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Ridlington Park | I | Eddie Munson regency!au

Author's Note: It has been a long, long time, but I am back with another obnoxious AU. I hope you enjoy as we embark on this new adventure in Regency England. This story has been in the works for almost 2 years and is still far from finished, but I am having too much fun with this and have way too many ideas on where to take it, so suggestions are very much appreciated.

Word Count: 10k

Do be warned, Dear Reader, for this story in its entirety may contain:

female!reader. slow burn. forbidden romance. jealousy. pining. smut. alcohol consumption. swearing. OC family. horses. talks of arranged marriage. historical facts as well as trivial inaccuracies.

Due to the adult nature of the story, this author also kindly but sternly requires underage readers to pursue other works.

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Chapter One: A Game of Perseverance

“I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them.”

– Jane Austen, Letter to her sister Cassandra, 1798

Three stories high, full of balconied windows, the house stood tall and overlooked the entire street. Ridlington Park, they called it, and situated at the centre of life–that is, London–the front door of the building was enveloped in flowers matching the seasons all year long. Currently, it was bright peonies that caught the onlooker’s eye. The perfectly trimmed bushes and trees were planted symmetrically, leading up to the front doors, giving visitors the right impression of what they could await once they stepped inside.

The residing family had spent a good fortune and effort ensuring the house represented them perfectly: clean, fortunate, and grand, but all done so in the utmost respectable and modest fashion as they were never the ones to boast. The walls had a light, warm tone reminiscent of early mornings in Spring, and the interior was decorated with portraits, new and old, beautiful oil sceneries of lands near and far, and busts and vases.

The evening was slowly approaching, the sun setting over the windows of the drawing room, enwrapping everything in a golden glow. The family sat silently around the room, giving each other the peace and quiet required for an uneventful afternoon followed by a slow night of fortunate sleep. The only sound appreciated was the pianoforte siding against the window, gracefully played by Mother. Four children sat around the separate corners of their world, enjoying the music while focusing on their own activities. Like most nights, these consisted of either reading or needlework, engaging in small conversations with one another occasionally.

As typical as any evening at Ridlington Park, it was highly unusual for the rest of London– a city which runs on scandals and gossip. Outside, the streets were bustling with lords and ladies of the Ton making their way back home from the markets, gardens and their fellows’ tea parties, gossiping about the latest impropriety to have occurred. After all, such topics, no more than nonsense really, were simply inescapable. And no matter how hard they tried to ignore it all, one way or another, it would always find its way up to the Byrnwick family. Most of the time, you, Gentle Reader, could hold yourself accountable for introducing the rumours proudly, much to your brother’s annoyance, who did his best to turn the pages of his novel as loud as possible as you talked with your mother from across the room.

‘Have you heard what happened at Lady Faulkner’s ball?’

‘Yes, sordid, really.’ Your mother sighed, turning around. ‘I am sure her family is in quite the uproar.’

‘Please,’ Christopher, your brother, shut his book down in frustration, clearly incapable of making any progress amidst the conversation. ‘If she had not wanted to get caught, she should have maybe ought to think twice about being out with a man in the middle of the gardens for everyone to see.’

You glared up at him. ‘Well, it is absurd that a woman cannot even stand in a public space with a man without bringing disgrace onto her entire family.’

‘Believe me; she did much more than just standing.’ Christopher scoffed, quickly receiving a cold stare from your mother.

‘Still, it is unjust.’ You ignored his insinuations. ‘Think of how men are free to go out at any time of day or night with whomever they please.’ You stabbed your needle through the cloth a bit harsher than intended.

‘My, you sure seem to be giving all this much thought. Have you any plans we should know about, sister?’ Your brother smirked.

‘Christopher!’ Your mother scowled. ‘That is quite enough.’

‘I was only joking, Mother,’ Christopher sighed, ‘we all know she is not going anywhere anytime soon.’

You were ready to retort angrily, or at least throw your needle at him, when the doors to the drawing room opened, catching everyone’s attention by storm. Five pairs of identical eyes directly aimed at the door frame, only softening when recognising the intruders. A welcoming of surprised gasps greeted the Lord and his eldest, Nicholas, as they entered the room. Not one foot in the room, and all activities were being put to a halt as the rest of the family gathered around the men—a loving reunion after a months-long journey from the Americas.

It was a surprising return, for father and son had yet to write of their plans in recent times. The last letter was received at Ridlington Park over three weeks ago, stating that the weather was amiable, if not a bit too humid, and that the family missed each other deeply. The lack of correspondence, therefore, was also an immediate subject.

