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pathetichimbos · 7 months

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First Meeting - Part Two

((part one here))

((part three here))

Thomas Hewitt/GN!Reader

taglist: @goodiesinthecloset21

---

You've run away from home, hitchhiking around Texas as you come up with your next plan, only to find that life has plans of its own when a simple ride with a group of friends lands you at a lone gas station in Travis County, drawn to a mysterious man most seem to avoid.

---

You let out a sigh as you exit the store, a bounce to your walk as you head in the opposite direction you came from, moving rather quickly in order to cover as much ground as possible before the dark of the night hits.

It doesn't take long before a large, familiar figure comes into view ahead, his pace much slower than your own.

Realizing your only options are to either ignore him and pass him, or slow down and accidentally look like a creep following him, you sigh and jog ahead, slowing down to match his pace as you catch up.

"Funny seeing you again," You catch him off guard, making him jump a little as he looks at you in surprise, "...Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you, I just saw we were headin' the same way and I thought I'd just say hi."

He sighs, seeming to relax a bit after your mini jump scare.

"So..." You start, realizing he wasn't going to reply, "...You live out this way?"

He nods.

"Seems quiet."

Another nod.

"Kind of like you." You give another smile, shrugging, "I was always told I could talk the ear off of a dead man."

He lets out a small, humored chuckle, and you feel yourself relax a little.

Conversation begins to flow easier as the two of you walk along, with you talking about the people you'd met and the places you'd seen in the last month and a half. The more you talk, the easier it becomes to see the good in your adventure, the ache of your empty stomach and sore muscles fading into the background as you retell your stories.

“Can't say I'd be able to find it again, but man, it was a really beautiful place. I'd love to go there again.”

Thomas nods, a genuine smile on his face from hearing the way you described the lake you had found last week.

You can feel the long grass reaching its way under your jeans, scratching at your ankles as the two of you walk side by side down a narrow dirt path you had absent-mindedly followed him down.

“Maybe I will go back...” You hum a little, hands resting in your back pockets, “Can't be that hard to find, right?”

He lets out a low hum of agreement as the two of you break the clearing in the trees and a large white house slowly comes into view.

“Whoa...” You mutter as the two of you reach the porch, “You live here?”

He nods.

“Wow…” You gaze at the house. It was old, sure, the white paint peeling off, the windows dusty and missing a couple of panels, but it was huge, and absolutely gorgeous.

The worn porch swing creaks as a summer breeze slowly pushes it, and you can distinguish the faint sound of animals echoing from the barn that sat a bit further back from the house.

You look at the overgrown property and sigh before smiling at Thomas, almost sadly as you realize it was time to leave.

“Well, I guess I should–” Your words are cut off by a deep, growling sound.

The Texas sun was no match for the heat in your face as you realized the noise was coming from your stomach.

Thomas tilts his head and you quickly look away, biting the inside of your cheek.

“I, uh–” Southern pride keeps your mouth shut as you stumble over your words, eyes boring holes in the dirt as you try to think of an excuse.

You're pulled from your own embarrassment as a strong hand grabs your arm, pulling you up the old wooden stairs and into the house.

It was just as big on the inside, greeting you with a large hallway that stretched to the other end of the house. To your immediate right was an opening to the spacious living room, and a little further down was a staircase leading to the second story.

You, however, were directed to the left, to a small table sitting in a rather big kitchen- though it didn't seem quite as big as the living room sitting across the hall.

“N-no, it’s no problem-!” You try to protest, but he doesn't hear a word of it as his firm grip gently nudges you into a chair.

You sit there, now quietly flustered as Thomas looks through the fridge.

“Tommy what the hell are you doing!?” A new voice suddenly came from beyond the kitchen, and the owner followed in.

It was an older man, wheelchair bound and missing the bottom half of his legs. He looks to Thomas, and then to you, a look of confusion and annoyance on his face as he does so.

“Who the hell is this?”

“I, uh, I’m Y/N…” You offer, knowing Thomas doesn't speak, “I met Thomas down at the station and walked with him.”

“Does Hoyt know about this?” The man ignores you as he continues looking at Thomas.

He finally turns around, a plate covered with tin foil in hand as he shakes his head to the other man.

“Ah, shit, Thomas. I ain't dealing with this. Don't try to say I didn't warn you.” He scoffs before turning back and leaving the kitchen.

You stare at the doorway he just left through, realizing that everyone you had seen so far in this town seemed to either know or be related to Thomas in one way or another.

Perched on the old kitchen wall was a picture of the older woman from the station, though she seemed a bit younger and less grumpy. The sheriff- Hoyt, you had remembered her calling his name- had called her Mama, and the man that had just left mentioned him as well.

You wondered if they had any other family filling the rooms of this large home, though right now it seemed quiet, save for the faint echoes of a TV playing from a room you hadn't seen yet.

Thomas pushes a plate in front of you, catching your attention as he grabs a fork and hands it to you as well.

“Thank you, but you really don’t have to–”

He cuts you off by tapping the table beside the plate.

You sigh, the clench of your empty stomach reminding you that you weren't going to gain anything by not eating it.

You pull back the tin foil to reveal a full meal, something you hadn’t seen in days. The food was piled up, and your mouth was practically watering at the sight. You take your first bite, the flavor exploding in your mouth and making your stomach growl again.

It had been so long since you'd had proper food, you didn't even mind that it was cold, simply excited to get something in your system.

You eat as much as you can, having to turn away over half of it after your shrunken stomach protests eating anymore.

Feeling more comfortable, you gave him a smile and thanked him again, “Did you cook that?”

He shook his head and pointed to a picture on the wall, the same picture of the station clerk that you noticed earlier.

“She's your mother?” You question, earning a nod in response.

You open your mouth to continue when a car door slams shut outside and an almost familiar voice calls out.

“Thomas!” The man screams from the front yard.

“Is that… The sheriff?” You ask, looking back to Thomas who was staring at the door, his face now grim and shoulders tense.

“Thomas, get your ass out here!” Hoyt hollers for him again.

Thomas stands from the table, another voice echoing in from the outside.

“No, no, please, let us go!” A woman screams, her voice blood curdling and scared.

You stand up as well, a worry in your voice, “Is that Katie?”

Thomas puts a hand on your shoulder and shakes his head, a warning.

More screaming comes from the front yard, the voices of the sheriff and Katie mixing together as they yell at each other.

Thomas tugs your arm, pulling you to the kitchen pantry. He motions for you to stay quiet before shutting the door, his fading footsteps leaving the kitchen.

You sit in the dark, heart racing as your mind tries to piece together what was happening.

The slam of the front door makes you jump as the sheriff yells again, his voice much louder and clearer as he had apparently come inside, “Goddamnit, boy, when I holler for you, that means you come!”

“Please, please, let me go, I won’t tell anyone, I swear to God…” Katie was sobbing, you could hear it in her voice and the way she hiccupped between her words.

“Here, Tommy, put her in the kitchen. We’ll let Momma deal with her when she gets home.”

Your body seems to move on its own as you crack the pantry door open, watching Thomas drag Katie across the kitchen floor.

Blood is soaking her clothes, leaving a mess trailing behind as Thomas ties her hands to the kitchen table.

He glances up, intense eyes staring you down as he shakes his head, a silent command to shut the door.

You do as you're told, hands covering your mouth as you start to hyperventilate, adrenaline rushing your system as you start to shake.

You can hear Thomas' heavy footsteps leave the room again over Katie's crying, the table scraping the floor as she futilely pulls against her restraints.

What the hell did you get yourself into?

Your mind starts racing as you try to contemplate your options.

You could stay hidden here, sure, but for how long? What if Thomas wasn't the next person to open the door, and what would you even do if it was?

Would you take the risk and bolt? Would he even let you?

Your breathing starts to become shaky and uneven as the fear takes over your mind. You shut your eyes and lean against the door, trying to ignore the sounds of the girl on the other side.

She was crying, still, asking no one in particular, “God, why me? Why us, God, why–” She cries out, sobbing violently as her sentence is cut off with a broken sob.

After a few minutes of this, the front door opens once again, and footsteps, too soft to be Thomas' or Hoyt’s, come in.

You peer out of the door again, watching as the older woman from the gas station steps into the kitchen.

Katie notices her as well, immediately crying out, begging for help.

You watch as she stops in front of her with a sigh, “Oh, dear. What has that Hoyt done now…?” She mutters before walking past her.

She doesn't notice you as she walks out of view and comes back with a bowl of water and a rag.

“I don’t know why he always has to be so messy.” She shakes her head, gently running the rag across Katie's face.

“Please, please, let me go, please…” Katie pleads with her, only for the woman to hush her, “Why are you doing this?”

“Well, we’ve got company coming over, and you don’t want to be all dirty, do you?” She coos slightly as she finishes washing her face, “There we go, that’s better, isn’t it?”

Katie sobs again, yanking at the ropes once more.

The woman ignores her, walking out of view once again, you assume to get rid of the bowl of water and now bloody rag.

You close the door again and sigh, pressing your forehead against the door as tears begin to slip down your cheeks.

What was going to happen to you?

You sit there in that pantry, silent and listening to Katie’s tears as you wait to find out.

You can hear the woman come back into the kitchen and begin making something, and eventually the whistling kettle hints at tea, or maybe even coffee. At some point another woman joined her and they both took a seat and began chit chatting.

You barely listen to their conversation, only picking up on the first woman’s name, Luda Mae. You didn’t catch the second woman’s name as they chatted casually, exchanging small talk about the weather and the tea. If it wasn’t for Katie’s crying, you’d assume nothing was out of the ordinary at all.

“Oh, here, let me go get you some from the pantry.” Luda Mae's voice pulls you from your thoughts as you listen to her shuffling footsteps come closer and closer.

Your heart stops and sinks all at once and you feel sick realizing what was about to happen.

You push yourself away from the door, holding your bag in front of you as if it could somehow keep you hidden, silently pressing yourself against the back shelves as you brace yourself.

The door handle starts to turn.

A feeling of complete helplessness settles in as the door swings open.

Your eyes screw shut as light floods the pantry, waiting for the worst possible outcome as you shake, holding your measly bag in front of you.

"Please..." You mutter, whether it be to her or to a God or yourself, you don't know, "Don't hurt me..."

#first meeting #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x s/o #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x y/n #slasher x s/o

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thedevilrisen · 6 months

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Trust Me Mate

Jack Hughes x Y/N

Description: Based on the song 'Trust me mate' by Dean Lewis.

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Would be greatly appreciated if you could reblog. I love talking to people so say Hi if you want to. Feel Free to send in requests as well. I'm happy to write for most hockey players.

Warnings: Alcohol, Throwing up - I think that's it ( let me know if I missed more.)

-Sincerely thedevilrisen.

you’re pulling out your cigarette

you bring it up toward your lips

you breathe and push the smoke away just like you do with all your friends

I rapped my knuckles against the door three times, underneath the gold 126 plaque helping anyone unknown find this apartment. I wasn’t unknown though, I’ve been here hundreds of times, walked up the 13 flights of stairs for three months straight when the elevator broke to get here. The dull thud of footsteps alerted me to the fact that you were coming to the door. The gentle click of the lock and opening of the door as far as the chain allowed me to get my first glimpse of her face in a month.

“Can you let me in please.” I asked. She shut the door, I heard the slide of the chain bolt and then the door opened fully revealing her.

“Jack. What are you doing here?” she whispered exasperated, moving to the side to let me into her dark apartment.

“I haven’t heard from you in a month Y/N.” I spoke examining her apartment as we walked further in, “I’ve been worried about you.”

“Well I’m fine Jack. Now if that’s all you’ve come to do, you can leave.” she concluded. Crossing her arms across her chest. Why are you self-conscious around me, Y/N? I thought.

“I left my good water bottle in your room the last time I was here. I’m just going to go get it.” I whispered, looking down as I made my way down the hallway to her room.

your room is messy and full of clothes

the curtains drawn, the Windows closed.

when did the person that i loved turn into someone i don't know

Stepping over clothes, and empty alcohol bottles strewn across the room I made my way to the wooden dresser where my water bottle is perched on the corner. All the photos that normally sit proudly on top of the dresser drawers were laid face down, draws half opened with clothes half falling out of some and an overflowing hamper basket that looks like it has a month's worth of laundry piled in it. Dust had piled on the window sills and the metal slats of the blinds.

“Jack, stop snooping!” she shouted, voice wavering, tears brimming her eyes. “Get your water bottle and go!”

“Y/N..” I mumbled

i say it's time we have to talk

“No Jack!” she shouted again, silent tears running down her cheek as she walked out of her room. “We don’t need to!”

you make a move towards the door and you deny there's anything to hide or answer for

you say, ‘I don't don't want you in my place just get the fuck out of my face’

“No Y/N! I’m not leaving you like this!” I yelled back, stepping back and running a hand down my face.

“Please Jack, just leave me be. I’m fine I promise.” she begged, hands clasped at her chest.

“Fine.” I grit out through my teeth, reaching for the door. “Bye Y/N.”

“Bye!” she returned angrily.

but I won't give up so easy 'cause I know you'd do the same

DING. The elevator doors opened and I walked in, pressing the 13 and watching as the doors closed and the numbers on the screen above the panel changed, counting as they went up, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13. The doors hummed as they opened letting me walk down the all too familiar hallway, patting my back pocket to make sure I brought the spare key I had to her apartment with me just in case she wouldn’t let me in, my other hand had the paper handles of a shopping bag filled with goodies dangling from my fingers.

126, the gleaming numbers shone back at me, my left hand raising to the door and hitting my knuckles against the wood three times. Just like always. Waiting for a minute or so before knocking again. Anxiously waiting on a response as the minutes passed by, I continued staring at the gilded numbers. “Fuck this.” I mumbled, reaching around and pulling the silver key out of my back pocket and fumbling to slot it into the lock. CLICK. “Success!” I whispered, pushing the door open tentatively, taking a step inside the still darkened apartment. “Y/N?” I questioned into the eerie silence. “I know you didn’t want me here, but I can’t leave you like this. Y/N?” Moving toward her room and opening the door, light was coming from the bathroom along with sounds of gut-wrenching sobs and heaving. Dropping the bag I had clutched in my hand and rushing to the door, pushing it open and reclining at the sight before me. Y/N curled up on the cold tile floor of the shower, sobbing and dry heaving a bottle of whiskey knocked over and discarded to her right.

But trust me mate you've got this you always were the strongest but I'm not gonna promise that this won't hurt

you were lying in the bathroom we almost thought we lost you

cause tryna numb the pain only makes it worse

I'm not giving up on you.

“J-Jack, I-i.. leave please.” she sobbed weakly. Heart breaking I moved to where she sat and slid down the wall to her height.

“I can’t do that Y/N.” I mumbled, bringing her shaking form into my arms. Hand rubbing soothingly up and down her back as she sniffled.

“Why Jack!” she cried sitting up, eyes red and puffy, pupils blown.

“Because I love you Y/N.” I spoke calmly.

“No, you don’t, you can’t love someone like me.” she wailed.

“Yes I can. I truly love and want to help you, but I need to know what’s wrong.”

“Can we just sit here for a bit?”

“We can do whatever you want.”

And if it gets worst

before it gets better

Don't be afraid to fall cause i won't let you

And if it gets worst

Before it gets better

Don't be afraid to fall

#risen rambles :d #jack hughes blurb #jamie drysdale x reader #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes

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hometoursandotherstuff · 4 months

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Can't decide if I like plain Victorians or over-the-top Maximalist ones. I think, maybe a balance. This one is bursting with pattern, color, and stuff. 1894 in Stockton, California. 3bds, 3.5ba, $549K (good price, though, was cut $19K).

This is an unusual entrance hall b/c you don't immediately see a beautiful staircase straight ahead, it's just a small hallway or foyer w/the stairs off to the side.

They have the walls and ceilings wallpapered, and both sitting rooms are loaded with stuff. Looks like an original fireplace and millwork, but even the carpet is patterned. I'm so boggled, but they've spent a lot on this house- the wallpaper alone!

I don't know, but I expect that there must be wood flooring under all the printed carpets.

The kitchen remodel has nice cabinets that have a real vintage look, but I don't care for all the tile, especially on the counters.

A small table fits in this corner. I wonder if the cabinet conveys.

The powder room has one of those repro Victorian toilets- love that.

Next to the kitchen is the dining room. They decorated the hell out of this house. Those columns are nice, but you can barely notice them, and I would rather focus on original architectural details.

They are to be commended for preserving it, though. No modern renovation.

The primary bedroom is nice and has a sitting room.

They have a family/TV room.

Full bath with a claw foot tub and Victorian toilet. They did a great job on the baths. They look Victorian, not contemporary, like some others we've seen.

This is a pretty bedroom.

Another great bath. All of the baths have either repro fixtures or original.

Look at this- a cute little rental unit on top of the garage looks like a cottage.

It's a small modern apt.

Patios and a pergola surround the house and garage.

Not much land on the 5,227 sqft lot, but they made the most of it, plus look at all the solar panels on the main house.

#victorian homes #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour

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varpusvaras · 2 months

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Sateen and Sheltay are the first ones to notice.

Of course they are. They have to watch Bail constantly sigh wistfully every time the Commander comes up on conversation even in passing, or watch him try to not be too eager every time he is inviting the Commander over for a cup of caf. Her Majesty is not any better, according to Visaiya, and the three of them quickly for a habit of reporting just how bad the Senator and the Queen are pining this week.

It doesn't take them long to notice how the Commander increasingly accepts every single invite for anything Bail just happens to give him, and it takes even less time for the Commander to become Fox and for Fox to become very permanent fixture in all of their lives. The rest of the Guard follows suit, of course, but Fox is the one who has his own designated cup in the office and who both Bail and Her Majesty are constantly fawning about.

Then Sateen walks in one day in the middle of Bail and Fox making out in the office, and that's the day Fox becomes the boyfriend of their employers.

