It's Halcyon time! Chapter two baybee :) Tommy is here!
"Do you want a pretzel?"
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"My Girl" - Billy Taylor x Maid!Reader
a/n: combining two anon requests - one for virgin!billy going feral the first time he has sex and one for a rich guest bothering maid!reader and billy defending her 🩷
Summary: When a rude guest comes to stay at The Halcyon for the holidays, Billy makes sure he knows his behavior won't be tolerated.
TW: profanity, innuendo, afab reader, she/her pronouns, harassment (not by billy!), physical violence, fingering, overstim, loss of virginity, p in v sex, breeding kink if you squint
Word Count: 4,000 words
Rating: MDNI, 18+
Disclaimer: I do not own any of The Halcyon characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
Every day Billy clocks into work is the day he tells himself he’s finally going to tell you how he feels about you. But then, when he sees you, it’s like his tongue swells up and he loses the ability to speak, save for a quick greeting before dashing off to catch his breath once again.
Today is going to be different, he resolves. Today is the day he’s going to take you in his arms and kiss you like you’ve never been kissed before. Or maybe you have. Oh gosh, what if you have a sweetheart already? He’d never even considered that possibility. From what he knows, your family is in Warwick and you came to London for work, so it’s entirely possible you have a man back home. But he hopes not.
He fiddles with the coat of his uniform, adjusting his hat before walking over to you, seeing you pushing your maid’s cart just down the hall, “Good morning, Miss. Anything I can help you with?”
You smile at Billy sweetly, shaking your head, “No, that’s alright, thank you, Billy. And how many times do I have to remind you to call me by my name?”
Billy feels his cheeks go pink at your words and clears his throat, “At least one more time, I suppose, Miss-” He quickly corrects himself, calling you by name, realizing how it has slowly but surely become his favorite word. He falls in step alongside you, removing his hat and playing with it before blurting out, “Can… Can I ask you something?”
You nod, grabbing a newspaper from your cart and placing it by the door of the next room. Billy can’t help but eye how lovely you look in your maid’s uniform, the way it hugs your hips slightly, emphasizing the curves of your body. He tries to remember how to speak, how to breathe, fingertips tapping against his thighs anxiously as he works up the courage to ask you what he so desperately wishes to know.
His voice cracks ever so slightly as he continues fidgeting with his hands, “D-do you have a sweetheart?”
Billy knows he must look a sight, his cheeks flushed, his breathing growing more and more shallow with each passing moment, a great sigh of relief leaving him at your response, “Oh, no. Mum and Dad never allowed me to talk to boys much outside of school and then I got this job. Not much time for finding a sweetheart and the like when you’re spending all your time working.”
His eyes move along your form as the two of you continue talking, letting out a nervous chuckle, “Oh, yeah, I suppose that makes sense.” Billy shifts his weight from foot to foot, swallowing down the lump in his throat, “I wanted to ask…” He averts his eyes for a moment when you meet his gaze, almost too shy to look at you, only gathering the courage to do so at the last moment, “Can I take you to the picture house this Saturday? They’re playing the new Betty Grable film and I know you’ve said a few times you like her.”
He looks at you, those baby blue eyes pleading as he awaits your response, deflating slightly at the sad tone of your voice, “I’m working Saturday.” However, all hope is not lost as you add, “But I’m free Sunday?”
Billy’s face lights up with joy, beaming at you, “Sounds wonderful. Sunday. Perfect.” He holds eye contact with you for a moment before looking away, glancing at your cart, “Do you need some help with the papers? Two sets of hands would finish it off quicker.”
You peer up at him, “You sure? I don’t want you getting into trouble on my account, Billy.”
He shakes his head with a soft smile, “Don’t worry about it. A little bit of trouble is nothing compared to spending time with someone you care about.” The two of you work in silence for a few minutes, making quick work of the stack of newspapers in your cart before he speaks up, “What if… What if I told you I’ve had my eye on you for some time now?” Billy can hardly believe he’s just said that, overcome by embarrassment as he tries to backtrack, “Wait, that came out wrong!”
Your giggle, however, makes him stop and turn to you as you tease, “Did it? I was going to say the feeling is mutual. But, I suppose if it came out wrong…”
Billy chuckles, scratching the back of his neck, “A-are you serious? You really like me?”
“Course I do.” Your smile speaks a thousand words of its own as you reply, “A girl would have to be mad nod to.”
Billy can feel the butterflies in his stomach fluttering like mad at your words, his voice breaking slightly as he asks you another question, his words a quiet whisper, “C-Can I kiss you?”
You nod, leaning in as he steps closer to you. Your eyes begin to close, as do Billy’s, as your lips are nearly about to touch-
Only to be interrupted by the sound of a hotel room opening and a family rushing out toward the dining room to eat their breakfast. Both of you look at each other, wide-eyed and a bit disappointed at your little moment being interrupted. Billy watches intently as you smile, biting your bottom lip, and gaze up at him.
“To be continued?”
He nods eagerly, his tone gentle as he replies, watching you walk down the hall to continue your work, “To be continued.”
Over the next few months, you and Billy grow closer and closer. Stolen kisses at every given opportunity escalate into heavy petting in abandoned corridors and even more debauched acts in vacated hotel rooms. The two of you are completely lost in each other, intoxicated by the other’s presence.
However, when Mr. Benjamin Carmichael and his son, Bradley, check in at the hotel, things grow more complicated. Bradley fancies you and makes no secret about it, following you around all the time, making your business his own. And so, you and Billy have to be more discreet so as not to get caught. He leans against the wall, waiting for you to enter the breakroom, eyes brightening when you do.
“Hi, stranger,” you giggle as he pulls you into his arms, embracing you gently, “What did you want to talk about?”
Billy shifts anxiously when he remembers why he asked you to meet him on your break in the first place, tapping his fingers against his thigh in that way that makes you aware that he’s nervous. He smiles gratefully as you take his hand in yours, squeezing gently.
“So, erm, Mr. Carmichael’s son… He has eyes for you, doesn’t he?”
You nod slowly, “I suppose. But you know I only have eyes for you, don’t you?”
Billy nods, resting his hands on your shoulders, “Of course. I only have eyes for you too. That being said,” he sighs, blue eyes peering into your own, his face uncharacteristically somber, “I just want you to be careful. We all know how rich, entitled men like him can be. I worry about you, you know?”
You nod in understanding before giving him a cute little grin, “You worried about me, Billy Taylor?”
“Of course I am,” he admits, “You mean the world to me. I don’t want to think about what could happen to you if Bradley tried something. Just be careful and if he tries anything, you come for me or one of the other staff right away, yeah?”
“Yeah, I promise,” you say, your voice serious as you assuage his fears before questioning, “What time do you get off tonight?”
“Seven,” Billy answers, taking a step closer to you, lowering his voice slightly, his gaze flickering to your lips for a moment, “How about you?”
“Half seven,” you inform him, taking his hands and bringing them to your hips, moving even closer to him, your chest brushing up against his as you gaze up at him through your lashes, “Wait for me?”
“Of course,” Billy whispers, “Anything you need…” He gives you the most adorable smile, dimples showing as he bites back a laugh, “You know, I’m meant to be working right now.”
“So am I,” you murmur, your lips nearly touching his, “Break’s almost over.”
Billy takes the initiative and closes the gap inbetween, his lips pressing against yours in a sweet yet passionate kiss, the moment feeling as if it is frozen in time, as if the world has stopped and it’s just the two of you. The heat of his body against your own. When you finally pull apart for breath, Billy leans his forehead against yours, his voice almost inaudible as he confesses.
“I love you.”
You smile at him, so tenderly that it makes his heart ache, “Oh gosh… Billy, I love you too.” He laughs breathlessly, pressing his lips to yours again, cupping your face in his hands as he savors this moment with you, this perfect moment where it is just the two of you and your love. You quickly pull apart from each other at the sound of the door opening, giving him a soft smile as you confirm, “Half seven?”
“Half seven,” Billy affirms, holding your hand until the last possible moment, leaning out the door to watch you walk away, lifting his hand to wave as you turn the corner.
When half seven rolls around, Billy waits by the staff room door anxiously, a ball of nervous, excitable energy. But, you don’t come. He frowns, wondering what in the world is going on and sets off in search of you. You aren’t in the lobby nor are you in the kitchens. And suddenly, he has a gut feeling that he should check the top floor.
The floor Bradley Carmichael and his father are staying on.
The moment he exits the elevator, he sees the rich little prat, holding you by the arms up against the wall as you try to reason, “Look, Mr. Carmichael, I’m already with someone, please let me go-”
Billy feels his nails digging into his palm as he balls his hands into fists, storming toward you and the man harassing you, adrenaline flooding his veins, his face filled with anger as he pushes Bradley off of you, standing between the two of you, “Leave her alone.”
You take his hand, speaking quietly, attempting to calm him, “Don’t do anything, Billy. We could both lose our jobs.”
He knows you’re right, but that isn’t as important as defending you from this brute. His grip around your hand tightens as he glares down at Bradley, having a good three inches over him, lips pulled back in a frown.
“You have no right to touch her when she doesn’t want to be touched. She told you she’s taken, sir.”
Bradley scoffs, “You got a problem, bell boy? You the one she’s taken by? Mind letting me have a little fun-”
You gasp as Billy reels his arm back and lets his fist fly straight at Bradley’s nose, the two of you watching as he stumbles backward, “Billy!”
Billy turns to you, about to answer when Bradley speaks up, his voice growing more and more nasal by the moment as he threatens to have the pair of you fired. You turn to face him, lips pressed in a thin line.
“And I wonder how the papers will feel if I tell them Benjamin Carmichael’s son was trying to get fresh with me. Don’t you dare.”
