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dewdropdinosaur · 2 months

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White Gold Glitters Too

ALASTOR x READER SMUT

Summary: Lucifer takes too much of a liking to Alastor's wife and he seeks to claim her and prove his dominance. Fucking her for Lucifer to hear sounds like a good option.

Warnings: NSFW/18+. MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Oral Sex, Reader has a Vagina, Heavy Sex, C*m, Implied P in V Sex, Jealous Fucking, Mention of Restraints, Tentacles

I have never written smut before...so I am sorry.

REQUESTS OPEN

Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon from Hazbin Hotel, was known for his charismatic yet enigmatic presence. He ruled over his domain with a devilish grin and a penchant for blood. But beneath his charming facade lay a heart that beat fiercely for one person: his beloved wife, Y/N.

Y/N was the epitome of grace and beauty, with a kindness that melted even the most hardened of souls. She had captured Alastor's heart as soon as they had entered through the doors of the hotel, and he would do anything to keep her by his side. Having been newly wed, Alastor’s possessive nature seemed to rear its head often when it came to his bride.

However, trouble brewed when Lucifer, the fallen angel and hellish king himself, began to take an seeming interest in Y/N. His smooth words and suave demeanor drew her attention, much to Alastor's dismay. Alastor’s confidence was shaken when Lucifer Morningstar began to show a keen interest in Y/N. Despite her loyalty to Alastor, Lucifer's suave demeanor and irresistible charisma stirred a jealousy deep within Alastor's demonic heart.

It has begun innocently enough, with Lucifer's smooth compliments and flirtatious gestures towards Y/N whenever they crossed paths. Then it turned to a hand atop hers or brushing hair out of her face while she worked on fixing up the hotel. At first, Alastor attempted to suppress his jealousy, masking his feelings with his trademark grin and witty remarks. But as Lucifer's advances towards Y/N became more pronounced, Alastor's facade began to crack.

One fateful evening, as the flames of Hell danced in the distance, Alastor found himself unable to contain his simmering jealousy any longer. He watched from a distance as Lucifer flirted shamelessly with Y/N, his patience wearing thin with each passing moment.

His once cheerful demeanor turned dark as he became increasingly passive-aggressive, making evil eyes at the short king(yes my dears, narrators can make a joke occasionally.) But still, Lucifer persisted in his advances, seemingly unfazed by Alastor's silent warnings. Y/N, momentarily stepping away at Charlie’s call for some assistance, left the two men alone in the lobby.

“Well, well, if it isn't the charming Lucifer. Quite the show you're putting on tonight”

Lucifer smirked, “Ah, Alastor, always a pleasure to see you. And might I say, your wife looks positively radiant this evening. You picked a good one.”

Alastor forced a smile, a natural habit of his that was wearing on him. “Why, thank you, Lucifer. She does tend to have that effect, doesn't she? Though I must say, your interest in her appearance is unexpected.”

“Oh, Alastor, there's no harm in appreciating beauty when it's right in front of you. And your wife is truly a sight to behold.” Lucifer leaned closer, using his elbow to nudge Alastor in the ribs playfully; unaware of the brewing violence in the red demon before him. Or maybe he did know and elected to ignore it. Lucifer did get terribly bored.

Alastor spoke firmly through clenched teeth “Indeed, she is. But I must warn you, Lucifer, my patience wears thin when it comes to matters of the heart.”

“Just engaging in some harmless conversation. Does that bother you?

“Of course, how silly of me to assume otherwise.” Both men quipped back and forth so sarcastically it could've been considered the eight deadly sin.

Returning from aiding the princess, Y/N resumed her place by Alastor’s side and back into the conversation. Unable to contain his jealousy any longer, Alastor put a hand on his wife’s shoulder and looked towards Y/N with a forced smile plastered on his face. "Darling, would you care for a stroll?" he offered, his voice dripping with false sweetness.

Y/N, oblivious to the turmoil raging within her husband, nodded with a smile and waved goodbye to Lucifer. As they walked through the dimly lit corridors of Hell, Alastor's mind seethed with anger and resentment.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Alastor halted abruptly and turned to face Y/N. "Tell me, my dear, what is it about Lucifer that captivates you so?" he demanded, his words laced with bitterness.

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden change in Alastor's demeanor. "Alastor, what are you talking about? Lucifer is just being friendly," she protested, confusion etched on her face.

"Friendly? Yes, that's one way to put it. Though, his friendliness seems rather... focused, wouldn't you say?"

Y/N glanced at Alastor, sensing the tension in his voice. She attempted to defuse the situation with a reassuring smile.

Y/N: "Alastor, there's no need to worry. You know where my heart lies."

Alastor's smile tightened, his grip on Y/N's hand becoming just a tad too firm.

Alastor: "Of course, my dear. I'm well aware. But it's amusing, isn't it? How Lucifer seems to find you so... intriguing."

Y/N shot Alastor a puzzled look, sensing the underlying resentment in his words.

"Alastor, you're being awfully aggressive. Is something bothering you?"

Alastor's grin widened, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes as he turned his gaze back to Lucifer.

Alastor: "Bothering me? Not at all, my dear. Just finding it fascinating how Lucifer can't seem to keep his eyes off you. Quite the dilemma, wouldn't you agree?

Alastor refused to be swayed by her words. With a fierce determination, he pulled Y/N flush to his chest and pushed her back against the wall, his grip possessive and demanding. Peering down into her eyes, his own glowed with a dark green hue.

"I'll show you who the better man is, my dear," he growled, his crimson eyes blazing with intensity as he slammed his lips to capture hers. Moaning into the kiss, Y/N slowly brought her hands up to find themselves tangled in Alastor’s red locks.

Trailing his hand up to her waist, Alastor gave it a tight squeeze that made his wife squeak. Chuckling at the reaction, both their lips remained interlocked for what seemed an eternity. Deciding she had enough teasing, Y/N grabbed hold of Alastor’s cane and used its shadows to transport them to their shared bedroom. Taking the hint, Alastor walked their bodies to the king sized bed and laid down on the red silken sheets. Now with back flush against the mattress, Y/N wasted no time in relocking her lips back to her husband's.

Nimble fingers traced up her waist, tugging softly on the waistband of her shorts before suddenly ripping them off of her body. Exposed to the cool air, Y/N let out a gasp of surprise that was quickly replaced with a lewd moan as Alastor traced a knuckle up her clothed core.

“Darling, tsk tsk. We haven’t even begun and you are drenching my fingers through these clothes.” Continuing to drag his finger across her pantie-clad slit, Alastor mumbled the words into the base of her neck.

“Stop–fuck–stop teasing Al.”

“Oh but dear, that’s half the fun.” Despite his words, he obliged her request by removing the offending garment from her body. Working his way down, his face ended between her thighs. His eyes widened at the glittering white gold slick that painted her hole.

“Gorgeous darling, glittering gorgeous.” Diving in, his tongue lapped up all the juices that spilled from her needy cunt. Sucking softly here and there while delving as deep as his tongue would allow(he would not admit to using magic to make it longer), Y/N let out wanton moans and lewd hisses of pleasure. Gripping the sheets beneath her as her eyes remained shut in ecstasy. To make matters worse, or better depending on who you ask, Alastor inserted his finger into her while continuing to feast. He could see her holding back some of her noises, desperate to control her lust.

"Darling, do not hide from me."

"But normally you don't want people to hear--"

"That does not apply today. Let all of Hell and that filthy king know you are mine."

Stretching her open, he added another finger; scissoring her wide. Y/n’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and her body involuntarily shifted away from the overstimulating assault. Taking his other hand, Alastor placed it on her hip and held her in place.

“Unless you would like to be restrained, I insist you remain in place.” Perking up at the thought, Y/N gulped. Being restrained by Alastor’s slick tentacles, forcing her legs open so he could do as he pleased; letting him use them to fill every hole piqued her interest. Perhaps for another time.

The thoughts and stimulation from Alastor’s mouth and his fingers nearly had her cumming, mumbling incoherently for just a bit more to push her over the edge. Smirking, Alastor brought a third finger into her hole, its walls squeezing onto him for dear life. Using his thumb to rub against her clit, the stimulation was bearing nearly too much.

“Go on Y/N. Tell me….tell me how I can only make you feel this good. That even the King of Hell couldn’t make you cum just from his fingers.”

That’s what did it, Y/N felt the coil in her stomach snap as she cried Alastor’s name. Surely, the whole hotel had heard her by now. Just as Alastor wanted. Cum now coated his fingers and the bedsheets below as her high overtook her senses and she saw stars.

Drawing his fingers slowly out of her and bringing them to his lips, Alastor sucked on the white gold juices. Both parties covered in a layer of thin sweat, panting heavily and overcome with arousal. Walking his hands forward till both of his arms caged her in on the bed and she could feel his growing bulge against her thighs, Alastor whispered darkly.

“Now dear, feel like letting Lucifer know how good round two is about to feel?”

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cntloup · 28 days

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Mafia!Simon x Bartender!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

“So? You coming or not?” Simon asks and takes a small sip of his whiskey.

“To a ball? You know I'm not one for that kind of stuff!” you respond and throw a wet rag on the counter and start rubbing the stains off the black marble.

“I'm asking you to come with me... as my date... and it won’t be that long. I promise. We’ll get out of there whenever you want.” he mentions, eyeing you from the edge of the glass that meets his lips once again.

“Fine! But I can’t promise to be good company. I have no idea what to do in that kind of setting!” you say with a light chuckle.

“You’re always the perfect company, love. And don’t worry about it. Just stay by my side and look pretty... as you always do.” he mutters the last part, but your sharp hearing doesn’t miss it.

You smile and look over at him, noticing the slightly flustered look written on his face which makes your smile even wider, “Thank you.” you murmur as quietly with a bashful smile and of course he catches that.

“Wait! When even is this ball?” you ask, remembering that he never mentioned it.

“Tonight!” he replies, “What?! I can’t get ready ‘till then! Simon, what the hell?! I don’t even have a proper dress!” you say in an agitated tone, a shocked expression etched on your face.

He only chuckles and places his credit card on the counter, “Go buy yourself a dress. I'll pick you up at 7.” he says nonchalantly and leaves.

‘bloody fuckin’ hell’ you grumble under your breath and let out a frustrated sigh, deciding to close up early to go get ready for the ball.

And it slowly starts to dawn on you. He has literally asked you on a date! Why would he if he didn’t like you?

And soon, the familiar butterflies return dancing in your belly and you look around the bar to make sure no one is there before letting out a loud squeal like a school girl!

-----

He picks you up at 7 sharp in a black Rolls Royce.

His breath hitches in his throat the moment you walk out the door in your beautiful dress, all dolled up and pretty... not that you weren’t before... you’re always beautiful in his eyes.

“You look beautiful, dove.” he mentions before kissing your forehead, “You’re not too bad yourself! You clean up nice, Mr. Riley!” you say with your gorgeous smile while lightly touching the collar of his suit.

‘you’re gonna be the death of me!’ he thinks to himself as he gazes into your beautiful eyes, the very eyes that have stolen his heart.

“Shall we?” you ask and he gestures to the driver to open the door for you.

Most of the drive there is silent... but a comfortable, peaceful silence. It's never awkward with him. You've always liked spending time together in silence, just enjoying each other’s presence.

-----

You arrive at your destination, the fancy ballroom and all the pretentious people smiling and laughing together, acting as if they’re friends when in reality, they will stab each other in the back without hesitation if the opportunity arises.

But you manage to keep a joyous and warm facade as you mingle with the other guests and the night goes fairly smoothly.

Apart from the nosey people asking if you two are in a relationship only for you to deny and say you’re only good friends much to your own dismay in order not to embarrass him or make him uncomfortable.