It takes only a few months for Bail and Her Majesty to start talking about weddings and living situations and everything of that sort. Sateen is not the one who let's it slip. Neither is Sheltay. In all honestly, Sateen just thinks that the three of them are way too obvious, as, two weeks after the first time Sateen had heard the word marriage come out of Bail's mouth, the entire Royal Guard had somehow gotten the memo.

Sateen hears them whisper about it constantly. They all seem very excited about it, and the only thing Sateen can do is to wish Fox luck in his mind.

---

It's very hard for Fox to not notice how every time he goes anywhere publicly, there always seems to be a member of the Royal Guard there.

Fox doesn't mind them, not at all. They never try to interfere with his work, quite opposite.

He is walking down the hallway of the Senate Building one afternoon, his hands uncomfortably full and his mind definitely fuming a bit. He was the Commander of the Guard, a highly trained soldier, not some secretary-

There's a door that needs to be pressed open. Before Fox can even begin the task of balancing all of the datapads and flimsies on his other arm so he can get his other arm free, there are hurrying steps coming towards him, and someone speeds past him.

A Royal Guard slams his hand on the door panel, and it slides open.

"Good afternoon, Commander", the Guard smiles at Fox, breathing just a little heavily. "After you, please."

Fox is...not really sure about what is going on.

"Thank you", is the only thing he can come up with at that moment. The Guard smiles a bit wider and bows his head down a bit as Fox walks past him.

"Can I help you with those?" He asks, and Fox, definitely not knowing what is going on anymore or how he should react to anything, let's him take almost all of the datapads from his arms. The Guard seems weirdly happy to do so, and he cheerily bids Fox farewell as Fox reaches the doors to the Chancellor's office.

He needs to talk about this with Bail the next time he sees him, Fox decides.

---

Fox hates mornings.

He used to bee good with them, but that was before his hours of sleep had decreased to four on average. So now Fox is not good with them anymore and he hates them.

He is still on time, on his way to oversee way too many security points for the mornings meetings and other visits, and he definitely isn't only half awake under his helmet. His average of four hours of sleep is after all, an average, so the last night had been a night that had brought the average down. Fox really wants to just get into the elevator and doze off for a moment longer.

The elevator is broken. So is the next one. And the next. And the next.

Fox stares at them. Stares at the stairs to the left. Stares at the elevators again.

He could take the elevators on the next hall over...does he have clearance to use those? He's not sure. He should, most likely, but even more likely he doesn't.

Fox stares at the elevators. At the stairs. There are a lot of stairs.

Then there are two Royal Guards, making their way towards him.

"Good morning, Commander!" They both greet him. Fox hopes that his own greeting of "morning" sounded awake enough.

"Do you need to go to the upper floors?" One of them asks him. Fox thinks he has seen him before. "All the elevators here are out of order, but you can take the ones next halls with us!"

"Thank you", Fox manages to say, because he is still not completely awake and he is confused again about the cheerfulness of the Guards in front of him.

He follows them to the elevators, feeling a bit like he is the one being guarded on his way, with one of them walking next to him and the other two steps ahead. They open the elevator doors, let Fox get in first, and then stand in front of the doors the whole way up. One of them steps out first, like he is checking the perimeter, and then the other lets Fox step out before him.

"Have a good rest of your day!" They say as Fox leaves them to go do his work.

---

Almost three hours later Fox walks back the same way, and the Guards are there, now with a travel cup of warm caf.

"Here, Commander", the one with the cup says, and gives it to Fox. "Do you need to go down?"

Fox nods, and says thank you again, because what else is he supposed to say?

He stands at the back of the elevator again on the way down. Neither of the Guards say anything when Fox lifts his helmet and takes a sip of the caf. It's a good blend, and it's very, very sweet, just like Fox likes it.

They walk him out of the elevator. Thire is there, with a squad of Guards, ready to move out to the next location. None of them say anything about the cup in Fox's hand as he gives them the orders and climbs into a speeder with them.

"Are you more awake now?" Thire asks him as they get on their way. He's smirking behind his helmet, Fox can hear it in his voice.

Fox lifts his own helmet again, and takes another drink.

"Now I am", he says, ignoring the quiet laughter coming from Thire.

---

Nights on Corucant can be surprisingly cold.

Fox doesn't get it. The weather is already controlled, and there are no large ecosystems left that would benefit from having the air temperature lowered this much. But, it is what it is, and now Fox is cold.

He is also tired. Again. This time because it is very much closer to midnight now, which means he has been awake...almost a whole day. If he doesn't count the ten-minute naps he managed to take every now and then.

He should be calling for someone to come pick him up. It's not safe for a clone to be alone on Coruscant, even if they are a Commander. Fox lifts his arm, ready to open his comlink and get himself a lift-

-when there is a speeder stopping in front of him, and a Royal Guard jumps out.

"Good evening, Commander!" He greets Fox, even tough it's definitely not evening anymore. "Can we take you back to the base?"

Fox is tired, he is cold, and there is a speeder ready for him.

He's not stupid. He nods.

"Thank you", he says. The Guard opens the door for him and lets Fox climb in first, and Fox swears that he bows his head down a little as well as Fox walks past him.

The speeder is warm, a lot warmer than Fox thinks they usually are, like the heating has been put on full just before he got in. The flight to the base is relatively a short one, and once again, the door is opened for him.

"Have a good night, Commander!" The Guard says, and yes, he is bowing his head down ever so slightly. "We'll see you tomorrow at the Senate!"

"You too", Fox says. The speeder doesn't leave until he has walked through the base doors.

---

It's been a moment since Fox was back on Coruscant.

Bail doesn't really like Fox coming to visit him there. It's not that he doesn't want to see Fox, but Coruscant was all that Fox knew for the entire war, and they both know how Coruscant can be at it's worst. Bail's protective streak is definitely rivaling Fox's own, and Fox can't really fault him for it.

There is a speeder ready for him, waiting just outside the landing platform.

The Royal Guard waiting next to the speeder smiles at Fox.

"Good afternoon, Your Highness", he greets him. "To the Senate?"

Fox smiles back.

"Good afternoon", he greets, and nods. "Yes, thank you. You got me anything good today?"

"A lot of things", The Guard laughs a little as he says it, and he opens the speeder door. "I heard Amedda got into a little...accident, lately, so to say."

Fox grins.

"That's definitely something I need to hear about more", he says, and steps into the speeder.

#who remembers the post I made about the royal guard zeroing in to the fact that Fox was going to be their future prince?#here is something about that lmao #I've written so many more angsty snippets lately I needed to do one for no order 66 au as well #here he is happily gossiping with a good nights sleep under him #good for him good for him #sw #tcw #my writing #snippets #no order 66 au #up that mountain #commander fox #bail/breha/fox

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sanjoongie · 11 months

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Library of Illusions~ Horror Section

Better Run~

📚Part Two for the Library Of Illusions Event

📚Pairing: Slasher bf! Wooyoung x Exception! Reader (f)

📚Genre: Fantasy au, Horror au, established relationship

📚Warnings: mentions of blades, corpses, blood, dirty talk, prey/predator dynamics, penetrative sex with no barrier, sub!woo, dom! Reader, knife play, blood kink, begging, creampie, f&m orgasm

📚Word Count: 4,075

📚Rating: 18+ MDNI, smut, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH OR HAVE TROUBLE WITH DARK THEMES

📚Summary: Upon entering the horror section, you are drawn into a reality where your boyfriend is a serial killer and he likes to play hide and go fuck

📚Dedication: @mejuii & @downtoamagicalland the best beta readers a writer could bribe have

↫Introduction ↭ MasterList ↭ The Fantasy Section↬

You let your fingertips run across the bookspine's of the Horror section. You had learned from the broken places of reality in your world that using your other senses was very helpful. You waited for a familiar tingling to run up your arm and you knew you had picked the scenario that matched with you the best. You did have to play the guardian of this section's game in order to get the key.

You pulled the book off the shelf that said "Slasher Boyfriend" and opened the book. The book shot out of your hand and landed on the floor upright, pages quickly flipping until it stopped in the middle. The book grew bigger and bigger until it was larger than the size of a door. The inside of the book was transparent, as if it was a simmering portal. The details were somewhat fuzzy but you swore you could see wooden panel walls and floors, a hallway stretching out and a window at the end. In the window, lightning flashed.

You also couldn't ignore the feeling like you were being watched. Was it the guardian of horror? Was it another guardian? Seonghwa? You shook your head. You couldn't be swayed from your purpose. You strode purposely forward into the book and when you entered it snapped shut and shrank. It neatly was lifted, by nothing a human could perceive, and found its spot back on the shelf. You were a part of the story now. For better or for worse.

Once inside the book, your clothes changed. You were wearing a long t-shirt that fell mid thigh with thigh highs and sneakers. A choker was snug on your throat. You had a cell phone, something from the old world that hadn't worked in a long time. It was both familiar and not.

Your phone buzzed and you brought the screen up to read. The light illuminated your face as your eyes scanned the text.

You unlocked your phone to text back to this Wooyo that he sounded a bit delusional when the screen now showed a news article as the last thing you were looking at on your phone. You quickly scanned it and felt your heartbeat skyrocket. Masked killer takes his fifth victim, no leads yet to any suspects, citizens worried for their safety.

Wooyo: Remember the rules!

Wooyo: 1- try to run and hide

Wooyo: 2- try not to make a sound

Wooyo: 3- If I find you, i get to fuck you ~<3

Wooyo: 4- Love you

Was the killer and Wooyoung one and the same? And why was he calling you Babe? Were you his… Your hand came up to the choker you were wearing and felt along the front. W O O Y-- Your hand dropped. You most definitely were Wooyoung's girlfriend and Wooyoung was a serial killer. You had to remember, this was a horror book.

Wooyo: Your heartbeat sensor is going off the charts

Wooyo: are you scared?

Wooyo: or horny?

Wooyo: Baaaaaaabe 😘

Your feet shot forward before you really knew what you were doing. The window was actually in the center of a stairwell. You could go down or you could go up. You thought perhaps if Wooyoung was thorough, he would start from the bottom so that might give you more time if you went upstairs. You ran up the stairs and winced as your footsteps made resounding noises. That wasn't going to help hiding but you needed speed right now.

Wooyo: I'm gonna count down now!

Wooyo: 3

Wooyo: 2

Wooyo: 1

Wooyo: Run!

When you arrived at the top floor, you quickly realized your mistake. This house was old. The second level had been full of doors that led to other rooms but the top level was simply an attic. There were less places for you to hide. The thunder came before the lightning, causing you to squeal in surprise and you slapped your hand over your mouth.

"Oh little mouse, where could you be~" A high pitched, gleeful voice came from the lower level.

Your stomach dropped. Shit, how close was Wooyoung? How were you to win the key? Did you need to hide perfectly and not be caught by your killer boyfriend? Or was the point to get… you swallowed, heartbeat loud in your ears. Was the point to play out this game of hide and seek and then for this killer to fuck you? Was this really what you picked for yourself?

You scrambled into a large wardrobe, pushing heavy clothes out of the way and pushing your back up against the end of the wooden furniture. You were breathing hard and almost squealed again when your phone buzzed in your hand. You had to turn that off or Wooyoung was going to find you!

You pulled back open the article that you had read and found several more. The weird part was… the first victim was never found. There was an empty house in the article, commenting about how they found blood of the victim but no body. That was weird. Each victim afterwards was seemingly random. A butler from a rich CEO's house, a maid from a cleaning service, a gardener who was famous in the community, a comedian who had been touring… nothing seemed to connect them and it frustrated the police greatly.

Wooyo: I wonder

Wooyo: did you stay on the second floor or did you go to the top?

Wooyo: don't make it too easy for me

Wooyo: you know I love a good chase.

You were so concerned with the articles on the phone that you didn't notice that your surroundings had been illuminated. A face with an odd grin was beside you. You screamed and jumped out of the wardrobe. The body fell out and you had trouble calming yourself down. How the hell had you not noticed an entire corpse in the wardrobe with you?

You shot back down the stairs to the second level and desperately attempted to wretch open a door but every one you checked was locked. You suppressed the need to shout in frustration. You just needed one door to open, please!--

Wooyo: did you find the joker?

Wooyo: only dummies hide in the wardrobe, babe

Wooyo: are you a dummy?

You fell into the next room, having used your entire weight to push against the door since none of them were opening. You felt a surge of relief when you saw two forms in the dark room but took a step back when the lightning lit up the room. There were two figures, one dressed as a butler and another a maid. The maid was bent over with a feather duster tied to her hand and the butler was directly behind her, hands at her hips, almost like-- you tried not to laugh, you knew they were dead, but that was a clear comical moment… if not for the fact that it was dead bodies playing it out.

Your eyes went over the room. It was also big and grand. You cursed your luck. Clearly this was some sort of drawing room or parlor that the 'maid' was dusting. You could hide under the clawfoot couch but you could practically hear Wooyoung mocking you. That simply wasn't good enough. There was a connecting door, so you ran towards that. You softly closed the door behind you as you heard the other door open.

"Oh, Babe," Wooyoung sounded teasing at this moment. "Did you go to the perverted room too? Did you giggle? I bet you giggled."

Your heart was beating in your throat again. You had barely missed Wooyoung. You were in a computer room. It had many screens. Was this Wooyoung's headquarters? How did that make sense for you to be able to get in here? Unless… that's where Wooyoung had wanted you to go? Was he helping you or was he leading you down a path that he had pre-determined? No wonder he hadn't been caught by the police. Your eyes spotted a greenhouse in one of the screens and thought that was a perfect place to hide. You scurried out of the monitoring room and dashed down the stairs.

You could hear singing as you passed a door and it sent a shiver down your spine. Oh where oh where could my baby be? was a line from Pearl Jam’s song Last Kiss. The fact that Wooyoung was singing it as he looked for you was beyond fucked up but he was, after all, a serial killer. But he was your serial killer…?

The greenhouse was connected to the main house but the door to enter it was so goddamn squeaky, you might as well have texted Wooyoung your location. Dedicated now, you plunged into the foliage of the greenhouse, looking for some shrubbery to dive into. There was a plant with large leaves that gave you the perfect hiding spot. You curled up into a ball and pulled the larger leaves over your head and waited.

And waited. And waited. Where the hell was Wooyoung?

Your breath caught in your throat. Was he here and you didn't even know it? And who was the gardener? This could be another trick but… you didn't think it was a good idea to make Wooyoung mad. He was the guardian of the horror section after all.

Wooyo: >:[

Wooyo: you didn't even admire the gardener

You moved aside a leaf and peered around the greenhouse. Then your eyes saw another figure. This one had a pair of shears but they were pointed towards its neck. Your hand moved to touch your neck but was impaired by Wooyoung's collar on you. It was as if the gardener was cutting his own head off. You shuddered. This really was like a horror movie.

"Better run."

You shot off as soon as the high pitched giggles followed that sentence. You couldn't afford to look back but you knew Wooyoung had been right behind you. What kind of game was he playing?

"Run fast little mouse!~" Wooyoung called after you.

You ran back into the house and found yourself in the kitchen. There was a butcher's block on the island that was calling out to you. You could grab a knife, you could defeat the guardian you, could--Remember the rules! If I find you, I get to fuck you.

You turned around and ignored the butcher's block. Wooyoung ran into the kitchen, breathless and laughing and then abruptly stopped. The dark haired man cocked his head, covered by a mask. It had LED lights for eyes and a mouth. There were question marks where his eyes were and a slash for his mouth.

"Babe?"

You swallowed and gathered all the courage you had in your erratically beating heart and spoke what you knew was the way to win the game. "You found me, Wooyoung."

The LED mask showed a pout. "But I wanted to chase you more!"

"Wooyoung," You couldn't help but let your voice waver even though you wanted to sound firm, "You know the rules."

Wooyoung pulled out a switchblade, playing with whipping the blade in and out. "Just one more chase. If you run to our room and touch the doorknob before I can get you, I won't cut you tonight. Just like how you want it."

Your hand subconsciously began to run over your arm. Memories of Wooyoung flashed through your mind. Nights where Wooyoung would fuck you and cut you and lick his knife and lick your cunt and-- "Alright," You agreed, "But no mask. I want to see your handsome face."

The LED mask made a sighing face but Wooyoung pushed it up and it sat on the top of his head. His onyx eyes glinted with mischief and mayhem. "I'm going to fuck you so hard when I catch you. I can't wait to hear you screaming my name."

You felt your panties wetten and you knew that was exactly what you wanted. You wanted Wooyoung to chase you, to take you down and fuck you in victory. You could feel in your brain that even though Wooyoung cut you and fucked you, at least he wasn't killing anyone else. You could shoulder this burden. After all, you loved him, didn't you? Maybe you were a little fucked up too.

You started to slowly pull up the oversized t-shirt you had on. Your thighs were revealed and eventually your underwear as well. Wooyoung's eyes followed the ascent, the tip of his tongue playing with the freckle on his lip. "Come and catch me," You purred and then you were gone.

Your sneakers squeaked as your stride ate up the ground. Noise wasn't an issue any longer so you pulled down items behind you, making obstacles for Wooyoung to jump over and dodge. He cackled behind you. If you were being honest, you felt like your heart was about to escape through your ass but the adrenaline and lust pumping through your veins spurned you on. You raced up the stairs to get to the second level. You were so close. You just had to reach the door at the end of the hall on the right to win.

"Don't you want my blade to kiss you too, Babe?" Wooyoung taunted behind you.

You dug into the last little bit of energy you had, raising your knees high so that you could run to your greatest potential. The door was getting closer and closer. You reached out your hand, desperate to gain some control over this situation, slowly losing your own mind as you got sucked deeper into the narrative. Shit.

Wooyoung's body slammed into you from behind and then your hand touched the doorknob. He had both his palms on either side of your head, breathing heavily in your ear. "I won, little mouse."

Your nipples were so hard with just the small phrase. You let your body rest against his, attempting to catch your breath as well. "Are you gonna fuck me now, Mister Serial Killer?"

Wooyoung chuckled. "You get so wet when we play our little games, don’t you?"

You raised your hands above your head and Wooyoung's, pulling his head down so that you could kiss him. "It’s why we play them, is it not," You murmured against his lips.