Bradley’s expression shifts to one of hatred as he lunges at you, tackling you to the floor. Billy, however, is on him within moments, pulling him off of you and pummeling him with his fists, punch after punch. Your eyes go wide as you see your normally kind and gentle sweetheart beating a man bloody and unconscious with his fists, and though you know it’s wrong, a part of you feels almost excited by it. When Bradley is finally knocked out, you and Billy look at each other, a bit shaken by the entire incident.
“Are we going to get fired?” Your voice quivers as you ask.
Before Billy can answer, Bradley’s father speaks up from behind the two of you, “No, you won’t. I’ll be having words with my son after he wakes up.” You give Mr. Carmichael a surprised look, while he just smiles at the two of you, “Go on then, you two. I know the truth of what happened and I’ll make sure my son doesn’t try anything funny. I apologize for his behavior.”
You and Billy turn to each other, thanking the gentleman before walking away toward the staff room. When the door closes behind the two of you, you throw your arms around him, embracing him tightly.
“Oh, Billy… I’m so glad you came when you did.”
He nods, pressing his lips to your temple, “I’ll always be there for you. You’re my love. My girl.”
“And you’re my man,” you say, kissing his cheek, “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about when we get back to mine, if that’s alright.”
Billy nods, “Yeah, of course. I can’t wait to hear it,” he pauses before adding, grinning like a fool, “My girl.”
By the time the two of you reach your flat, Billy is nearly dying from curiosity, pulling you to sit beside him on the sofa, turning to face you, fingers intertwined with yours, “What was it you wanted to talk about?”
He watches as you take a tremulous breath. He’s never seen you quite so nervous, your lashes fluttering as you meet his gaze for a brief moment, only to look away. Billy moves to tilt your chin up to face him gently, watching you smile.
“Well, you and I… We’ve done a lot of things together. Physically.” His cheeks flush at the memory of just what those things are, barely able to breathe as you continue, “But, erm, there’s one thing we haven’t done that I would like to.” You scrunch your eyes shut before exhaling, opening your eyes and meeting Billy’s gaze, “I want to give myself to you. You’re the only boy I’ll ever love. And I know no matter what happens, I won’t regret my decision.”
Billy’s face almost seems to glow with happiness at your words, his heart racing as he shifts even closer toward you, pressing his lips to yours, kissing you deeply, his heart melting with how much affection he feels for you. Your tongue moves against his at a slow, languid pace as Billy holds you close, the heat between you building with each passing moment.
“I love you,” he whispers when you pull away to catch your breath, “And there’s nothing that I want more than to be yours and you to be mine.”
“I love you too,” you manage to say between kisses, “You don’t think I’m being too forward? You don’t think less of me?”
Billy immediately shakes his head, “Not at all. I love it. I love that you want me as badly as I want you.”
You take him by the hand, leading him to your bedroom, your fingers intertwined. Your hand has never felt so at home as it does when in his, you muse as you close the door behind you. You frown slightly upon seeing his bruised knuckles, realizing it must be from when he defended you earlier. You bring his hands to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to each of them. Billy gazes at you with nothing but pure love, his voice soft as he speaks.
“You don’t need to take care of me, you know? I got those defending you and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
You gaze up at him as he brings your hands to his own lips now, pressing a kiss to your palms, then your wrists, “But I love you. I want to take care of you. Please let me.”
He smiles impishly, shaking his head as he gently pushes you back onto the bed, pressing a kiss to your jaw before whispering, “No, my girl. Tonight, I’m taking care of you.”
You let out a breathy gasp as he teases your cunt over the fabric of your knickers, tugging them down slightly, stroking at your sensitive flesh. You bite down hard on your lower lip, losing yourself in the feeling of his long fingers moving along your skin, head falling back against your pillow as he pushes two inside of you. Billy feels himself getting hard just from the feeling of you squeezing around his fingers, imagining how it’ll feel when he’s inside you. He begins pumping his fingers slowly, studying every expression on your face and committing it to memory, moving faster and faster, rubbing against your sweet spot, admiring the way your face twists in pleasure as he does. You plead for more, your hand moving to his wrist, spurring him on and his thumb begins to rub at your pearl, your entire body spasming around him as you reach your peak with a cry of his name, toes curling as he continues working his fingers inside you. From what Billy’s mates have told him, the more you prepare your girl, the less pain it’ll be for her, and he wants to make sure this is absolutely perfect for you.
You whimper softly as he continues moving his fingers in and out of you, adding a third, the wet noises making you turn your face to the side, grinding your teeth as he continues fucking you with his fingers. It’s almost too much for you, but you lay back, reveling in the pleasure your sweetheart gives you, meeting his gaze, smiling at the pure affection he looks at you with. It doesn’t take much to bring you to your peak again, and you watch as Billy moves his fingers from you, licking them clean with a quiet moan. The sight is lewd and filthy and altogether irresistible, making you press your thighs together in another desperate bid for friction.
Billy helps you out of your dress, tossing it and your underwear to the side, ridding himself of his own clothes next. You watch greedily as bit by bit of his handsome body is bared to you, his broad shoulders, his chest, his stomach. And when he takes his pants off, your mouth nearly waters at the sight of his cock. Billy lays down over you, pressing the head of his cock against your core, pushing in slightly, just an inch at first. He watches the rise and fall of your chest, pushing in a little more, bit by bit, until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. Your warmth feels like everything he ever imagined and more, your walls wet and tight around him, squeezing him so perfectly. You gaze into each other’s eyes while Billy waits for you to tell him it’s alright to move, which you do only moments later, giving him a tiny nod.
As Billy slowly begins moving his hips against yours, he’s swept up in a wave of euphoria, loving the cries of his name you let out as his cock drags against you, his body pressed to yours as he leans in to kiss you, swallowing your moans with his own. Billy begins moving his hips faster, craving the friction between you like he craves the air in his lungs, hands moving to your hips, holding you in place. Your hands grasp at your bedsheets desperately, legs wrapping around him as he begins to move in earnest, hips pistoning against yours as he fucks into you like some sort of animal in heat. You gaze into his eyes, finding nothing but lust, love, and complete adoration. You wrap your arms around his neck, bucking your hips against his, trying to meet his rhythm, but Billy refuses to allow you to do any of the work. He pounds into you, eyes boring into yours.
“My girl, all mine,” he murmurs, “All. Fucking. Mine.”
With each word, his thrusts grow even faster, even deeper, his fat cock pressing against that same sweet spot that his fingers did, the pleasure being almost too much to bear when he moves to toy with your clit, sending you over the edge. Billy fucks you through your climax, flipping you onto your stomach as he groans lewdly, fucking you with abandon, chasing his peak, chasing the feeling of you squeezing around him, bringing you closer and closer to the edge once more. This time, you reach your peak along with him, the two of you falling into a heap of tangled limbs onto the bed, blissful smiles on your faces as you turn to look at each other.
“My girl,” Billy whispers, “I love you.”
“I love you too, Billy.”
Billy pulls you close, kissing you once more, and as you feel him begin to grow hard against your thigh once more, you know the night is nowhere near over. He gives you a few moment’s reprieve as he grinds against you before he’s fully hard again, sliding inside you once more with a low moan. You can feel him rutting against you, almost animalistically, his lips finding your neck, teeth grazing against your neck. If it was too much before, you don’t know what this is, your pleasure-addled brain barely able to remember your own name as you moan “Billy” over and over, affirming your love for him with each snap of his hips.
“I love you so much,” Billy rasps into your ear, “Want to marry you. Want to have a family with you. I’ll take such good care of you, my girl. You know that, don’t you? I’ll always protect you. Always be there for you.”
“Yes, Billy,” you mewl, nails raking down his back as he continues pounding into you, splitting you open on his long, thick cock, each thrust bringing you closer and closer to your end, “Want that with you. Want everything with you.”
“I know you do,” he says, the movement of his hips beginning to slow, his finger moving to circle your pearl again, pressing down gently, “You’re so perfect. My girl. Only mine.”
“Only yours, Billy,” you affirm, burying your face in his chest as you reach your peak once more, his following soon after.
You wake up the next morning, your body sore, Billy’s arms wrapped around you. His chest is to your back, lips pressed to your neck even in his sleep. You’ve never felt safer or more loved than you do in this quiet moment, before the sun has even risen, content to just lay here for the rest of your life. Billy stirs when he feels you shift slightly. He kisses your shoulder blade softly, then the nape of your neck, and you gasp when his cock pushes inside you once more. He rolls his hips gently, at a much slower pace than last night as he whispers words of adoration and love into your ears.
“My girl, so sweet, God, I can’t live without you…” And then two words that surprise you, “Marry me.”
“Billy?”
He pulls out of you, turning you to face him, only to join your bodies again as he begs, “Marry me. Marry me, please marry me. Be mine. Be my girl and only mine.”
You moan softly and nod, “Yes, oh my God, yes, Billy, I’ll marry you. Have a family with you. Everything with you.”
And several year later, your and Billy’s twin girls and young son can’t understand for the life of them why the two of you are laughing so hard at the headline on the morning news.
“MP Bradley Carmichael sacked due to inappropriate conduct in his office.”
“I love you, my girl,” Billy says, kissing your temple.
“Love you, Billy.”
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Can confirm - Hunter!Simon and Werewolf!Reader is 30 pages (16.5k) unedited
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Hold Me Steady
Pairing: Billy Taylor (The Halcyon) x f!reader
Warnings: Dry humping.
Word count: ~1.3k
Summary: Billy has a close encounter with one of the hotel's maids after agreeing to help her decorate the employee sitting space for Christmas.
Author's note: Day one of the Smuffmas prompts - "hand holding and dry humping". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.
She struggles down the stairs into the employee sitting room, the beaten up, old cardboard box she carries hindering her view, meaning she has to pick her way carefully downwards, one step at a time.
Halfway down, a large set of hands grip the box from underneath, relieving her of her burden, and she’s met with the wide eyed curious stare of bellboy, Billy Taylor.
“I’ll take that for you,” he says, giving her one of his trademark tight lipped smiles, before walking it the rest of the way down for her.