‘But why did you not write, dear?’ asked Mother, after embracing her son. Nicholas was too occupied by his youngest sibling to answer; airways tightened in the arms of his 11-year-old sister, Marjorie. His father responded instead:

‘How could we write at sea, my love? The message would not have gotten here any faster than we did,’ the lord chuckled to his wife. He was correct, too, of course. His eyes seemed to surpass the gaze of his present family members in search of the one missing piece. ‘Where is Annabelle? I thought she would be home by now.’

‘She is home, with her husband,’ you explained carefully. Your father blinked slowly, coming to terms with this fact he had tried to avoid for so long. Annabelle had married last season and was very well off, to a Duke, no less, but it was still a big adjustment for the family seeing her gone and out of the house. Even with her frequent visits, it was strange to have one head less at the dinner table; one less chair occupied each evening, one less song played on the pianoforte.

‘Ah, well then,’ Father cleared his throat, ‘then we are complete.’ He looked at his wife and five children. One day, there would be even fewer of them. They will all be leaving the nest one by one. For some, marriage was long overdue, and as a man of high society, he could not wish his children a suitor or a lady soon enough, but as a father, he dreaded the day that the following proposals would take place.

Marjorie, becoming impatient and not as sentimental about her family’s reunion, tugged at Nicholas’ sleeve. ‘Come, you must tell us everything about your journey!’ She kept pulling until the eldest brother had no choice but to follow her and sit on the couch. Soon, everyone else joined on the chaises.

‘I am afraid there is very little to tell,’ Nicholas said, taking a chocolate biscuit off the tray beside the sofa. ‘It was all rather dull.’

‘Do not be ridiculous, brother,’ Fitzwilliam, the second-youngest and still hungry for adventure and the world outside of the Ton, looked at his older brother with high expectations. ‘I do not believe you and Father had been gone this long and did not experience anything worthy of a tale.’

You listened on as your siblings bickered, arguing over the value of a story, and its worth of being told and heard. Finally, after listening to it for about a quarter of an hour, you had to agree with Nicholas; it was all rather dull. No wonder neither he nor father did not bother to mention anything but the weather in their correspondence. Their days quickly grew into a pattern one is used to in travel and business. A pattern you might have understood if you cared to pay attention.

This attention only returned to the room when you heard your name being spoken. The conversation had shifted from the events that had been missed overseas to the town's happenings. Just as dull and irrelevant, some might say, the most interesting thus far was the staff changes at the house, and even these held very little consequence to you, but to this, some may disagree wholeheartedly.

‘So, the season has begun, has it not, sister?’ Nicholas asked.

‘Some weeks ago, yes.’ You did your best pretending not to feel an effect from this, occupying yourself with your needlework that was turning out far below the usual standard. ‘But do not worry; you have not missed much. In fact, I think things will finally begin to get a bit interesting with you back home.’ Nicholas had always had a taste for dramatics and had been known for having a very… loving nature. In the past years, you must have witnessed him falling in love at least a dozen times, preparing a proposal to half of these women, going through with it twice now, with one nearly making it to the alter if not for the bride getting caught in quite a compromising position with a footman.

For the next few weeks, Nicholas was known as the heartbroken gentleman, and you would have felt bad for him… if it was not for the fact that women from all over town came around to console him, day after day, of course not knowing that when his bride-to-be had been making arrangements with other men, your brother had been too busy charming ladies himself. It took a month for him to proclaim his love to another woman again.

‘I do not know what you mean,’ Nicholas deflected your comment, quickly looking over to your mother and second oldest brother, Christopher, ‘any fitting suitors I should be aware of?’ As the eldest brother, Nicholas made it his duty to ensure his sisters found good husbands. That meant status and wealth but, above anything else, a good and genteel nature. You remembered how picky he was when Annabelle had been searching for a husband, even more so than your parents. Still, it was something you appreciated about your brother. His protectiveness showed the little heart he still held for you and the rest of your family, as much as he tried to hide it away.

Your mother bit her cheek, holding in the many thoughts and opinions she must have kept for herself. So did Christopher, who shared a very knowledgeable look of many words with Nicholas, one he understood clearly but you could not decipher just yet. However, you assumed the general message had been sent and received.

‘If you had seen the choices, brother, you would understand my predicament and situation all too well, believe me.’ Pretending to seem unbothered by the encrypted messages being sent around the room, you preoccupied yourself once more with the needlework.