"I got wet too," Wooyoung responded, eyes heavy-lidded.

“You gonna fuck me with your wet, pretty dick, Woo?” You cooed, “Right up against this door where you caught me?”

Wooyoung whined loudly, his lower half pressing heavily into your back side. “Can I? Please? I really want to.”

“Where’s your knife?” You breathed out lightly. “You know how this always starts.” Wooyoung’s switch blade came out without hesitation. “What are the rules?” You said in a sing-song voice.

“No deep cuts,” Wooyoung recounted, teeth pulling your earlobe cheekily before responding with the others, “Avoid the wrists and bends of your arm. I can lick the knife as long as I’m still fucking you.”

“...and?” You intoned.

“And?” Wooyoung’s voice went higher in question, his other hand firm on your hip, keeping you in place as he dry humped you from behind. “Aaaaaaaand…?”

“Poor Baby,” You tutted, “Already brain dumb and we haven’t even started yet?”

“And!” Wooyoung said with triumph coating his tongue, “You come first, then I do.”

“That’s right!” You felt a twisted smile pulling at your lips. Wooyoung may be in control the majority of the time you spent with him, but in the bedroom, he had to follow your rules, otherwise he didn’t get access to your wet cunt. And Wooyoung ALWAYS wanted access to your wet cunt.

“You can begin then, Woo.”

The next few minutes were a flurry of activity. Wooyoung was pulling up your oversized t-shirt, tugging your panties down your legs, helping you step out of them, pulling your ass out a bit more, adjusting your feet and then he sank into you without resistance. He chuckled at the fact that your pussy took him so well.

Then the cutting began. Wooyoung would whisk his knife quickly and you always felt the pain before you saw the knife cut you. Superficial cuts sprang up on your arms as Wooyoung thrusted into you from behind. He would pause to lick the knife, groaning at the taste of your blood, and then grunt as he continued to fuck you from behind.

“So good,” Wooyoung whined. Whether he was talking about his pretty dick inside of you or your blood, you didn’t know, but as long as Wooyoung was happy, you were safe.

“Feels good inside of me, baby?” You wondered, feeling the slow furl of lust in your lower stomach.

“Your pussy is so warm and so wet and so good,” Wooyoung babbled, “Much better than when I stick my hand in a--”

“Wooyoung!” You cut him off before he could say something too fucked up. You grabbed his free hand and brought it up your breast. “Play with me,” You whined, looking to distract him.

Wooyoung moaned and dropped his knife. Both of his hands cupped your breasts through your shirt, rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. You groaned for more and he pulled up your shirt so that he could touch skin against skin. He pulled and pinched your nipples, all the while still thrusting from behind.

You found a rhythm, pushing your ass back against his thrusts, feeling satisfied as skin slapped against skin, the tip of his dick rubbing the spongy part inside of you. His tongue found a cut on your shoulder that his knife had already shredded your t-shirt as well, and he played with the wound there, rough tongue rubbing against the cut. He whimpered and you could tell he was getting close.

“I can--” Wooyoung choked on a moan, “I can cum inside of you, pretty?” He asked.

“You gonna give me a pretty cream pie, Woo? You wanna drip out of me, hmmm?”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” Wooyoung chanted, his voice pitching higher and higher as his climax approached.

“And the rules, baby?” You cooed.

Wooyoung cried out in frustration and slowed down his thrusting. “Why aren’t you cumming?!”

“I don’t know, Wooyoung, why aren’t I cumming?” You purred dangerously.

Wooyoung whined. “I’m doing good, aren’t I? I'm fucking your pussy good, right?”

“Maybe you don’t want me to cum before you. Maybe you want to fill me up but leave me feeling empty. Maybe you don’t love me enough,” You said woefully.

“No!” Wooyoung insisted, somewhat brattily, “I love you a lot, you know. A lot a lot. Forever and ever.”

“Then you’re gonna make me cum, like a good baby does?” You said in a sickly-sweet voice.

“Yes,” He said with determination.

Wooyoung pulled out of you and you heard him groaning. You quickly checked over your shoulder and he was using his index and thumb to run up and down his cock before stuffing you again. Then he reached around your body and began to pinch and play with your clit.

“Fuck, Wooyoung,” You cried out, “That’s it, baby, just like that.”

“Yeah, you like when I play with your clitty and fuck you from behind, don’t you?” Wooyoung growled, “Love it when I chase you, love it when I push you down and fuck you raw. You love when I pound into this pussy, don’t you, little mouse?”

A shudder went through your body, goosebumps littered your skin and you came. You came hard, gasping for air. You moaned loudly, although it didn’t matter, did it, considering there was no one else in the house but you, Wooyoung and a few corpses.

Wooyoung didn’t stop as your climax ripped through you. He pounded into you from behind, just like he described, searching out his own release. And when he did, the glorious whimpers and whines that tumbled from his dirty mouth were like music to your ears. His fingers dug deeply into your hip, most likely leaving finger bruises there but you didn’t care. Spurt after spurt of his cum released inside of you and you managed to feel full after all. And when he pulled out, you could feel your still fluttering walls pushing his cum out.

Wooyoung patted your butt affectionately. "You play well, pretty."

The air tensed, warping and stretching and suddenly it snapped and you were no longer in the dollhouse that serial killer Wooyoung had created. You were back in the Horror Section, with the tense feeling that someone was watching.

"Woo…Wooyoung?" You were back in the original clothes you had donned upon arriving at the library. But Wooyoung was no longer in the baggy sweater and jeans he had been sporting when he had been chasing you through the mansion. He had on tight leather pants, a sleeveless shirt and an epaulet with gloves.

"We're back in the library, you did it." Wooyoung raised both eyebrows and sent you a winning grin. "I'll give you your key now."

"I did it?" Thoughts of your serial killer boyfriend still swirled in your brain, interfering with thoughts of a key and the treasure and-- you rubbed your temples. This was not going to be easy to do five more times.

Wooyoung crossed his arms over his chest and frowned, portraying the opposite of what he was about to say: "I haven't had that much fun in awhile, actually."

You cocked your head curiously. "Then why the frown?"

Wooyoung shook his head. "It's nothing." His tongue began to play with the freckle on his lip and you wondered how much of Wooyoung the demon had been in Wooyoung the Slasher Boyfriend… "Wanna play again? There's a tentacle horror over here and I--"

You laughed nervously. "No offense Wooyoung, but I kind of have other sections to conquer."

Wooyoung looked dejected but good spirited about it. "I suppose you're right."

Wooyoung moved to the bookshelf and pulled out the Slasher Boyfriend novel. When he opened it, in the center of the novel was a mini version of the LED mask that he had sported in your story. It had heart eyes and a kissy lips face. He tugged it out of the book and offered it to you. "Here's your prize. You earned it."

You gently took it from him and couldn't help but shiver again, remnants of Wooyoung chasing you and fucking you still clinging to your brain. You swore you could feel his switchblade kissing your skin as you spoke. "Thank you," You said in a squeaky voice.

Wooyoung cackled, the same he released while chasing you. "Oh, I am going to miss you, little mouse."

You left the horror section and made your way back to the heart of the library. Seonghwa was back at his desk, feet still up on it, but this time with a book over his face. It had flowers climbing up its spine but that was all the details you could see at this moment.

You slammed your hand on the desk and Seonghwa sat upright immediately. When he pulled the book off his face, his mouth made a small 'o' before he blanked his face. "You're still here."

You put down the mini LED mask and pushed it across the desk to Seonghwa. "There's my first key, Keeper."

Seonghwa took the tiny mask and lifted an eyebrow at you. "And Wooyoung’s at that. Very impressive, human."

"Thanks," You said sarcastically, "Try to not fall asleep while I get my next one, demon."

Seonghwa sputtered in response to your sass, "I'll have you know I am a centuries old demon! Where is your respect for me, human?!"

But you were already walking away from him. "I'll respect you the minute you call me something other than the degrading human you insist on."

With one hand in your pocket, another jauntily waving, you made your way back amongst the stacks of books, looking for your next section to overcome. You were curious if you had to seduce another demon or not…

The next section that snagged your attention was one that sounded of twinkling magic and horseshoes clomping on cobblestone. There, in beautiful cursive and simmering rainbows, was the sign saying "Fantasy". You could barely contain your excitement. Fantasy had been one of your favorite genres growing up. Surely this quest would be a walk in the park!

Tag list: @yoonguurt @hijirikaww @flowerboykun @starillusion13 @flurrys-creativity @kitten4sannie @a-soft-hornytiny

Library staff: @kwanisms @thelargefrye @anyamaris @stardragongalaxy @kpop-stories-21

↫Introduction ↭ MasterList ↭ The Fantasy Section↬

#cultofdionysusnet #library of illusion event #kvanity #pirateeznet #ateez smut #jung wooyoung smut #ateez dark scenarios #atz smut #wooyoung smut #wooyoung x reader #topaz's work #ღatz

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chloes-awfully-soft · 5 months

Text

Hello horny tumblr girls, I wrote this little tease, hope you like to.

Blue screen

Basically a smut tease, only slightly spicy.

“Hey, don’t you fucking dare touch that!”

The bot currently fiddling with a weathered screwdriver irreverently drops it back down on the operating tray she got it from. She’s been on the table completely naked, in various states of disrepair for four hours now, in and out of consciousness, getting essentially an entire rebuild after the disaster last night.

“You’re a fucking prick dude”

“Whatever, I’m not getting payed to be triggered by your bullshit.”

The gruff mechanic attaches the last panels necessary for Ava to walk around safely with worrying about water exposer or wires getting cut.

“I Can barely stay conscious still, are you sure you fixed me right? I feel like I’m watching myself live through a tv screen right now. And my head fucking hurts”

“Last fucking question Ava, yes I fixed you right you’ll be fine.”

“But…”

“Shut, the fuck, up okay.”

He snaps her calf plate into place firmly, very intentionally causing her a sharp pinching sensation. Ava glares at her mechanic.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you someday Steve”

“Ya, aight kiddo, go talk to the software engineer everyone in the building knows your fucking and make sure she gets your head screwed on right. You’re most likely very poorly optimized right now which is why you feel like a goldfish in a plastic bag.”

Ava stands on her own two feet for the first time since yesterday evening. She grabs her jacket, slings it over her shoulders, and starts walking to her girlfriend’s workshop. Her mostly bare, silver body reflects the light from small windows she passes and she makes her way down the stairs. Steve was the single most annoying person she’d ever met, but at least he was willing to put her back together despite calling her out for her bitchy behavior at every opportunity. She was trying her best to walk with confidence, but she was starting to blue out every few seconds. It was getting really bad. She might blue screen and be unconscious in one of the empty maintenance hallways for god knows how long. Before long, and after a couple concerning error codes she’s in front of the software workshop. She fumbles in her jacket pockets for her keycard. Eventually she finds it and slides it haphazardly through the reader on the wall. The door slides open and finally, after almost a full day of grueling repairs, she gets to see the most beautiful girl in the whole world soldering at her desk.

“Ava!”

The engineer clamors out from behind her desk and comes rushing to embrace the cold stainless steel plates that protect Ava’s sensitive internals. She lays a deep passionate kiss on her bot lovers lips. Ava blue screens.

#t4t nsft #petpl4y #trans nsft #puppyposting #pet/play #lesbian #robotgirl #robot girl #hypno fantasy #hypnosub #hypnok1nk

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nocasdatsgay · 3 months

Text

The Price You Pay For Power Ch. 3

Pairing: Neris

Word Count: 3767 | Warnings: Beron, minor NC slander because of Beron| Chapter Rating: T

Story Summary: Eris revises his bargain with Rhysand: Nesta for Autumn Healers. He agrees and Nesta is sent to Autumn under the guise as Eris’s new bride in order to assist with removing Beron for good. Now she has to navigate a new court and also decide just how much she will trust her new husband

AN: I am terrible with descriptions but I think I did okay with this chapter. Shout out to google so I could look up smells and color palettes

Chapter Summary: Nesta enters the Forest House and is forced to swear loyalty to Autumn

MasterPost | Read it here on AO3 | Previous Chapter

Or read below

Eris did not wait for her. He walked ahead, hands behind his back. She picked up the skirt of her dress to keep it off the dirt path. She followed him up the stairs, doing her best to keep her head high and back stiff. They made it to the doors and Eris nodded to the guards.

The large hall that appeared through the doors was nothing like anything Nesta had seen before. High vaulted ceiling with panels of windows to the right and left almost floor to ceiling. Like a brightly lit tunnel that would lead her to her doom. The ceiling was a light gold, beams dark wood. A long, large ornate rug, colorful as the Autumn trees with gold, orange, and rust red swirls stretched out to the end where the hall split to left and right corridors. There was another set of large doors at the end of the hall, closed.

Eris stopped and looked at her. “The throne room is at the end there. I will escort you to your rooms. I wasn’t lying when I said you smelled.”

Of course she was forced to be made presentable- acceptable to their standards. Like she always was.

His eyes raked over her. “The servants will provide you with less drab clothing.”

“I will wear what you ask but I want to keep this dress,” she looked down her nose at him, heart beating fast. One of the few dresses she owned that she loved.

He considered her for a moment. “No one will be taking your dress from you.”

“Good.”

The moment of silence that followed, and she held his gaze wondering if he would lash out at her. Instead he broke first, turning and walking towards the end of the hall. She followed him. The house was a maze and definitely more like a castle than a ‘house’. Numerous doors lined each hall they passed through, no windows to be seen save for the first staircase they ascended.

“Who all resides here?” She dared to ask as they walked.

“Autumn families have always been large, second to Winter. My brothers and I all have a set of chambers of our own. Some prominent court members and their families live here as well. Servants reside on the farthest end.” They ascended another staircase. “There is a large courtyard and orchard in the center. The house surrounds it.”

This hallway only had four doors, spaced greatly apart from one another. They stopped at the first one on the right.

“These will be your chambers.” Eris opened the door and held it for her, guiding her in.

The door opened to a massive sitting room. The walls were cream colored, the beams similar to the ones in the entry hall lined the roof. A sole large window graced the wall in front of them with a sitting cushion on the window sill. There was a door to the left. Nesta assumed it led to her bed chambers. A fireplace was stationed centered to the right from that door. It had a beautiful onyx mantel. The polished wooden floors were covered with large burnt orange rugs.

A couch, sitting tables, plush chairs- her eyes ran over them with disinterest. Then she gasped when she glanced at the right wall. The entire wall was shelves covered in books with potted flowers scattered in between. She was not Elain and could not tell what most of them were; she only knew they were beautiful to look at. She recognized the roses and the daisies, though their coloring was something she’d never seen before.

Eris’s voice drew her out of her thoughts. “Is it to your standards?”

“I suppose it will have to be,” she replied without thinking, sarcasm getting the better of her. She looked back at Eris and couldn’t read his expression so she added, “Yes. It is.”

“Through that door,” he nodded his head to the left. “Is a hall. You’ll have a study, bathing chamber and bed chamber.” He paused. “There is a door that leads to an empty room in your bedchambers. You won’t have to worry about it.”

“What is it?”

Though his expression was unchanged save for a slight crinkle of his nose when he replied, “A nursery.”

Right, Nesta thought. She let the realization wash through her- she remembered this was for show.

“And your rooms?” She asked.

“Across the hall.” He waved his hand and she felt the magic casted in the room. “Your rooms will be warded but only for tonight.” He then reached into the air and pulled forth a pouch. He held it out to her.

“What is this?” She said, taking it slowly. It felt full of coins.

“Your wages.”

She frowned. “You’re paying me?”

Nesta looked back at the coin purse in her hand with a harder scowl. It felt wrong to accept it. It reminded her of solstice; money in exchange for the presence of her body, like a common whore.

“Would you rather I pay Rhsyand?” Eris’s voice brought her back to the present. When she didn’t respond, he smirked. “I suspected you’d want to save your actual wages. I will provide them to you for every week you’re present. You will have access to my accounts once we are wed for anything you’ll need while here.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll run up your tab?” She didn’t stop the bitterness that laced her remark.

He studied her for a moment. Something flashed across his features. Nesta swore it was a brief understanding.

“My credit is only good within this court and honestly- it would not hurt for some of the money to go back where it belongs. Just don’t spend a thousand marks in one go and no one will be the wiser.” Eris added, “we may be getting married but you are working. I can’t speak for your high lord but I pay the people who work for me, female or not.”

Nesta scowled at his tone but didn’t comment on his remark. Thankfully a knock came at the door.

“You brought that with you, understood?” Eris said sternly, glancing down at the purse. She nodded and he went to the door.

Two females came in, heads bowed and not looking up. They were pale like Eris, but their hair was a deep brown. She could see their ears poking out their hair. They were high fae. They wore plain ruby red linen dresses, with white aprons. Eris looked down at them with contempt.

“These are the assigned servants for your chambers.” Nesta’s eyes widened at the horrible realization. “They will help dress you. I’ll retrieve you for dinner shortly.”

Nesta only nodded. She felt her shoulders relax when he slipped out the door and shut it. She looked at the servants, who still did not lift their heads.

“I’m Nesta,” she said, breaking the silence. They didn’t reply. “Do you have names? You can stand up straight, I won't harm you.”

She watched their heads tilt towards each other. Finally one of them spoke.

“We are not allowed to look our betters in their eyes, Lady Nesta.” The one on the left whispered. “It’s easier if you simply pretend we aren’t here.”

Nesta frowned. “I don’t want for you to be in trouble but I would like to at least be able to address you. If that’s acceptable.”

Another pause and the other female spoke. “My name is Opal.”

“Opal. And you?” Nesta didn’t want to push but she also did not wish to say ‘you, female’ any time she needed something.

She shifted her feet. “You may call me Lynn, if that’s acceptable.”

“Lynn. Pleasure to meet you, Opal and Lynn.” Nesta let her shoulders relax. She didn’t realize she had held them tensely. “I was told you would help me get ready for this evening.”

“Yes,” Opal nodded.