“Thanks, Billy,” she tells him gratefully, sighing with relief. “You on break?”
“Yeah, got fifteen minutes left,” he responds, setting the box down next to a pile of stacked band equipment. “What’s in here then?”
“The foyer’s being decorated for Christmas,” she tells him, coming to stand beside him. “This stuff’s not good enough to go out, apparently. Can you believe Mr. Garland wants me to throw it away?!”
Billy crouches, tugging open the box, raising his eyebrows as he pulls out a length of threadbare silver tinsel. “I can, actually.”
She playfully swats him on the shoulder, taking the tinsel from him and weaving it through the iron bannister of the stairs. “Thought we could decorate the sitting room with it. Looks more festive already, don’t you think?”
Billy chuckles. “If it makes you ‘appy, then why not? Want some help?”
She smiles, feeling her skin heat up as he looks up at her from where he’s kneeling. “You’re on break, I can’t ask you to do that.”
“It’s not work if I actually want to do it,” he says with a shrug.
They grin at each other, and he continues to rummage through the box, pulling out cracked baubles and torn paper stars, as she surveys the small under the stairs space that the staff have to relax in.
“It’s weird to think I won’t be here next Christmas,” Billy muses, as he hands her decorations out of the box.
She looks away, focusing on running the colourful streamers through her fingers, doing her best to ignore the twinge of sadness that plucks painfully at her heartstrings. “Oh, yeah, you’ll be drafted, won’t you? I expect you’ll miss your mum’s figgy pudding.”
“I’d sooner have trench foot than eat mum’s figgy pudding, ‘orrible stuff.”
They laugh, and she allows herself a brief moment to admire the way Billy’s cheeks dimple and his eyes sparkle when he’s happy, before returning her focus to the decorations.
Within five minutes, the old piano in the corner is decked out in ragged paper streamers, the staircase’s iron bannister is woven with tinsel that’s seen better days, and a fruit bowl in the centre of the table contains the battered remains of tree ornaments of varying shapes and colours - a fitting centerpiece for the dowdy little space.
She steps back, admiring their work, eyeing the empty alcove above the brown leather sofa that’s tucked away against the back wall.
“Would be nice if we could hang this last piece of tinsel up there,” she muses, “not sure how we’d reach though.”
Billy steps behind her, looking with keen interest at the space she’s referring to. “I think there’s a step ladder in the storage room, wait here.”
He disappears out the back and a few moments later returns with a rickety wooden folding step ladder. It wobbles precariously as he unfolds it, setting it down near the sofa.
She draws in a nervous breath, brow furrowing as she looks at it. “Are you sure that’s safe?”
He presses his lips into a tight line, tugging at the hem of his uniform jacket. “Er…probably best if you go up, less chance of you breaking it. I can hold it steady.”
She hesitates for a few seconds, looking at it with uncertainty.
The final piece of tinsel above the alcove really would look nice.
“Okay, but promise you won’t let me fall?”
“Cross my heart,” he says, signing a cross over the left side of his chest.
She giggles, stepping forward and begins to climb up the ladder. It wobbles as she moves, making her breath hitch, until she feels Billy grab either side of it, holding it still. She climbs the rest of the way, pinning the last of the tinsel to the wall, allowing it to bow slightly in the middle.
It’s not until her hands are free that she realises the view that Billy must have, and brushes a palm over her skirt, making sure her backside is covered. She sees Billy turn scarlet in her peripheral vision, averting his gaze, and her heart flutters at the sight.
“Here, look, we missed something,” she hears Billy say, as she slowly starts to climb back down. She turns slightly, seeing him holding up mistletoe - a dried, long dead bunch of it, tied together with twine.
Butterflies flutter in her stomach at the sight. “That’s mistletoe, Billy…” She breathes quietly.
“Yeah…” he replies, chest heaving as he stares up at her.
A moment of silence passes between them as they gaze into each other’s eyes, until she leans down and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek.
Billy gasps, turning pink all the way to his ears, quickly stepping back, and she squeals, toppling forward as the ladder wobbles beneath her.
He is quick to drop the mistletoe, grasping her hands, allowing her weight to push him back into a seated position on the sofa, to prevent her from falling.
They both breathe heavily as she straddles his lap, their hands still clasped together, staring at each other with wide eyes.
“You saved me,” she whispers, “but you dropped the mistletoe.”
“You…you can still kiss me…if you’d like to?” He says hopefully.
She lets go of his hand, leaning in and pressing her lips to his. It’s soft at first, until his arm moves to wrap itself around her waist, pressing her close to him.
The kiss deepens, Billy groaning in approval as her tongue slips against his, their combined breaths hot and heavy against each other. She can feel his rapidly growing hardness through his trousers and grinds herself against it, as his hand slips beneath her skirt, the press of his fingertips feather light against the hem of her knickers through her tights.
There is nothing but the sound of the shared sticky click of their saliva as their mouths move together, and the creak of the leather sofa cushions as their hips push wantonly against each other. Desire sizzles in her blood, causing her core to throb with every press of his clothed length against her.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs leading down to the sitting room causes her to scramble from his lap, quickly smoothing down her maid’s uniform.
“Billy?” Calls out the voice of Feldman as he descends.
“Just on break, sir,” Billy calls back, standing and stealthily attempting to adjust himself.
“That ended ten minutes ago,” the older man says exasperatedly. “Come on, there are guests checking in upstairs with luggage that needs bringing to their rooms.”
Billy’s eyes dart around in panic, his cheeks flushing. “Sorry, sir, lost track of the time. Can I quickly go to the toilet first?”
Feldman sighs. “Make it quick.”
Billy nods, shooting her an apologetic look before walking quickly away.
She puts a hand over her mouth, stifling an embarrassed giggle, knowing exactly what he intends to do.
“What have you two been doing down here then?” Feldman asks her, eyeing her suspiciously.
She clears her throat, smoothing her hands over her uniform once more, hoping her flustered appearance doesn’t give too much away. “Putting up decorations, Mr. Feldman. Looks great, doesn’t it?” She asks with a smile.
His eyes narrow, distaste apparent on his face as his eyes sweep the room, before looking back at her. “Yes, if you say so.”
She stoops, picking the mistletoe up off the floor and tucking it away in her apron pocket. She has a spring in her step as goes back upstairs.
That will definitely come in handy later.
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The first preview of Chasing Shadows, the sequel to Halcyon Days 🌸
If you haven't read Halcyon Days yet, you can find it below. Please mind the tags 💐
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guy who doesn't ship durgetash voice: "i'm writing another durgetash fic"
and here's an excerpt because i've drafted 3k words for the night and probably won't finish until tomorrow, and then i have commissioned work to do besides.
Halcyon stared at his reflection in the pools of blood mired on the floor. He was just as red. He tensed as he felt the hands of the priests caress his skin, their tongues lapping at the ichor on his cheeks. Their murmured whispers in his ear about his unholiness, the sweet tang of the blood, how his guiding hand bid it spill. Halcyon was more curious about how the pool at his feet rippled with every move.
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wip wednesday (feat fresh fandom f*ckery)
blurb | "non-jjk wip posting? on the ddelline/aosc dash? straight to jail" - whoever reads this blog for jjk fic only, probably. sry if you are!!! I promise this =/= abandoning ship, I'm just dillying, dallying, dabbling. in mha. and bkdk. next to jjk that's where I've ended up putting my most obsessive behavior in the past few months; dipped my toe into the manga and emerged 4 months later as an unapologetic bakugō katsuki defender w early onset of bkdk brainrot. now if that interests you, there's wip fic to be had under the cut! if it doesn't, then rest assured that there'll be wip updates a-comin for 3 jjk projects in the near future, lol
premise | post-canon, pro hero setting; slow burn-ish getting together-premise; bkdk as roommates & established wonder duo-partners feat pro hero!shenanigans, sudden emotional realizations, domesticity, action, mixed media & more - also me attempting 2 write lighter, snarkier & dramedy-adjacent. evaluation pending, lmao. either way, wip writing under the cutttt
The sort of monumental, life-altering understanding that Katsuki’s experiencing, sadly, hadn’t hit him like a battering ram of iridescent, incandescent realization, topped off with cartoon hearts and biblical choirs, or whatever. The march towards death had begun with the most inane fucking single step, and here he is, feeling like an idiot, and feeling, like an idiot, every other hour since then.
Katsuki knows he’s not the most emotionally intelligent person on the block, and he knows that he’s hitting new and consistent deduction-lows when it comes to him-and-Izuku each and every day now. Still, if there’s the possibility of getting a refund on your personal emotional breakthroughs—he’d like one.
He’s ducking beneath hastily drawn police tape, sweat sticky and sooty, hours later, making a beeline towards where the concrete dust-matte green cap of Izuku’s head centers a cluster of reporters. They’ve caught him halfway to where a team of EMTs are waiting, long suffering, to attend to him. Katsuki resists the urge to facepalm.
“—stically, how would you analyze this recent string of public showdowns that you’ve had to deal with? Do you make anything of the increased number of hostile villain encounters you’ve had in the past weeks?”
Izuku scratches his scalp, upsetting a few errant curls. “Y’know, I wouldn’t think much of them, in the sense you’re probably thinking of them. It’s true there have been a few major ‘public showdowns’, as you say,” God bless him (curse him, actually) but he actually makes double quotations to go along. “There’s a common denominator here, what you’re talking about—it’s the arrests you’ve featured on the evening segment a few times. Right?”
Izuku’s suit is torn: a jagged ugly line bisects his hero garb and compression sleeve from mid-tricep to mid-forearm. It’s displaying an ugly gash frothing with blood. As the clump of broadcast-vultures chuckle in tandem he continues—seemingly ignorant of his injury and Katsuki’s impending arrival both—gesticulating animatedly, “Any hostile confrontations we experience whilst on patrol would technically categorize as ‘public showdowns’, but we’ve had—oh, Kacch—Dynamight!”