‘I believe it is what you believe, sister,’ Nicholas turned back to your mother, ‘do you have a list of names? I shall go through them in the morning, see if it really is as bad as we are being told.’

You had wanted to reply, most likely in a dishonourable way, but you held your tongue and fell back in your seat, letting the rest of your family plan out the rest of your life, just like they had always done.

Unbelievable, Nicholas was home for all of five minutes, and he was already making lists. And knowing him, which you would like to think you did, it was merely a formality for your sake. He would already have a dozen names at the top of his head, ready to send out invitations to men for an audience with you.

Therefore, you were not surprised when, only a few days later, at the breakfast table, Nicholas told you about all the guests Ridlngton Park would soon be welcoming.

‘There is Mr Elton, and Mr Brookes will be coming over for tea; I also heard Lord Frankworth is interested in a visit, so is Mr Campbell, and—’ he kept on giving you names, with all of them entering one ear and immediately leaving through your other. You could not care less who wanted to see you, not after spending the last month trying your hardest to escape all of their attempts at promenading, lunching, and chatting of sheer nonsense.

‘I must ask you to be ready for your first audience before 10; a dress is already prepared in your room.’ Of course, there was a dress. All you could do was smile as you bit into a forkful of egg.

‘Oh, and there is one gentleman I would particularly like you to meet,’ your father chimed in, almost as if with an afterthought that he recollected at the last minute. You looked up at him apprehensively. ‘I had made a nice acquaintance of his father on our travel. What was his name– Harrolds, no…’ ‘Harrington, father. It was Mr Harrington.’ Nicholas corrected before looking over to you as he shared more. ‘He is a tradesman, quite successful. His only son had joined us on the ship back to England.’ The emphasis on his lineage was made with an apparent inclination. There were no more heirs, meaning the son would inherit the man’s entire wealth. ‘Certainly seems like a reasonable young man, clever too. The two of you will have lots to speak of.’

Well, I certainly cannot wait to meet him,’ you forced out a smile before quickly getting on with your meal despite losing all your appetite. At that moment, your stomach felt like a hollow pit, eating away at you, ironically.

‘You know, if you gave this all a chance, you might find yourself to actually enjoy it in the end,’ your mother commented with a tight lip.

‘I am sure I shall enjoy it then, as it means that it has all, in fact, ended.’ You sighed deeply, ‘I simply do not understand why this is a must in my life? Why must I marry this instant?’

‘Do not worry, dear. You are still young; you still have plenty of time, ' your father said, missing your point entirely and making you roll your eyes. ‘But your mother is right, too, a more agreeable attitude towards this will make things much easier.’

‘For whom, exactly? Is it for me to enjoy myself, or for everyone else as you will not have to endure me any longer?’

‘Can you really blame us?’ Nicholas mumbled, receiving a kick in the shin in return. He spent the rest of the discussion rubbing the targetted spot on his leg with a pained crease between his brows. You, besides gaining the small victory of maiming your brother, found yourself yet again on the losing side of another family dispute. Like all its predecessors, this battle ended with you pushing back your chair with a harsh scrape of the panelled floor and slugging back to your room where a dress awaited.

It was beautiful; you could not deny that. Elegant and straightforward, it accented all your finest assets for interested suitors. It was comfortable: not too heavy or too textured in its pattern, it was made of soft material that slipped right on, with the fit of a well-tailored glove. Your hair was pulled up and out of your face, leaving nothing to hide behind.

‘You look lovely, miss,’ your maid said with a kind smile as she put the final pin in your hair.

‘Thank you, Claire.’ You muttered, noticing the saddened sympathy enveloping her features as she knew like no other how much you detested everything about what you were about to go through. ‘Have you got any advice? On how to endure it all?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ she shrugged, brushing something off your shoulder. ‘I suppose you could try making them uninterested in you, so they will want to leave sooner.’

‘That thought has crossed my mind,’ you admitted, ‘but I also do not want to put my entire family to shame.’

‘Of course, miss.’ Claire nodded. As she finished working on your presentation, you pondered over your possibilities. Indeed, presenting yourself as improper had been your first idea, and its appeal remained, but you were too afraid of the repercussions. If the gentlemen were to think of you as a lady without any manners, all it would do was put your upbringing up for question, something your parents did not deserve whatsoever.

You also considered spreading gossip about the men coming to introduce themselves, which would scare your mother off them immediately, ensuring they were never to return by your parents’ preference. But it felt cruel to make up such lies. You were sure that in other circumstances, these were perfectly fine men. At this particular moment, you just happened to despise them and everything they stood for.