They both lifted their heads finally but neither looked her in the eyes. Nesta did not have time to linger her gaze; both went to the door to the right and opened it to walk through. It was a small hall. Eris was correct that there was an open study, with a desk and more sitting chairs. The hall ended in another door.

She followed them through and her eyes widened. The bedroom was enormous. The four post bed was as large as the ones made to hold the Illyrians. A blood red duvet and matching pillows covered it with a peak of white sheets folded over at the top. There were red curtains tied to the headposts. Near the bed was a privacy panel. It was decorated in a simple fashion to the rug in the entry hall.

Two doors were on opposite ends. The one on the right was opened. She could see the tiled floor and assumed it was the bathing chambers. Which meant the other door was the nursery. She decided she would avoid it. The two girls scattered, one to the bathing chamber and the other to one of two massive wooden wardrobes along the wall. Nesta watched her open the doors and her eyes widened at the amount of dresses inside.

“Lady Nesta. I was informed you will need to wear blue. Once you are finished with your bath, would you like to choose your dress or would you prefer we lay out the options?”

Opal kept her eyes to the ground. She could at least see her face now. Opal had a round face, small lips, simple nose, and wide flat cheeks. Nesta’s mother would have called her plain.

“Lay out the options.” It was easier than she thought to slip into the persona she held when she was human and running the household. “I prefer long sleeves and a modest bodice.”

Opal nodded. Nesta left her and went to the bathing room. It was the most plain room, white tiles and a large tub, sink, and toilet. Lynn was bent over running the water and Nesta stared at the tub. She could bathe now without much issue but already being on edge made old thoughts skirt the outer edges of her mind. She stepped forward and saw the water was already close to where she would be comfortable.

“That will be enough.” Lynn startled and turned off the faucet. She knew she sounded condescending but she couldn’t let them think she was weak. “I would like to bathe on my own, thank you.”

Unlike Opal she did not lift her head. She curtsied and went quickly out the door. Nesta went to the door and shut it. She took a deep breath and looked back to the tub. She walked up to the tub and stuck her hand in the water. It was too warm- almost scalding. With a quick debate in her mind, she decided she would weather it.

Bathing was easier once she was in the water. She scrubbed at her skin until it turned pink. The smell of the soap caught her off guard. It had a faint wooden undertone, but mostly smelt of vanilla and something citrus. A strange combination; something she would not have anticipated for Autumn. Yet it worked. She refused to wash her hair as she did not have the time to dry it. Eris could fuss at her if he wanted to.

Nesta found a robe to wear once she was done and dried. She came out with her dress on her arm and found the maids had laid out two dresses on the bed. She sat her own dress and coin purse from Eris on one of the end tables.

Opal came up to her. “I spoke with the other servants and Lord Eris requested you pick from the two.” She gestured to the bed.

“Was he in here?”

“No my Lady,” she shook her head, downcast eyes wide. “He specified the color.”

Nesta wrinkled her nose. “Will he always be choosing the color?”

“No, my Lady. That is the Lady of Autumn who manages the weekly dinner color schemes.”

Nesta hummed and looked at the dresses. They were both a varying shade of dark teal, more blue than green. She picked up the one on the left and studied it. It was warmer in tone and would probably look better against her skin. The sleeves were long as requested; high neckline and a faux corset when she turned it. The fabric was soft but thick. Simple and safe.

“I will be fine with this one.” She looked back at Opal. “Where is Lynn?”

“She went to retrieve some refreshments for you.”

“And how much longer until dinner?”

Nesta stayed and ate lunch with her sisters one last time before leaving. It was Feyre’s request; it postponed the meeting with Eris by at least three hours. Of which Cassian and Rhys made themselves scarce while she and her sisters contemplated on what information Nesta could gather while there.

And what horrors might await her.

“In a few hours. However I was requested to help you get ready as soon as possible. Shall I help you into your dress, Lady Nesta?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Nesta ended up being thankful for the help. Two layers- her underthings and a shift, were required before she was helped into the dress. It was as heavy as she anticipated. Lynn came back with a pitcher of water and some fruit. Nesta muttered her thanks and the female scampered off again. Opal left once the dress was tied and new white heeled boots laced onto her feet.

Now she simply had to wait with nothing to do.

She went to leave but a noise startled her. A letter had landed on her bed. She froze for a moment, before grabbing it and ripping it open. Her chest was in knots seeing it was Gwyn.

Nesta

I went and waited for Cassian to return the moment I got your letter. I was wondering why training was canceled. I’m livid I didn’t get to say goodbye. He did clear a few things up once I was able to corner him. You should have seen him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Cassian cower before. He says we need to be vigilant on how we communicate and what we say. I wish you could see my eyes rolling as I write this. I suppose I should congratulate you on your marriage. I wish I could be there with you as you take this next step. Emerie too. I didn’t see her today but she wrote to me to discuss your announcement.

We love you Nesta. I hope we can visit sometime after your ‘honeymoon period’.

Nesta held the letter close to her chest. Tears welled in her eyes, from what she couldn’t pinpoint. It was possibly the notion that her nor Emerie were angry with her. Or that her friend left the library to hunt Cassian down. She pulled it back and looked it over again.

She needed to learn how to send letters through magic. She dreaded what Eris would ask in return for such assistance. She folded the letter and placed it under her dress and coin purse. She didn’t need the maids seeing it and reporting her.

Satisfied, she left her bedroom and went to the sitting chamber. She was startled to find Eris waiting for her. His coat was the same color as her dress, his pants the same white as her boots. Oddly, it didn’t wash him out. If anything it made him look somewhat appealing. His eyes raked over her quickly. Nesta scowled when he leaned in towards her and sniffed the air.

“You smell better. That alone is a vast improvement.”

“I cannot say the same for you,” she replied, crossing her arms. “I was told dinner was in a few hours.”

“It is. However, we’re meeting my family in the throne room. Beron is going to make you swear your allegiance.”

“And if I don’t want to?”

“You don’t have a choice,” Eris replied darkly. “Come, or we will be late.”

—————

The throne room reminded her of the one in Hewn City. Only the pillars mimicked massive tree trunks and the tile was crimson red. At the end of the room sat Beron on a golden throne. His wife sat beside him on his left and the Vansera brothers flanked both sides. All of them except for Beron, wore varying shades of the same dark blue she and Eris wore.

Nesta’s gaze lingered on a female she didn’t recognize next to one of the stocker brothers at the end. Her dark blonde hair looked out of place amongst the row of dark brown and red hair. That must be the wife Eris mentioned. Soon Nesta would be up there looking just as out of place.

Eris walked in front of her and stopped a few feet from the steps to the dais. Nesta stood behind him.

“High Lord Beron,” Eris said, cutting through the silence. “I formally present my betrothed, Nesta Archeron.”

Nesta curtised.

“Nesta Archeron,” Beron’s voice rang out through the hall. “My son told me you accepted his proposal. Quite a shock you willingly left the Night Court.”

Nesta did not reply. That seemed the correct thing to do. Beron stood and came down the steps, stopping in front of them.

“You will swear your loyalty to me if you wish to remain in this house.”

Just like with Rhysand, she felt the pull. The fae part of her wanting to submit. She curtsied deeper than before and bowed her head.

“I swear my allegiance to the Autumn Court. And it’s high lord.”

Ancient magic washed over her. She tried to not vomit from it. She straightened and stared Beron in the eyes. He sneered at her.

“Show me your powers, girl.”

Nesta’s eyes widened. He laced his words as a command. She looked at Eris beside her. He simply nodded at her. Could he not see the fear in her eyes? Gwyn’s voice was suddenly loud in her mind. I am the rock against which the surf crashes. She repeated it in her mind. Numbly she held out her left hand. She kept repeating the phrase and she dug deep into herself. To the part she buried for so long. It seemed like everyone in the room waited on bated breath. Finally a silver ball of flame manifested itself.

Beron approached her, his hand covered in flames. He held out his own flaming hand over hers. She extinguished her own fire before he could touch it.

“I agreed to allow Eris to bring you here because the crone Briallyn has expressed her desire for you.” He lowered his hand, putting out his own flames. “She thinks you are the reason her youth was stolen in the cauldron.”

Nesta lowered her own arm and stood still, back straight and unmoving. She did not answer him. A test.

Beron chuckled to himself darkly. “I think you’re a valuable asset. Much more valuable here than with her. Much more valuable alive. After the wedding, you will show me where on a map this prized city Rhysand has kept secret is located. You will explain to me its inner workings.”

Nesta laughed. She didn’t even stop when rage graced Beron’s features and flames rose in his eyes.

“High Lord, I was the eldest daughter of a wealthy merchant. I was raised to marry and run a household. To bear children. I do not know how to read a map nor do I understand the workings of a city like Velaris. It was not becoming of a female to do so.”

The lie fell easily off her tongue. Beron did not seem to buy it.

“Your sister is High Lady.” He said it with such venom she almost recoiled. You were at the High Lord’s meeting and you were present during the war.”

“I was forced to be present for the war. My sister being High Lady has nothing to do with my own abilities. And even then, they are incomparable.”

“What exactly are you suggesting?”

Nesta needed to play this right. Beron was scrutinizing every word she spoke to find a fault. She wished she could glare at Eris. He could have warned her. She calmed herself and responded.

“I am suggesting Rhysand is a fool. My youngest sister was practically raised feral. Youngest and least beautiful of three daughters; my mother had no time nor the patience for her. She didn’t even know how to read until recently. He puts her on a pedestal because she is his mate. He lets her play pretend. She only understands a map herself because it has pictures.”

One of the brothers snickered at her comment and Nesta felt the bile in her throat. She prayed to whatever gods were listening that if this got back to Feyre, she would understand. Understand she said these things to keep them all safe. However, she kept going, her harsh tongue knowing no end once it began.

“Rhysand despises me. I was not allowed into the city. I was sequestered to a house built into the side of a mountain. House of Wind, he called it. The only way out being ten thousand steps or to be flown down. Punishment for my sister’s inability to read and her feral behavior which got her caught by a fae in the first place. He forced me to work in its library. The only time I was allowed to leave was during Solstice. I was flown directly to their home and only at Feyre’s request. He was looking for an excuse to be rid of me without killing me.”

Beron studied her for a moment, taking in her words. “Show me your flames again. This time do not extinguish them.”

She did not let her expression change as she held her arm out again. The flames came forth easier this time. Beron manifested an apple. He reached over her hand and dropped it into the flame- onto her palm. Nesta willed it to not burn- to not turn to ash. She had no understanding of her powers and she knew whatever Beron saw, he would use against her.

Her power cooperated.

He plucked the apple out of her hand and turned it, studying it. She let her flames die and hoped he would not punish her for it. He finally looked back at her, a gleam she couldn’t place in his eye.

“Welcome, Lady Nesta. I look forward to having you as my newest daughter-in-law.”

Next Chapter

#nesta archeron #neris #eris vanserra #eris acotar #nesta acotar #pro nesta #pro eris vanserra #fuck Beron and his ugly ass #I had to say it #The Price You Pay For Power #Chapter 3 #acotar #acotar fanfic #Acosf #Acosf AU

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heartbeatan · 11 months

Text

The Art of Revenge (Chapter 3)

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Chapter 3

For the brief, quiet moments after you stepped into Jungkook’s foyer, your nerves slipped away as you forgot why you were in his home at all. As mentioned, you hadn’t gotten a good look at the inside of the house the one and only time you had been there. You had a tent, and only entered through the mudroom to use the toilet and - if you were lucky - the shower.

But now, walking through the front door, and stepping into the main space bathed in the bright, warming light of the sun, you were awe-struck. The entire interior was made of poplar wood - from the live-edge wall planks, the trunk beams, to the paneled ceiling. The natural orange shade of the wood wasn’t over-bearing or too rustic - perhaps because Jungkook’s furniture and decor was so airy and light. Most rooms opened to each other, yet were divided by a slight change in elevation, with the main hall acting essentially as a catwalk between them all. To the right was the living room, which was about three stair steps below where you stood. Its West-facing wall was nothing but tall glass windows. The North wall, of course, had a large, stone fireplace that looked as if it should have several antlers displayed above it. The back of the living room was lined with some more stairs - two-steps up to the kitchen area, and five-steps up to what you assumed was some sort of dining room nook. There were so many windows. So much natural light.

You peered ahead through the hall, and noticed a few more doors and openings - all also trimmed with stair cases that either took you up or down. Although you couldn’t see much of it, the space at the end of the hall was pure white, and de-elevated a bit deeper than the rest of the rooms. You assumed it was his studio - there was no other reason to cover up such beautiful architecture if it weren't for functionality. Your eyes followed another set of stairs upwards, and you noticed there was a partial second level. Just a straight hallway, leading to what you assumed were two bedrooms and maybe a bathroom. It was lined with wrought iron banisters, which overlooked the many rooms below.

“Victoria’s Secret?” You were suddenly jolted out of your trance, jumping slightly as you were reminded that Jungkook was standing just behind you.

“Sorry?” you twisted around, looking at him confused.

“Your bag,” he nodded to the wide, stiff paper shopping bag you had clutched in your hands. “You did a little shopping?”

“Oh!” you looked down to see the company’s name scrolled across the paper, which at one point only housed your wedding lingerie. “I, um, didn’t really go home after… everything. This is my suitcase for now, I guess,” you shrugged.

“Makes sense. There’s not a lot of those types of fancy stores on the way up here.”

“Yeah,” you smiled, thinking of how difficult it was to find even a discount store. “Sorry to disappoint. If things were different, I would have come... better prepared.”

Jungkook’s mouth curved, and you liked what it implied. He was thinking about you… and lingerie… and you liked how the image it painted reflected in his eyes. He stepped towards you, slowly and casually - not in any way aggressive or threatening. But - it felt threatening as he closed the space between you. Threatening in a thrilling way. You once again became hyper aware of his size, of his tall legs and broad shoulders, feeling like you were being dwarfed by his physicality as well his mere existence. His eyes were on yours, glinting with a touch of mischief as he stepped just too suggestively close to you. Then he bent slightly at the waist, and you felt his fingers brush over yours as he grabbed a hold of the string handles of your bag.

“Lemme help you with your suitcase, then” he said, a wry grin teasing his lips as he curved his tongue around the words, and slipped the bag out of your hands - respectfully leaving your purse with you. He had brains.

You exhaled a smile, realizing he was teasing you - and also realizing that somewhere within the past few seconds, you had been holding your breath. “I didn’t know you were such a gentleman.”

“Hm,” he chuckled, then winked, “not all the time."

You werent entirely sure he meant it as an innuendo, but regardless, his words sent a delicious shiver up your spine.

He then stepped across the hall to a set of french doors next to the foyer and across from the living room. The glass panes were protected from the inside with soft, white door curtains, so you didn’t know what was behind them, until Jungkook opened one, and you caught a glimpse inside.

A king-sized bed. A bedroom. His bedroom.

“This your room?” you pointed into the space beyond him. You were a bit surprised. You had figured his room was on the top level overlooking the sunrise, not right next to the common areas and overlooking the driveway.

“Yup,” he nodded proudly, once again holding the door for you to follow him in. The gesture was simple, but it felt far from simple. This was his room, in his home - and you hadn't realized what a symbol it was until you were invited into it. This was where you were going to let another man touch you; where you were going to put the nail into the coffins of Chris and Stephanie; and, where you were going to be starting anew. Being invited into his bedroom somehow made everything feel so… real. Yet, somehow, you felt… okay.

You followed Jungkook, your body buzzing as you brushed passed his hulking form, as you stepped into yet another impressive space in his house. Much like the living room, the windows were floor to ceiling, and the room was soft and romantic against the orange wood. You looked out over the yard, indeed noticing the driveway, the front lawn, and the party barn near the tree line. Back at home, a front facing bedroom with floor to ceiling windows would be a nightmare. Hell, a back facing bedroom was nightmare enough. If you forgot for even a second that you hadn’t closed your curtains, you were sure to put on a show for at least five households. But out here, in the quiet, with no passers by, you supposed the rules were different. You could easily make love under the silver shine of the moon and stars, without the risk of being seen by a neighbour walking their dog. What an intriguingly pleasant idea.

Looking further beyond the tree line, you understood why this room was built as such. The scenery was remarkable, and promised views of red sunsets and pink skies. In the distance, you could make out a valley following a curvy stream of water, which was lined with what appeared to be orchards and possibly vineyards.

You turned back to Jungkook. He had taken a seat on the corner of his bed, stretching his arms behind him as he leaned back to balance himself over his palms. His long, lean torso and welcoming lap were now on display - and with the twitch of your awakening pelvic muscles, you remembered again why you were here.

The room then became silent, as you stood there, holding your purse like a cross – you avoiding his gaze – and both of you wondering how to move forward. This was the awkwardness that you feared. What was the formality here? Should you talk some more first, or just bite the bullet and get down and dirty? You were the one who propositioned him, did that mean you should be the one to make the first move? Or was it better if the “favour-giver” was the one to first offer themselves? Why was Jungkook doing this for you at all?

You considered crossing the floor, and seductively crawling onto his lap to mount his hips, but the more you thought about it, the more you talked yourself out of it. Instead, you decided to fill the space between you with mindless banter.

“I can’t believe you own this place,” you admired, once again looking out the window. “It must’ve cost you a fortune.” You immediately regretted speaking. You barely knew Jungkook, and even though you were about to have sex with him, it still felt inappropriate to be commenting on his finances. You spun around quickly, looking as apologetic as you could. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume anything.”

“Nah,” Jungkook shrugged and smiled, like you were being ridiculous for apologizing. “I am lucky. This was my grandparent’s getaway cabin. I inherited it. I wouldn’t be able to afford it otherwise.”

“Nice,” you awed in some pathetic version of a 90s surf dudebro. Once again, you regretted it, and - once again - looked at him with wide, embarrassed eyes. “I mean… not nice that they died. I'm sorry for your loss."

Get it together, you idiot, you chastised yourself.

But Jungkook wasn’t in the least bit phased. He didn’t look offended, in fact, he even laughed through the bemused smile he had already been giving you.