It’s a scene like any other, on a kind of-interchangeable end of patrol-day: they’ve just squashed an armed robbery-slash-hostage situation, had half a block rupture beneath them during the ensuing chase (neither of them are at fault, Katsuki’ll have their insurance carrier know) and are now stuck doing the obligatory clean-up-and-press-junket half hour. Izuku’s elbow is bleeding something fierce whilst he’s talking to reporters; he’s clasping both palms and twining his fingers, untwines them and raises both arms to gesticulate; lowers his hands and re-clasps his palms—all as he does when he’s faced with press and has to talk ad hoc for extended periods of time.
None of this is particularly out of the ordinary; despite it or in spite of, Katsuki doesn’t know—the amalgamation of the above turns out to be why, when three mic’d up reporters make a narrow path into the cluster for Katsuki to enter into the throng, his first instinct, his knee-jerk reaction, is to be angry.
Izuku clasps his far shoulder. Katsuki shrugs his hand off and ducks near his ear. “You’re injured.”
“Huh? I’m not?” says Izuku quizzically. He looks around and about himself. Katsuki clocks the second he notices his own elbow: the spasm of a lone muscle in his cheek, the embarrassed grit of his jaw—the if you squeal in front of the press you die-look he spears Katsuki with before turning back to the pack.
Izuku continues, bleeding but thoughtful: “What was I saying? Oh, yeah—I couldn’t talk about the ‘public showdowns’, as you say, without mentioning that any and all hostile confrontations we face on patrol belong to the same statistic. Really, they’re the same as they’ve always been—I wouldn’t say anything’s decreased or increased since a few years. Right?” He squares Katsuki with an inquisitive look.
Katsuki fights the urge to bare his teeth; he sucks down a deep breath, counts to five, and indulges his vulture-friendly maniac of a hero partner. “Because I’m not fucking lame I’m not gonna echo Pinky and say: ‘Another day, another slay.’” A few errant chuckles from the crowd; yeah, Katsuki’s a fucking comedian. “With that said, yeah, what Deku said—I dunno who was on site two days ago, DHN? JNN? JHT? I see all of you nodding, whatever; doesn’t matter—you’re drawing conjecture based on what you see. Shit happens when you’re not here, too.” Katsuki eyeballs the keeper of the JHT mic. “That doesn’t mean shit is happening. Not sure what the point of this is, but not everything’s a damn story—so I’m gonna take Hero Deku—” Katsuki snags Izuku by the collar, “—and go somewhere not where you lot are. He’s bleeding and you’re not. That’s not the end of the world either, in case that’s the doomsday headline you wanna draw up. That’s all. Scatter, fuckers!”
Izuku pouts when Katsuki drags him backwards through the clamoring throng of reporters. “We could’ve done a few more questions.”
Katsuki thinks: I knew I was fine dying for this asshole years ago.
Katsuki says: “We could’ve. We aren’t, though. Fuckface, you’re bleeding everywhere.”
Izuku glances down at himself. “It’s not that bad.”
“No? Tell that to the medteam, who’ll be the ones to explain to the public why unfortunately, due to erroneous judgment on the patient’s part, Pro Hero Deku lost mobility in his left arm a scant four years into his illustrious Symbol of Hope-era.” Katsuki squares him with a thin glare. “Also—tell that to your mom, who wants to put you on a direct flight to an isolated Siberian bunker where you can’t hurt yourself—she’s got a point.”
Izuku eyeballs him. “Kacchan,” he intones, “You’re overly dramatic sometimes.”
“Izuku,” Katsuki mocks, “You’re overly self-sacrificial all the time. Shut up and go see the EMTs.”
The march towards death had begun with the most inane fucking single step, and here he is, feeling, like an idiot, thinking: I knew I was fine dying for this asshole before I knew I was in dumb fucking love with him.
Well, go figure.
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The first few weeks, the new one moves on autopilot.
Halcyon has seen it before. He's used to it, the ways in which their body moves while their brain is still waking up.
This one hadn't been dead for long. It made it easier, he was sure, to readjust.
He hadn't grown attached, not in the way Galatée had. He was all too used to following a lead their mother had set for them, only to abandon it once the timeline had changed too much, once it was no longer deemed important. Their mother's interest was like the sun and just as all-consuming, but as soon as it was pulled away it wouldn't return. And it had been centuries, after all. People didn't live that long, and points of interest didn't either.
Galatée was pleased to finally see results. She was glad to have another, or at least in the selfish ways they both were for company other than each other.
Halcyon couldn't quite say. In some small ways, he did find himself drawn to the newcomer.
They'd followed him so long. Halcyon was well past feeling in any small way guilty for interfering, pulling strings here and there to make sure this person was there, that person said that. If it led to Mother's goals, if it helped her, it was worth it.
And even still... Danaël was theirs. Perhaps he had not known them, but they knew him. It was a small reward, after all this, for him to know them.
Slowly, the newcomer woke. Slowly, he started to take it in.
>>
Halcyon had been in their mother's service for so long, now, these thousands of years. He didn't remember what it had been like, to wake. He could hardly remember his death, after so much time.
He doesn’t know when he realized. When the fog cleared from his head enough to realize he didn’t quite know why this was so important, why Mother was so important, why he was following her at all.
The fog comes and goes. There are moments when it recedes, when it really and truly disappears and he hates it all. He had earned his death; he was, in the end, angry it had been taken from him.
Mother was an all-consuming force. She was their sun. They rotated around her like moons around a planet. Hiding anything from her, even just his own thoughts, felt blasphemous.
But he did. In some small corner of his mind, he hid the truth: that he still had thoughts at all.
He didn’t remember who he’d been. He wasn’t sure if any vestige, any tidbit of personality, any memory belonged to the man who’d died, or if like clay he’d been reshaped by his mother’s hands.
Suns can’t always shine. And so, slowly, over the centuries, he shaped his own clay and scraped together pieces of his mind.
He forgot much, after thousands of years. He always remembered Galatée, always remembered the thrill at having another. It was easier once she joined, pulled out of her grave same as he was his. Not just because Mother’s attention was divided—though that counted for plenty.
It took nearly a hundred years for her to pull out of her fugue. It took even longer for the two of them to realize they were the same.
Fighting their own brains was difficult enough, the compulsion to submit, follow, love. Mother was as much themselves as they were, pouring into each nerve and orifice and pulsing in their blood. There was hardly any space for each other, but they carved it out of themselves.
It was exchanged near silently, hideous, blasphemous words whispered against cold, undead skin. Lips pressed to cheeks in moments stolen between missions. Promises their minds were, in some small way, their own and each other’s as much as they were Mother’s. Promises her love was not all-consuming.
Slowly, in their orbits, they circled one another as much as their sun.
>>
Galatée never gave up hope they would find a way out. She never said as such—that was much too far. But he knew, much as anything real they knew was silent.
Maybe that was why she took such a shine to Danaël. Maybe she hoped if he was the answer to Mother, he could be the answer to them, too.
He’d had thousands of years to hope, and he wasn’t the type for it, anyways. He didn’t dare. He didn’t dare think Danaëlwas the answer to anything at all.
>>
Asgaroth was always different from the rest. That does not mean Halcyon didn't love him, much as he loved Galatée, much as he would come to love Danaël.
Maybe some part of him always knew Asgaroth was not real. He never truly knew, not logically, not as such. But his instincts knew.
Halcyon never spoke with Asgaroth in the ways he did with Galatée. He never trusted him in the same ways. He never bared his matching soul.
He never spoke the truth.
Maybe he knew. Maybe he just wanted to pretend he didn’t. It was much easier to love someone who wasn’t there than admit they weren’t.
>>
It takes nearly a year until Halcyon is sure Danaëlis really, truly awake.
It’s new. It’s exciting. It’s been centuries since they’ve had another. No matter that skin is cold, clammy, undead. No matter the eyes are only just starting to feel like they belong to a real person. No matter Mother’s hold is stronger on their newest. He still belongs to them.
He hadn’t realized, the way that lack had grated. It had been the same, with Galatée, with Asgaroth. He never really notices how much he hates the absence until it's gone, like a leftover sort of pain, like an old wound.
The Dynaméis are limbs of a body, Mother's hands. They're parts of an entity. Their minds are facets of her own.
Halcyon stretches into Danaël like exploring a newly healed limb.
>>
And he’s different. From the very beginning, he’s different. Or so Galatée says, anyways. Halcyon thinks it may just be confirmation bias and more of that damned hope.
At the corners of Halcyon's mind, he feels shiny, smooth, like the gold of their weapons and the glow of the halos above their heads.
He feels like surfacing after a dive, like suddenly clear vision after thousands of years. He feels like seaglass. He feels like polished marble.
Mother's influence feels even more stifling in comparison, newly suffocating in ways it already was before.
And maybe they grow too bold. Soon after they're sure he's fully there, Galatée starts pressing.
At first, it’s ignored. For nearly too long, nearly long enough that Halcyon’s almost convinced her to give it up before she catches Mother’s attention.
And then it's there. Then, Halcyon feels it, the subtle brush across his mind, Danaël's cold and gentle hand.
Danaël is theirs, much as anything can be theirs and not Mother's. Slowly, thought by thought, they steal him away.
>>
They tell Danaël, in stops and starts and whispers shared between them in every hidden moment, about it all. About Mother’s hands woven in the tapestry of his life.
It is, of course, hard. Their minds are not meant to accept anything against her. None of them want to remember the truth.
And so they repeat it. Over and over. Through hands in hands, through interlocked fingers, through whispers murmured in the night, they repeat it.
Touch is theirs. Touch belongs to them. Even when their thoughts are stolen, when their hands are stolen, when their lives and deaths are stolen. And they give it.
>>
Then comes the exodus.
As they get closer, Halcyon feels the tendrils curl tighter and tighter, feels Mother’s influence creep in even more. He feels his mind slipping away from him, devotion, love, obedience replacing any rational thought.