Perhaps the most appealing option was to simply not attend the audience. To run away and never to return… at least until the afternoon, once all the men had lost all their patience. But that would only cause you more trouble.

The ideas rolled around your head for the rest of the day, even once the suitors sat opposite you in the room. It was all incredibly dull, if not just mortifyingly humiliating, with your mother sitting only across the room, occupying herself with a book, or so it seemed because she most definitely was listening to the conversations attempted on your part.

‘So,’ as most of the dialogues began, the Lord whose name you already forgot spoke, clearing his throat, ‘I hear you read.’

‘Yes, ' you said, blinking to avoid staring too blankly at the wall behind the man, ignoring the balding patch atop his head.

‘Grand,’ he smiled, somehow satisfied with your response already.

‘Do you… ride?’ you asked, hoping that at the least your mother heard your attempts at making a connection and would release you from this torment soon enough on the principle of your good sportsmanship.

‘No, God no, horses are far too beastly for my liking, unless we are speaking of the track, of course.’ The man scoffed, ‘However, I prefer more dignified activities, such as hunting.’

‘Of course, you do,’ you smiled, but the expression never reached your eyes. ‘What about chess? Do you play?’

‘I do not have the patience to commit to such silly games.’

Patience, you thought, or intelligence? And how ironic of him to speak of perseverance. You watched him take another small sandwich from the tea tray provided on a side table, which you were taught to ignore so as not to be observed as “gluttonous”. After all, no one wanted to marry a lady that ate all day.

Considering that, you grabbed a plate and a piece of cake from the top of the tray and bit into it. The soft sponge melted on your tongue. In the meantime, you were asked a question, but you could not possibly answer with a mouthful of cake, could you? Once you had finished, you considered grabbing a second portion, but you could feel the judgmental look of your mother digging into the back of your head.

You put the plate back down and your hands on your lap.

‘I’m sorry, my lord, could you repeat the question, please. I fear I may have lost myself for a moment.’ And so, it continued. Thankfully, the man excused himself not long after, thanking you and your mama for the time, just for his seat to be replaced with someone else almost immediately. This time, the gentleman was significantly younger, with thick hair atop his head and charming eyes, but the second he spoke, you knew this would not reach much further than the comfort of this room. At the least, you did not see this relationship going any further than any of the other acquaintances you had made that day.

By lunchtime, you felt your eyes burning with fatigue, possibly caused by a constant suppression of tears. How much more could you possibly take of this torture?

‘Mr Elton was quite a charmer, was he not?’ Your mother commented as she sipped her tea.

You suppressed your initial thought, rephrasing it to cause less offence, ‘He is too stubborn and self-centred. He barely let me speak a single word, too occupied by his own achievements to expect me to have any.’

‘Well, Lord Frankworth seemed to care very much for what you had to say.’

‘Only because he barely managed to string any thoughts together himself,’ you sighed.

Your mother tightened her grip on the teacup before smiling. ‘Soon enough, we will find you a perfectly fine young man, dear. You just have to remain open-minded.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Speaking of, your next suitor should be here shortly.’

You did everything in your power not to groan at the announcement and instead nodded politely. ‘Who is it?’

‘Mr Harrington, the one your father was so keen on you meeting.’

‘Ah,’ yes, the American. The only thing that gave you some slight hope in the situation was that Mr Harrington had already spent plenty of time in the company of your father and brother Nicholas and had seemingly gained their blessing. But nothing could help you gain the energy to entertain yet another man with polite conversation. The sun had been beaming into the room since the early morning, only growing warmer and warmer, making the hairs at the small of your neck stick.

‘Will you just excuse me for a moment, mother.’ You got up.

‘Is something wrong?’ She looked suspicious but with a glint of worry in her eye.

‘I am quite fine, just require some fresh air, I think,’ which was not entirely a lie.

‘Alright then, just make haste, child.’ Mr Harrington was on his way, after all. ‘We do not want to keep the man waiting.’

‘Of course not,’ you smiled, heading towards the door. When the large panels closed behind you, you picked up your skirt and ran toward the gardens. Your footsteps echoed through the corridors, and you caught several members of the house staff glancing your way with inquisitive looks.

Ever since you could remember, the grounds around Ridlington Park had a fantastical power about them. It had been the turf on which you would spend countless childhood summer days playing games with your siblings, whether the competitive or imaginary type. But no matter what the six of you could think of, your favourite game would always remain Hide and Go Seek. The gardens were a perfect place for it, with endless nooks and crannies one could disappear into. It was nearly a giant maze, and you had mastered it from a very young age. Whilst most got lost between the shrubbery and flowers, you knew exactly where you had found yourself.