But what you don’t notice is the disappointed look on his face every time you mention that you’re nothing but friends.

But there is something you do notice. You spot the familiar figure in the distant corner of the room. A man you have seen at the bar on a few occasions.

Who is he? Is he following you?

There's a slight churn in your stomach at the mere thought of it and you tell Simon that you’re not feeling well.

He places a hand on the small of your back and guides you to the car to take you home as soon as you mention it to him.

-----

“Simon?!" you call out nervously as you see a vehicle approaching in the rear-view mirror when you're halfway from your home.

"I think someone is following us!” you say, but it’s too late as you hear shots firing and then... nothing.

@luvecarson

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xo-cod · 5 months

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simon gaining happy weight and becoming insecure over it because he thinks its unnatural 🥺

i loved this, nonnie. i hope you like this <33 v rushed/ooc, lmk if you'd like a longer version :") 🤍

cw: mention of body weight/insecurities

simon hadn't even noticed the weight gain himself until he couldn't fit into his old trousers, the waistband had become uncomfortably tight while he raised his brow. utterly confused at what had happened, chalking it up to the washing machine shrinking it up. he was just going to grab another pair and call it a day until he had looked down at himself for a moment and feeling his heart drop all the way to the floor

he'd gained weight, simon had actually gained weight

one thing had led to another and for hours he stood in front of the mirror, in disbelief at the weight gain. he had been so lost in thought he hadn't noticed you coming back from outside, observing himself in the mirror with a deep frown. feeling more and more self conscious by the second

"what's the matter?" your voice cuts through and he pulls his top back down hastily, embarrassed to have been caught at such a time.

"s'nothing" he only offers one worded answers, unable to believe he'd let himself go to this extent. he was a trained soldier, a lieutenant. how could this be the message he was sending out to his task members and the new recruits, how could this be

"simon" your voice was a little firm, raising your brow as you walked close to him again. and there you see it, the pain and the insecurities practically swimming in his eyes as he gazes at you wordlessly. you were used to him being comfortable in himself, confident and dominant in his every day life. though now when he stands before you, you see all the cracks behind his facade revealing a vulnerable boy behind the mask

"i've gained weight" he muttered lowly, feeling almost embarrassed as he shifted on his feet awkwardly. feelings were hard to speak on, he didn't like airing out his insecurities even though he trusted you implicitly. but he didn't like having his weakness shown about

"gained weight?" your voice came out as a confused question, looking at his body. whenever he was away on deployment or in training his body would always be in top shape. he was constantly on a strict diet and coupled with him fighting for his life out on the battlefield, he wasn't exactly the most healthiest when he returned back to you. but on his off days when he had proper meals with plenty snacks, his body was relaxed and the muscles weren't as sharp though still huge and prominent on his person.

a healthy layer covered his stomach, softening his abdominal muscles. and you loved it, you liked seeing a bit of weight on him.

"look at it. i've gone pudgy. soft. lazy" his tone was sharp and cold, each word punctuated with annoyance though not directed at you as he pinched the skin of his stomach but his frustration remained all the same. the same niggling voice in the back of his mind rearing its ugly head and berating him for even coming to this stage.

he should've done better, he should've hit the gym more frequently. he shouldn't have eaten so much of your cooking and he certainly should've been upholding the image of tf141. not to mention, you. how could he call himself your lover and look this way? he should've been maintaining his muscles properly so you could've enjoyed them for longer. and he only felt shame burning at his cheeks, knowing the possibility that you might not find him so attractive now he was like this

"you look healthy-" "bullshit. that's just another word for fat" he interrupted your sentence with a scoff, growing increasingly more frustrated with himself as he paced the room a little. you sighed softly, holding his hand which prompted him to pause and look at you while your thumb rubbed the inside of his wrist. a trick you had picked up that helped him calm down and become grounded whenever he was caught up too much in his head

"gaining weight isn't bad at all, you're at a much healthier weight now than you've been in before. you deserve to feel safe to eat, you deserve to be relaxed and to take a break especially when you're constantly fighting for your life" your voice carried through gently but firm on your words, your thumb rubbing soft circles across his knuckles.

"and honestly to me, you've never looked better" a gentle chuckle left your lips as you finished, holding his hand close while he simply observed you for a few moments in pure shock and silence.

"you really mean that? you think so?" he asks softly, brown eyes shining under the lights as he scans your face for any doubt or insincerity but he could find none. your face held nothing but love for him, pure warmth and tenderness in your smile and in your eyes

"i know so" you promised, lacing your fingers with his own as you reach up to plant a sweet kiss on his lips for reassurance. he only squeezes your body closer to his, bringing you in further to his warmth.

#asks #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader fluff

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

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Dirty Work 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Outta left field.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The brick facade stares back at you. You have to keep from gaping in awe. You're not a sightseer, you're there to work. A job. Your first ever. A bit late, but better than never.

You stop at the gate and hike up your kit as you shove your hand in your pocket in a cramped search. You slide out the flip phone and pop the top, clicking through for the email. The cheap burner is all you could afford and you needed a cell to get any sort of employment. Even just to live, it seems.

You click on the agency's email. A concise list of instructions for your first day. Alone. Last week, you shadowed a woman named Florence as she took you through an east-side home, but this week, you're on your own and uptown. The property is much nicer than any you've been in before. The sort you gaze at longingly in passing. A true urban palace.

You follow the first point on the list, keying in the code awkwardly with spaced-out punches. The last beep triggers a buzz as the mechanism releases and you turn the haandle to let yourself through the iron gate. You close it, pushing it to make sure it catches. You look around at the greenery; expertly trimmed hedges and a stone bench, flowerbeds clustered artfully in all shades. A mini Versailles in the heart of the city. The owners must be very well-off.

You gulp as you follow the stonework of the winding path along the curved driveway. Your shoulder aches from the weight of your kit and your spine is still rigid from the tense bus ride. You approach the front door and stagger to an awkward halt as you check the screen again. In all caps; DO NOT USE THE FRONT DOOR. You peer up over the stone steps and give a nod. Of course the help should go through the back.

You circle around to the rear of the house, the scent of pollen and the freshly groomed hedges clouding around you. You find the door nestled beneath a net of ivy and key in the next code. The very modern security contrasts the antique veneer of the house. You step into the silence of the grand home and listen. You're not sure if you're alone. What do you do if you aren't? It might be awkward to wash someone's floor without an introduction.

You move to the next directive; cover shoes. You squint and suck your lower lip in. You see the small box on the corner table tucked beside the door. You stay on the mat as you pull on the plastic shoe covers. It makes sense. You don't want to track in another mess to clean.

Again, your breath flies away from you. Even just the back hallway is divine, or maybe you're just brutish. You're not very hard to impress with what you're used to. A job won't cure it, but it'll make it bearable.

The next point; gloves. Okay. At least it's straightforward. The owners must be very particular. Or germaphobic. You let your assumptions write a story as you advance into the house. The email directs you to a closet where you are permitted to hang your things and where a mop, broom, and vacuum await you amid other supplies too big for your bag. Next point…

You proceed inside, slowly. The instructions are written almost to guide your every step. You move down the hallway with duster, broom, vacuum, and finally the mop. You're sweating by the time you get to the first doorway. The kitchen. Despite your employ, the place is already near immaculate. The only sign of life is a single black mug beside the sink.

It's eerie as you cross the tile, investigating with your eyes, almost too afraid to touch. You're going to have to if you mean to do good work. You continue down the list, doing your best to be thorough. When you return to the hall you're caught in place by a thought. There are no family pictures. It adds to the emptiness of it all. There are portraits of famous landmarks and imitations of reknowned artworks, though you wouldn't be surprised if they were genuine. But no family.

Next point. A bathroom just diagonal from the kitchen, spacious with dark wood and shining gold. You leave it smelling with the sterile scent of the cleaner. Back in the hall, you pause to drink from the water bottle in your bag. You head back down the hall intent on your next task. An hour already.

Another large room; a dining room that opens into a sitting room with a large fireplace. It really is amazing. Your father won't believe how nice it is here. You don't have time to worry about convincing him as you dive into your work. It isn't difficult work but you want to do a good job. You get this knot in your stomach just think of your boss, Clara, telling you otherwise or going home with bad news.

You finish the sitting room and go back to get your water. You nearly finish it. You check the time again, then the list. You can refill before you continue. You go back to the kitchen and cross to the fridge, pressing your bottle to the lever beneath the filter. It'd be nice to have something like that at home. You listen the hum of the fridge as you fill your bottle.

"Ahem," the clearing of a throat startles you and you jump, splashing yourself with cold water as you spin to face a tall man. He stares at you imperiously from the doorway, his figure lithe as he holds his chin up in dissatisfaction. "And who said you could do that?"

"Um," you swallow and look at your water bottle, fingers numbed by the water, "sorry, sir, I ran out--"

"Clean up your mess and get back to work," his lilted accent slices into you.

"Sorry, sir--"

"Bullet number one, A," he says tersely.

You frown as you struggle to understand. You replace the cap on your bottle and fish in the pocket of your black pants. You take out the phone and check the email. 'Do not speak unless permitted.' Well, he spoke to you first. It's the only reason you said anything. You're not very chatty yourself.

You keep from repeating sorry again and dip your head down. You take the cloth tucked into your pocket and bend to sop up the water from the floor. You don't look at him as he looms and you exit the room, sidling past him in shame. Oh no, you hope he doesn't tell Clara.

You replace your bottle in your bag. You'll go without. You look at your phone again. You can do this. No more mistakes.

You march back down the hall and dare a glance into the kitchen as you pass. He's already gone. That must be Mr. Laufeyson, the owner noted in the job description. Is it just him? He doesn't seem very fond of others. Or just you. You're just a maid, after all.

🧹

Your father's apartment is in the south. The fence is crooked and missing slats and the grass is patchy and yellowed. The porch groans as you climb the steps and let yourself into his side of the duplex. Cigarette smoke greets you with a cough in your throat. You open the window he shut in your absence as the TV blares in the next room. He's on the couch, puffing tobacco into the air in gray swirls. The place is even grimmer after a day amid your client's spotless halls.

"Hey dad," you say as you stand just beside the couch, "how was your day?"

He grunts and offers nothing else. That's about what you get from him. The effort of just that noise sends him to hack and his wrist tangles in his oxygen tube as brings his hand up. He knocks ash from the end of his cigarette onto the floor.

"First day alone went well," you say as he settles, breathing loudly as he tries to steady his breaths. "Think I did pretty good."

"Oh, big whoop, got a job, at last," he sneers, "about time. What're you? Thirty-three?"

"Thirty," you correct him, but don't add that your birthday is coming up.

"Same difference," he croaks and sucks on the smoke until he's coughing once more.

You try not to let him defeat you. It's just the way he is. You brought home A's from school and he wondered why they weren't A+'s. And when you got accepted to college, he asked you who was gonna pay for it. And when you filled out an application at the drive-thru window, he asked you if you were going to be another deadbeat flipping burgers.

"What, they got you scrubbing floors?" He spits, "you don't do it for free or something?"

He looks around venomously. You do clean but you can't get the yellow stains out of the wall or the stench out of the carpet. You won't say so.

"Did you eat yet?"

"Can't be near the stove with this thing," he taps the top of the tank on the other side of the armrest. He's also not supposed to smoke near it. Or at all.

"I'll heat up the hamburger helper from last night."

"Fucking dog food," he barks.

You wince. You love your father but he's a very picky man. Things must be his way or no way at all.

"Might have a frozen pizza," you suggest.

"Cardboard," he mutters.

You stand, silent and helpless. There isn't much else left in the fridge.

"Could afford better if you'd got your ass up ten years ago," he buts out his smoke and just as quickly, opens the pack to slide out another.

"I tried..."