Halcyon is under no naïveté that it's anything than the last pieces sliding into the puzzle. He wishes they had any puzzle at all. He wishes they weren't pieces on Mother's game of chess. He wishes he wasn't merely a pawn cast off the board as soon as he was no longer of use.
He wishes, paradoxically, that they’d had more time. He wishes it weren’t nearing the end, now that it is.
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If you’re comfortable with it, if you could write a fic where a bad guy hurts reader in front of Joel and he goes feral, I would be eternally grateful.
I'm sorry it took me this long buuuut it's ready and I really hope you'll like it!! 🥰 (I'm posting it in a few minutes)
And thank you so much for requesting! 💕
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Halcyon
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters: England, America
Ship: AmericaxEngland
Tags and warnings: Human AU, post-apocalyptic, minor injury mention, minor infection
Word count: 1030
"Though Arthur had the fever, it was Alfred who was feverish, paranoia fuelling a frantic dash around the room."
In a ruined world, Alfred and Arthur take shelter in a motel.
Read below the cut or >here< on AO3.
(I really want to write a proper USUK apocalypse AU one day (I think high stakes are good for their dynamic) but I have too many other fics to complete, so this is just one little scene.)
---
Before the motel door had even shut behind them, he had found the bed - stiff old sheets in a hideous beige, a lumpy spring mattress, and a splintering frame that creaked dangerously, threatening to collapse under the shock of his sudden appearance.
It was the most comfortable Arthur had been in months and he felt his body loosen, the burden of the chase lifting as he relaxed into the dusty comforter, closing his eyes to crumbling plaster and black mould.
Still, when no-one joined him after several minutes, he cracked an eye open and propped himself up on his elbow.
“Al?”
“I’ll be with you in a minute, Artie. Just rest up for a bit.”
Though Arthur had the fever, it was Alfred who was feverish, paranoia fuelling a frantic dash around the room. Whilst Arthur had lounged, he had rearranged the furniture, chairs and cabinets now barricading the door, the latch apparently not trusted to hold steady.
“Calm down love, we lost them miles back.”
“Yeah, but there’s always others. New place just means new problems,” Alfred muttered distractedly, closing the thin curtains and examining them thoroughly, checking for any gaps or tears that might expose their occupancy. “All good! All right, let’s see what we’ve got for you.”
He was at Arthur’s side in an instant, ready to tip out the small leather satchel that held their most essential supplies. Arthur stopped him with a hand on his arm, sparing him the effort.
“Tylenol, love. Expired Tylenol. That’s all we’ve got.”
“Shit. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. I was taking stock last night.”
“Okay. Fuck… okay. Well you should take some anyway. It might help the fever. Fuck. Are you going to be okay?”
“I’m fine, Al. I’m on the mend, see,” Arthur held out his leg, trousers rolled to his knee. “We’ve come back from worse.”
Alfred, squeamish in a way that Arthur found endearing, took a reluctant glance at the wound. A deep stab from an attacker’s worn screwdriver, it had been gnarly in the first days, quickly infecting and leaving Arthur weak. Now it was still a little red, and perhaps too warm to the touch, but it was healing. Miraculous, when all they’d had to treat it was soap, water and time.
“Yeah, okay. That’s not so bad. It’s looking better.”
“Told you,” Arthur leant up for a kiss, but he stilled upon hearing a distant clatter, hand frozen around Alfred’s neck as he glanced back at the door.
After a moment of silence, he was about to laugh off his nerves, ready to accuse a passing animal or some loose trimming in the wind, when there was another bang. A loud crack followed, then, a little closer, violent rattling.
“Someone’s checking the doors,” he hissed to a startled Alfred.
“Looking for us?” Alfred whispered back.
Arthur shook his head.
“No. I don’t think so. We were careful. No-one could have seen us.”
The assailant grew closer. Arthur could hear their footsteps now, and there was a loud crack as a near-by door was forced open. Somewhere close enough that they could hear drawers opening and the magnetic click of a bathroom cabinet. Still at the bedside, Alfred ducked, and Arthur slipped off the mattress to join him.
“Under the bed,” Alfred gave his shoulder an urgent push, forcing him low onto the carpet. As Arthur sucked in his stomach and squeezed beneath the low bed frame, he distantly remembered a version of himself that would have been disgusted by the crusty fibres beneath his fingertips.
It was too tight a fit for Alfred, who was taller, and somehow still muscular despite his meagre diet.
“Bathroom,” Arthur whispered to him, “behind the shower curtain.”
“No. I need to be here if they get in. You’re not in fighting condition.”
Arthur grunted in frustration, ready to argue, but the spirit left him when he heard a clatter to his right.
It was their door now. From the ground, he could see the wooden base trembling as someone gave it a few solid shoves, and then something heavier, perhaps a large boot or some makeshift battering ram. Arthur flinched at every crash, but the door held.
The assailant moved along, to the next door, and then the next. Probably a rogue scavenger. Probably alone. Probably hoping to get lucky and find a room that hadn’t been pillaged yet. Toothpaste, shampoo, detergent. It was all valuable now.
Still, the noises were several doors away before Arthur could relax, and he squeezed out from under the bed, letting Alfred help him back onto the mattress.
“Okay. It was nothing. We’re okay.”
Arthur was not sure if Alfred was trying to console him, or if he was talking to himself. He smiled anyway, and took Alfred’s hand.
“Of course we are.”
“You should get some sleep. I’ll stay awake for a bit and keep an ear out for more trouble.”
Arthur felt like he’d been doing an awful lot of the sleeping lately, but chose not to disagree whilst the other was on edge. Alfred could be a hard man to argue with when he was feeling paranoid.
“Alright, but you’d better wake me if you get tired.”
“Right. Sure.”
“I mean it. We need to find food tomorrow. It’ll be dangerous if you’re walking around half asleep.”
“Yeah, okay. You’re right. I’ll wake you up in a few hours and we can switch.”
“Good,” Arthur pressed a kiss to Alfred’s cheek, settling himself under the covers. It had been a long time now since he had slept under a blanket that could be considered clean - perhaps stale from lack of attention, but not grimy and unwashed - and he enjoyed the way it felt across his shoulders. Under real sheets and in a real bed, he could almost pretend he was in the past, when life was normal and his biggest worries were college assignments and job interviews.
A hand pressed itself to his forehead - not so hot today as it was yesterday - and then began threading itself through his hair. Arthur closed his eyes, settled into the pillow, and let the peace of the night pull him under.
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It's Halcyon day again! Chapter three is here
Tubbo's just about hit his limit--luckily Tommy has some friends who can help in a pinch
"We're almost through, I promise."
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"The Countess Who Loved Me" - Billy Taylor x Reader (AHS Hotel AU)
Summary: You check in at the Halcyon and a certain bell boy is completely enamored of you.
TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, mentions of murder, corruption kink, blood kink, choking, oral m receiving, orgasm denial, p in v sex
Word Count: 2,610 words
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the The Halcyon characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️
The first time Billy Taylor sees you is the day you check into the Halcyon. You arrive in a black Cadillac, a new model. Billy knows that whoever you are, you’re an important guest, and so, he discreetly attempts to fix his uniform, adjusting his cap, before opening the door to your car. Out comes a delicate hand, nails painted crimson red. Then comes one high heel after the other. He recognizes the perfume you wear as Chanel No 5, what the wealthiest of the wealthy wear, admiring your hauntingly beautiful face when it comes into view. Your lips are painted as red as your nails, eyelashes fluttering slightly as you gaze at him. You wear a fur coat that you hug around your shoulders with your free hand.
“H-Hello, Miss,” he stutters, “Welcome to the Halcyon. My name is Billy.”
Your red lips curl into a coy smile, one that has him feeling as though his heart is in his stomach, your voice rich and smooth with an accent he cannot quite place as you greet him, “It is lovely to meet you, Billy.”
You give him your name, followed by your title. Countess. His eyes go wide and he immediately gives a low bow, which you assure him is wholly unnecessary. Your smile, your laugh, it’s all so enchanting. Intoxicating. You are the epitome of what a countess, no, a princess should be, Billy thinks. There is an aura of mystery about you, he thinks to himself as he follows after you, your bags in his hands, the glamorous countess from some far off country, one that he’s never even heard of.
“Would you be kind enough to show you to my room, Billy?” you ask, biting your lower lip as you gaze up at him.
His cheeks flush under your gaze, eyes drifting downward to your legs before looking into your eyes again, “I’d be delighted,” he manages to say, trying to maintain some level of composure.
His hopes of you not noticing his blush are dashed when you saunter past him, your voice a low purr, “Well, aren’t you just adorable.”
Billy lets out an awkward little laugh, fiddling with his hat before taking a deep breath and leading you toward your room. He can’t help glancing back at you every so often, completely awed by you, the way you carry yourself, the way you walk, everything. The two of you continue to walk in silence until you speak.
“How old are you, Billy?”
“Eighteen,” he says, his voice higher than normal, prompting his cheeks to flush again before he clears his throat and repeats himself.
“Aww, just a baby,” you hum, that playful smile on your lips widening.
He knits his brows together, pride slightly hurt by your comment, “How old are you, Countess?”
“Too old for you, sweetheart,” you wink at him playfully.
He opens the door to your room, hands shaking slightly, before watching you as you stride past him, “I like older women,” he murmurs before speaking up slightly, “You’re very… Very Beautiful.”
Billy watches as you shrug your coat from your shoulders, revealing the slinky black dress you wear underneath that hugs your curves perfectly, clinging to you in a way that makes his pants feel far too tight. His gaze travels to your cleavage, the diamond necklace you wear with the pendant perfectly nestled between your breasts. You’re the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. If he didn’t know before, he’s sure now. He can’t help but think that your pretty black dress would look so much better lying on the ground. His hands twitch, the urge to touch you almost too hard to resist, but he clears his throat and offers you a shy smile as you drape yourself across the chaise lounge, your dress riding up to reveal the slightest hint of your thigh.