There were plenty of hiding spots you enjoyed over the years, some that to this day remain a mystery to the rest of your family, but nonetheless, it was the stables you adored the most. It was a safe haven for you on many days, to the point that you had nearly become invisible to the staff working there.

The stables were located in the far east corner of the grounds, and the walk towards it already cost more time than you had if you had ever planned on returning that quickly. Undeniably, there was a pinch of shame and guilt nipping at your heart towards the strange Mr Harrington, but that soon dissolved when you heard the neighing of Barley Sugar, a golden-brown mare you proudly called yours. A gift and result of a successful business trade made by your father years ago, the horse technically belonged to all of the Byrnwick children, as much as any of the other horses under the family’s possession, but the bond between you and that particular horse just turned out to be that much stronger.

This was visible as soon as you entered the stable. Barley Sugar went wild at your presence, happily swinging her head from side to side.

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ you grinned, petting the horse, who leaned into your touch immediately. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’

But your plans were quickly interrupted by a voice. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’

❀❀❀

An average sea voyage from the Americas to England should take approximately 16 days, considering the weather corresponds with the sails of the ship. During this journey, passengers would most likely endure days upon days of heavy and tall waves bashing across the ship’s sides, and that is to be expected in favourable conditions.

As Lord Byrnwick and his eldest had boarded the ship headed to London, the sky had been bright blue, and it did not change far beyond that. There was, of course, a risk for the two of them to sail across the world as they did, them being head of the family and its heir. A journey such as this one can go awry in many ways, and if it were not for the dangers of seafaring, there were the Anglo-American tensions to consider. After all, the previous year's war was still fresh in everyone’s mind, and one could not be careful enough when entertaining both sides. Luckily for the Byrnwicks, they were not of the superstitious kind, and good fortune had always seemed to be in the family’s favour up until the very moment they stepped on the boat to return home, many years beyond that.

Ever the convivial one, the most considerable success of the trip, according to Lord Byrnwick, was not the business or diplomatic aspects of their ventures but the social. The man immensely enjoyed meeting other like-minded spirits from across the pond, and there had been plenty of fine nights at gentleman’s clubs spent over fine spirits and betting games, discussing all sorts of topics and exchanging information on all subjects. Promises were made to keep in touch whilst arrangements were made for more future meetings. It was only the polite thing to do.

But aside from acquaintances and business partners, an addition to the household had also been made. Of some sort, that is, for it seemed that the two had found a new groom in America.

Now, Gentle Reader, do not conclude of the worst, as the groom we speak of is not the sort one is meant to meet at an altar but the kind who spends his days tending the horses and carriages. The young man, Mr Munson, had been doing precisely that when the Byrnwick heir stumbled upon his conveyance services in town, in dire need of transport for his regular means, which had already been occupied by his father for the day. It was an encounter by utter chance but certainly one with greater consequences.

Several days later, coincidentally, a letter from London had arrived. Five pages long, each written by a member of the family recounting their most notable memories of the week. The children spoke of the ton's gossip and anecdotes of what occurred at home. Mother, however, took it upon herself to write of more important matters regarding the household. Many topics had to be discussed, but in the middle of her letter, there was mention of the unfortunate passing of the family’s barn manager, Mr Falstipp. It was an unexpected death, leaving the entire house in shock as the man had been working for the family for longer than the children had been alive. But it also resulted in the question of what was to be done now?

It was likely only because the interaction had been so fresh in his mind that Nicholas suggested finding a replacement for Mr Falstipp here in America. This was an unusual offer, as his father commented, especially since they would not leave for home until another few days, but that was to be resolved by having the footmen take care of the horses for the time being. Besides, Nicholas was sure his siblings would be more than happy to help with the chores.

The next day, he returned to the public stables and immediately noted how much cleaner they seemed than any other in town. The horses also looked exceptionally well taken care of and content.

Mr Munson had just been feeding a colt when Nicholas eagerly announced, ‘Mr Munson, may I offer you a proposition?’

This, to no surprise, startled the other man for various reasons. ‘Sir?’

‘This must be a peculiar request, but you see, as of recently, my family has found itself in need of a new stablehand and from what I have seen you do, you, sir, would be the perfect candidate.’ Nicholas had the smile of a man losing his sanity, but his words could not be more genuine.

‘Your family—’ Munson blinked, ‘you mean in London.’