“It is sweet… I don’t have a mortgage, and I’m completely off-grid." Now he was just boasting. “So… yeah… I don’t have any major bills to manage. That’s why I can get by making pennies and doing whatever the fuck I want for a career.”

"I thought your businesses were doing really well?” you furrowed your brows, as you leaned against a heavy wooden dresser. You didn’t know how much a painter and photographer made these days, but as far as you knew, he was in demand on the graphic design front. “Stephanie is always talking like you're some sorta secret billionaire," you laughed.

It was then that his face dropped, and you realized your grace period of stupid, none-of-your-business banter was over. You felt instantly guilty, and perhaps terrified that you had destroyed your refuge.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately sputtered out. “I didn’t mean to pry. I’m just nervous and trying to make stupid small talk… Just tell me to shut up when I’m being too much.”

“No, no, no” he shook his head regretfully, as he pushed himself to sit upright. “Don't apologize. It’s not you. It’s…” he paused as he thought about his answer, then grimaced just before he continued, "Stephanie says a lot of things. I just worry about you having the wrong impression of me because of her."

You felt relieved. He wasn’t upset at you - at least he said as much. He just didn’t like the mention of Stephanie.

It was strange. She had always venerated him, and talked about him and her as if they were thicker than thieves. And yet, in under a five minute phone conversation, he had agreed to break her heart. And now you were here, and it was clear he had a visceral reaction to just the mention of her name. You put a pin in that thought to be inquired about later.

“Still… feel free to tell me to shut up when I need to… Nicely, of course.”

He chuckled softly, “Yeah, okay."

Silence befell you both once more, only this time, you decided to avoid useless conversation and your potential fourth strike – and instead, cut right to the chase.

“I don’t know how to do this. I’m sorry, I’ve only been with Chris for the last... ever… I don’t… I don’t know what to do next.”

He looked at you thoughtfully for a moment, but didn’t answer. Your gaze followed his face as he stood up from the bed, and as he began to stroll across the floor towards you. Your skin instantly felt on alert, buzzing more fervently with each inch closed. You didn’t consciously decide too, but at some point you were off the dresser and standing to attention. When he reached you, he wrapped a large hand gently around your hip, pulling himself close enough to tease you with the faint brush of his hips against yours. He took your purse from your hands, setting it aside. Your palms reached up to rest over his chest, and his other hand smoothed itself along the length of your arm in a touch that felt too intimate to have been had with a near stranger. But it felt so good…

You looked up at him, not able to meet his eyes for long since they wanted to fixate on his beautiful mouth, and the freckle that adorned his lower lip.

When he spoke, his voice was calm, soothing, but also low, with a hint of a gravel, " I was thinking maybe you and I should just dive right in and break this ice first?” His hand caressing your arm now dropped and slid around your waist.”

Fuck, yes, your mind screamed, as your lips curled and eyes narrowed into a gracious and seductive display of agreement.

“I think you’re right,” you said, with all the uninhibited confidence you possessed - until it diminished. “I mean… if you really want to.”

“I do,” he nodded, his hand once more brushing up your arm and towards your neck, while his grip on your hip tightened.

“Seriously,” you continued, as your desire began to collide with your apprehension. “Because I know you said you would, but you’re allowed to change your mind.”

“I haven’t,” he assured you, pulling your bodies tighter together as his fingers snaked their way into your hairline and his thumb cradled your jaw. “Have you changed your mind?”

“No, not at all!” you nearly shrieked. You definitely hadn’t changed your mind - especially now that you could feel the stiffness behind his pants pressing into your belly. “I just, want you to know that you don’t–”

“Y/N,” Jungkook interrupted you with a stern, yet flirty whisper of your name. “I'm going to kiss you. So, unless you have some sort of objection, I’m telling you nicely to shut up.”

You accepted his light scolding with a sheepish smile and nod. “Okay. I’m mean, no, I have no objections.”

“Good,” he returned a faint smile of his own, his lips widening and curving gently - until he dipped his face forward, and tilted your head high so those lips of his could gently curve against yours.

The kiss was soft… not in the way that it was unsure and timid - it was tender in a way that was meant to be reassuring and soothing.

You liked it, but you weren't quite sure what to make of your liking it. You had made a promise to never kiss another man other than Chris, and now you were kissing Jungkook - and you felt nothing but good about it.

Jungkook broke the kiss, angled his head to the other side, then brought your mouths together once again. The kiss was still gentle, but firmer than before. You felt yourself melting into him. Knowing he had begun to caress your caution away, he dropped his hand at your face and brought it down to the small of your back. You slid your arms over his shoulders, then braided them behind his neck – you now the one encouraging further contact.

You felt your ass press against the dresser behind you, as Jungkook had managed to walk you against it, and wave his bulge tight against your groin. Your lips parted in a small, silent gasp – and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth.

The flavour of him was foreign – shocking at first, since you were so use to the taste of Chris – but it was also delicious, hot, and exciting. His tongue moved against yours with languid precision, and for some reason, it ignited something delicious, hot, and exciting deep in your gut.

Your kiss soon became more, then more. His hands began to roam the expanse of your body – his fingers leaving a wake of goosebumps over the skin just above your jeans and just barely under the hem of your shirt.

It was happening…

He was getting ready to fuck you, and damn, were you ever ready to be fucked by him. His hands crept higher under your shirt, smoothing around the curves of your waist to the hollows of your back as he pulled you in closer. You wanted more, and you wanted it faster. You wanted more of your skin exposed, more of your flesh kneaded in his hands, more of his body pressed against yours… more of his hot, wet mouth kissing you.

In a quick decisive moment, you chose to initiate the “more.” You had propositioned Jungkook, and he had made first contact – now it was back to you to take you both to the next level.

You untangled your arms from behind his shoulders, and dragged your palms firmly over his chest – now elated at the idea of seeing everything you felt beneath his t-shirt. You raked your nails over his abdomen, until they caught the hem. You then pulled the cotton gently north, and Jungkook got the memo. He released his hold on you, reached behind his head to grab his collar, helping you strip him of the garment in one, smooth motion. His hands were immediately back on your waist, and he pressed his forehead to yours as he moved to start kissing you again – but your gaze was trained elsewhere.

You splayed your palm across the solid planes of his chest, sweeping appreciatively over them as you admire just how fucking beautiful his body was. You should have known… rock climbing and hiking among other outdoor activities were hobbies he was known for.

“My God,” you whispered outloud, unaware you had said anything at all.

He chuckled a soft smile, “You see something you like?”

“Ha!” you grinned, completely not embarrassed by how you were so obviously drooling over him. He was gorgeous, and it was a crime to not let him know that. You looked up at him, showing him every ounce of desire you felt that your eyes could convey. “I always liked what I saw.”

“Yeah?” he tilted his head, his ego lacing with a touch of disbelief.

“Of course,” you said more seductively than you intended to – but it worked as you leaned forward, pressing your lips over a muscular plank, your tongue taking a few liberties with his dark, peaked nipple.

“Good to know,” he took the compliment, and you were delighted to hear a bit more arousal in his tone. His hands dropped to the hem of your tank top. You raised your arms above your head as he peeled your shirt off your body, and discarded it to some unknown corner on the floor. He wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you cautiously as if you might try to escape, while the index finger of his free hand began to trace a line over the hills and valleys of your now expose torso. There was so much praise and worship and need in the way his eyes drank you in. You hated that it made you think about Chris , but you couldn’t help but wonder when was the last time you felt so damn desired.

Jungkook hummed some throaty growl of appreciation, as his fingers began to dance with the lace lining your bra. Your nipples tingled and puckered at the prospect of being worshipped as well.

His three fingers then dropped into the front of your cup, and he pulled downward and released your breast from its confines. In a short instant, Jungkook dropped his head, and you stretched your neck as you felt the heat of his mouth engulf the sensitive bud. He hummed as he sucked you into his mouth, and the vibration rippled through you, making you hum along with it.

He moved to your other breast, only instead of springing your wanton nipple free, he teased over its lace covering. He laved at the fabric with a long, firm swipe of his tongue, leaving your bra hot and dampened, and then cool and tantalizing as the drafty house air swept over it. He licked at it again, sucking the lace and your nipple gently between his teeth, and releasing them to snap back into place. You yelped a little - like you had been shocked by static.

Jungkook grinned triumphantly against the mound of your breast, then caressed the flesh with a kiss that more resembled a bite. His lips made their way up your chest, your neck, your jaw – each inch breached mimicking an inch his body pressed tighter against yours. You graciously reveled in the contact, scooping your arms under his shoulders, and digging your fingers into the solid, muscular columns that lined his back. You wanted to wrap your legs around him, and feel every twitch and stretch of his movements against you. You wanted his pants gone - and yours - to feel more of his erection rubbed over your core. You wanted his skin and his weight to smother you, and to feel your breasts flattened against that sculpted chest of his.

As Jungkook’s hands found their way into the back of your pants, and as he began to knead at the generous flesh of your backside, you reached behind yourself and unclasped your bra, feeling stimulated by their liberation. But they weren’t free for long – not if Jungkook had anything to do with it. His face, which had been focused on nibbling at your ear, pulled from your neck so he could peer down at your chest, and he deftly helped you pull the straps off your shoulders.

You found yourself in a familiar position, his one arm holding you near him, your hips swaying in tandem against each other, while his other hand now squeezed its way over your now completely naked torso. With his lower lip tucked tightly between his teeth, his dark, hooded eyes raked gluttonously over your various silhouettes – admiring every shadow and freckle.

You felt a blush stirring behind your cheeks as you watched him inspect you with such raw appreciation. “See something you like?” you volleyed Jungkook’s question back at him.

“I’ve always liked what I saw,” he retorted with a roughly spoken volley of his own.

God… you thought. If this was only the foreplay to the foreplay, you were in for a very erotic ride. Speaking of foreplay…

He released the tension he had on your body, and his hands dropped to the button of your pants. He didn’t rush to undo it, nor did he take his sweet-ass time. You felt the rumble of your zipper as it passed over your mound, and he caught your lips again just as his palming of your denim-clad junction made you gasp.

You took the opportunity to press your breasts against him, moaning into his mouth as you took pleasure in what you had been wanting for these past few minutes. His skin was warm and smooth against yours; his body felt strong and solid, like you were pulling yourself against a brick wall and not a man. You could feel the faint beat of his heart thumping behind his ribs, and you could sense how each of his muscles tensed and relaxed as he found pleasure and intrigue in your kiss.

He dug his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, and began pulling them south off over your hips. In that moment, you wished you hadn’t worn such skin tight pants. You wished they would just puddle to the floor so you wouldn’t have to let him go. He reluctantly broke your kiss, but made up for it as he trailed a path of licks and nips down the length of your body, peeling your pants off your limbs. He helped you step out of the legs, and your jeans too became lost somewhere in his room.

Kneeling before you, face-to-face with your panties guarding your dampened pussy, he began to gingerly rub the length of your thighs. That was when you noticed, and he noticed, that you were trembling.

“Are you okay?” he looked up at you without judgment.

“Yeah,” you replied. You were okay – you didn’t know why your body was reacting this way when your soul felt completely on board. “I want to. I think I’m just… overwhelmed… I don’t know. I never thought I’d be with anyone else. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” his palms ran soothing circles over your skin. “We’re here on your terms. Just tell me what you want.”

“I want you to keep going,” you said assuredly, punctuating with a rapid nod. “It feels good. I feel good. I’m having a good time.”

He smiled, “Me too.”

Then, something shifted behind his gaze. With a blink, it had gone from empathetic and concerned, to heated and filthy. He kept his eyes locked on yours, and you felt like they had a mystic power to prevent you from looking anywhere else but at him. You felt his fingers squeeze tighter into your flesh as he pulled his face toward your pussy. You held your breath, like you were watching the scene below you in slow-motion. You shifted your weight as you braced yourself for contact. His lips parted, and you saw his tongue relax and drop, just before he latched his mouth wide, and firm over the cotton guarding your clit.

“Oh!” a noise trembled off your tongue, as heat engulfed your centre, and as you felt his wet muscle wave strongly into the bud. He detached himself, tilted his head, and repeated the action, wetting your panties with his saliva to compliment the way his prior ministrations had already dampened them. He detached again, tilted again, and licked you again from a new angle – several times over. It was a stunning sensation of moving between the heat of his mouth when he covered you, to feeling the wet coolness when he exposed you. Perhaps Chris had once been like this – back in your early days together, but you couldn’t recall. With Chris, sex was a clinical and familiar race to climax. Not that it wasn't good sex – it was great to have a partner who knew how to get you off. But you couldn’t remember ever being teased by him, or making time to make sex an erotic adventure. But with Jungkook, and the way he handled you – not worried about needing to get to work in an hour, or back to the household chores, or whatever your busy, domestic lives demanded of you – with Jungkook, it felt like you had all the time in the world.

Moments ago, you felt a rush to have more of him – but now, you felt beyond contented to just let him devote whatever he wanted to you.

You watched adoringly, your lip twisted between your teeth as you absorb the tiny but mounting bouts of pleasure. You braced yourself with one hand over the edge of the dresser, but then let the other drop and smooth over his hand clutching around your thigh. He appreciated your gesture, twisting his wrist so he too could tug gently on your forearm.

He then pulled his face tight and firm into your panties, and your breath hitched as you felt his teeth and lips nibbling around your labia. He pulled back, the fabric of your panties stretching as he pulled them roughly with his teeth. He released them with a snap, and your hips jolted, and you yelped as you felt the cotton-poly-blend slap back against you.

He grinned impishly again – and you began to realise that teasing and shocking his partners was apart of his sex repertoire. The notion thrilled you.

You expected him to resume eating you out – albeit you were hoping that he would strip you of your soiled panties first. But he didn’t. Instead, he began to rise from the floor, until he was once again looming over you, and caging you between himself and the dresser.

“How you feeling?” he asked, and your eyes nearly bugged out of your head.

How were you feeling? The space between your legs was practically a splash pad. He could have easily sunk his bare cock into you minutes ago without any remorse. So, how were you feeling: You were feeling nothing but respect and appreciation for his commitment to detail.

“I, uh,” you nearly laughed as you tried to answer him. “Yeah, I think I’m feeling pretty damn good.”

He laughed as he caught your meaning. You scraped your hands down his torso, then let your fingertips dance around the waistband of his pants. “Can I help make you feel good?” you asked suggestively.

“Mm,” he craned his neck as he thought about it. He definitely wanted you to, but something was holding him back.

“Maybe later. I promised you a good time - I intend to make good on it.”

"Well,” you drawled as you grazed and teased the underside of his waistband, and felt his abs jolt in excitement. “You're off to a good start. But, I like to pull my weight." You then slipped your palm over his pants, and gave his bulge a light squeeze. He rewarded your action by choking slightly on the air. "Lemme suck your dick, Jungkook."

He definitely liked that idea. It was written all over his face, and taut all over his body. He was perhaps a bit taken aback by your forwardness. But he didn't budge on his resolve.

"Trust me, I'd love nothing more than to come down your throat."

A thrilling tingle sparked through your groin as he said it. You liked that idea, so much so that you could practically taste him already. You also liked how the temperature between you was heating up and dirtying down. Perhaps your face didn't show your excitement, however, because Jungkook tilted his head in a slight grimace.

"Too much dirty talk?" he questioned.

“No,” you chuckled, respectfully abandoning his protected hard-on, and opting to slip your hands down the back of his pants to explore his impressive glutes. "Not dirty enough."

"Yeah?" He liked the sound of that too. His fingers then began to trace down your belly, lower, and lower, and lower - and your breathing became shorter and shorter. "What kinda words you like?"

His palm then dipped beneath your panties, and you felt a long set of fingers slip their way through your folds, and the heel of his hand press firm over your clit. Your jaw slackened, and your back arched to buck your hips into his hand. He looked pleased at how you reacted to his touch.

He drew his fingers north, slithering them through your folds, brushing the length of your labia, until they flattened and tugged hard on your clit. Your fingers instead curved, shaping into talons seeking purchase over any bit of his flesh they could find.

"What can I say to turn you on, Y/N?" he prompted you again. You weren't sure you were expected to answer - it was clear on his wolfish grin that he enjoyed how wordless he was making you.

"Um… I don't know... everything?" you panted an answered, although you weren’t sure if it was the right answer… you weren’t really sure of anything right now.

"Mm," he hummed as he thought, dipping his fingers low and pulling them north again. "Cock?"

"Of course," you laughed. But you supposed it was possible some people didn't care for the term.

His index finger slid south again, and teased itself around your entrance. Your kegels clenched as they prepared for him to invade you - but he didn’t. Not yet. He languidly split his way through your slick slip, and parted your folds to expose your clit to the elements. "Pussy?"

"Yes," you swallowed.

"Cunt?" he said as you bucked against him again. He began to swirl a finger in delicate circles around your clit, and you began to burn from the inside out.

"Sparingly," you conceded. He increased his pressure and speed, now assaulting the nub of nerves with a clear intent. This was no longer teasing, this was no longer a quest to make you wet and ready for him… this was the first click of the route to a proper orgasm. “Oh, shit!” you keened, biting your lip as you bowed your head against his chest. You panted a few audible whines as you got used to his ministrations. When you found balance, you lifted your chin to look up at him, only to find yourself off-balanced again. God, the way he looked at you was intoxicating. He was so focused on his task, and so concentrated on reading your every micro-reaction to his touch. He enjoyed it all - he was getting off on how you looked, how you sounded, and he was high on the idea that he was the one making you feel this way.

He licked his lips, and you immediately wanted to kiss them again. But you couldn’t. A microgasm caught hold of your system, and all you could do was ride it out until it relinquished its control. But then another dirty word slipped from his kissable lips…

"Slut?" he asked somewhat cautiously. Truth was, you hadn't ever had that term brought into your sex life vocabulary - but the way it rolled off his fucking tongue, you knew you'd love to hear him say it again.

"Yes," you near whined, as the word and his fingers heightened your pleasure. You clamped your one hand firm around the back of his neck, while the other gripped tightly around his flexing bicep. "Oh... my God," you breathed, letting him know how good he was making you feel.