“Are you here on holiday, Countess?” Billy asks, setting your bags down.
“You could say that,” you drawl, the strap of your dress sliding down your shoulder ever so slightly.
Billy can’t stop thinking about pulling it down all the way to reveal your arms, your chest…
“I bet you’re pretty popular with the boys,” he blurts, not knowing why he just said that, watching as you cover your mouth, giggling softly, a sound he thinks he could listen to forever.
“I don’t like playing with boys. I like playing with men,” you tease, before eyeing him up and down, your gaze lingering on the growing bulge in his trousers, “Though, you, my dear, are quite adorable. I could just eat you up.”
He blushes, cheeks rosy as he stutters, “I-I could be a man for you,” he stares at your body, imagining running his hands along your curves, “If you wanted me to.”
You just give a knowing look before placing a fifty pound note in his hands with a little smirk, “For all your help. Please bring my dinner up around seven, sweet boy,” you lean in and whisper in his ear, “I’m positively starving.”
He stands there, jaw slack as he stares at the note, shivering slightly at the way your breath tickles his ear, “Erm, thank you, Countess,” he smiles shyly, “What would you like for your dinner?”
“Steak. Rare and bloody,” you reply, “And red wine.”
He nods, “Very good, Countess. I will bring it up to you by seven,” he turns to leave but turns to look at you one more time, “Any other, um, requests for tonight, Countess?”
“Does the hotel have a masseuse? I’m so very tired from my journey,” you hum.
Billy’s body is on fire as he swallows thickly and responds, “No, but I.. I could do it.”
You give him a catlike grin before replying, “Could you, sweetheart? After dinner?”
“Yes, absolutely,” he nods eagerly, already imagining his hands running along your shoulders, your back, your legs, “It would be my pleasure.”
“Aren’t you precious?” you coo, “Thank you, darling.”
Darling.
The term of endearment sends Billy’s heart racing, his cock achingly hard at the sweet tone of your voice. He all but runs out of the room after a quick tip of his hat, entirely embarrassed at what a fool you must think that he is.
When Billy returns with your dinner and knocks on the door, “Countess? It’s Billy. Billy Taylor.”
He cringes at his words. Why did he even say that? But, soon enough, the door opens to reveal you, standing there in a pink silk robe, your hair down, looking glamorous as ever, like some sort of film star.
“Hello again, Billy Taylor,” you give him a sweet smile, speaking in a low, sultry tone, beckoning him inside.
Billy’s heart pounds against his chest, eyes fixed on your figure, taking in every bit of you, feeling as though all the blood in his body has rushed to his cock as he places your dinner on the table, standing with his hands clasped in front of him.
You eye the wine with amusement, giving him a wry grin, “A whole bottle? Would you care to share?”
He nods slowly, completely in awe of you, grabbing two of the glasses from the cabinet behind him and pouring them, your fingertips brushing against his as he hands it to you. Your hands are so soft and smooth, he can hardly bear it.
“Thank you, darling.”
Billy’s heart skips a beat as he mumbles, “No problem, Countess.”
He stands there awkwardly, holding his glass of wine, shifting his weight from foot to foot, startling slightly when you giggle, patting the space beside you on the chaise, “You’re so shy, don’t you want to come sit beside me?”
His heart races as he stumbles over toward you, taking a seat beside you, his thigh pressed against yours as he removes his hat, running a hand through his hair. You rest your hand on his thigh and ask him to tell you about himself, and his entire body tenses, breath catching in his throat. He looks at you, trying to find the words to speak, but he just stays silent, lips parted.
You lean in and whisper in his ear, “How long have you been working here?”
He can feel your breath on his neck and squirms slightly, biting his lip and staring at the floor, “For a while now, Countess.”
“Hm,” you hum, ghosting your lips along his jaw, “Do you enjoy it?”
Billy’s breath grows heavy. He thinks you must be some sort of goddess in human form with the effect you have on him, scrambling his mind completely with just the barest of touches, leaving his body aching for you.
“Yes…”
You rest your chin on his shoulder, running your free hand along his jaw, nails tracing his skin, “You have a jawline for days.”
He takes a sharp breath at your proximity, trying not to make a noise, his whole body crying out for you to just touch him, “Thank you, Countess… You’re so beautiful…”
Your hand on his thigh moves slightly higher as you brush your lips along his jaw before blowing seductively in his ear, “Is that money in your pocket or are you happy to see me, darling?” Billy groans as you move to give his cock a light squeeze over his pants and giggle, “Big boy, aren’t you?”
He’s completely yours. He’s putty in your hands and he doesn’t mind as you nip at his earlobe. Billy bites his lips, gripping his wine glass so tightly he thinks it may shatter. His body trembles at your touch, unable to maintain his composure, mind filled with fantasies of the two of you.
“Please, Countess,” he looks at you with wide, pleading eyes.
“Please what, baby?” you coo, giving his cock another gentle squeeze.
His eyes flutter shut as he begs with a low moan, “Please take me.”
Billy lets out a pitiful whine when you pull away, only to get up and follow after you like an eager little puppy when you beckon him to follow you to the bed with a curved finger. He watches as you drop your robe, revealing your sheer pink nightgown, leaving very little to the imagination, the curve of your ass and the swell of your breasts visible through the flimsy fabric.
“You owe me a massage, darling.”
He races over to you as you lay down on your stomach, mumbling frantically, staring at you, “At your service, Countess.”
Billy begins moving his hands along your back, growing harder and harder with every little moan of relief you let out as he works the tension away from your muscles. Your skin is so soft and smooth he thinks as he lifts your nightdress to gain better access to your body. He’s slightly taken by surprise when you sit up on your knees, back still to him, and pull the nightdress off entirely, tossing it aside. He licks his lips and begins moving his hands against you again, enjoying the little sounds of pleasure you let out at his touch. He chances it and moves lower, slowly removing your panties, revealing your arse. He moves to squeeze there, growing even harder at the feeling of kneading your flesh in his large hands, and judging by the noises you let out, he thinks you like it too.
Feeling a bit braver than usual, he leans forward and whispers in your ear, “How does this feel, Countess?”
You let out a breathy moan as he moves to your thighs, squeezing them, fingers moving to ghost along your cunt as you murmur, “Perfect.”
You surprise him by turning onto your back to face him, your breasts bared to him, so round and full and perfect as your lips twist up into a smile, “Have you ever seen a naked woman before, sweet boy?”
He swallows thickly, painfully hard by this point, “N-no, Countess, this is the first time.”
“And what do you think?”
You sit up, taking his hands and placing them on your breasts, urging him to touch you. He moves his thumbs over your pert nipples, gasping at how your tits feel in his hands. He’s speechless, moving forward, closer to you, his lips inching toward your breasts as he gazes up at you, as if asking for permission. You nod, throwing your head back and moaning as he takes one nipple in his mouth, rolling it between his lips as he moves onto the bed with you, laying on top of you.
“Good boy,” you purr, running a hand through his hair, “But now, let me take care of you, hm?”
In a flash, you switch positions with him, so that you straddle him and he lays back on the bed. Billy wonders how you did that so fast, but doesn’t care, too busy moaning as you undo his trousers and take his long, thick cock into your soft hand, giving it one slow tug, spreading the pre cum around the tip with your thumb. Billy throws his head back, letting it hit the headboard as you take him into your mouth, those beautiful red lips of yours wrapped around his cock. You keep eye contact with him as your hot, wet mouth envelops him, taking him in so far he hits the back of your throat. You bob your head up and down, fondling his balls, squeezing gently, as you keep your gaze on him. He whimpers at the feeling, grasping at the bedsheets.
“Countess, I’m going to… Oh, God…”
And then? You stop. You pull away with a smirk. He stares at you, wounded, wondering why you would bring him so close to the edge only to rob him of his climax. But he gets his answer when you move forward and sink down onto his cock, moving your hips up and down as your cunt squeezes him tight. He cries out your name as you move to kiss his neck, bouncing up and down on his length, telling him how big he is and how he’s practically tearing you apart.
“Such a perfect boy for me,” you coo, grazing your teeth against his neck.
Billy whimpers, his entire body trembling as you continue moving your hips against his, “Please, I want to be with you…”
“No, you don’t, darling,” you purr in his ear, “You don’t know what I am.”
“I don’t care what you are,” he pleads, “I need you. I want to be with you.”
And then, you pull your lips back from his neck, giving him a toothy smile, revealing your elongated canines. Fangs.
“I’ve been called many things,” you hum as you move your fingers to his throat, squeezing ever so slightly, reveling in the little whine he lets out at the feeling, “But the most popular term is vampire.”
“I don’t care,” he declares, “Make me yours, Countess.”
“You want to be my familiar?” you coo as you tighten around him, making him whine your name, “My little toy to feed on and fuck?”
He nods eagerly, hair matted to his forehead as he bucks his hips up against yours in time with you, “Yes, Countess, make me yours. Make me your familiar. I am yours.”
“As you wish, pet.”
You sink your fangs into his neck, drinking from him, the pleasure from the feeling of you partaking from him prompting him to spill himself, your cunt squeezing tight around him as you reach your own peak, pulling away from him, blood dripping from the corner of your lips. He eagerly kisses you, tasting his own blood on your lips.
“You’re mine now, darling.”
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How did you start your blog… tips please?
I just started by posting one of my fics and letting it go from there - there wasn't much to it until a few requests were sent my way and I had to adjust. I suggest that you make a request form (if you plan on taking requests) and set up some rules for your blog before you post. From then on it's just consistency and having fun!
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Body Electric
Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader x Billy Taylor (The Halcyon)
Warnings: Angst, mentions of PTSD and familial death, (consensual) infidelity, voyeurism, smut.
Word count: ~3.9k
Summary: Tom's been sullen since returning from the Navy, and when his sister, Lois, moves from Longsight to London it heralds the end of the honeymoon period of his and his wife's marriage. Deciding a trip to the capital is just what they need to reignite the flame, Tom's wife gets much more than she bargains for when they check into The Halcyon, and she flirts with the handsome young bell boy to make her husband jealous.