‘Yes, and I understand that this might be a problem, but trust me when I say that you will most certainly find England to your liking, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’

‘As you wish,’ Nicholas agreed.

Eddie pondered over the offer for a short moment. It would have taken him no time to decide if it was not for what he was to leave behind, but he knew that his current employer would be able to find his replacement in no time, as jobs in town were hard to come by.

But what must have been even more challenging to obtain was a ticket out of the wasteland he called home. For years, he had dreamt of an escape, never imagining it to be possible, and suddenly, here comes this stranger offering it to him on a silver platter.

It would be terrifying to move so far away, he knew that, with many risks, but the further away he could manage to go from where he was now, the better.

Eventually, after a minute of silence that left Nicholas restless and on the verge of embarrassment, Eddie smiled: ‘It would be my pleasure to work for you, sir.’ And he had meant that wholeheartedly. While it had only been a short few interactions that he had had with the man, the young Mr Byrnwick had already shown Eddie far more kindness than any of his prior employers, or any other man in his life, for a fact. Most importantly, the man knew nothing about Eddie’s past, which must have been the biggest selling point in the life-changing choice.

‘Marvelous. You will not regret this, Eddie.’ Nicholas leaned in to shake his hand, only to realise that Eddie was still carrying the giant bucket of feed. ‘Well, we shall finalise everything on the boat, shall we?’ And so they did.

A week later, Eddie found himself still in shock at his circumstances. He could not believe he was really to be leaving for England until the moment he set foot on the boat, and even once the sails had set and the American coast was nothing but a grim line on the horizon, the fact did not seem to settle in his mind just yet.

Over the next 16 days, he had encountered the Byrnwicks only a handful of times. First, to meet Lord Byrnwick who, as head of the household, wanted a final say on the matter. A bit late, thought Eddie, as the boat had long departed the harbour by then, but his ticket had already been paid for, and thus, he had little else to complain about. He had quickly made peace with the idea that he could make his new life across the ocean work no matter the circumstances. He had done it before, so what is one more homeless night under a new sky?

But the lord seemed all too happy to have found his staff replacement. Overall, the man was nothing like Eddie had expected a gentleman of English high society to be. From his previous experiences, the type often was rather conceited and arrogant, with a transparent opinion of anyone below their class. His new employer and his son, while undoubtedly lordly, had a modest nature about them. Quickly, Eddie had also gathered that the spontaneity with which Nicholas Byrnwick had called upon him for a job opportunity was not uncharacteristic of him, as the young man was rather energetic in his step and impulsive in his actions.

But no matter how unassuming the men were, they did belong to a different rank of man and, therefore, stayed on the boat to the upper decks, engaging with the rest of their kind.

The travel moved on slowly, but in the end, it was also a mere blink of an eye moment, and before he had realised it, Eddie had reached the shores of England. It was another day or two of travel to be done by horse. A carriage had been acquired for Nicholas and his father, but Eddie and the rest of the staff that travelled with the family for their adventure rode on horseback. No matter how much Eddie enjoyed the form of transportation, it was a tiring experience after several hours, but it also allowed him to meet the people he was to work with and, through that, those he would work for.

‘So, what is the rest of the family like,’ he asked Mr Trowbridge, the lord’s valet. If there was anyone who could tell Eddie something, it would be this man.

‘Well,’ Mr Trowbridge had a particularly nasal tone about his voice that especially came forward at the beginning of his sentences, ‘I do not believe there is much to tell. They are as any other family, really.’

‘My good man, you can hardly expect me to believe there is nothing worth telling about these people,’ Eddie laughed. ‘If it puts your mind at ease, I am only asking for the simplest facts—nothing to interest my fancy.’

The valet pondered over this for a moment. ‘Very well. You have, of course, met the Viscount and his eldest.’ He took a moment for Eddie to respond with a nod in agreement. He then took another moment to consider his following words. The longer he took, the more keen Eddie felt to suggest what to speak of.

‘What about Lady Byrnwick?’

‘Lady Byrnwick is most amiable and has a very caring character, but you will not find her in the stables often unless she is searching for her children.’

‘Not fond of horses, is she?’

‘Rather the outside—-’ Trowbridge cleared his hair vigorously. ‘In the sense that the sun and pollen often leave her poorly. But the children…’ he punctuated his half-sentence with a heavy sigh.

‘They are a handful?’ Eddie assumed. To this, Trowbridge searched for another description but found himself lacking the vocabulary, leading to a confirmation.