"Not hard enough, eh," He takes off the oxygen tube and leans away from the tank to light the next cigarette, "not hungry. All your talkin' spoiled my appetite."

You apologise and leave before you can annoy him further. You're not very hungry either. Just sore and tired. Your feet hurt from being on them all day and your eyelids droop lower with each blink. You climb the stairs and drag your feet into your bedroom and shut the door gently. Your father hates when you slam. You don't like it much yourself.

You fall into bed as the musty air clings in your nose. You close your eyes and roll onto your side. You sigh. You figure if you can handle your father, you can handle Mr. Laufeyson and his list.

🧹

Your next job is in the eastside. It's not as precise or overbearing. The instructions are standard; a list of the rooms that need cleaning and a tip left on the counter. The email says the family is out of town. How nice it must be to come home to a nice, clean house. You pad out the three-day week with two more home in the northwest suburbs. The money would be better if you could work a full week but so long on you're in your probation period, you only get part-time hours.

Your second week starts again in the north, outside the Laufeyson property. The codes are different but the list is the same. You begin your work diligently. This time, you ration your water, and pay special attention to each step. Once you're through this week, you get your first check. Dad should be happy about that.

As you get to the front room, a living room or what some might call den, you set first to dusting the ornaments on the high mantel. You find the more you do it, the work is almost soothing. It's simple and mindless. You admire the silver candlestick, careful not to loosen the tall candle placed in it.

"Shiny," the slither frightens you. You quickly replace the candlestick at the corner of the mantle and face that man; the presumed Mr. Laufeyson. "Somehow, I feel it wouldn't belong in wherever you call home."

You lower your eyes. Florence says most clients are friends but she warned you about these ones. Those who deride you and the work they don't want to do themselves.

"The previous one did think they were lovely," he muses as he struts forward, his long steps like a cat's, "too bad they were too big for her bag."

You flick your gaze back up and blanch. "Sir, I wouldn't--"

He tilts his head as his eyes flash dangerously. You snap your mouth shut and give an apologetic frown. You press a finger to your lips to say, I'll be quiet.

"She was chatty too. You girls always are."

You nod and listen. Your throat constricts as you wring the cloth in your hands. You think you might not be very forgiving if someone tried to steal from you either.

"But..." he looks at his watch, "you are quick."

The comment drips from his mouth as if it tastes bitter to him. It isn't quite praise, only a fact, but it isn't a reproach. He smirks and snickers.

"And you do look rather terrified. We're understood then."

You give another nod. You think you understand. You wouldn't think to steal but you can't blame him for putting down rules. You squint and your brow twitches as your ears tinge.

"Point one C," you whisper to yourself; 'Do not steal.'

He pauses as he goes to pivot on his heel. He lifts his chin and shifts as if he might look at you. He doesn't as he carries on to the door.

"You may refill your bottle once per shift," he pauses by the door, tapping the frame before he leaves you.

You stay stuck to the floor, wavering as you watch him go. He wasn't nice, but he didn't dismiss you either. You can stomach his disapproval if it means you still have work.

#loki #dar loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #maid au #dirty work #marvel #avengers #thor

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slytherintrikru · 8 months

Text

— || Revenge is Sweet || —

Pairing: Lucius Malfoy x gryffindor!muggleborn!reader (SHE’S OF AGE)

Word count: 6224

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 16+, fingering, clit rubbing, cock in Vigina, male and female, adult content, adult language, cuss words, clit licking, degrading, fluff if you squint, pet names, anguish, cheating, heartbreak, revenge, crying, Lucius comforting Y/N?, aftercare, praise, daddy kink, cum swallowing, fluff, out of character Lucius, 2 almost 3 years after the 2nd wizarding war, younger woman with older man, first time together, heated make out session, kissing, hickeys, love bites, SFW if you squint. (SHE IS OF AGE)

Summary: Y/N wanted to surprise Draco by visiting him at the Malfoy Manor but ended up catching him cheating instead. While leaving she bumps into Lucius Malfoy and things get kinda heated. (SHE’S OF AGE)

Requested: by no one this is my idea

A/N: Hello, my fellow Dreamers, hope you like this. Please give me your feedback. BTW I also already posted this on my AO3 account @ slytherintrikru.

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Y/N navigated her way up the meandering, earthy path that led to the formidable gates of the Malfoy Manor. These gates, a grand testament to the opulence within, were adorned with wrought-iron craftsmanship that gleamed even in the muted light of dusk. Beyond the gates, a long, majestic driveway, flanked by a procession of ancient trees, guided her toward the mansion's imposing facade. Standing before her, the Malfoy Manor exuded an aura of architectural splendor. Its stately stone walls rose gracefully, adorned with intricate details that whispered of centuries past. Tall, narrow windows punctuated the facade, their panes seeming to conceal secrets within, bestowing upon the house an air of sinister allure.

The estate on which the manor resided was vast and mysterious. A dark forest encroached upon the edges of the property, casting eerie shadows that played hide-and-seek with the waning daylight. In stark contrast to this enigmatic woodland, a lush and meticulously cultivated garden graced the manor's rear, a testament to the Malfoy family's penchant for grandeur and elegance.

With each deliberate step, Y/N's heartbeat quickened. Her trembling hand reached out to rap upon the massive, wooden double doors that guarded the entrance. She couldn't have fathomed that she would ever find herself returning to this nightmarish place, where the echoes of her torment at the hands of Voldemort and his fanatical followers still reverberated in the depths of her memory. It had been two agonizing years since that fateful day when Fenrir Greyback had dragged her through those very doors, her hair pulled viciously as she struggled to match the monstrous pace set by her captor. The same mansion had borne witness to her harrowing encounter with the Dark Lord himself, the malevolent figure who had imprinted the dreaded Death Eater mark upon her left arm—a mark she had desperately sought to eradicate for almost three long years.

The reason for her presence here, despite the haunting memories, was her enduring love for Draco. Three years had passed since the inception of their clandestine relationship, but their bond remained unshaken. Draco's parents, however, were a formidable obstacle in their path. They looked down upon her as a 'filthy Mudblood,' a fact that had never deterred her resolve, so long as Draco stood by her side. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy had resorted to devious tactics, attempting to buy her loyalty, attempting to pry her away from their son. Their efforts had met with stubborn resistance, leaving them fuming with frustration. On countless occasions, they subjected her to scathing tirades, especially Narcissa, whose cruelty knew no bounds. After a week, Lucius resigned to a sullen silence, but Narcissa's venomous words and occasionally physical aggression persisted as a daily ordeal that Y/N endured with steely determination.

Y/N flinched as the manor door creaked open, her reaction akin to that of someone stumbling into a jinx. Her startled gaze dropped to the floor, where a familiar figure stood. It was Rue, the endearing house elf, a cherished presence in Y/N's life.

"What can Rue do for Draco's lovely girlfriend?" Rue inquired, her lips curving into a warm, welcoming smile.

Y/N couldn't help but smile in return; Rue had always held a special place in her heart. With her bright blue eyes and those endearing pointy ears, Rue exuded an unmistakable charm. Not only did she anticipate Y/N's every need, but she also prepared food and drinks precisely to Y/N's liking. Since the law against elf brutality had been enacted, Y/N had taken it upon herself to ensure Rue's comfort, providing her with clothing. Over the months, Rue had transformed, shedding the weight of servitude to become a happier, more carefree presence.

"I'd like to see Draco, please, Rue," Y/N replied, her voice gentle and careful not to startle the petite house elf.

Rue's smile widened, and with a tiny, reassuring grip on Y/N's hand, she led her inside. As the door closed softly behind them, Rue spoke again, her voice filled with an eagerness to assist. "Master Draco is in his room. Rue will take you."

Y/N hesitated for a moment, a playful idea forming in her mind. "No, no, it's fine. I can go myself. I want to surprise him."

The adorable house elf nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. With a snap of her fingers, she vanished from sight, leaving Y/N to navigate the winding corridors of the Malfoy Manor alone.

Y/N couldn't help but grin at the thought of Rue experiencing a moment of personal indulgence, wondering if the house elf was trying to savor the pleasures she had missed in her life of servitude. With that pleasant thought, Y/N embarked on her ascent up the many flights of wooden stairs that led to the upper reaches of the manor. Her footsteps echoed softly through the hallway as she made her way toward Draco's room.

As she arrived at her destination, Y/N came to an abrupt halt, her senses keenly attuned to an unexpected sound emanating from behind Draco's door. She strained her ears, desperately hoping it wasn't a case of accidentally stumbling upon an intimate moment between Lucius and Narcissa. A glance at the door's label confirmed it was indeed Draco's room, and then she heard it again.

Moans.

Specifically, the unmistakable sounds of male and female moans. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she leaned closer to the door, attempting to confirm what she dreaded most. She heard his name, Draco's name, whimpered from a female voice within, a voice that sent shockwaves through her.

Her blood ran cold, her heart rate spiked, and tears welled up in her eyes. Y/N prayed it wasn't true, that Draco wasn't betraying her. She cautiously pushed the door open, her movements silent as she observed the heart-wrenching scene before her. Draco, lost in passion, buried his face in Astoria Greengrass's neck, his vigorous thrusts filling the room.

Their eyes met, Y/N's and Astoria's, in a moment of cruel recognition. Astoria's smirk seemed to taunt Y/N, as if declaring, 'He's mine now, you filthy Mudblood.' With a heavy heart, Y/N gently closed the door, tears streaming down her face. She turned and fled down the hallway, down the stairs, without a care for her surroundings or the possibility of colliding with someone.

Tears flowed freely as Y/N reached the bottom of the stairs, her heart shattering into a million pieces. Her cries escaped in a heartbreaking crescendo, echoing through the manor's grandeur. In her distraught state, she collided with an unexpected presence, teetering dangerously on the brink of falling backward. However, strong arms enveloped her, steadying her in her moment of despair.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing, girl?" The voice, dripping with disdain, hissed through the tense air. Y/N's heart lurched at the sound, her gut telling her it was all too familiar. As her tear-blurred gaze lifted, she was met with the sight of a thoroughly baffled and irate Lucius Malfoy, his aristocratic features etched with a mix of anger and confusion. Her own expressive eyes, a mesmerizing shade of E/C, locked onto his cold, steely gray ones.

Blinking away the tears that blurred her vision, she stared at the formidable pureblood wizard who stood before her. Their eye contact held an unspoken tension, a connection fraught with history and complex emotions. It was in that moment that Y/N noticed something she hadn't expected in Lucius – concern. The realization was like a jolt, sending a shiver down her spine.

Concern?

It couldn't be right, could it? Why on earth would Lucius Malfoy, of all people, be concerned about her well-being? Y/N hesitated, her hand instinctively rising to wipe her eyes once more, as if questioning her own senses, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her. But the look in Lucius's eyes remained, a glimmer of unexpected humanity in the formidable man who had long been an enigma to her.

"Are you going to speak, or just stand there like a dumb-witted Mudblood?" Lucius's words, laced with venom, cut through the heavy silence. Y/N turned away from him, hurt etched in her eyes, his cruel words piercing her heart. In that moment, the gap between them seemed insurmountable.

Lucius, however, couldn't ignore the pain he had inadvertently caused, and for a fleeting second, remorse tugged at his conscience. Yet, his pride prevailed, and instead of apologizing, he pressed further, his tone demanding answers. "What's wrong with you, girl?"

Y/N pulled herself away from him, a mixture of emotions welling up inside her. She hesitated for a moment, then her voice trembled as she questioned him, "W-Why do y-you care?"

The unexpected vulnerability in her voice caught Lucius off guard, and a flicker of something uncharacteristic passed through his stormy gray eyes. He blocked her path as she attempted to move past him, their proximity intensifying the tension between them. "Just because we got off to the wrong foot when we first met doesn't mean I'm the same person I was before," he hissed, a rare hint of vulnerability seeping into his words. "Now tell me what's wrong, or I'll use Legilimency on you."