Author's note: For @adragonprinceswhore and @mefools. This is not a crack fic. I have warped canon (I mean, I had to get these two to exist in the same AU anyway), so Billy didn't die when he was drafted, and has gone back to his old job at The Halcyon. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.
Dappled sunlight plays upon Tom’s sharp features, the occasional shadow of a tree or building passing across his face as the train speeds through the British countryside. He’d look beautiful, bathed in golden hues, were it not for the pensive expression he wears, and the faintest of dark circles that linger beneath his eyes.
She can’t remember the last time he looked genuinely happy - perhaps it was their wedding day?
Her and Tom had met in secondary school, and she’d thought he was an idiot to begin with; handsome, but always mucking around in lessons, never able to take anything seriously. It wasn’t until they’d both left that they’d become an item. She’d go to the weekly dances at the Pavillion, and every week he would ask her out. The first three times she had said no, not wanting to get mixed up with a known troublemaker. On the fourth occasion she’d relented, simply in the hopes that if she said yes he’d leave her alone. But she’d found she enjoyed his company, he made her laugh effortlessly, and when his blue eyes gazed into hers it made her feel like the only girl in the world that mattered. When he had kissed her it had stolen all the air from her lungs, and from that point on she was smitten with Tom Bennett.
The night before he shipped out for the first time, she had thought he meant to slam the bed’s headboard through the brickwork of the wall with the force with which he took her. However, she had smiled to herself when she’d felt the pleasant ache between her thighs the next day.
“Something to remember me by,” he’d told her with a wink and that trademark smirk of his.
Something to remember indeed.
She’d barely recognised him when he’d returned. He was thin, tired, didn’t laugh as freely, and learning that his father had passed when the Bennett family home was shelled had darkened his mood further. He hadn’t stayed long, enough to argue with his sister, Lois, and enough to find his way between her thighs once more and make her swear to him that she’d marry him when he came back.
Of course she had said yes, there was no one in the world she could imagine wanting to marry more than Tom. But with how things are between them these days she is left wondering if he’d married her because he loved her, or because she was the one thing left in Longsight that he could anchor himself to.
They’d married quickly when Tom was discharged for the final time, the war at its end. It had been an intimate affair, and despite the toll his service to his country had taken on him, Tom still gazed into her eyes on their wedding night and made her feel like the only girl in the world that mattered.
But then Lois had announced she was taking Vera and moving to London - her and Connie had found a place they could share. A fresh start. She had hinted at wanting to move away from Longsight before, and Tom had dismissed it, insisting that the family must stay together.
He was furious when she’d chosen to go anyway, refusing to be part of the send off party for her at the train station.
“This is where mum and dad are buried, how can she do this?!” He’d raged.
“They’re just headstones, Tommy,” she had tried to reassure him, “memories go everywhere with you.”
“You wouldn’t fucking understand,” he’d seethed back at her, “you’ve still got both your parents, what have I got?!”
“You’ve got me, you’ll always have me,” she’d said quietly.
He’d fallen silent at that, bowing his head and averting his gaze. It made her chest ache to see him that way.
It’s been close to a month since they were last intimate, and she has done her best to be patient and understanding. His time in the Navy has put him through a horrendous ordeal, coupled with losing Douglas, and his sister moving away, so she doesn’t pressure him.
However, she misses her husband. She feels that he is abandoning her each time he retreats into himself, going somewhere she can’t follow. Like two ships in the night, they pass each other by, laying in the same bed physically but emotionally never further apart.
When a letter arrives from Lois, letting them know she’s settled and would love for them to visit, she jumps at the opportunity. She has some money put aside from her job at the factory, and her and Tom never got to have a honeymoon, this would be the perfect way for them to rekindle the romance in their marriage.
She is shocked, yet thrilled, when Tom actually agrees to it, and the pair of them arrange a week’s worth of leave from their respective jobs, arranging to stay in a hotel rather than impose themselves upon Lois’ hospitality. There’d be plenty for them to do while they’re there, and she can’t wait to see the sights of Piccadilly Circus and Carnaby Street, she’s never been to London before.
Tom has stared silently out of the window the entire train ride from Manchester, though she knows better than to believe he’s taking in the scenery. It’s merely so he doesn’t have to make conversation. She can live with that, she is certain that once they’ve had their romantic week away that he’ll be much more talkative on the journey back.
Everything will be fine once we’re checked into The Halcyon.
It is early evening by the time they arrive, and Euston station is a crowded rush of people when they step onto the platform. She is fearful of it for a moment, never having seen so many people all in one place at once, until Tom takes her by the hand, guiding her through the crowds towards the taxi rank. Her heart soars at the gesture, a hopeful smile tugging at her lips over his protectiveness. Perhaps he is not lost to her after all.
She stares in wide eyed wonder out of the window of the black cab as it drives through the streets of London. It is similar to Manchester in its greyness and vastness, they both have all the trappings of big city living, however, the heart of London beats to an entirely different rhythm than that of Manchester’s. The capital seems harsher, more relentless than the northern locale that she calls home. She wonders if perhaps this is the right place to try to rekindle the spark in hers and Tom’s marriage after all.
That is until they step into the foyer of The Halcyon. Her heels click against the black and white tiles of the foyer, her mouth agape as she takes in the opulence of the huge pillars, the palm trees that flank either side of the entrance, and the yellow and orange hues of the stained glass panel in the ceiling. How could they not reignite their passion when they were going to live like royalty for a week?
“Billy!” The dark haired woman manning reception calls around the corner, once they’ve checked in. “Come and help Mr and Mrs. Bennett with their bags.”
A tall, lean young man, who can’t be any older than twenty, rounds the corner. He’s handsome, with bright blue eyes, and mousy hair that’s slicked back beneath the cap of his black and grey bellboy uniform.
He gives her a tight lipped smile, the tips of his ears turning pink as he looks at her and she can’t help the way she preens at his flustered state.
Still got it.
“Second floor, Billy,” the receptionist tells him as he leans down to grab their suitcases, “room twenty six.”
Billy nods. “Right this way, please, Mr and Mrs. Bennett,” he says, directing them towards the lifts.
She can feel the bellboy’s gaze upon her in the tight confines of the elevator and smiles to herself. At least someone was appreciative of her.
He takes his leave, bidding them both a good evening once their luggage is deposited outside of their room door, and her and Tom are left alone once more.
Tom whistles low as they enter, flicking on the lights, and she feels pride swell in her chest that he’s impressed by the lavish surroundings. A shiver of excitement runs through her as her eyes move over the crisp white pillows and crimson duvet that adorn the bed, thinking that this might be where they’ll finally make love for the first time in a month.
It’s a beautiful room; lace curtains hang in the windows, ornate floral wallpaper decorates the walls, there’s a writing desk by the window, and a yellow velvet armchair is placed off to one side by the bed.
Turning back towards Tom, she steps towards him, sliding her hands up his chest, over his jacket. She smiles demurely up at him, her voice a soft purr. “So, Mr. Bennett, what shall we do now?”
“It’s been a long journey, love,” he tells her, taking one of her hands and brushing his lips against her knuckles. “Let’s just get some rest, yeah?”
“Oh…okay,” she nods, stepping back and looking away. She feels like she might cry, as disappointment weighs heavily upon her chest. This is not how she imagined their first night here would go at all.
As she lays in the darkness, listening to the strange sounds of the city, motor cars and loud voices, all seeping in through the closed window, she can’t seem to fall asleep. She turns her face towards Tom, who lays facing away from her, wondering if he’s awake too.
“Tommy?” She whispers.
“Yeah?” He whispers back.
She pauses a moment, and when she speaks again she’s unable to disguise the tremble of emotion in her voice. “Do…do you still love me?”
He rolls to face her then, and the devastation of what she’s implying is evident in the arch of his eyebrows and parting of his lips, illuminated by the light of the streetlamp that pours in through the lace curtains. She feels a lump in her throat, regretting having asked.
“Course I do,” he says earnestly, tugging her towards him, and she buries her face in his chest. He presses his lips to the crown of her head, rubbing her back. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I’ve been letting you down.”
They stay like that for the rest of the night.
The next morning they sit in the hotel’s dining room for breakfast. Tom idly smokes a cigarette, a full English in front of him, while she butters her toast.
“Gonna go and see Lois today,” he tells her, taking a swig from his tea cup.
“I thought we’d arranged to visit her on Sunday?” She asks, frowning in confusion as she sets her knife down on her plate.
“We are,” Tom says, blowing smoke out through his nostrils - a gesture she has long since learned is a sign of irritation on his part. “But I’m gonna go see her today - alone.”
You’re going to start an argument, and then come back in a bad mood.
She sighs, folding her hands in her lap. “And what am I supposed to do?”
Tom shrugs. “Go to Carnaby Street, or whatever it was you were saying you wanted to do while we’re here.”
“Tommy, we’re supposed to do those things together, and I don’t wanna walk around London on my own!”
He nods, stubbing his cigarette out on the yolk of his fried egg, causing her to wrinkle her nose in disgust. He had barely touched his food, he never does anymore.
“Alright, look, I’m only gonna be gone a couple of hours, then we can do whatever you want. Why don’t you order some drinks for when I get back, and we can start our holiday properly?”
“You promise?” She asks with a small smile.
“Cross my heart,” he says, taking a final swig of his tea. He stands from the table and presses a kiss to her temple.
“And promise you won’t be horrible to Lois?”
“I’m not promising anything for that mardy cow,” he says, giving her a wink, before walking off.
She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms.
Fuck’s sake, Tommy.
She goes back up to the room once she’s finished her breakfast, and takes a long, hot soak in the bath. Almost two hours have passed by the time she has her make-up finished and her hair curled. Dressed in lingerie and a satin robe, she is still deciding on an outfit when she realises Tom will be back soon and she hasn’t ordered their drinks.