‘I have worked for this family for nearly three decades, and I will assure you that each member is as proper a member of society as the next. While boisterous, they have been taught to be independent individuals.’ The valet's tone made Eddie consider how much of their good decorum was in gratitude for the man’s own intervention and guidance.

‘At 27 years, Nicholas is the eldest, and the responsibilities of this role are one of the few aspects of his life which he takes seriously, I cannot put any doubt behind that.’ Indeed, whilst extremely impetuous, the heir’s son also understood the duties of his position and towards his family.

‘Then there is Christopher. The boy has immense athletic abilities but not much beyond that. For a young man of his age of five and twenty, one would assume he would be able to compose himself with a bit more propriety, but it is very difficult for him. He is adventurous and rarely can sit still for an extended period of time, including his mouth. It is suggested that people be careful of what they say around the man.

‘The eldest daughter, Annabelle, married just before we had departed for America, thus is now the lady of her own house.’ Something in his tone suggested he was sad to see the young woman leave home. This possibly has to do with the fact that Miss Annabelle (Now known as Duchess Annabelle Ramsbury) was the most dutiful and respectful of the six children. ‘The marriage had been long overdue as she had just turned 22 on the day of the ceremony, but a love match was found nonetheless.’ The valet guffawed with pride. It was clear to Eddie that, while considering them a nuisance, the man cared deeply for the family he served.

‘I must admit, Trowbridge,’ Eddie chuckled in this horse’s trot pattern over the uneven paths. ‘When you began speaking of the family, I had imagined the children to be… well, children.’

‘How old are you, Munson?’ Trowbridge asked, somewhat bluntly.

‘Twenty, sir.’ Perhaps closer to his next birthday than the last.

‘Ah, just the age of the second daughter then,’ he nodded in agreement. ‘She may perhaps be the most… rebellious of the kin. It is all in good spirit, as you must imagine, and I am sure the interest in such nonsense will dwindle as she matures. She is also the most fond of the family horses; thus, you will see her quite often, I expect. But as her sibling, she has mastered the care for the animals as well as the equipment.’

As he spoke of your skills, something about Trowbridge's expression communicated particular dismay to Eddie. ‘Is that bad? For a young woman to know how to carry herself around a horse?’ He, for one, certainly did not see a problem in it. On the contrary, it was an instrumental skill to develop for anyone.

‘It is not exactly lady-like, is it?’ Trowbridge spoke as if that was the only relevant argument on the matter. Eddie had learned from a very young age that some opinions were better left unsaid, and seeing him as the senior in age and position, Eddie thought it unwise to argue with the valet on his first official day of employment. He instead simply nodded in understanding. Instead, he opted to continue the civil interrogation—

‘What of the youngest two? What are they like?’

‘Fitzwilliam is a dapper fellow. He is but seventeen, but very accomplished, though I cannot say he knows how to put his acquired skills to good use. He has ambitions that cannot be denied; it is just a question of whether these ambitions can ever be met.

‘And lastly, we have Miss Marjorie. A darling girl, I assure you,’ Trowbridge stated. I can only suggest not letting her size fool you, Munson. She has managed to wrap her family around her little fingers the moment she learned to mumble a word, leaving her to cause quite the ruckus for the past eleven years.’

‘I do not see how that involves me, Sir,’ Eddie said. By this time, the sun had begun to set over the fields they passed, and soon, the company would break for their overnight travels at a nearby inn.

‘It had come to my attention over the years that Mr Falstipp–the previous groom, that is— had been quite lenient on the children and their usage of the horses. This has caused a number of incidents that I would rather not see a repetition of.’

‘Understood.’

‘I am unaware of your er– American customs,’ the valet began his lecture, ‘but you must also know that here, ladies are not to ride unaccompanied—something that has been protested in the family to no avail, but it is simply the procedure. There must always be a chaperone nearby to supervise, whether that is a senior member of the family or an entrusted member of the household.’

‘I do not expect to have gained that trust just yet,’ Eddie said earnestly.

‘But let us hope you will.’ The smile Trowbridge gave Eddie was kind at first glance, but the movement of his eyes that inspected him told an entirely different story. He knew he still had much to learn about navigating himself around the kinds of people that were the Byrnwicks, even those who worked for them. The moment he set foot on English soil, he knew it would be challenging to fit in if he ever planned to do so.

The truth is that he did not plan such a change. For you see, Dear Reader, Mr Eddie Munson was also a radical. He did not believe in adapting to society, which was visible in his entire being. One can also imagine the struggle he had to endure when given a uniform to wear. Frankly, the ensemble did not differ much from how the man dressed himself before, but the simple fact that he was told to wear this particular set of clothing upset him severely.