You were discovering just how much of an artist Jungkook was. Those long, slender fingers of his weren't only adept at painting beautiful pictures, or strumming an electric guitar. They knew exactly how to mold a woman's centre into a motherboard of primal, unrestricted pleasure. He played with your clit, finding just the right places to push, and just the right angles to rub. Then he'd zero in - raise the tempo, deepen the pressure, until your body began to convulse with the onset of an orgasm. Then he'd release you from it all, and palm your pussy with long, calming strokes to bring you back down - until he was ready to attack your senses again, bringing you just a bit higher than the last time.

"Fuck, Jungkook..." you sobbed after the umpteenth rise and fall. "Fuck... I want more.”

You weren’t sure what more it was you wanted - but you just needed more. More of his lips, more of his fingers… more of him… “I want you to fuck me.”

“I am fucking you, Y/N,” he said with a menacing tease. That wasn’t what you meant, and he damn well knew it. So… he was the kind who liked a girl to beg.

“I want you inside me."

Once again, the corner of his mouth pulled in a look of delicious and devious satisfaction - there was something about it that you didn’t trust.

He dipped his hand deep into your panties and in a quick move, he returned his fingers to your entrance; and, in an even quicker moment, he stuffed two of his digits deep inside you - nearly lifting you off his floor with their swiftness and strength.

“Ugh!” you mewled, as the action made you feel heady with vertigo. His fingers flapped rapidly inside you, and every ounce of air you had in your lungs became caught in your throat, as your body began to vibrate in time with his flicks.

"Like this?" he asked arrogantly. "You want me inside you like this?"

It also wasn't what you exactly had in mind, but you certainly weren't complaining.

"Jungg–" your vocal chords restricted and your body heaved against him. He squeezed you closer to him with his free arm around your waist, and brought your faces so close together, you could kiss him deep and fervent if you had the ability to do so. He slipped his fingers down your chamber, then shoved them hard and fast back into you - tapping madly against the now discovered pleasure points inside you.

He let the tip of his nose trace softly over your nose, and his lips brush lightly over your lips as he teased you with a kiss. But a tease was all it was - you didn’t have the power to take it further - not when your body was seizing and sputtering without any control.

"Or you, want something bigger?" he asked, tilting his chin as he peered down his nose at you. “You want my dick?”

"Yes," you managed to sputter out.

“Yeah? You wanna take this cock like a good little slut?”

Holy fuck. Your mind and body reacted immediately, and he knew it all too well. Your pussy muscles immediately constricted around his fingers - clamping down on them so hard that he struggled to jostle them through your chamber.

“Oh, fuck, you like that, eh?” he derided, and you never felt so… corrupt.

“Yes,” you cried out your command. “I want your cock inside me, baby.”

“Hm, baby,” he tested the word out. “I like the sound of that.”

“Fuck me and I’ll call you whatever you want,” you said, surprising both yourself and him with how controlled and demanding your tone was.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jungkook smiled as he withdrew his fingers from you. You immediately jumped into action, stripping yourself of your panties and kicking them aside while Jungkook worked away at his own pants. You were done before he had managed to even undo his belt buckle. You swatted his hands away from the metal, and deftly worked to unfasten it, his button, and his zipper in under four seconds.

You half expected him to laugh and tease you about your urgency, but instead he too was overcome with the need to take you right there. He crushed his lips to yours, roughly pulled your bodies together, and violently kicked his pants off his ankles. Within milliseconds, he had you hoisted onto the dresser, his body nestled between your thighs. At the same time, you both reached down between your bodies, to take a hold of his throbbing, dripping cock.

“Oh, shit,” Jungkook suddenly exclaimed - although not in the sexy way, but in the we-have-a-problem kind of way.

“What?” you looked at him, your voice sounding more annoyed than alarmed. What the fuck could possibly be the problem?

“We didn’t talk about protection and shit.”

“Oh,” you shook your head, now feeling silly and a touch irresponsible. “Yeah, um, okay. What are you comfortable with? I’m on birth control and I got a rapid STD test after I found out about… them.”

“So…” he looked at you cautiously. “You… wanna… bare back it?”

Yes, was your reckless reaction. Frankly, you had a deep and twisted desire to let Jungkook inside you without any barriers. You hadn’t allowed Chris that privilege until you were at least six months into your relationship. It was a sign of intimacy, of trust, and of devotion - things he threw away with no regard. So, the idea of letting Jungkook shift your kidneys with his raw, unguarded cock felt like a stab to Chris… even if you were the only one who knew about it. Regardless, you still had a sensible side, and your sensible side had one more question. “Are you clean?”

“Mm hm,” he nodded. “Saw the Doc last month. Clean bill of health. But I got condoms in my drawer,” he pointed his thumb over his shoulder, and you followed where it led, noticing the bedside table which was maybe five strides across the room.

“It’s too far,” you grinned.

“You’re right,” his nose scrunched as he grinned back.

Although the interruption was minor, it was still enough to slow what had become a chaotic rush to bring yourselves together. Slowed… but not cooled.

Your lips met again, your tongues began to tangle once more - but this time, you were sure to savour it. To savour him… his taste, his tact, the small sounds that rumbled in the back of his throat, and echoing noises of your moving lips and hands.

You broke the kiss when you felt the tip of his cock pushing against your folds. You looked down, wanting to see his dick hard and erect before it disappeared inside you. Jungkook looked down too, and together you admired the scene. He held his member stiff in his hands as he guided the shaft along the length of your pussy, soaking it in your juices. He brought his tip to your clit, circling the bud several times, then tapping it a few times more - making you squirm and jolt with need and longing.

Then finally - fucking finally - he dragged the thick, pulsing head downward, and pressed it over the folds guarding your entrance. You shuffled over the dresser, spreading your legs a bit wider to allow him complete, unrestricted access. You reached downward, covering his cock holding hand with yours, and together you positioned him right where he needed to be - then he began his ascent.

You felt his tip breach past your folds, and watched as the first inch disappeared inside you. Your mouth fell open, as did his - and together you exhaled as he conquered another inch, and then another. The eroticism of it all caused your walls to quiver around him; quivering around him made your pussy tingle with pleasure; and pleasure forced your chamber to clamp down around his cock, unsure if it wanted to suck him into you or push him back out.

“Fuuuuck, Y/N,” Jungkook exhaled a groan. “Fuck, you feel good.”

Your pussy fluttered again, and his cock slipped further into you, meeting resistance, but persevering as he slid his way through you, until finally he was balls deep and bottomed out.

He pressed his forehead against your temple, kissing that sweet spot below your ear. You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips on your skin, and how it complimented the delicious burn of your insides adjusting to his size. He reveled in the feeling of your silky walls around him, and snaked his hands around your hips to shuffle you and him into perfect alignment.

You began to burn with the need for him to move. You slid your one hand up his neck, then into his hair, pulling his face to yours so you could kiss him once more. You tightened your limbs around his waist, encouraging him in that way as well - but it was your words that inspired him the most.

“Fuck me, Jungkook,” you said as you tugged his head backwards, ensuring he could see how serious you were. His eyes flared with salacious desire, both loving the control and demand you had over him, but also challenged by it.

He drew his hips backwards in one long, slick drag of his cock, then pressed them forward - again, long, slick and filling. He did it again, testing his angles and adjusting himself accordingly, then again, and again… until he found a steady rhythm.

He pumped himself into you, and - God damn - did he ever feel fantastic. The way he moved through you, making you moan as he stuffed you full, and whine as he left you feeling empty. He rocked his hips in smooth, consistent waves - and you keened each time his mound pressed against your sensitive clit.

You dropped both your hands behind you, pressing them into the surface of the dresser and leaning back to let him fuck you deeper and harder. He did, and soon enough the squelch of his cock slipping in and out of you, and the claps of your hips colliding could be heard throughout the house.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you threw your head back, as a microburst of pleasure pulled your limbs tight with electric shock. “Oh, fuck.”

When you were able to look at him again, your heart began to beat with dangerous aggression. You couldn’t get over the way this man saw you, admired you. He bit his lip as he studied your face, and as his eyes drank in and appreciated every about your pleasure flushed body. He thrusted in and out of you, fixated on how your tits bounced, how the flesh of your thighs rippled with each impact, and how your belly restricted and relaxed between pumps. He seemed so damn controlled, like he was hours away from coming, whereas you were mere moments. But then, a deep, long, guttural groan rumbled up from within him, and you keened a high pitched noise at the way it turned you on.

“Ugh,” he exhaled again. “Ugh… uh…” each sound a touch deeper, signaling his rising climax.

“I’m–” you tried to warn him of the orgasm barreling towards you, but the moment you spoke, he grabbed you roughly under your ass - and before you knew it, you found yourself facing the wall, palms pressed into wood, and body bent over the dresser.

“Baby,” you keened as Jungkook re-entered you from behind. He somehow felt thicker, hotter, and longer as his cock once more filled your channel. He fucked into you once in a hard and fast pulse of his hips, and your hands skidded down the surface of the dresser. You then felt his fingers card their way through the hair on the back of your head and, with a light pull, he bent you backwards - making you stare yourself and him down in the mirror before you.

You wanted to call out to fucking God. The image before you was so hot and nasty. You could see clearly his sweat-dampened skin and how it pulled tight over his muscles, which contracted and flexed with each and every buck of his hips.

He began to fuck you mercilessly, and your calls to the heavens became primal roars for release. He was so thick and hot inside you. So rough and ruthless. He was no longer breaking the ice – he was breaking you apart.

Your eyes threatened to roll back in your skull, but you wanted so badly to see the images presented before you. You wished Chris could see this image. You wished Stephanie could see it too.

You didn’t know why… but that thought made you hornier than hell. You felt a fresh wave of arousal drip between your thighs and soak Jungkook’s dick. The thought of them watching you get fucked by this man. The way their faces would twist in jealousy and regret. The way Jungkook would threaten Chris with a possessive stare, and taunt Stephanie with the knowledge that you possessed him.

You reached between your legs, and began circling your clit with your fingers - wanting to capitalize on the feeling of Jungkook’s cock and the mess of your debasing thoughts. But he was having none of it…

He scooped an arm around your waist, and in another quick moment, you were off the dresser and weighted against his hard body. He grabbed a hold of your one tit in his palm, kneading and twisting your nipple with his fingers, while his other hand dipped down to replace your fingers which were pleasuring yourself. He wanted to be the one to make you come, all on his own.

You bent your neck backwards and over his shoulder, reaching behind his neck to cling again to the hair at his nape - needing something to tether you to the earth. He nibbled on your ear, bit into your shoulder, pinched your nipple, rubbed your clit, all while continuing to fuck you into oblivion.

You didn’t have a chance to warn him you were about to come - then again, it seemed as if he didn’t have a warning of his own. The moment his deep voice shot high in his throat and started to come out in short, pitched moans, was the moment you began to tumble off the edge.

“Ohhh!,” your orgasm squealed into the room, and your muscles pulled tight, bending your spine and curving your body into his. Your vision went dark, then burst with millions of technicoloured stars. Your hearing muffled, and you lost the ability to breathe. A pure, radiant tingle sparkled through your every vein, like your blood had been replaced with warm, bubbling champagne.

You felt Jungkook’s body begin to convulse against you, as his hand motions and waving hips became sloppy and erratic. He was coming too, and his hot, whining breaths on your shoulder ended in a heavy roar as he crescendoed, and long spurts of cum were released inside you.

You both fell forward - your hands finding the wood surface of the dresser again, and Jungkook finding your shaking and fragile body a sufficient place to rest his head.

You panted yourself out of the stars and back into reality, and Jungkook did the same. His hands were around the hollows of your hips, like he was holding you there, unwilling to let you move. You felt his lips then press warm over your spine, as he took a few moments to appreciate the taste of your post-coital skin.

“What’s this,” you heard his disheveled voice behind you, then you felt a heavy finger trace the small of your back - and you realized what he was referring to.

“That’s my tramp stamp,” you announced, laughing at the 16 year old that shamed you with the decision. “I don’t really like it.”

It was a fucking dolphin. Not a dolphin fucking, just a stupid dolphin you had zero attachment to. There were other reasons you didn’t like it - Stephanie was with you when you got your tattoo. She got one herself. They weren’t friendship tattoos or anything, but the memory of getting them together made it feel like it tethered her to you. You had big fish to fry these past few days, but now that you thought about it, it might be a good time to have it removed.

“It’s sexy. I love a good tramp stamp.”

“Thanks,” you said, as you moved to press yourself off the dresser. Jungkook pulled himself out of you, then guided you to turn around so he could hold you sweetly in his arms. “She was with me when I got it,” you gave him a comical shrug.

“Ah,” he nodded, understanding now. “I can cover it for you.”

“Right,” you mused, remembering that “Tattooist” was one of his alleged work-for-pennies jobs.

“I mean… maybe not right now. It's not a lot of fun fucking right after a back tattoo. The rubbing and all,” he winked. You chuckled.

“Okay, well… thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Jungkook stretched his arms a little further around you, pulling you tight against him. You wrapped your arms around him as well, and you pulled yourselves together for a sweet, but simple post-sex ceremonial kiss. When the kiss broke, he still held you there, smoothing his palm softly over the length of your back.

“So, what do you wanna do now?” he asked. “You hungry?”

“Um,” you looked around the room as you thought for a moment, unsure what you were supposed to do. With Chris, you’d either cuddle up in bed, or you’d run off to do something written in your day planner. But being up here, in Jungkook’s house, it was like you were trapped in a vacation. You didn’t have any commitments or responsibilities or expectations. You could just… be…

You looked up at him when you had an answer. “Do you think I could take a shower? I was in the car all night and all.”

“Sure,” he nodded. “You want company?”

You bit your lip to suppress your grin. You might like company… just not right now. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind a few moments to myself… if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay. I’ll get you a towel.”

With that, he took you by the hand, and he walked you across his bedroom and towards a partially opened door. You hadn’t really noticed it before, but it was fair to assume it led to an ensuite bathroom. A luxury cabin like this had to have an ensuite bathroom.

You were close… the door led to a bathroom, but it first took you through a stupidly large walk-in closet.

“Oh my God,” you shrieked like a fanboy seeing his celebrity crush for the first time, and Jungkook snorted at your reaction.

“I didn’t know you had such a hard on for closet space,” he teased. "I'll fuck you in here if you'd like."

“Shut up, you don’t understand,” you slapped him gently with the back of your hand. He really didn’t understand. The closet was basically barren. He only used one measly section, and it was essentially nothing but t-shirts, sweat-shirts and jeans. He also didn’t understand because your house back home didn’t actually have any closets at all. It was a stupid oversight from the 20th century designer who built it, and it’s subsequent owners who did bare minimum reparations to it.

Jungkook gave your hand a tug, and you let him guide your drooling self through the closet and into the ensuite, where once again you gasped.

A tub.

A bathtub.

A real bathtub.

It was everything you looked for in a tub. It was long, and wide, and deep (like a great dick,) had jets, and no shower head was above it. You could easily soak in it and submerge your tits and knees under the water at the same time… and wasn’t that the dream?

It was also just incredibly romantic: flanked by riverstone tile, and installed next to a breezy window with soft views of a garden outside. You could instantly imagine yourself in it, surrounded by candles and bubbles, sipping a glass of wine as you enjoyed the warm breeze wafting into the space with the sounds of the forest. You could imagine Jungkook in there too - sitting at the other end of the tub, or perhaps you would be resting against his chest.

You shook the thought away. It was a nice fantasy, and if you were lucky, one you could explore… later. For now, you two had only fucked once, and this was a fucking arrangement. You didn’t need to start adding intimacy to the mix.

“You can use it if you want,” Jungkook shook you from your imagination. “I never do.”

“You don’t deserve this house, Jungkook,” you ridiculed him. “Unused walk-in closet, unused bathtub. Tsk.”

“Well,” he scooped you against him again, and you wrapped your arms around him... again. This act was beginning to feel as natural as it did with Chris. “Maybe you can show me how to live in it right.”

“Maybe,” you winked.

“Go ahead. Take a bath. Enjoy it.”

“No,” you sighed. “I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep in there and drown. I think I’m starting to feel the effects of my all-nighter.”

It was true. After your climax, you thought your muscles were feeling tired and drained from sex. But as the minutes passed since, you recognized that you were indeed just tired.

“Well, why don’t after you shower you take a nap? I’ll go make myself busy.”

“No, I don’t want…” you trailed off. It felt strange to kick Jungkook out of his own room when you had asked so much of him. “I don’t wanna sleep all afternoon and then be up all night.”

Jungkook’s gaze darken into something sadistic, and you were sure you could hear his thoughts. “I thought the plan was to be up all night, Y/N,” he said. Your nether regions agreed with him. “Do it. You’ll feel better.”

“Okay,” you nodded reluctantly. “Don’t let me sleep too long.”

“I won’t,” he promised with a final kiss before he let you go, then rummaged the cupboard for a towel.

You weren’t sure how long you had showered, but the water had felt so good over your skin and muscles that you just couldn’t pull yourself out of there. You were afraid you had nearly drained his tank. When you returned to his room, you discovered Jungkook’s windows had electric blinds, and that Jungkook had darkened the room for you. You also found an oversized t-shirt sprawled across his bed. It was a shirt from his band’s tour three years ago, and it was obvious he had laid it out for you to wear as pajamas. You took it in your hands, and brought it to your face, taking in a deep sniff of its scent. It smelt like him, like the soap you had just used in his shower. You were a touched pleased it didn’t smell like some other girl - although you wouldn’t be surprised if this shirt hadn’t already been worn by a groupie or two.

You pulled it on, then crawled under the sheets, groaning and stretching as your body recognized it was time to power down. You curled your body around a pillow, and within moments, you were fast asleep.

Go to Chapter 4.

#bts smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #bts fanfic #jjk

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kelyon · 3 months

Text

Courtship 3: First Date--His Place

After dinner, Gold takes Lacey back to his house.