Calling down to the hotel’s switchboard from the phone on the desk, she asks for a glass of white wine and a whisky to be sent up to the room. Ordinarily, Tom is a lager drinker, but she decides he deserves a treat as they’re on holiday.
Ten minutes later, there’s a knock at the door and the bellboy from yesterday stands on the other side, holding a tray with the drinks they’d ordered.
She smiles warmly, watching him blush as he bows his head and enters the room, setting the tray down on a nearby table.
“Thank you…Billy, wasn’t it?” She asks, cocking her head.
He presses his lips together in a tight smile, glancing at her before looking shyly away again. It’s clear her state of undress is having an effect on him. “Yes, Mrs. Bennett,” he says, clearing his throat and straightening, clasping his hands behind his back. “Will that be all?”
Excitement flutters in her lower belly. It’s been a long time since a man has reacted to her so bashfully, and she’s enjoying it. She isn’t ready to let Billy slip away just yet.
“No need to be so formal, sweetheart,” she coos, “you can call me by my first name.”
He shuffles from foot to foot, huffing a nervous laugh. “Sorry, Mrs…sorry…”
“How old are you, Billy?” She asks, stepping towards him.
“I’m twenty-one.”
Seven years my junior. Not as bad as I’d thought.
“Did you serve, Billy?”
“Yes,” he says with a proud smile. “I manned the anti aircraft guns at the barracks for three years.”
The sound of a key in the lock draws both their attention towards the door, as Tom walks through it. Just as she’d anticipated, his expression is sour. He’s argued with Lois.
“I’ll leave you both to it,” Billy says, with a polite nod of his head.
She knows how this will play out. Billy will leave, and Tom will allow his bad mood to ruin their day, either by refusing to leave their hotel room, or simply sulking his way around London when they’re supposed to be having a good time. Opting to use the current situation to her advantage, she decides to be tactical, and give her husband a reminder of what he’s missing out on. If he sees another man flirting with his wife, perhaps it will snap him out of this.
“No need to be in such a hurry, Billy, we were just getting to know each other. Or do you have somewhere you need to be?”
Billy eyes Tom carefully as he walks past the both of them, taking the whisky from the tray on the desk and sipping from it.
“Well, my shift finishes in ten minutes,” he says distractedly, “so I s’pose I could–”
“Perfect,” she cuts him off, taking his arm and guiding him to sit next to her on the edge of the bed.
Tom remains silent, taking a seat in the armchair and placing his glass on the table next to it. His jaw is set, gaze dark. He only ever looks like this when he’s sparring for a fight, but if this is what it takes, then so be it.
“Do you have a sweetheart, Billy?” She asks softly, fingernails grazing his thigh, causing him to flush bright red.
“Er…well…” he removes his cap, keeping his gaze fixed on it as he turns it round in his hands. “There was a maid that worked here…Kate, her name was. I fancied her…really fancied her, but she moved back to Ireland to be with her family when the worst of the bombing hit.”
“Oh, you poor love,” she soothes, giving his hand a squeeze. “I expect a handsome lad like you has girls queuing up.”
The click of Tom’s lighter pulls their focus back to him, and he exhales a plume of smoke, staring intently at them both. “Do you fancy my wife?” He asks Billy, with a steely gaze.
Billy swallows thickly, eyes widening in panic as he opens and closes his mouth.
“It’s okay, Billy,” she says gently, “you don’t need to be shy.”
“Well…I hope you don’t mind me saying, Mrs…sorry…but I think you’re beautiful.”
This time it’s her turn to feel embarrassed, and she averts her gaze as she feels her skin grow warm.
“Yeah, she is beautiful isn’t she? Would you like to kiss her?” Tom asks, lifting his glass and taking a deep drink from it, his eyes never leaving Billy.
Her head snaps up, looking at her husband with wide eyed shock.
Why is he asking that?!
“Tommy…” she says hesitantly, an edge of warning in her tone.
“It’s fine, love,” he takes another drag of his cigarette, settling further into the armchair, observing the both of them. “Go on, kiss her.”
Returning her attention to Billy, he’s shuffled closer, looking at her questioningly.
“Is…is this okay?” He whispers, leaning in.
She nods, closing the gap and her lips meet his. He is hesitant at first. His kisses are not as forceful as Tom’s, his lips are softer. As she reaches up to cup his cheek, he seems to grow more confident, applying more pressure, a quiet hum of approval rumbling in his throat. It makes her core throb to be desired like this.
When they finally part for air, she is breathless and flustered. She looks straight to Tom. He sits, watching them casually, fingers wrapped around his glass in one hand, propped on the arm of the chair, his cigarette burning low between his forefingers in the other.
“Do you wanna touch her?” He asks Billy, a low, darkened edge to his voice.
“Yeah…yeah, I do,” Billy answers, sounding more poised than he had just moments before.
“Go on then,” Tom instructs, “brush your thumb over her nipple, she likes that.”
She gasps softly as Billy leans in again, capturing her lips with his own once more. A quiet moan escapes her as she feels his hand tentatively slip into the opening of her robe, his thumb swiping gently over the lace of her brassiere.
He is not as self assured as Tom, Billy’s touch is featherlight by comparison, but it’s been so long since someone has paid this kind of attention to her that she responds to it just the same. She arches against Billy, her tongue slipping into his mouth as she hears his cap drop to the carpet with a soft thud.
“You can fuck her, if you want to,” Tom rasps, and she glances over at him, as Billy’s desperate kisses move down her neck. His blue eyes are still dark, she’s no longer able to tell if it’s from anger or arousal, the two states look much the same when he wears them.
There’s a part of her mind that’s screaming at her that this is wrong, that they should stop. However, if this is what it takes to get Tom to notice her again, then she’ll do it, and selfishly she’s enjoying how it feels.
Billy pushes her back, and she goes willingly. “Are you sure this is okay?” He whispers, his voice betraying his nerves.
She nods, untying and opening her robe, to reveal the lacy lingerie set she wears beneath.
Billy draws in a sharp inhale, before hurriedly unfastening his belt and unzipping his trousers with shaky hands.
He freezes, looking at Tom. “I…I don’t have a sheath.”
“Don’t need one,” Tom replies nonchalantly, crushing his cigarette butt out in the ashtray. “Best not keep her waiting.”
She pulls the gusset of her knickers to one side as Billy hovers over her. She can feel she’s soaked already. Billy is not quite as girthy as Tom, but still an impressive size that causes her breath to catch in her throat as he starts to press inside.
Tom chuckles quietly from where he sits. “She’s tight, isn’t she? Tightest little pussy I’ve ever had. Go careful.”
His words cause her to ache with want, and she moans wantonly as Billy bottoms out with a grunt. He’s gentle, much more so than Tom would be, slowly withdrawing before pushing back in, a dusting of pink prominent across his cheekbones.
“You won’t break her,” Tom tells him, “can just imagine how wet and warm she feels. Fuck her harder, and wrap one of her legs around you. She goes mad for that.”
She cries out, white hot sparks of pleasure swirling in her gut as Billy does as he’s told, the shallow pants of his breath puffing hotly against the side of her face.
Turning her head, she looks at her husband and he smirks, eyes raking over the scene before him as Billy continues to rut into her.
“T–Tommy…” she moans.
With each push of Billy’s hips into hers, she can feel her climax building, she’s right on the precipice, but it seems Billy is too. He tenses, a groan escaping him.
“Don’t you dare come inside her,” snaps Tom.
As if on cue, Billy pulls out, making her whine at the loss, coating her thighs in his hot spend as his jaw slackens and his brow furrows.
Before she’s had a chance to recover, Tom is rising from his seat towards the bed. “You can go now,” he tells Billy.
Still struggling to catch his breath, Billy nods, clambering off of her and fastening his trousers and belt back up. He stoops to pick up his cap, before hurrying towards the door, followed by Tom.
She lays there, dumbfounded and breathless, through glassy eyes she watches Tom hand Billy a bank note. “You’ll not tell anyone about this, d’you understand?”
“Y–yes, sir.”
She hears the door click closed, and Tom walks back over to the bed. His pupils are blown wide with lust and it sends a shiver through her.
“Enjoy yourself, love?” He asks, grabbing her thighs and tugging her towards the edge of the mattress, making her squeal.
“Are you angry with me?” She asks quietly, feeling shame bloom heavily within her chest.
“No,” he says distractedly, attention focused on her core. His thumb swipes through the stickiness that’s been left on her thigh, spreading it slowly over her skin. “No, I’m not angry.”
“You’ve been so absent lately,” she says sadly, propping herself up on her elbows. “Just wanted your attention.”
He straightens, nodding in understanding. “Yeah, I get it. I’ve been neglecting you, and that’s my fault. But don’t worry, I won’t anymore. Now–”
She clenches around nothing as his hands move to his belt, and she hears the metallic clink of it opening.
“Now you have my full attention, and I’m gonna make sure you get all of it.”
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iv. when there’s blood in the water
He half-expects Percy to rage against that. Say that him being a kid never mattered to the gods. He expects his expression to crumble like Will’s had. But Percy just shrugs. “Not anymore. And the older I become, the more obvious it becomes that I’ve done things others haven’t dared to do to survive. I—gods, I just. I feel so complacent. Everything is going to shit, and I just want to run away. I keep thinking about how lucky I’ve been and how selfish it’s made me. Luke—”
Here his voice falters. Breaks.
“Luke Castellan,” Apollo says. “You are basing your shortcomings on the life of Luke Castellan?”
“Luke Castellan was seventeen when Kronos got a hold of him,” Percy says, voice small. “And he was so full of rage that he decided to stake his life on trying to make the gods pay.” Percy shrugs. “He fought back. That’s more than I can say.”
*rises from the dead to post this randomly at four in the morning* hiiiiii guys. i just. don’t have words
(ao3 link in title!)
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