Her defenses crumbling, Y/N couldn't hold back the flood of emotion any longer. The words tumbled out of her, her voice wavering as she confessed, "Your son cheated on me with Astoria, that's what happened." She glanced away, bracing herself for the judgment she anticipated. "You're probably happy that he's not with a filthy Mudblood like me anymore. I'll just—"

"He did what?!" Lucius's voice reverberated through the manor, his anger palpable as it resounded against the walls. Y/N glanced at him, a puzzled expression on her face. She couldn't comprehend why he would be so furious that his son, Draco, had cheated on her—a Mudblood—with a pureblood. Lucius Malfoy had never harbored any warmth toward Y/N, so this sudden outburst was baffling. She had always assumed that Draco's parents would be delighted if something like this were to happen.

Lucius's voice, filled with indignation, interrupted her thoughts once more. "How dare that boy break someone's heart instead of just telling you that he wants to end the relationship. I raised him to treat women with respect. Even if the girl is a filthy Mudblood!"

Y/N frowned, her gaze drifting downward to her feet, unable to meet Lucius's eyes. His words were laden with a complex mixture of anger, disappointment, and something she couldn't quite fathom.

"Why would you care anyway? You should be happy that he cheated on me. Now he can go marry a pureblood who's more beautiful than me," she muttered bitterly, her self-esteem shattered.

In an unexpected turn of events, the cold metal of the snake handle of Lucius's cane lifted her chin. She blinked in surprise as he swiftly pulled his cane away and grasped her chin roughly with his hand, forcing her to hold eye contact with him.

"Don't ever say those words again. Am. I. Understand, Y/N?" Lucius's voice, though stern, held a strange mixture of concern. She nodded in response, but it seemed that wasn't sufficient for him. He demanded more. "I expect you to answer when I ask you something!"

"Y-Yes, Sir!" she squeaked, her gaze locked onto his features. She couldn't help but notice the commanding presence he exuded, the sharp lines of his jaw, the strength evident in his angular face. His long, platinum blonde hair cascaded gracefully past his shoulders, framing his striking countenance. The blueish-gray eyes that held an air of authority seemed to peer directly into her soul. Y/N's cheeks flushed inexplicably as she found herself momentarily entranced by his striking appearance. ‘He's handsome’, she thought, a realization that seemed to take her by surprise.

Y/N's unspoken admiration for Lucius had been a well-guarded secret, a silent confession her heart made each time she crossed the threshold of the Malfoy Manor. Her heart would do a subtle dance of anticipation whenever she knew she'd encounter him, and a flush would steal across her cheeks, like a clandestine tribute to his striking presence. It was an irrational reaction, one she couldn't quite understand, given that Lucius had never hidden his disdain for her—well, at least, he hadn't before.

Lucius's trademark smirk played on his lips, but there was a curious shift in his demeanor. Gone was the initial cockiness, replaced by genuine amusement as he surveyed Y/N's puzzled expression. Her blush intensified, a shade that rivaled the crimson and gold of the Gryffindor house colors.

"You really think I'm handsome?" he probed, his tone now laced with curiosity. He leaned in closer, the proximity between them causing a subtle flutter in Y/N's heart. Lucius's eyes sparkled with a newfound charm as he awaited her response.

"I—what? I didn't—" she stammered, but her words were abruptly silenced.

"Legilimens, my darling girl," Lucius smoothly interrupted. His smirk remained, but it was tinged with a magnetic confidence that left her feeling exposed. He leaned even closer, his lips brushing against her ear, and he whispered softly, his voice a provocative caress, "Ah, yes. It appears you've conveniently forgotten that I possess the ability to delve into your mind. You see, I heard every thought you've had about me. Like your secret desire for me to pin you down on my bed, to make you forget how to walk."

Y/N's eyes widened, her cheeks aflame with embarrassment. Her heart raced, and she felt a shiver of vulnerability wash over her. Lucius's audacious revelation had unraveled a new layer of intrigue and desire, transforming their dynamic into something far more intricate and captivating.

She gasped, disbelief coursing through her. Could he truly have been privy to her every innermost thought? It felt surreal, like a dream she was unable to awaken from. In an attempt to regain her composure, she instinctively retreated a step, allowing her gaze to lock with his. His eyes held the same intense emotion she had noticed earlier – a smoldering, undeniable lust that sent a tingle down her spine. He leaned closer, his body almost brushing against hers, and she could feel the heat radiating from him.

"That's the very reason I've maintained my distance from you all these months," he admitted, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability beneath its low, seductive tone. "After my ex-wife and I discovered the truth about you and my son's relationship, I tried to keep my demeanor cold. Yet every night, unable to control my desires, I found myself lost in fantasies of you," he confessed, his words a hushed, intimate secret shared between them.

A blush painted her cheeks once more as his voice whispered sensually into her ear, sending shivers coursing down her spine. His hands found their way to her sides, exerting a gentle, yet possessive squeeze. She couldn't help but shudder at his touch.

"My son is a fool for betraying such a beautiful, enchanting nymph like you," he purred, his lips grazing the tender skin just below her earlobe. His kisses left a fiery trail down her neck, only to ascend slowly back towards her lips. When their mouths met, it was as though a swarm of butterflies took flight in her stomach, fluttering wildly. She didn't respond immediately, her brain struggling to catch up with the whirlwind of sensations. Gradually, she inhaled his intoxicating scent, responding to his kisses with a growing hunger of her own.

Y/N's moans of desire seemed to echo within the cavernous expanse of Lucius's opulent mansion. Every step she took away from the memory of Draco's betrayal and closer to Lucius felt like a transgressive leap into the unknown. The kiss, fueled by a volatile mix of guilt and longing, deepened with each passing second. It was a magnetic force pulling them closer together, their lips becoming the epicenter of their shared need.

Her fingers wove themselves deeper into Lucius's long, platinum blonde hair, the strands silky and cool to the touch. He couldn't help but groan in response, the sound a testament to the intensity of their connection. His powerful hands, previously residing at her sides, ventured boldly downward, reaching her shapely derrière. With a delicate yet firm touch, he squeezed, sending exhilarating waves of sensation through her body.

With a sudden surge of passion, Lucius lifted Y/N off her feet, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to maintain their electrifying kiss. The sensation of being carried by him, the firmness of his grip, and the heat of his body against hers were intoxicating. They ascended the grand staircase, their rhythmic ascent echoing through the mansion's ornate halls.

As they turned down the dimly lit hallway, the portraits of stern-faced ancestors bore witness to their clandestine rendezvous. The anticipation was palpable, each step a deliberate stride toward the unknown. The soft glow of moonlight spilled through heavy, brocade curtains, casting intricate patterns on the Persian rugs that lined the floor.

With an audacious display of strength and desire, Lucius kicked open the door to his lavishly appointed bedroom. The door swung wide with a creak, revealing a chamber bathed in shadows. The grandeur of the room was nothing short of breathtaking, with its sumptuous canopy bed, antique furnishings, and gilded accents. The room exuded an air of timeless elegance, a stark contrast to the illicit passion that had led them there. Yet, with another commanding kick, he shut the door behind them, sealing their secret within the confines of the room's opulent embrace.

In the opulent chamber, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtered through heavy curtains, he guided her towards his bed with a gentleness that belied the intense desire simmering between them. The sumptuous sheets, adorned with intricate patterns, awaited their embrace, a testament to the luxury that surrounded them. With a feather-light touch, he laid her down, the mattress conforming to the curves of her body like a lover's caress.

Desire surged between them, an irresistible force pulling them closer together. She eagerly wound her legs around him, her longing palpable. A deep, resonant chuckle rumbled from his chest, a seductive reverberation that filled the room. It was a sound that resonated with promise, the promise of what was to come.

His lips embarked on a slow descent down the delicate curve of her neck, leaving a trail of searing kisses in their wake. His teeth grazed her skin, eliciting sharp gasps and urgent moans from her trembling lips. Y/N's moans danced in harmony with the hushed symphony of their passion, their clandestine desires woven into every sound.

With a masterful touch, his hands began their sensual exploration, fingers tracing the contours of her body. He reached for the fabric of her shirt, the anticipation of their impending intimacy electrifying the air. But as he made to unveil her, he paused, gazing into her eyes with a mixture of tenderness and raw desire. His voice, a sultry whisper, hung in the air like an unspoken invitation, "Do you want to continue this?"

Her heart swelled with a heady blend of love and desire at his considerate question. It wasn't just about the act itself; it was about the connection they shared, the intimacy that extended beyond the physical. Her eyes met his, and she nodded in fervent agreement, but his gaze turned insistent, demanding more than a mere gesture.

She acquiesced, her voice a soft, breathless confession. "Yes, I want to continue."

With the patience of a man intoxicated by her presence, he lifted her shirt, revealing her in all her vulnerability and desire. Each moment was a deliberate act of unveiling, an exploration of the secrets they had kept hidden for too long. Her whimpers of longing grew more pronounced, a sweet symphony of passion that ignited the room.

Their discarded shirts lay scattered, forgotten remnants of the world they had left behind. Their lips collided once more, a fervent clash of desires. His hands, strong and gentle, cradled her face, deepening the kiss into a consuming blaze of longing. In this stolen moment, their connection transcended the physical, binding them together in a fiery embrace that defied the boundaries of reason and restraint.

In the cocoon of their desires, time seemed to slow, allowing them to savor every tantalizing moment. The room, adorned with rich, heavy curtains that filtered the moon's soft glow, bathed them in an otherworldly ambiance. They paused briefly to remove the remaining garments that clung to their heated bodies, leaving a trail of discarded clothing scattered haphazardly across the floor.

With a profound longing etched upon their faces, they surrendered to the pull of their desires. He took the initiative, his lips blazing a path of fiery kisses down her form. Every inch of her skin he touched seemed to ignite with desire, his teeth delicately grazing, and his mouth fervently claiming her.

One of his hands, large and commanding, found its place on her breast, the fingers expertly working her sensitive flesh. The other sought solace on her hip, the grip possessive yet tender. Y/N's response was immediate, her back arching sensually as she pressed herself closer to him. The room bore witness to her unrestrained passion, shadows playing tricks on their entangled figures.

The dimly lit room provided an intimate backdrop to their stolen moment, amplifying the intensity of their connection. She gasped, unable to stifle the whirlwind of sensations coursing through her body. Her longing and need reached a fevered pitch as his lips moved relentlessly over her skin.

This sensation was unlike anything she had ever encountered, not even with Draco. It was a heady concoction of raw desire and an emotional connection that left her feeling utterly exposed and vulnerable, yet simultaneously empowered and alive.

His lips reluctantly abandoned her chest, tracing a searing path downward, inching closer to the epicenter of her desire. Her hips reacted instinctively, a silent plea for more, a plea for him to satiate the burgeoning hunger that consumed her. In response, he chuckled darkly, a knowing grin playing upon his lips.

"So, so greedy for me, aren't you?" he purred, his voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down her spine. "I've barely even started, my little nymph, and you're already squirming."

Her moans grew in volume, punctuating the charged atmosphere. Her hips continued their rhythmic dance, a wordless invitation for him to delve deeper into her desires. Just as hope began to wane, he boldly ventured between her legs. His thumb found her eager clit, tracing slow, electrifying circles that sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. She couldn't help but gasp loudly, her moans intensifying as her body surrendered to his skillful touch.

“L-Lucius!” Y/N's fervent whimper hung in the air, a plea for more that only fueled Lucius's desire to push her further into the depths of pleasure. He reveled in the sound, a wicked grin playing upon his lips as he continued to work his magic. His fingers, slick with her arousal, glided effortlessly inside her, seeking out her g-spot with uncanny precision. The sensation of his touch sent electric jolts of pleasure coursing through her, her moans becoming a chorus of surrender.

