hand to her lower back.

Doors were pushed open with his free hand to reveal the dining room: a splendid interior with mahogany wood and a freshly picked vase of peonies, snapdragons, and daffodils. A pretty collection of flowers, she thought, though perhaps a tad too extravagant for her taste. Dishes clattered as cooks worked to lay out the table and-- what is that? Florence looked about for a few moments before meeting eyes with a pianist on the other side of the room. She could’ve laughed; there was the piano music she’d expected.

“I do believe,” Willard stepped to the side, an arm out to the side to welcome them into the room, “that our wonderful chefs have prepared a cream of celery soup for our starter.” Florence moved past him first, his body leant uncomfortably close to hers. The smell of him was overwhelming-- almost reminiscent of the feeling one gets by watching an urchin being given a shilling by a lord; nice but in an achingly condescending way. Then came Frederick, his nose leading him; the poor man hadn’t eaten yet today and was willing to disregard the anxiety weaved so deeply into every aspect of the room if only to get his hands on some of that soup they were serving. Jacob would’ve followed suit, had the lanky frame of Willard not stepped before him. Green eyes bore into hazel. “The rest of the workers usually spend time in the room just down that corridor.” He pointed over Jacob’s shoulder, though Jacob had yet to turn and look in that direction. “Someone will call for you when they’re leaving.”

The sheer amount of restraint that Jacob had to practice to not make it obvious he wanted to break Willard’s nose was quite impressive. Instead, his lips twisted into a tight smile and he nodded. “Of course. You won’t hear a peep out of me, Mister Molyneux-Herbert.” With that, Jacob turned on his heel and disappeared from sight. Satisfied, Willard closed the doors to the dining room.

Jacob rubbed his hands together, taking a swift left to go upstairs, a certain devilishness to his every expression and movement.

What a fool.

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed: syndicate #ac: syndicate #jacob frye #jacob frye x oc #jacob frye x reader #florence abberline #writing #looking at my own work for too long is making me like it less and less #so take this while i still deem it acceptable #however i will always reinforce the fact that they are Beby #maybe they should uuuhhhhh ;))) in the next chapter hmmmmm

26 notes · View notes