Read on AO3

Mr. Gold’s house was a salmon-pink mansion in the good part of Old Town. This was a popular neighborhood for flower deliveries, so Lacey had at least been in the door of most of these places. But she had never been inside Mr. Gold’s house before. She didn’t know anyone who had.

He unlocked the door and held it open for her. Lacey tried not to gape at the size of the place, the obvious quality and care. The front hallway was paneled in wood--not fake wood paneling, but wood--polished and clean. No chipped paint or decades’ worth of smudged fingerprints anywhere.

Most of the house was dark. Lacey couldn’t see up the stairs or down the hallway. The only light was a mini-chandelier, with ropes of crystals that sparkled like the sequins on her dress. The darkness outside was so complete she could see her reflection in the panes of glass on each of the double doors.

“This is lovely,” she smiled at Mr. Gold.

“Thank you.”

He locked the front door behind them, then shrugged off his coat and hung it onto one of a row of empty hooks on the wall. When that was done, he went over to a door on the other side of the entryway. It was a closed door, made of shiny wood so dark it was almost black. He stood in front of it, with his cane in front of him, like he was guarding whatever was in the room behind him.

“Miss French,” he began, “you don’t have to be here.”

Lacey raised her eyebrows. “Well that’s a great start to a hookup.”

“I’m quite serious,” Mr. Gold went on. “I want you to understand that I am not compelling you to do anything. We’ve already discussed that what goes on between us will have no bearing on your father’s situation with the rent. If you leave now, or if you want to stop at any point in future, it will not affect my opinion of you. If you’re ever in need of my assistance, you’ll be able to come to me and I will treat you like anyone else.”

Lacey pressed her lips together. She didn’t want him to treat her like anyone else.

“At any point,” he was still talking, “you can ask to go home and I will drive you back. It is of utmost importance that you understand this: You are acting of your own volition, without coercion or threat.”

She looked at him, hands on her hips. She ran her tongue over the back of her teeth while she thought.

“You sound like you’re gonna try things I shouldn’t let you get away with.”

He came towards her. “I have tastes,” he said simply. “I have desires. I have things I want from a lover that many people--quite reasonably--balk at.” He was close enough now to whisper in her ear. “And I have an inkling about you, Miss French. I think it’s possible that you have desires of your own, desires you wouldn’t dare ask another person to indulge in.”

Her face went hot. She didn’t say anything.

Now he spoke more evenly, but still low and seductive. “At the restaurant, you asked me why I chose you. Let me tell you now: I chose you because it’s possible our desires might align. You might want to receive what I so dearly wish to give.”

He stepped away. He hadn’t touched her but he had been so close that having him gone threw her off balance, at least mentally. He stood in front of the door again.

“I’d like to be right about you, Miss French, but I need you to tell me if I’m wrong. Before you get hurt.”

Lacey blinked. She took a breath, got her bearings. “Are you planning on hurting me?”

“I’m planning to give you every pleasure you can think of and a few more I’m sure you can’t. If you follow the rules.”

Oh. So this was another game. Straightening up, Lacey looked him in the eye. “What are the rules this time?”

There was that glint in his dark brown eyes. That gleam she had come to realize meant he was happy with her, or proud of her. She had done something right.

“This is my study.” Mr Gold tapped his knuckle against the wooden door behind him. “For tonight, this room is our field of play. When you come into this room, you will obey me. Without hesitation, and without question. Do you understand?”

The hairs on the back of Lacey’s neck stood up. The house was warm, but a chill went through her.

“What will you tell me to do?”

“Nothing you won’t like,” he promised. “Any time you don’t want to obey, you just have to walk out this door. The game will be over.”

Lacey crossed her arms over her chest and tried to ignore how good the scratchy fabric felt against her bare breasts.

“So are you gonna make me call you ‘Master’ or something?”

“No,” he chuckled at the suggestion. “No, I’m Mr. Gold. That’s quite enough for one lifetime.”

So at least she wouldn’t have to fawn over him like he was God. She just had to do what he said. Everything he said.

“Is this another game I can win?”

He shrugged. “That’s up to you, isn’t it?”

“I meant, would there be another prize?” Technically, the very fact of her being here was her reward for winning the game at the restaurant.

“I’ll find ways to make it worth your while, Miss French. To my way of thinking, the greatest prize for winning will be the chance to play again.”

He wanted her. Somehow, the thought hadn’t occurred to her until now. It had been so obvious. Of course Mr. Gold wanted to screw Lacey French. She was young and hot and he was old and lonely. But there were a lot of girls in Storybrooke who were young and hot and Mr. Gold chose her. Mr. Gold wanted her. He saw something in her that he didn’t see in other girls. He wanted things--unmentionable but specific things--and he thought he could only get them from Miss French.

He wanted this to work. He wanted her to want him. He wanted her to want to play his games. The fact that she did only made the revelation that much sweeter.

“Okay,” Lacey moved toward the study. “Let’s play.”

He held up his hand to stop her. “You should take a moment to collect your thoughts. Make sure this is really what you want, Miss French. Then, before you come into the study, take off your stockings and your underthings. Leave them out here. Put your shoes back on, and come join me. Or tell me that you want to leave.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

She spoke softly, but it was the boldest declaration she had ever made in her life.

Mr. Gold gave her a small smile--an actual smile, the first she’d seen from him. Then he made a nod that was almost a bow. He went into the study and left the door open behind him.

****

Alone in the entryway, Lacey let out a long breath. Mr. Gold had told her to collect her thoughts but all she could think about was how horny she was, how alive she felt. All she could think about was what Mr. Gold had planned for her. Exactly how unconventional were his tastes? Would she walk into the study and discover him putting on clown makeup and wielding a meat cleaver? What did he want? What did he want from her?

She wasn’t going to find out in the hallway.

Lacey backed away from the glass-fronted doors into the dark interior of the house. Then she pulled up her skirt and rolled down her panties and her stockings all in one go. Good thing she had shaved her legs after all. She stepped back into her sensible black pumps and crossed the threshold into Mr. Gold’s study.

He was lighting a fire in the antique fireplace when she walked in. He was fully dressed and not in clown makeup, which was a good sign. When he saw her, he tossed the long match into the catching flames.

“That was quick,” he remarked.

“I know what I want.”

He came toward her, until they were standing close enough to kiss. With the hand that wasn’t holding his cane, Mr. Gold cupped her cheek. It was the first time they had touched anything more than their hands.

“And what is that?”

The word you lay on the tip of her tongue. I want to know you. I want to know what you want and I want to give it to you.

Of course she couldn’t say that out loud. Sentiment was a little treacly for Mr. Gold’s taste. He liked bitter, not sweet.

“I want adventure,” Lacey said instead. It was mostly true. “I want something I can’t get from any other man in this town--something I can’t imagine most of them would even be able to understand.” She pushed herself toward him, pressing her body against his. She put her hand on his chest. “I want more, Mr. Gold. I want much more than this… life.”

He took a step back, then another. With his body gone, her hand hung in the air. He gave her one of his long, appraising looks.

“The first rule,” he said softly, “is that you don’t touch me. I will touch you, and I may give you explicit instructions on where I want your hands or your body, but I will not have you pawing at me like a pickpocket.”

Lacey’s cheeks burned. From embarrassment this time, not anything fun. “Oh.” She lowered her hand. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to--”

“That’s why I’m telling you. I don’t want you making that mistake again.”

She swallowed down her guilt and nodded her understanding. She kept her eyes downcast. She really was sorry to have made him uncomfortable.

“I spoke to you, Miss French.” He came close again.

She looked up at him. “Yes, you did. And…?”

“And when I speak to someone, I expect the courtesy of an answer.”

“Oh,” Lacey said again.

He shook his head. “That won’t do at all, dearie. Say, ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Gold.’”

A flash of anger went up her spine. Who the hell was he to nitpick her behavior? Sure, they were playing his game, but that didn’t give him the right to patronize her!

Boldly, she matched his stare. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gold.” The sentence was hot in her mouth as she spat it out. But the words were right. She was following the rules. “I apologize Mr. Gold. Forgive me, Mr. Gold.”

Now he grinned. “Three times is a nice touch, but remember to say please when you want something from me.”

Lacey managed to conceal her eye roll with a long blink. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

He put his hand on her waist and pressed his body against hers. She couldn’t tell if it was a reward or a tease, the closeness she was allowed to have, but only on his terms. The warmth of him steadied her. It dampened down the sparks of her aggravation.

She felt his breath on her ear as he whispered, “Good girl.”

He slid away from her and once again Lacey was left feeling dizzy and off-balance, like she had just gotten off a Tilt-a-Whirl.

“Do you know how to pour whisky, Miss French?”

Lacey blinked a few times to clear her head. She looked around. He was in the far corner of the study now. A section of the bookshelf folded out to reveal a little compartment with bottles inside.

“Uh, is it different from pouring any other liquid?”

Mr. Gold nodded his head toward the bar. “Come here,” he ordered casually.

Lacey hurried to obey. She darted around a large couch with her arms out slightly in front of her, like she was being pulled by something on her wrists.

That was weird. Why had she done that? Lacey shook her head to clear it. When she got to Mr. Gold, she put her arms down by her sides.

“Pay attention,” Mr. Gold ordered. “I want you to be good at this.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.”

He positioned her in front of the bar, standing behind her. Reaching over her, he placed a finger on the lid of one of the bottles.

“Johnnie Walker Blue Label,” he explained. “Blended Scotch whisky, two hundred dollars a bottle. It’s good enough for everyday use.”

Two hundred dollars for a bottle of booze? A bottle of good enough booze?

Before she could marvel any further at how the other half lived, Mr. Gold took Lacey’s hand and placed it on the sky-blue bottle. With him guiding her, she took the bottle by the neck and pulled it out of the row.

“You may unscrew the lid.” He murmured it into her hair like it was a sweet nothing.

Lacey watched to make sure her hands weren’t shaking as she did what he said. Mr. Gold helped her pick up a short glass and set it on the bar. Her hand covered the glass and his hand covered hers.

“Pour until it’s the height of two fingers.” He had his other hand over hers on the bottle. “Or three, in your case.”

She stopped before he could tell her to, when the brown liquid reached the top of her middle finger. She pushed away from him, just a little. Just enough that she could pick up the glass and spin around to face him.

“Like this, Mr. Gold?”

The lines in his mouth deepened. “Stay here,” he ordered. “Count to ten--slowly, out loud--then come and serve me.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.”

She watched him walk over to a stuffed leather armchair by the fireplace. Before he sat down, he took a pillow from the couch and set it on the floor next to his chair. As she counted, Lacey looked at him, at the power he radiated. The chair he sat in wasn’t a throne. Mr. Gold wasn’t a king. He was something bigger than that. Something dark and eternal. Just what, she wasn’t sure. It was a mystery to be uncovered.

When she was done counting to ten, Lacey went over to Mr. Gold with the glass in her hand. Some instinct made her bend at the waist when she offered him the drink. It paid off when Mr. Gold’s eyes swept down the line of her spine and lingered on her ass. Was he thinking about his order to take off her underwear?

“Well done,” he said as he took the glass.

Lacey made a pointed look at the pillow by Mr. Gold’s feet. “What next?”

“Next,” Mr. Gold sat back in his chair. He swirled his whiskey in the glass and took a drink. “Next you will go to the top drawer of my desk, on the right-hand side. Open it, and bring the contents to me.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.” Obediently, Lacey crossed the room.

The desk was a thing of beauty, rich dark wood and a leather writing top. It was large enough and sturdy enough that it could function as a bomb shelter if Storybrooke was ever under aerial attack. Lacey French had become valedictorian while doing homework at her kitchen table. If she’d had a desk like this, she would be a Rhodes scholar by now.

In the top drawer on the right-hand side, Lacey found a strip of foil-wrapped condoms, a box of rubber gloves like at a doctor’s office, and white tube with the label facing up to read: ANAL LUBRICANT.

She blinked.

For a long minute, she just stared at the objects in front of her. The things Mr. Gold wanted to have close at hand. Then Lacey took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. In one motion, she scooped the supplies into her arms and walked back to Mr. Gold.

The condoms and the gloves went on the table beside him, next to his drink. The lube he placed in an inside pocket on his suit jacket, close to his heart.

He gestured to the pillow on the ground. “Would you like to kneel at my feet, Miss French?”

At that moment, Lacey didn’t know what she’d like. She had some ideas, or thought she did. Her formative years had been shaped by age-inappropriate romance novels. But it was one thing to fantasize about things--to imagine them and even want them. It was something else entirely to drag a secret desire out into the cold light of reality.

Mr. Gold was leaning forward, staring at her. He was waiting for her to answer, to obey, to keep playing their game. The game that had suddenly become too real for her.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He tilted his head. “You may.”

Lacey breathed. There was no other way to say it than to say it.

“Anal?”

Mr. Gold smirked. He sat back, comfortable again with how things were going. “You’ve never done it before?”

“No,” Lacey almost laughed. “It’s supposed to be gross, right? Or complicated, or dangerous?”

“What good thing in life doesn’t have an element of complexity or danger?”

“But don’t I need to, like, do an enema or something first?”

“That’s what these are for,” he gestured to the condoms and gloves. “It’s my understanding that being overzealous with cleaning actually increases the risk.”

“Really?” Lacey had never done research on the subject, and the few romance novels that featured anal were annoyingly vague on the details. Apparently Mr. Gold did this enough to develop a preference for it, so he was now the leading authority.

“If you want to be clinical, Miss French, an enema will dry out the anal passage and leave you vulnerable to microtears, which can lead to infection.”

“I’m sorry, I stopped listening after I heard the word tear.”

“Micro,” Mr. Gold emphasized. “As in microscopic.” He patted his jacket where he’d just put the bottle of lube. “That’s what this is for, to make everything… smoother.”

Lacey dug her nails into her palms. The sharp, stinging pain eased her nerves.

“Why did you put it in your jacket?”

“To make it warm for you.” He took a drink, then set down his glass. “Anything else?”

“You’ve done this before.” It wasn’t a question. “A lot?”

“Yes.”

“With who?”

“A gentleman never tells,” he smirked. “Suffice it to say it was long ago and far away. You’re in no danger of running into any jealous exes.”

Lacey let out a breath of a chuckle. Learning more about what was going to happen had helped. Talking to Mr. Gold, listening to his unshakable self-assurance, had helped.

She smoothed her skirt.

“Do you still want me to kneel, Mr. Gold?”

He picked up his drink. “Very much.”

Nodding, she went to the place beside him and got down on her knees. She sat up straight in a perfect L, the way people did in Catholic church.

“You can relax,” Mr. Gold said softly. “You’re going to be down there for a while, Miss French.”

His arm draped over the chair to hold her by the back of the neck. Gently, but with firm pressure, he pushed her down. She was still kneeling, but sitting on her legs. Now Lacey felt like she was in a karate class.

“There,” he said. “Isn’t that better?”

There was only one answer Miss French could give: “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

****

For at least fifteen minutes, Mr. Gold sat, and sipped his whiskey, and touched her. He tried to play with her hair, but quickly realized it was an unmanageable rat’s nest full of bobby pins. After that, he kept to her neck, her ears, her cheeks. He played with her idly, as if she was a pet, or some kind of ornament with an interesting texture. Just a thing for him to fidget with while he was thinking.

His fingers were soft. Mostly they grazed over her, practically teasing. Sometimes they pressed in. Sometimes he rubbed her with several fingers at once. He made his way down her back like that, massaging the spaces her dress left bare. Whenever she reacted with a sigh or a muffled moan, he touched her more.

It was a quiet time, with nothing but murmurs between them. They watched the fire, listened to the crackles and pops of the burning logs. Lacey felt her pulse slow. Her thoughts wound down into almost nothing. Mr. Gold’s touch, his presence, could thrill her, yes, but right now it calmed her. It helped her be ready for what she knew was coming.

“Have your legs gone numb?” he asked her after a while.

When was the last time Lacey had felt her toes? “I think they are, yes.”

“Good.”

Pushing himself up with his cane, Mr. Gold got out of his chair. Then he bent down over Lacey, wrapped one arm around her chest, and with surprising strength, lifted her to her feet. She couldn’t stand under her own power, but he walked her to the couch and let her fall over the arm. Lacey braced against the cushion, holding herself up on her elbows.

“Stay there,” he rasped.

It sounded like he was out of breath. Had hefting her around worn him out? Or did it excite him to see her like this? If there was ever a position for a girl to get fucked in the ass, Lacey was in it.

She breathed. It was going to happen. She looked down at her hands. They looked so pale and small against the wide expanse of tufted burgundy leather. Before the date started, she had managed to wash away all the potting soil from work, but she should have painted her nails as well. Maybe tomorrow she’d stop by the drug store and splurge on burgundy nail polish.

While she was thinking inane nonsense, Mr. Gold was running his hands up and down her thighs.

“So soft,” he murmured. “So lovely.”

“That’s the miracle of exfoliating,” Lacey quipped.

As soon as she spoke, his hands stopped. “No, it’s the miracle of youth, Miss French. Enjoy it while it lasts. Can you stand now?”

Experimentally, she pushed herself up off the couch and put her weight on her feet. “Looks like it,” she said.

“Good.”

As she stood, he pressed against her again, his front to her back. His breath was hot and delicious against her neck. Carefully, slowly, he put one hand on the front of her thigh, just below the very short hemline of her dress.

“You know what I want,” he whispered. “The fact that you’re still here means you’re willing to give it to me. Is that correct, Miss French?”

“Yes,” Lacey breathed. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

Still with the same deliberate slowness, he dragged his hand over her thigh and under her skirt. He rested a minute on her hip bone, right over what would be her pantyline, if she was wearing panties.

For a moment, they breathed together. Lacey had the thought that this moment for him was what entering the study had been for her: Crossing a threshold.

He slid his hand down, over her pubic hair, and into her pussy.

She hadn’t realized how wet she was until she felt his fingers dip into liquid heat.

“Fuck,” Mr. Gold hissed.

Lacey’s teeth chattered, but she grinned. “You sound surprised.”