The room seemed to close in around them, the ambiance heavy with the heady scent of their desire. Shadows danced seductively across the walls, an intimate audience to their clandestine tryst. Every subtle movement, every trembling breath, was magnified in the dim light, intensifying the eroticism of the moment.

Lucius's voice, a velvet caress of dominance, lured her deeper into submission. "That's right, my little slut," he whispered huskily, his words both an affirmation and a command. "Feel how good I'm making you. Did he ever make you feel like this? Did he know all the right spots to please you?"

She struggled to form coherent words, the pleasure he evoked rendering her speechless. Her response was a breathless admission of truth, punctuated by her moans of ecstasy. "N-No... aahh-"

Lucius's eyes bore into her with an intensity that left her feeling exposed and vulnerable, yet utterly consumed by desire. His fingers continued their relentless assault on her g-spot, her body quivering in response. Her pussy clenched around him, a physical manifestation of her escalating pleasure, and he couldn't help but grunt with satisfaction.

"My little slut," he growled, his voice dripping with unrestrained lust, "you've never felt this kind of pleasure before, have you? Well, let's make sure you're fully satisfied, my dear."

With each word, he propelled her further into the abyss of desire, his fingers dancing with a masterful touch that promised to fulfill her every longing. In the dimly lit room, their forbidden encounter continued, a symphony of passion and submission that echoed through the night.

Lucius's descent towards her quivering core was an agonizingly slow and tantalizing journey. His head moved lower, inch by tantalizing inch, until his mouth hovered just above her dripping wet pussy. The room, bathed in the soft, dim light of concealed passion, seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of the forbidden act about to unfold.

Y/N's body was a live wire, tingling with desire as his warm breath caressed her sensitive flesh. Her back arched in a primal response, a silent plea for him to continue, to grant her the pleasure she craved. The air was thick with tension, the electrifying atmosphere heightened by the palpable anticipation of what was to come.

With a deliberate, torturous slowness, his tongue made its first sensuous contact with her throbbing clit. Y/N's response was immediate and intense; she arched her back, a breathless gasp escaping her lips. Waves of desire surged through her, her hips rising to meet his mouth in a fervent demand for more. His tongue traced lazy circles around her clit, each pass a teasing caress that left her trembling with need.

Her hips moved in rhythmic desperation, bucking into his mouth as she sought to intensify the pleasure. Lucius, the master of seduction, had her in a hypnotic trance, his tongue shifting tactics to move from side to side, skillfully exploring every sensitive inch of her. He returned to her clit, sucking with a purposeful hunger that sent shivers coursing through her body. Her moans grew in intensity, a symphony of ecstasy that filled the room.

As if orchestrating a symphony of pleasure, his fingers joined the sensual dance, slick with her arousal. They thrust in and out with a relentless rhythm, each penetration hitting her g-spot with pinpoint accuracy. Y/N's body was a trembling instrument of desire, her moans and whimpers filling the room like a seductive melody.

A familiar sensation began to coil within her abdomen, growing in intensity with each tantalizing moment. Her pussy clenched around his fingers as the waves of pleasure overtook her. With a gasp that shattered the air, she climaxed, her body trembling in the throes of ecstasy.

Lucius's voice, thick with desire and dominance, broke through her post-orgasmic haze. "Good girl, my good girl," he murmured, his words both a praise and a command. Her cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction. He withdrew his hand from her quivering pussy, his fingers glistening with her essence. With forceful insistence, he grasped her jaw, parting her lips and presenting his cum-covered fingers to her mouth. "Taste yourself, whore!" he demanded, his voice a potent blend of authority and lust, igniting a primal hunger within her.

The room, cloaked in shadows, seemed to hold its breath as Y/N's lips encircled Lucius's fingers, moving with an almost hypnotic rhythm as she licked and sucked them clean. Her tongue, eager and tantalizing, left no trace of her essence behind, and Lucius watched her with a predatory hunger that mirrored her own desire. With an excruciating slowness, he withdrew his fingers from her mouth, his grip shifting to encircle her delicate throat, a possessive hold that sent a jolt of excitement through her.

A deep, throaty chuckle resonated from Lucius, a dark sound that underscored his mastery over her. It was a symphony of submission, her whimper in response to his control weaving through the charged air. His other hand, which had been on her jaw, descended with purposeful intent to his throbbing cock. With tantalizing deliberation, he began to stroke himself, each languid movement of his hand a seductive overture to the impending climax of their desires.

Y/N grappled with a myriad of emotions. She knew she should be overwhelmed with guilt, entangled in an illicit affair with her ex-boyfriend's father. Yet, beneath the layers of her moral reservations, a burning desire and a thirst for revenge surged within her. She yearned to make her ex-boyfriend pay for his betrayal, to mend her shattered heart by indulging in the very act that had caused her so much pain.

Her internal turmoil was momentarily eclipsed as she felt the firm tip of his cock teasing her wet, throbbing pussy. The exquisite friction sent a shiver of anticipation coursing through her, and her moans and whimpers filled the room like a seductive aria. Her body was a symphony of need, the sultry dance of his cock against her clit driving her to the brink of ecstasy.

Lucius's voice, dripping with dominance and desire, anchored her in the present moment. "My little mudblood," he taunted, his words laden with a derogatory term that should have stung. Instead, the sultry timbre of his voice rendered her helpless, a willing captive to his seduction. "Is this what you've desired all this time? For a real man to fuck you, to slide his cock deep inside you and make you feel good?"

Despite the term, her moans and whimpers betrayed her true desires, her voice trembling with need. "Y-Yes, Daddy," she whimpered, her plea echoing through the room, a fervent entreaty for the fulfillment of her deepest, most forbidden fantasies. “ Please, fuck me!”

"Daddy? Hmm?" Lucius questioned, his voice dripping with irresistible seduction that hung in the air like a sultry promise. A low, dark chuckle followed, resonating with a wicked allure as his eyes sparkled with mischief and a hint of malevolence. It was a look that promised a thrilling journey into forbidden desires, an intoxicating blend of pleasure and danger.

The room, cloaked in shadows and secrecy, bore witness to their clandestine rendezvous—a sensual dance of dominance and submission that unfolded in hushed gasps and fervent touches. Lucius reveled in her surrender, delighting in the way the derogatory term slipped off his tongue, and, to his surprise, she seemed to share in that twisted pleasure. "My little mudblood is filthy, isn't she?" he continued, his words dripping with desire and a touch of cruelty. In their intimate connection, the term had evolved into an oddly cherished secret, symbolizing her eager willingness to plunge into the irresistible depths of their forbidden passions. "I like that."

With deliberate intent, Lucius poised himself at the edge of her ecstasy, the air thick with anticipation. He surged into her abruptly, a powerful thrust that drew an electrified whimper from Y/N. Her body responded instinctively, arching in response to the sudden intrusion, a wordless plea for more. Lucius groaned in satisfaction, luxuriating in the exquisite sensation of her tight, wet heat enveloping him.

"Daddy!" Y/N's moan, fervent and desperate, reverberated through the room, echoing the intensity of her longing and submission.

Lucius wasted no time in unleashing the primal depths of his desire, setting a relentless pace that sent tremors through the bed beneath them. Pleasure and pain intertwined as Y/N's body stretched to accommodate him, her moans and gasps forming a seductive symphony that filled the room. Each powerful thrust propelled her closer to the precipice of ecstasy, the headboard bearing witness to the fervor of their illicit union.

"F-Fuck," Lucius hissed, his voice a symphony of unquenchable desire as he intensified his rhythm. His hips surged against her with unrestrained lust, each collision sending waves of pleasure coursing through her. The room resounded with their shared passion, an intoxicating rhythm that reverberated through the air and ignited an inferno of sensations. “You’re so tight and wet, aaah- I’m going to have so much fun destroying this tight little hole of yours.”

The hand that encircled her throat tightened incrementally, a gesture of dominance that sent a thrill of arousal coursing through Y/N. Her fingers tangled in Lucius's long, platinum blonde hair, tugging gently as she sought to draw him closer. His primal groans and moans in response only served to deepen her desire, each intoxicating sound forging an unbreakable connection between them in the hidden world they had created.

Their moans, like an intricate duet, melded into an intoxicating symphony of desire, echoing through the dimly lit room. With each primal thrust, he plunged deeper and faster into her, igniting a passionate crescendo that left them both gasping for breath. Her heart raced in response to the electrifying pleasure coursing through her veins.

"Lucius—Lucius! Aaaahhh—fuck! Daddy!" Her words, a fervent chant of need and submission, spilled from her lips in breathless abandon. Her hips responded in kind, moving in a seductive rhythm that matched his powerful thrusts, a dance of desire that transcended the bounds of their forbidden liaison.

"So damn good! Aahh—yes! Oh fuck, my little mudblood knows how to please me," he growled with unapologetic desire, his voice a seductive purr that sent shivers cascading down her spine. His hips quickened their relentless pace, pounding into her with an unyielding urgency that caused the bed to groan and creak beneath them, a testament to the fierce intensity of their union. “Tell me how good I’m making you feel, slut!

Her moans swelled, a wild symphony of ecstasy and surrender that reverberated through the room like a siren's call. She clawed at the sheets beneath her, her fingers desperately seeking purchase in the soft fabric as waves of pleasure crashed over her. It was an exquisite torment, a tantalizing whirlwind of sensations that threatened to consume her entirely.

"Daddy, you—ahh—feel so good," she gasped, her voice trembling with a potent mix of longing and desperation. Her nails traced feverish patterns over his heated skin, leaving trails of tingling sensation in their wake. Her silent entreaty was clear: she yearned for him to take her harder, to claim her completely in the tempest of their shared passion. “You make me feel so good! You’re fucking me so much better than him.”

Amid the dimly lit room, their passionate entwining continued, each feverish moment adding a new layer to their shared desire. Lucius, a commanding figure, maintained his relentless thrusts, his dominance evident in every movement. Her fervent responses wove a tapestry of longing and ecstasy, their chemistry igniting the air around them.

"I know, my little nymph," he purred, his voice an intoxicating blend of pleasure and command. His grip on her tightened possessively, fingers leaving tantalizing imprints on her heated skin. "Cum for me, slut. Show me how good I make you feel." His words hung in the air like a seductive spell, sending electrifying shivers throughout her body.

With each powerful thrust, the tip of his cock skillfully teased her cervix, intensifying the delicious ache in the pit of her stomach. Their bodies moved in perfect unison, a dance that seemed to transcend the boundaries of time and reason, an intricate symphony of passion that left them breathless.

Lucius, releasing his hold on her throat, replaced it with his mouth, his lips and teeth marking her skin as he continued to slam into her with primal urgency. Love bites and passionate kisses adorned her flesh, evidence of their unrestrained fervor. They moved together, bodies melding into one, a force of nature that defied control. In a rapturous climax, they reached the pinnacle of their desire, their voices rising in unison, filling the room with their unrestrained passion.

As Lucius withdrew from her, a plaintive whimper escaped her lips, a testament to the aching desire that still clung to her. His triumphant smirk hinted at the pleasure he derived from her desperate longing. As he made his way to the bathroom to cleanse himself, her eyes remained fixed on the vacant space he had occupied, her body still tingling with the fading echoes of their intense union.

Upon his return, a damp cloth in hand, he approached her with eyes that held both tenderness and desire. Every stroke of the cloth was a gentle caress, an unspoken declaration of their strange intimacy. The discarded rag landed carelessly beside them, a forgotten relic of their fervent encounter.

"Go to sleep, my little nymph," he whispered, his arms enveloping her in a protective embrace. "I'll be here when you wake." His words were a soothing promise, lulling her into a cocoon of security and contentment that belied the complexity of their relationship.

She nestled against him, her heart aflutter with emotions that defied easy categorization. Despite the impending repercussions of their actions, she couldn't deny the profound satisfaction she felt. As her eyes fluttered closed, the only thought that remained was that revenge, in its twisted and tumultuous way, could be intoxicatingly sweet.

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historiaxvanserra · 3 months

Text

Every Exquisite Thing | A Regency AU

Summary: The first of the season brings with it so many things; new friends, new enemies, a masquerade ball, and a rakish young gentleman with eyes like burnished gold.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader (Regency AU)

Word Count: 3.1k

This is the first part of a series that had been consuming my thoughs day and night for about two weeks. We don't meet Eris yet but we get glimpses and I like what I see 👀 I just wanted to give a feel for the regency vibe and see if we're feeling it or not! Next chapter well get Eris in all his regency glory and I promise you, he's worth the wait.

The townhouse that your family occupies on the main street of the Ton is unusually quiet this morning, you think. The first of the season typically brings with it an air of frivolity; the ladies in their Spring colors, gentlemen riding horse-drawn carriages through the cobblestone streets and the hum of the city beyond. A myriad of color -- lilacs and honeysuckle, dappled with the greenery that climbs along the facades of the townhouses -- a colorful oasis from the bleak gray and green of a Winter spent in the country.

However, today, the main square, where Pryhtian’s most ancient and noble families convalesce during the fairer months, is blanketed in an oppressive palette of indigo and gray as the last of the Winter’s storms ravages the world beyond Crescent House.

The sound of the howling wind as it rages like a great tempest through the streets rouses you from your perch on the chaise near the dying hearth.

The street below the parlor is veiled in the shadowed hues of the storm and not a soul in town has dared brave the wrath of the elements since the dourpour began. Hail patters dismally against the window panes of your families townhouse and an ice-kissed wind crawls its way along the exposed planes of your shoulders and collarbones and in the distance you hear the distinctive draw of a carriage along the main square, near Forest House. As you near the window you observe the hail as it falls like pearls from the darkening sky onto wet, cobbled streets.

From the oppressive darkness a carriage emerges; a considerable vehicle of polished wood, lacquered with dark emerald paint, the trim and doors are framed with delicate golden embellishments and the doors and rear bear a family crest, obscured by the gloom of the afternoon. The cart itself is drawn by four bay stallions with long, dark manes, sodden with the downpour. From the cabin steps a shadowy figure of a man, once obscured by the oppressive darkness, now illuminated by the lamplight; he’s all dressed in black, save for the white collar of a linen shirt and his long hair, curls away from his face in tousled, auburn waves. He burns most ardent against the bleak afternoon, even in the din of the oil lamps, he looks like something out of one of Feyre’s paintings. Or perhaps the formidable and brooding romantic lead of the romance novels Nesta so adores. Either way he cuts an intimidating figure in the dark streets of the main square. Tall and broad-shouldered, and rather rakish as he stalks up the steps of the townhouse opposite yours.

From your perch overlooking the street you see him turn outward; admiring the graceful planes of his face, the aquiline nose and high-cheekbones falling to the slender cut of his waist and hips and the broad spread of his shoulders and sculpted arms.

It occurs to you then that you have been all too obvious in your voyeurism.

You are watching him.

And he is watching you in return.

The very thought elicits something in you; something dark and sentimental and terribly anxious. It is a cruel, coiling thing, in the pit of your stomach. Some ill-fated omen. A harbinger of your own downfall. The ghost at the feast, or a raven in the night that spells your undoing. Whatever it is, there is a deep sense of foreboding in you at the prospect of what this dark figure might herald in with him.

The tolling of the city bells brings with it a flurry of movement on the street and your eyes meet his strange amber gaze across the way and he scowls. A deep furrow of a brow; the firm set of his jaw, the flex of a pale hand, before retreating into the house.

“Come away from the window girl,” Your mother chastises in her usual cutting tone as she eyes you from her place in front of the hearth. Her gloved hand inspects the fine silk fabric of the dresses the modiste had sent to her. She holds the fabric between those fine-boned fingers and drapes each swatch over the pale skin of her slender arm with a rehearsed ease as she takes the time to scrutinize every hand-sewn seam and embroidered adornment.

“Yes mama.” You say absentmindedly, casting one last longing glance towards the dark facade of the townhouse across the street, where the orange flicker of candlelight illuminates the window..

Your mother is an austere woman with a cutting sort of beauty rather unlike your own. Her eyes are cold and grey and her features, angular; feline in a way that is almost unnerving to look at. Though even in her age, she bares fine, high cheekbones, unblemished skin, and her long golden hair falls over the delicate slope of her shoulder in coiffed ringlets. She had been quite a remarkable beauty in her youth, it had been said. Now all that remains of her lost youth is an oil painting hung above the hearth-- the paint, yellowed and cracked with age-- and the legacy of her ancient and most-noble lineage.

Her piercing gaze falls onto you again as you take a turn about the room, perching on the cushioned bench in front of the pianoforte. You run a hand over the untuned keys and in your wake dust mites filter through the stagnant air.

That piano had once been the beating heart of this room; a symphony of high arching notes that rang through the halls of this house.

It has not been touched since Nesta left.

“You look drawn, my dear,” She says simply, her eyes cruel and unyielding as she looks over you and the fine silk draped over her arm, “green does so very little for your complexion.”

She considers you for a moment longer before turning to the modiste with a quirked brow. The seamstress at least, has the good grace to look apologetically between you and your youngest sister before nodding in agreement to your mother. She murmurs that a deeper shade of green would suit you better, though your mother ignores her entirely.

“Perhaps an emerald tone would suit better” she muses to no one in particular.

“It would make you look more…tempting” The modiste decides with a sly smile to you when your mother looses a shrill gasp. Your mother hums her disapproval once more from her spot in the armchair before turning her attention towards Feyre on the modiste’s podium as the slender woman takes her measurements for the last alterations to her gown.

“You look beautiful Fey,” You say lightly, pulling at your own faded sage gown as you regard your youngest sister, “the silver looks exquisite on you.” Feyre smiles brightly at you from her place on the podium and pulls a few strands of her long, golden hair to frame her face. She looks as though she is wreathed in starlight in the silver gown; the high bust lays perfectly over her chest and the cuffed sleeves are trimmed with silver thread and sheer lace and accentuate the slope of her strong shoulders, the skirts fall in a swathe of silk and chiffon and the pearls and opal sewn into the skirts catch like moonglow in the blue light. She smooths the skirts with a flair of her gloved hand and admires the matching slippers that peek out from the long hem.

“Hmm,” Your mother murmurs lowly, bringing a slender hand to her painted mouth as she assesses the garment carefully, “Yes - the silver favors you, my darling.” Your mother purses her lips once more and nods decisively at the modiste who offers a courteous bow in response.

“I have hopes that the Lady of Autumn might name you her ‘incomparable’, afterall.” Your mother’s voice is frightfully wistful as she casts a look up to her portrait hung above the dying fire. Beside it, on the mantle Nesta’s painted face stares back impassively at you and you feel anxiety twisting within you again. Feyre laughs. A small, disbelieving thing as she thanks the modiste and exits the parlor in favor of her sketchbook.

“She did so love Nesta when she was first presented,” You mother recalls, her eyes glassy as she sips at her cold tea with a grimace, “and your sister does so remind me of her.”

You smile fondly at the thought of your eldest sister; painfully absent for the last few years but missed dearly. Nesta had always bore the brunt of your mother’s cruelty -- until she could bare it no more -- and then you took her place.

“Yes mama, she will do very well at court.” You say genuinely, though your mother can’t bring herself to acknowledge you. You bite down the bitter taste of jealousy when her eyes linger on the portrait of Nesta hung along the mantel. The way her brows dip in a moment of fleeting grief for her favorite daughter.

When she looks at you again you get the sense that looking at you now -- in the pallid light of the storm -- is like looking in a mirror.

It is a mother’s curse you think.

A daughter’s burden.

Breathing deeply as the modiste pins the hem of the dress you find yourself thinking of the happy recollections of your childhood; you think perhaps your mother is reminiscing on those times too.

She had been the only daughter of an Earl somewhere on the continent once. Beautiful and graceful. Green and foolhardy. Named the incomparable of her own social season; she had dreams of an idyllic life in the countryside, summers shaded in the laughter of her many sons, and measured in the unyielding smiles of a good husband.

Of course, as was the way of things, her girlhood ideations had been nought but that-- dreams. Dashed and divided like stardust in a vast twilight abyss.

A series of scandals and bad investments led her to Pryhtian as the sole heir to an old name. A lamb to the slaughter by her own mother, to be the docile wife of some dull Lord, almost two decades her senior

In time, she did the same to her own daughters.

Time is a cruel mistress; and the woman she is now is one tarnished by the years. Imposing and cynical; demanding in a way that it was impossible to please her. In your youth you recall her endless cruelty towards you all, though none more than Nesta.

Her prodigy.

Her pride and joy.

It was that ceaseless need for perfection that drove Nesta away in the end.

So with the wave of her hand she gestures to you to take to the podium.

An ill-fated replacement for the daughter she lost.

Her perpetual disappointment.

The modiste is a young woman, who hails from the continent with beautiful dark hair that fell in coiled ringlets over her shoulders, she speaks to you in a low, velvet tenor and has a thick accent that distinguishes her to the natives of this land. She is favored by many of the young ladies of the Ton for her exquisite garments; each made with richly adorned and embroidered fabrics imported from her homeland. You watch impassively as she records your measurements and swatches a few scraps of fabric against your skin. The woman quickly discards the silver that Feyre had worn and opts instead for gold and offers your mother a few other options for your dresses this season; sapphire and cerulean, emerald and ruby, topaz and onyx.

Then selects a beautiful emerald gown, trimmed with jade and adorned with matching beads and crystals that shine with the glittering darkness of some forgotten forest when the light of the storm outside refacts in their many surfaces. The modiste admires the garment as she holds it up to you; her keen eyes finding yours and smiling brightly and nodding deliberately.

“This is the one,” She says, her accent so thick with delight that it is difficult to fully understand the words, “perhaps the Lady of Autumn might name you her favorite in your sisters place” She offers it jovially, almost in jest but your mother’s face twists nonetheless.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Your mother laughs cruelly as she regards you in the beautiful garment. You think perhaps that in you she sees all the things she hates about herself. Your mother takes a moment to scrutinize you; her eyes reap over every curve and divot of the skirts as they fall against you, every minute details to find fault where she can.

It is a mothers’s curse, not to know a daughter’s pain.

You imagine it is also a mercy too when she looks at you like you are her own reflection.

Her perpetual disappointment.

After another silent moment she nods her head to the modiste and rises to her feet. The tea cup rattles and rings viscously through icy air as she sets it down and wanders towards the doors.

“Oh Feyre darling, you look exquisite!” Your mothers voice is shrill and dripping with pride that elicits a strange sort of jealousy and you swallow down its bitter taste. In the foyer your sister glides down the marble staircase dressed in all her finery.

Feyre has the type of beauty reminiscent of a falling star; all pale skin, that looks like porcelain, dappled with the iridescent stardust that falls from the sky around her birthday each year. Her dress is one of flowing indigo and complemented by intricate silver embroidery along the cuffs and bust, the long line of her neck is adorned with pearls and diamonds that refract in the light of the chandelier; dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky.

She smiles brightly and her laugh echoes like birdsong around the hall as your mother takes her hand. And almost like an afterthought, your mother regards you with thinly veiled horror at the garment that clings to you like a plate of armor.