“Pleasantly,” he assured her. His fingers began to move. “Delighted, actually.” He rubbed his face against her neck. His stubble prickled her skin.

She moaned.

“Are you always so easily aroused, Miss French? Do other men slide into you so effortlessly?”

He had found her clit shockingly fast, but he didn’t press against it too hard or for too long. He seemed to know without being told how she liked to be touched, how she touched herself. He pressed two fingers into her core for just a moment, dipping down and pulling up more wetness to slather over her lips and folds. His hand was quick and constant and everywhere.

“I asked you a question, Miss French.”

“No,” she answered breathlessly. “There’s only been one and he didn’t care much about me. I had to--oh!--take care of myself most of the time.”

“Well, there will be no more of that,” he muttered, still working furiously. “A woman’s pleasure is a prize, Miss French. It should be worked for, and savored.”

It was hard to think of an answer right now. It was hard to think of anything besides the swell of feeling he was pulling up out of her. No, Hunter had never touched her like this. She had barely ever touched herself like this, or found herself as wet as Mr. Gold made her.

She felt something building, felt herself rising and arcing, ready to reach the peak. She was going to--she was--

Abruptly, Mr. Gold’s fingers stopped. He kept his hand on her mound, holding it, but not doing anything.

“What?” Lacey turned around as best she could to look at him. “Why did you stop? I was almost there!”

A slow smile spread across his face. “I know,” he said. “You’re not subtle with your orgasms, Miss French.”

“I--should I be? Is that a thing you want?”

“Not particularly.” He squeezed her cunt and Lacey shuddered. “No, it’s to my advantage that you’re so… demonstrative.”

Groaning, Lacey fell forward over the arm of the couch. “You’re just fucking with me, aren’t you?”

“No, Miss French, I’m fucking you. I have every intention of letting you come.” With his other hand, he pulled her back up, pressed her against his body. He growled into her ear. “You’re going to ruin my jacket sleeve with your sopping wet cunt.” He let her go. “But only when I allow it. Do you understand?”

Breath shaking, Lacey tried to pull herself together. It was harder than it had been before. Blood pounded in her ears, the pulse of pleasure denied, the throbbing need she knew Mr. Gold could feel against his hand. She managed one breath, and then another.

“This is called edging, isn’t it?”

“It’s called obedience, Miss French. It’s called doing only what I want you to and only when I tell you to do it. It’s called being a good girl.”

Lacey clenched, she shuddered. She was going to come whether he wanted her to or not. She didn’t have a choice. Her body was just doing this.

“Fight it,” he snarled. “It’s a skill like any other. You can just stop.”

It was like falling. Like thinking there was one more stair and then you stepped up onto nothing and landed hard. Like waiting for a sneeze and not having one. Like trying to force yourself not to have hiccups. It was a weird holding sensation, as Lacey staved off her natural reaction.

Somehow, she managed it. The feeling passed through her. She was able to calm down, control herself. Just like he wanted.

“Perfect,” Mr. Gold whispered. “I knew you could do it.’

Her teeth chattered. Lacey felt strangely wrung-out. Overwhelmed. Her mind and her body had somehow disconnected, and there was only the slightest tether between them.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you, Mr. Gold.”

****

Two more times he brought her to the edge and made her pull herself back. Each time it was harder and when he finally allowed her to come she was barely aware it was happening. Her body took over entirely, thrashing and screaming, grinding against him. Her mouth begged for more--Lacey heard herself say the words--but it was removed from her mental reality. It might as well be happening to a character in a book.

Mr. Gold permitted her as many orgasms as she could take, then gave her one more when she thought she was done. By the end of it, she was slumped over the arm of the couch. Utterly boneless, utterly spent. Her mind was quiet. Her body was exhausted. In that moment, nothing mattered. In that moment, she floated on a cloud of perfect safety and peace.

When he decided she was done, Mr. Gold gave her a satisfied pat on her hip. At some point, her skirt had gotten rucked up to her waist. Her naked ass was up in the air, the perfect position for him to do whatever he wanted.

Through bleary eyes, Lacey watched Mr. Gold walk back over to his chair, to the little end table where he had set the condoms and rubber gloves. He put on only one of the gloves, and flexed his fingers with a satisfied smirk. Then he tore one of the condoms off the strip and walked back over to Lacey. He slipped the foil square between two of her limp fingers.

Putting his weight on his cane, Mr. Gold crouched down so he was on her level. Lightly, he brushed her hair away from her face. “You’re going to hold onto that for me until I need it. Do you understand?”

Blinking slowly, Lacey nodded.

He tilted her chin up, so she looked him in the eye. “That’s not what you say, is it Miss French? Is that how you communicate with me?”

He was gentle, almost teasing, but she knew he was serious about what he wanted.

“No, Mr. Gold,” Lacey murmured. Complete satisfaction had brought her to a place of complete compliance. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gold.”

“That’s the way.” He stroked her hair as a reward, with the hand wearing the glove. She could smell her pussy through the rubber. “Do you understand what I want from you?”

She squeezed the condom between her knuckles. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

He gave her a fond grin. “Good girl.”

****

He stood behind her and opened her legs. He played with her pussy for a moment. The sudden pleasure jolted her out of her stupor. He spread her wetness back towards her ass.

“Barely even need lubricant,” he muttered. “With a cunt so wet, so sloppy.”

He punctuated the word by jabbing his fingers hard into her cunt. Lacey let out a keening moan--it wasn’t painful, just intense--and he soothed her with gentle rubs.

“But that’s the way I want you, Miss French. You’re a mess of desire, absolutely filthy. You don’t mind getting dirty, do you dearie? No. No, I think you like it.”

His thumb was circling her asshole now, while his other fingers played with her cunt. He paused, briefly, and Lacey heard the snap of the lid opening on the tube of anal lube. A spurting sound, then a new substance on her body.

The lube wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t as hot as her own juices. Lacey shivered at the feeling--at all the feelings--all the sensations and reactions Mr. Gold had drawn out of her.

“I do,” she whimpered as he rubbed the lube around her asshole, as his thumb made short, exploratory ventures within. “I do like it, Mr. Gold. God, I fucking love this.”

Behind her, he chuckled. His free hand rested over her ass, spreading her apart ever so slightly.

“You’re taking it well,” he murmured.

Slowly, he eased the whole of his thumb inside her. Lacey closed her eyes and focused on the feeling, the invasion, the unusual fullness. Mr. Gold didn’t move his hand. He seemed to be listening, seemed to be as attuned to her reaction as she was.

“Well?” he breathed.

Lacey tried to think, but he had already fucked all the words out of her. “It’s… weird…”

“Unpleasant?”

“No. I mean--no, Mr. Gold.”

He squeezed the soft flesh of her ass and she knew that was her reward for speaking to him correctly. Then he began to move his thumb. At first he only rotated his wrist, so his whole hand moved in a slow circle. Then he began to spread outward, making the circle wider. Making her asshole wider. He slid out partially, then eased his way back in. All the while, Lacey lay draped over the couch, vaguely aware of the distant pleasure, but mostly overwhelmed. Mr. Gold hadn’t even gotten his cock out and she had already been well and truly fucked.

He added more lube, then started with his fingers. One at a time, he used the same patient experimentation as with his thumb. He explored her, filled her, fucked her.

“I’m going to start with two now,” he told her. “I’m going to open you up, and then I’m going to need that condom.”

Through her blissed-out haze, Lacey nodded. Then she corrected herself. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

Again, he squeezed her. “Good girl.”

Two fingers was odd, especially once he started moving them. Odd was the only way she could think of it. It didn’t hurt, and it didn’t really drive her wild, at least not as much as his fingers in her cunt had. Lacey got the impression that this act wasn’t for her. Mr. Gold was just preparing her so she’d be alright with him doing what he wanted.

That was fine. God knew he had already given her plenty. Mr. Gold might as well take something for himself. And in Lacey’s current state, she wouldn’t have been able to do much for him anyway. Better for him to do the work, better for her to just take it.

He plucked the condom from her fingers. She heard the sound of a zipper, of foil being ripped open. She heard a slight hitch in his breath. Then his hands were on her again. He spread her open and glided into her ass.

Mr. Gold gasped. His clean hand gripped onto Lacey’s hip so hard it was sure to leave bruises.

“Fuck.” He choked back the word through gritted teeth.

With one arm, he roughly pulled her up and turned her neck to look at him. His cock was still inside her, but there was no pain or even discomfort. He felt amazing.

“You’re sure you’ve never done this before?”

Lacey tried to hold herself up on the couch. “Not that I remember.”

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, you’re just a natural slut then, aren’t you? You just walk around in your day to day life with an arse that’s begging for my cock?”

He thrust his hips into her for emphasis. Lacey moved with him, realizing for the first time how tightly their bodies were joined. Become one was a romance novel phrase for fucking, but she felt the truth of it now. In that moment, Mr. Gold was a part of her, and she was a part of him. They were one thing, one animal, united in a singular drive.

It felt so right. It felt so good to be with him. So natural, so perfect. She was his and he was hers. They should never be separated again.

He must have felt the same thing. With his clean hand, Mr. Gold turned Lacey’s head to look at him. He stared at her for a moment. His eyes washed over her face, searching for some answer. He must have found it, because he pulled her even closer, and kissed her.

She kissed him back, wet and sloppy like her cunt. It was an awkward angle with him inside her, but neither of them stopped. His hand moved over her body, over her dress. He squeezed her breast through the fabric and she trembled.

Their mouths broke apart, but they were still one being below the waist. For a moment, Mr. Gold stared at her again. His mouth was loose and slack from the kiss. He looked softer than she had ever seen him before, softer than she could ever imagine him being. He looked open and tender. He looked like he could love her.

He was beautiful.

One second later, his features sharpened again. His mouth hardened into a smirk. He bent her down over the couch. His cock pulled out about halfway and then rammed into her.

“Rest assured, dearie: You’re going to remember this.”

****

He took her hard, banging her into the couch with such force that the furniture shuddered forward with his thrusts. Lacey cradled her head in her crossed arms and let herself go loose. He made noises, animal grunts and muttered swear words. Her moaning was so constant it was almost a drone, a single music note that rang out over and over.

How could something so brutal feel so good? Mr. Gold fucked her like a beast, unyielding, unending, and she knew she had been made for him. To be thing he fucked, that was the only purpose she had. Through her haze of bliss, she understood it with perfect clarity. She accepted the fact. She loved it. This was where she belonged. This was all she wanted to do, to be, for the rest of her life. Lacey French was gone, even Miss French had faded away. She was something else entirely now. She was sex itself. She would take anything he doled out to her. She would take it gladly and beg for more. She really was a perfect slut.

His perfect slut.

His thrusts became faster and stronger. A snarling stream of exclamations poured out from his mouth and over her body. Abruptly, he grabbed her. His arm pulled her up to stand while his cock kept pushing her down into the couch.

“Ohh,” she sighed. It was all she could do.

His mouth was on her. On her cheek, on her neck. He kissed her with possessive bites, marking her. Claiming her body as his.

He worked on one spot, just at the nape of her neck. He sucked and gnawed at her flesh until the pain he was giving her outpaced the pleasure. Her moans became high-pitched and pleading, but she didn’t want him to stop. She never wanted him to stop.

Her pain was enough to send him over the edge. His thrusts became erratic, jerking and sliding, deeper and deeper, until he gave one final push.

When it was over, he let out a heavy sigh against her shoulder. For the first time, she noticed he was trembling, just like she was. Panting, he leaned against her. He rested his head on her neck, pressing his lips to the place he had marked. He wrapped both arms around her waist.

He held her.

Lacey kept shaking, shook more than she had while he was fucking her. Those movements had been all his, there had been no need for her to add to them. Now that he was still, Lacey’s body shuddered. Her hips thrust forward against the couch, her ass ground against him, even while his cock was softening inside her.

Mr. Gold chuckled in her ear. “Again?” he murmured. “Don’t you have an off switch?”

“I wish I did,” Lacey said as she clenched and convulsed.

Finally, the wave crested through her again. She came with a grunt, her hands clawing at the leather cushion. Then she slumped forward, exhausted. Her body still twitched and throbbed, but those were aftershocks. She was done.

Mr. Gold rubbed one hand over her back and down to her ass. He patted her like she was a friendly dog, like she had done hard work and done it well. Like she was a good girl.

“I’m going to pull out now, Miss French.”

She made a vaguely affirmative noise and he didn’t chide her for not being correct. The heat of his body left her and she felt the familiar sensation of something vacating her asshole.

“Oh shit!” She lifted her upper half off the couch. “Did I--”

“No,” Mr. Gold answered before she could finish the question. “It just feels like it because you’ve never had anything else come out of there. At least, I assume. You took my cock with such ease, one might accuse you of feigning your innocence.”

Lacey groaned and crawled forward on the couch so her legs were on the cushion with the rest of her. She lay on her stomach, her bare ass slowly getting cold.

“I never said I was innocent, Mr. Gold.” She rubbed her face. “Fuck, I’m sure not innocent after tonight.”

He was over by a trash can. The hand wearing a glove held the full condom. He hooked the thumb of his other hand under the edge of the rubber so when he pulled the glove off, it went inside out. The condom went with it, so now everything dirty was in a neat little latex package for him to throw away.

He tucked in his shirt and zipped up his pants, but he had never even taken off his jacket. Five minutes after coming in a girl’s ass, Mr. Gold looked like he had spent the evening quietly reviewing the details of contract law. He knew it too. There was a swagger in his step as he came back to her. He was every inch the cocky bastard.

“Innocence is overrated, though there can be some pleasure in destroying it. Can you stand, Miss French?”

She could, but it was a multi-step process. She hauled her legs down to the ground--God, she was still wearing her shoes--and forced herself to sit up on the couch. Groaning, she got to her feet. Her legs were a little wobbly, but she was able to stand up straight.

“Very good.”

Mr. Gold put his hand on her waist, just above her ass. He walked her out of the study to a bathroom in the hall.

“Clean yourself up,” he instructed gently. “Feel free to use the washcloths. Come out here when you’re done.”

She obeyed him groggily, moving like she was underwater. The lube felt so slick and unnatural as she tried to wipe it away with toilet paper. Anal sex wasn’t that gross, but the aftermath sure was. She washed her hands and soaked one of the washcloths in hot water to put on her face. It was soft and new and good-smelling. Lacey breathed in the steam, the scent of lavender. Lavender was one of the few flowers she could actually stand the smell of.

She sighed.

She looked in the mirror. Her face was flushed from the heat, her cheeks and forehead splotchy. If she pulled the collar of her dress over to one side, she could see the hickey Mr. Gold had left on her. The shape of his lips seared darkness onto her skin. She hoped it would last a while. It was her only memento of a very momentous night.

Her hair looked about the same as when she’d left home. There was some advantage to being so messy. Wild hair easily hid the wild things Lacey got up to.

When she got out of the bathroom, Mr. Gold was waiting for her. He offered her a glass bottle of sparkling water. She took it, and drank.

“Thanks--uh, I mean, thank you, Mr. Gold.”

They had left the study, but were they still playing? Would he want her to keep up the formality? He didn’t correct her. His pleased expression only deepened.

He put his hand on her bare back and gestured with his cane to a wad of cloth on the floor.

“I believe those are yours, Miss French.”

“Oh!” She crouched down to pick up her pantyhose and underwear. “Sorry about that, Mr. Gold.”

He shook his head. “Not at all, Miss French.”

It would be too intimate to put on her underwear in front of him, and she didn’t want to excuse herself back into the bathroom. Lacey’s only option was to roll her stockings around her panties and hold the bundle in the hand farthest away from Mr. Gold.

“I’ve got the car running out front,” he said. “I’d say it’s high time you got to your bed.”

“What time is it?”

“Just before midnight. I’ll see you home before your glass slippers vanish into fairy dust.”

Lacey snorted at the joke, then sobered when she looked down at her shoes. She’d gotten these sensible black pumps to wear at her mother’s funeral. Maybe it would be better if they did disappear. Then she wouldn’t have to think about tragedy every time she looked at them.

Or maybe it would be okay. After all, now she could remember that these were the shoes she was wearing the first time Mr. Gold fucked her.

****

He drove her home. The Cadillac was as smooth and as silent as a shark cutting through water. It was a far cry from the only vehicle she ever drove. The store’s delivery van coughed and rumbled like a workhorse that needed to be put out to pasture. Her Uncle Manny was over at least once a month to repair it. He used all his skill as a mechanic to keep that clunker running for just a little while longer. Just until things got better.

Lacey stretched out in the roomy warmth of the passenger seat. She luxuriated in this comfort for as long as it would last. She’d have to go back to reality all too soon.

“I can’t believe after all this I’m gonna have to take a cold shower.”

Mr. Gold looked at her. She couldn’t see his expression in the dark, but there was a tinge of amusement in his voice. “Is your libido that insatiable, Miss French?”

“Huh? Oh.” Lacey chuckled. “No, I mean literally. Our hot water tank is pretty much useless.”

He pulled over and parked in front of Game of Thorns. There was no amusement in his voice when he spoke again. “No one informed me of any problems with your hot water.”

Lacey blinked. “Why would we?”

“Because I’m your landlord, Miss French. Technically, that’s my hot water tank.” He shook his head. “I never should have taken your father’s word that everything was fine.”

“Um. I mean, it’s not a big deal. My dad’s gonna get it fixed eventually.”

Like everything else in their lives would eventually improve.

Mr. Gold didn’t say anything. He unlocked the door and Lacey took that as her cue to get out.

“I--uh--I had fun tonight.” She stood in the street with the passenger door open. “Thank you for a… really great evening.”

In the flickering street lamps, Lacey could make out the shape of Mr. Gold’s head, but not his expression. He was looking at her, but she had no clue what he was thinking.

“You’re welcome, Miss French.”

She shut the door, and picked her way through parked cars and piles of snow. He waited until she opened the unlocked side door of the building, and then he drove off.

#courtship #rumbelle #golden lace #rumbelle fic #rumbelle smut #golden lace smut #golden lace fic

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