A deep merlot gown, inlaid with rubies and pearls; that cast a bloody halo as you step into the light of the chandelier. The skirts bleed into a train made of gossamer thin spidersilk that has a metallic quality to it that makes you feel as though you are some ancient Goddess of love and war.

Aphrodite perhaps, as deadly as she is beautiful.

Your hands, though they tremble, bare many gold rings, each polished to the heavens so that she sees her face distorted in their many unblemished surfaces. There is a part of you that hopes craves your mothers love more than you long to insight her ire.

But that part of you died the day Nesta went away.

“How do you suppose you’re going to tempt a man into marrying you dressed like that,” She chastices, pulling at the skirts of your wine red dress, “you look like a common whore.”

“At least a whore is paid to abide the insipid company of boring men.” you counter under your breath as your mother strides out into the street. You catch Feyre’s eye and she smiles at you like a feral cat.

The rest of the carriage ride is spent in solemn silence as the facade of The town hall draws ever closer. You mother’s idle gossip about one Lord of the other hardly seems the rouse you from though as you watch the world beyond this cart pass you by.

The storm had broken sometime around midday and the tempest gave way to sunlight; soft ochre and gold as it filtered through the open windows of your father’s library, where you had spent the afternoon. Nestled into the worn armchair favored by your father and a quiet comfort when he is away. There, in the confines of your father’s study, you allow yourself to dream; of debauched gentlemen and tortured artists. Stories painted with the vivid imaginings of Gothic heroines and vast and sweeping landscapes. Of temptation and sacrifice.

It is a hobby inherited from your sister and one much discouraged by your mother.

But as afternoon bled into night you were called away from the pages of manuscripts written in some foreign tongue. For, the Lady of Autumn’s masquerade ball marks the true commencement of the social season each year. It is a night of mystery and secrets; of dark romance and all things fanciful.

It is the one night a year that you allow yourself to be swept up in the excitement of the season and tonight every eligible Lord and Lady will don their finery for a night of high-arching orchestral music and sweeping dances that herald in the social season.

It is tonight of all nights where the Lady of Autumn will name the incomparable of the season; a young woman both fair and accomplished that will inspire awe and ire in equal measure. For her troubles she might hope to tempt an eligible gentleman into marriage by summer’s end. And as your mother gives Feyre one more adoring look you know that she is hoping that your sister will insight that awe tonight.

The carriage draws to a tumultuous halt outside the doors of the grand town hall and you hear the distant laughter of courtiers. The chatter of the ladies distracts you momentarily and you catch their idle chatter; something about the new Duke and his wicked beauty. A beauty as cruel as he is, they say. Their chatter dies when they meet your eyes and they devolve into mean-spirited whispers about the poor Archeron girls and their absent sister.

“Quickly girls, we mustn't be late.” Your mother instructs and steps from the carriage turning expectantly as you disembark from the vehicle with all the grace you can manage. Your stomach twists in knots and the anxiety is so consuming that it addles your mind. So much so that any intelligent thought you might have had seems to abandon you.

The gardens of the town hallare saturated in the light of the last shadowed sunbeams as they are obliterated by the rapidly falling night; veins of indigo and amethyst that streak across the black. The air is heady and thick with the smell of wildflowers and wine and every now and again you catch the scent of half-burned oak and bergamot’s on the evening breeze.

The first of the season is in full swing and the courtiers look like a jewel toned fire in their finery; swathes of ruby and topaz, dappled with emerald and carnelian. You had felt the shift in the air when the sun had begun to set in the sky; that anticipation so palpable you could taste it. It tastes like wood and wildflowers, undercut with something darker.

You abandon yourself to the thought of it; what he might taste like.

Hedonism; earthy and dangerous as you swallow it back.

In an hour or two, when the stars materialize like a million quarts against the velvet abyss, the Ladies will retreat into the mazes, in twos or threes and their Lords, like hungry wolves will begin the hunt.

A hunt that will last the season

#acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris x you #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris acotar #eris vandaddy

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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 9 months

Text

it’s only three days late! here’s my entry for @thefreakandthehair's summer fanworks challenge!!

pairing: steddie | word count: 3,677 | rated: M | on AO3: it's a date

“These are the days where I miss when you worked at Scoops.” Eddie complains for the nth time that afternoon.

It’s hot, okay? Immensely so.

It’s so fuckin’ hot that it’s seeping into Family Video despite their normally pretty okay A/C.

He’s laid out across the front counter, one arm hanging loosely over it onto Steve’s side, and the other is holding his hair off his neck best it can.

Of all days to forget a hair tie.

Steve scoffs, “Yeah, you miss it, but that place was hell on my hair and therefore, on my game.”

“I still don’t understand that, who could resist Sailor Steve?”

“Apparently every person that came in could.” Steve pauses for a moment, “Except moms and grandmas. They all loved me.” he grumbles, leaning back on the far counter along the front window, arms crossed.

Eddie opens his mouth to respond with some sort of smart-alecy quip, but is interrupted by the chime of the bell above the door.

On instinct, Eddie peels his sticky skin from the green linoleum counter and slumps off into the aisles.

The government and Hawkins Police may have completely cleared him as a suspect for the spring break murders, but his presence in town is still not exactly welcome.

So, Steve goes into full-on ‘Prince Charming’ mode when the bombshell of a blonde approaches to ask about something, and Eddie meanders over to the horror section, trying his best to ignore the soupy jealousy in his gut for the girl at the counter, getting to be the center of Steve’s attention like that.

Eventually, she leaves, and from the way Steve’s eyes track the girl out the door and the droop of his shoulders once the door closes behind her, he struck out once again.

“I can’t believe I got to see the Harrington charm in action, live and in person!” Eddie says in imitation of a showman as he approaches the register, “And it failed! Where’s Robin’s board, huh?”

Eddie hefts himself half over the counter in front of him to hang over the other side of it, searching in vain for Robin’s famed ‘You Suck / You Rule’ board.

“Ha ha ha, Munson. You’re hilarious.” Steve pushes Eddie back to the floor with a hand to the face. “And I didn’t fail.”

He shows him a slip of paper with 10 whole digits written on it in a loopy hand, then promptly crumples it tight and tosses it into the nearby trash can.

Eddie somehow manages to keep his face from grinning at the action. ‘Just because he’s tossing her number doesn’t mean you have a chance, asshole.’ his brain tells him.

He puts on a confused face instead, to which Steve shrugs and says, “Not my type.”

Eddie lets out a low whistle. “Well that just sucks for her then. Never see how great a date with the esteemed King Steve would be.” Eddie says, clapping a hand to his chest in a half-swoon, straightening up again while Steve laughs, tacking on a: “Lord knows I’d want to.” in a low mumble. A guy can dream right?

“Would you now?” Steve says, still smiling.

Shit.

“‘Would I now?’ what?” Eddie manages to say before his mouth goes dry, tracking Steve’s movements as the other man steps forward to lean on his forearms next to Eddie at the counter.

His warm, toned forearm presses along Eddie’s, and he’s only half embarrassed that he doesn’t mind the added heat.

“You want to know how a date with me goes, huh Munson?”

Eddie gulps “Oh…y–yeah, sure; lay it on me Stevie, I’d love t’know.”

He had managed a facade of a cocky grin by the end of his response, but his throat dries right back up and clenches shut at what Steve says next.

“How about I just take you out tomorrow night and show you,”Steve says, then he’s leaning further into Eddie’s side, and whispering, “Maybe you’ll see how a date with me ends.” into Eddie’s ear.

Eddie slowly rears back to blink at the (beautiful) smiling man beside him.

Oh.

He’s fucking with him.

Of course.

Eddie rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a smirk. “Ha ha you’re really funny. You got all the jokes today huh?”

Steve just chuckles at him.

“I gotta run though,” Eddie says, pushing himself off the counter and heading to the door with a wave over his shoulder “Good luck with the babes, Steve-o!”

“Sure, Eds. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at six?”

He spins to face the counter again, “Oh yeah, sure you will, Big Boy. Sounds like a plan.” he agrees sarcastically, walking backwards out the front door.

Eddie goes through his normal routine the rest of that day and night; scrounge up some food, smoke a little, write out some of his campaign or song ideas, end up falling asleep around 9 am, waking up when Wayne leaves for his shift the next evening and deciding “Meh, might as well shower.’’.

So he does, and has just barely stepped out of the tub when the phone in the hall rings.

“Munson Residence, what’d’ya want?”

“Are you ready?”

“Hmm…ready for what, mysterious caller?” Eddie asks, shifting the phone to his other shoulder so he can continue scrunching the water out of his curls.

“For our date.” the caller (Steve, as he can now tell) says as if it’s obvious. “I’m about to head over so make sure you're ready.”

“Steve? Our date–wha?” he starts, but Steve’s already hung up.

“He can’t be serious..” Eddie looks at the clock. 5:30.

Oh shit.

There’s no time to panic about what to wear, Eddie just goes on instinct. He pulls on his one (1) pair of un-ripped jeans, the one (1) semi-nice button up he owns (both thankfully clean), and has only just managed to finish his eyeliner and put on his rings when he hears a knock from the living room.

Eddie scrabbles down the hall and nearly falls flat on his face when he trips on one of his discarded towels from earlier. He kicks it off his foot while trying to put his still damp hair up in a bun.

He exhales a shaky breath at the door, before finally opening it.

Steve stands there on his doorstep in plain, light wash jeans that look like they were painted on, Eddie’s (now, decidedly) favorite navy blue polo, unbuttoned all the way, and his gray Members Only jacket

“I didn’t think you were serious.” Eddie says, breathless.

“I know.” Steve grins, passing him a bouquet of roses, “You look great, Eddie.”

Eddie balks at the roses in his hand for a smidge too long, because Steve says, “So are you good? We’ve kinda got a timeline here...”, pointing to his watch.

Eddie feels his eyes widen even more (if that’s even possible), but quickly gets the roses shoved into the tallest glass of water he can, and follows Steve to his car, locking the door behind him.

Steve asks him about his day, and there’s nothing much to tell, but they continue to chat idly as Steve drives them through town.

“I thought you said we had reservations.” Eddie jokes as main street flies by outside the window and morphs into the darkening woods outside Hawkins.

“Never said reservations. Someone just assumed.” he says, looking over at Eddie with a smirk.

“Is that not what ‘We kinda have a timeline’ means?”

“Not always.” he smirks, then immediately follows it with: “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do, Steve.”

“Good, close your eyes.”

Eddie raises a brow at the other man.

“Please?” Steve chuckles, and Eddie obliges, covering his eyes with his hand for good measure.

He feels the car pull off the smooth asphalt of the main highway, and the motions of their new winding path jostle him softly back and forth.

“And here the lovely people of Hawkins thought I was the ritualistic murdering satanist. You taking me out to the woods to sacrifice me Stevie?”

Eddie can hear Steve’s jacket shift against the leather seat when he shrugs. “We gotta make sure the upside down stays shut somehow.”

“Ah, so I’m this year’s unfortunate virgin?”

Steve’s responding snort of laughter is the best thing Eddie’s ever heard. “Yeah, I seriously doubt you’re a virgin.”

“Hmmm…I dunno Steve, you really think I have people clamoring over each other for a shot at all this?” he gestures down himself with his free hand.

“You know what? I hope not; I’ve been in enough fights already, I don’t think I can take an elbow to the face.”

Okay, of all things Eddie thought might happen tonight, Steve admitting he’d legitimately fight for a chance with him (HIm! Eddie Munson!!) wasn’t on the list.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just grins down toward his lap, cheeks burning.

The car pulls to a stop then, and Steve says “Keep your eyes closed!” before he can even think about opening them.

Eddie’s seat sags a bit without Steve’s weight on the other end to balance him out. He hears him shuffle out and shut his door behind him, and doesn’t even get to ten whole seconds before his own door is opened.

“Give me your hands, but keep your eyes closed.” Steve says, grabbing both Eddie’s hands in his.

Steve helps him out of the car and leads them forward about 10 paces before pulling him down to sit beside him on something soft.

“Okay, you can open them.”

Eddie’s immediately blinded by the bright orange glow of the sun, just starting to set on the far side of the quarry before them.

“So no, not a restaurant...just didn’t want to miss this.” Steve says, a smile in his voice that pulls Eddie’s attention away from the blooming pinks and oranges of the sky.

Steve’s already smiling at him when he turns, then he gestures down at the blanket under them.

An honest-to-god picnic basket is set between their outstretched legs, a bottle of something leaned up against it. “So. We’ve got grapes, cheese, sandwiches, chips, pop, and even some wine.”

Holy shit. “What, no chocolate covered strawberries?”

Steve holds up a finger, flips open and digs into the bottom of the basket, retrieving a flat white box. He opens it with a “Ta da!”; a dozen chocolate covered strawberries.

“Damn Harrington, you really know how to make your dates feel special.” Eddie’s throat clenches around the words, as if he’s suddenly remembering this isn’t really for him.

“That’s the idea,” he winks

Eddie flushes red immediately, of course, stammering out a “So this is the King Steve Special, huh?”

Steve glances up at him while he unwraps some of the sandwiches. “Nope, this is the Just Steve Special.” He passes Eddie a bologna and mustard, his favorite (What the fuck??) “King Steve wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble. Would’ve just snuck in a window, made out in some random bathroom at a party.” he shrugs and picks up a ham sandwich for himself (Gross..), taking a bite. “Just Steve is trying all the things he probably should have been doing all along.”

“Well..I enjoy Just Steve’s choice of venue.”

“Even though it’s not a fancy restaurant?” There’s a glob of mayo on his lip (which Eddie thinks is‘Still gross, but also somehow super fuckin’ endearing.’)

“If you were at a fancy restaurant, you couldn’t touch the other person as easily.” Eddie proves his point by knocking a knee against the other man’s. “Also you’d have to wear stuffy fancy clothes.” Eddie shudders for emphasis.

“Says the guy who got dressed up in his nice shirt tonight.”

“Shut up… you’re not supposed to know this is my only nice shirt.”

“If that’s your only one, what are you going to wear on future dates?”

"Only need the one shirt." Eddie shrugs. “I wasn’t kidding earlier, Stevie. Breaking news! Local freak doesn’t go on dates regularly.”

“That just sucks for them then.” Steve places his hand over Eddie’s knee, “Never see how great a date with the Eddie Munson would be.”

Eddie’s face feels hot, but he can’t hold back the grin that climbs up his cheeks.

“Well then aren’t you a lucky guy then, huh Stevie?”

“Yeah Eds, I really am.” Steve is smiling back and holy shit, is he leaning closer?

‘Oh fuck, I am too…ShitShitShitHolySh–’

The klaxon alarms ringing in his head stall out immediately, when a firefly decides to light up the shrinking gap between their noses.

“Ah! Fuck!” Steve flails backwards, throwing himself away from the harmless little bug.

Eddie can’t help but laugh, “Oh come on, you can’t really be scared of a little lightning bug?” He cups his hands in front of the bug’s lazy flight path, catching it in one of his palms.

“Fireflies are weird as shit, man. And yes, I do mean even more so than the demo-whatevers.”

“C’mon Steve, just look at him!” He pushes his hand forward into Steve’s space and giggles a bit at his reaction, somehow unwilling to leave their picnic blanket, but wanting to get away from Eddie’s hand just as much has him practically laying all the way down on his back with his legs still crossed in front of him.

“I’m serious Ed, get that thing away from me!”

There's a hint of a laugh in his voice, so Eddie continues his teasing, sitting up on his knees to get closer. “OOOH what if I put it in your haiiirr..”

Steve’s laugh sounds hysterical, “No! Don’t you fuckin’ dare! Asshole!” he yells, batting at Eddie’s hand.

“Awe come on Stevie! What if he loves yo–and he’s gone.” the little guy flying away when Steve’s hand pulls at Eddie’s extended arm.

Eddie flops forwards onto Steve’s stomach with an “oof!” watching the little thing blink away from them.

“Oh thank god.”

He looks down and holy shit.

Steve’s smiling softly up at him, his hair all mussed from Eddie trying to grab at it and Steve keeping Eddie from grabbing it, but goddamn is he still beautiful.

Also: ‘Holy shit I’m laying right on top of him shitshitshitshit..’

Before he can do something stupid, like lean down and kiss the fuck out of Steve’s beautiful face, Eddie rolls onto his back and looks up at the sky instead, head pillowed on Steve’s arm.

They talk for hours like that. Lain out under the darkening sky. It’s the longest date Eddie’s ever been on.

By the time Steve says “I should probably get you home,” the other fireflies that had danced around them as the sun set have disappeared, the previously clear sky is rolling over with thin clouds, blocking the stars.

The strawberries are gone, the cheese is gone, half the sandwiches, and most of the pop. They hadn’t touched the wine.

Eddie sighs in disappointment. “Yeah, probably.”

They pack up the basket, tossing it and the blanket (wrapped around the unopened bottle of wine) into Steve’s trunk and head back to the trailer.

The ride back is a comfortable quiet.

Windows down to the cooling late summer air, Eddie’s hand dipping and diving on the air currents that fly by, radio playing whatever station Robin had left it on last time plays at a low volume..

Too soon, the wheels of Steve’s trusty beemer crunch over the gravel pad that is Eddie’s driveway.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you to the door.” Steve smiles, slipping out the driver side with a hand clasped on the roof.

Just to be a little shit, Eddie doesn’t move. Letting Steve get all the way around the hood of his car before realizing he’s still sitting there.

He stares at him in confusion, so Eddie clarifies. “Oh, I have to get the door myself this time?” he questions, opening the door to another loud laugh from Steve, “You might wanna remember to get the door for your next date, Stevie.”

“Sure Eds, I’ll remember.”

Eddie nods, walking past him and up the steps to the front door with Steve on his heels.

“So? What did you think? How was it?”

Eddie looks up to the ceiling of the porch while he pretends to think about it. “Hmmm…I’m kinda disappointed, actually.” he looks back at his friend, who’s already sporting a kicked-puppy look. “I thought you said I was going to find out how a date with you would end.”

Steve chuckles as Eddie heaves an over-exaggerated, put-upon sigh.

“I said you might, doofus.”

Eddie sighs again, “I didn’t even get a goodnight kiss..” and turns his back to Steve, pulling his keys out of his pocket..

He’s stopped from doing so, however, as Steve hooks a hand above his elbow and pulls Eddie back to him.

His other hand comes up to Eddie’s cheek and Steve leans forward, planting a soft kiss to Eddie’s lips.

Eddie blinks owlishly at him, sputtering as Steve pulls back, eyes blown wide.

So of course this is when he decides to panic. To run.

“So..” Eddie carefully pulls himself free of Streve’s grasp. “Thanks for taking me out tonight.” he manages to say, focusing on keeping his voice even while he turns away to unlock the door.

“Eddie–”

“Any girl would be lucky to go on a date with you.” Damn doorknob always gets jammed.

“Ed–”

“And I would know! I was just on that date, it was great!” Ugh, finally! The knob unlocks with a thick clunk.

“I don’t want anyone else!”

Everything around them freezes.

Eddie turns slowly to face Steve again. “...What?”

“I don’t want to take anyone else on any more dates! I don’t want the same awkward first date questions, I don’t want the kiss goodnight and that be it, I want something real with someone who knows me.

“I want you, Eddie.”

Warmth blooms in Eddie’s chest. Hope and affection that’s so damn close to that scary four-letter word already…he pulls Steve in for another kiss without even thinking about it.

Steve kisses him back, soft and slow, before Eddie pulls back enough to whisper “Would you care to see how a date with me usually ends, Stevie?”

Steve doesn’t need to know he’s talking straight outta his ass; Eddie hasn’t had a date that ended at his doorstep like this. No dates at all, in fact, but when Steve gives him a wide-eyed nod, he hauls him inside and down the hall.

Eddie all but throws Steve into his bedroom, slamming the door behind them.

He sidles forward to the perfect being in front of him and places both hands on his shoulders, spinning them both and pushing Steve backwards onto his bed.

“You wanna know what I’d want someone who took me out for a picnic at sunset to do to me?” he asks, already climbing into Steve’s lap.

“Yeah…yeah,” Steve’s voice is all breath, his hands coming up to rest under the hem of his shirt. “Tell me what you want.”

He leans in close to Steve’s ear, his heart clenching when Steve automatically wraps his arms tighter around him, “I want you to fuck me.”

Sex with Steeeeeve Harrington is something Eddie won’t soon forget.

The feeling of Steve’s hands on him, first his waist, his back, his chest…softly caressing his jaw. The feeling of Steve’s lips on his skin, his length sliding against his own, the feeling of fullness from Steve’s fingers, his cock.

The pace he took, one of a lover and not of just another hook-up. Listening to him, checking in with him.

Eddie silently hoped to whatever being out there that this wasn’t going to be something he’d have to subsist on by memory alone. That this was something he could have for a while to come.

Speaking of…

“Ah! Aw fuck—Steve, please..faster…”

“Fuck—yeah? You want it faster, baby?”

“Yes! Yes, just like that—oohhh fuck me.”

“You got it darling.” Eddie can hear the smirk in Steve’s voice even though he can’t see it; his head thrown back on his own pillow in pleasure. He can feel the muscles in Steve’s thighs move faster, harder, beneath his.

“I’m cu—oh fuck…Steve, I’m—”

“Yeah, yes, fuuuck me too, Eddie—shit—Eddie, Ed——

…die! Eddie!!”

“Wha–What?”

Eddie blinks.

They’re back at Family Video.

They’re back at Family fucking Video.

“You okay man? You were zoned out for a second.”

“Y-yeah,” Eddie clears his throat of the weird mix of sadness, arousal, anger, and embarrassment in his voice, “I’m good.”

“You sure? I showed you that girl’s number and you like, completely zoned out.” Steve waves the very much not crumbled and tossed little slip of paper around in his hand while he talks.

“Yeah, I’m good. She just looked familiar somehow, I couldn’t figure it out though.” Eddie lies.

He can’t quite make himself look his friend in the eye, so he only sees Steve’s shoulders sag slightly in relief out of the corner of his vision while he picks at a hangnail.

“I thought you got Vecna’d, dude. Was about to call a code red over the walkie.”

“Nah, I’m all good Stevie, promise. So where are you gonna take her? Maybe a picnic down at the quarry? Could be cool at sunset..”

“Dude, that's a great idea!” Eddie can hear the excited smile in Steve’s voice.

He risks a glance to the other man’s face and feels his insides screw up in shame. The heat that shoots through him at the sight of those kind eyes he just recently saw hovering over his own is too much to handle. Time to make excuses.

Glancing away immediately, he says “You’re welcome man, have fun.” before pushing himself off the counter and, in the strangest case of deja vu ever, heads to the door while waving over his shoulder. “I gotta run though, good luck with the babes, Steve-o!” he calls, cheerily as he can, not able to look back at the man that will never be his.

i hope you enjoyed lex!!! all i have to say is 😈

#eheheheeh #i cannot express how LITTLE this was proof-read #i'm sure i will find mistakes when i re-read after posting and fix them lmao #LexsSummerFanworksChallenge #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #st #stranger things #st ficlet #st oneshot #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie oneshot #noelle writes #putting this tag at the bottom for spoiler-y reasons but: i've had this idea in my drafts called 'steddie psych out' since the end of may

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