On the first day after his arrival at Ridlington Park, he had managed to justify himself out of dressing in the required clothing by claiming that the trousers were a smidgen too tight. Without another size available, he was told to wear the clothes on his back until the new, fitted attire arrived.

But the clothes did not even begin to reach the problem of the horses he was meant to care for.

Turned out, while he had been given all sorts of warnings against the family, what Eddie should have been preparing for was the beasts that homed the stables. The stubborn animals would not let him touch them, and any attempts were met with angry stares and stomping of the hooves.

‘Easy, there,’ Eddie spoke as softly as he could, taking small steps in any direction that would not enrage the stallion whom he was currently attempting to feed. White Liquorice, a white Arabian, was undoubtedly an animal worthy of a viscount, and from the moment he had stepped into the Ridlington Park stables, Eddie knew that the Kentucky Saddlers and Quarter Horses he grew up with were no match for these and he would quickly have to learn to get on with them if he was to stay here.

Yes, the first days were hard, but not even one week later, he had gotten used to the rhythm of operations. It helped that, working as the barn manager, he was the one in charge and mostly left alone. Mr Trowbridge had visited him to ensure he was adjusting to the new working conditions, which was kind, but besides that, Eddie rarely saw anyone but footmen requesting the carriage to be prepared for the family.

That is until one afternoon when he heard the doors open and someone walking inside. He had been around the corner of the stables, cleaning some grooming tools.

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ he heard the intruder speak. It was soft and gentle, most likely referring to one of the horses. Immediately, Eddie was reminded of one of the conversations shared with Lord Byrnwick’s valet. He swiftly got up from his seat and immediately found the culprit.

He watched you pet one of the horses—Barley Sugar, was it—-petting her in a way he had not yet managed to do confidently. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’ These words triggered him to jump into action.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’ He stepped forward, but his words startled you, causing you to turn around. As you did so, your foot got caught in an old set of bridles Eddie had still planned on detangling and putting away. The surprise coming with the unexpected presence of someone else, combined with the awkward position of your foot, led you to fall over with a shriek.

Eddie cursed under his breath as he watched you huff on the ground. ‘Let me help you,’ he extended his hand to you, ‘and my apologies, it was not my intent to—’

‘Who are you?’ you said in a tone that could only be deemed skittish, if not directly fearful, but not enough to deny his offer to help you stand. Your reaction was validated as you had never met the man standing before you. You eyed him up and down, and the more details you noticed, the more you were sure that you had just stumbled upon a robbery, nay, a kidnapping.

The man's presentation spoke for itself, truly. His long hair was dark and unkept, well over his shoulders. His clothes were nothing like the workers around your house were meant to dress like, making him stick out like a very sore thumb. The trousers were old and worn, and the shirt was loose over his upper body, revealing—oh god, was that a tattoo?

It was clear this is how you were to die.

‘Are you here to steal my horses?’ you blurted out before you could think.

‘What?’ He blinked. ‘No, please, listen—’ but you did no such thing. Instead, you did the only thing a lady in distress could do.

You screamed bloody murder.

‘Help! Anyone! Help—’ you would have kept on going, shouting over his attempt at reason until he finally shut you up by placing his hand over your mouth, his other hand sturdily over your upper arm. The two of you stood there for a moment, chests both heaving in all forms of panic, listening for footsteps or any other presence, but the only sound was the soft breathing of the animals around you.

‘I will let go now, miss,’ Eddie said slowly. Both your eyes were wide from the uncultivated situation that had just occurred. ‘And I will explain everything to you, just, please—and I beg you— do not scream.’ You nodded your head beneath his palm in agreement. Eddie counted to three as he stepped back and finally let go of you. Despite him never blocking your airways, you inhaled deeply.

‘There is absolutely no reason to panic, ma’am.’ His accent was distant, one you had never had the pleasure of hearing before. His eyes, large and dark, locked you in, almost making you lose count of the lingering feeling of his hands on your body. He had given you a moment before he continued speaking, ensuring that you would not resume your screaming or make a run for it.

‘What is your reason of being here?’ You inquired.

‘I work here. Have been, for the past week. I think it was your brother, in fact, that gave me the position. We met on his travels.’

Now, come to think of it, you remembered your family's conversation on the day your father and brother returned. There had been talk of new staff—a young man they had brought along with them from America as an official replacement for the late Mr Falstipp. But that did not explain his attire.

‘You could be fired for breaking the dress code alone, you know. Not to mention for the, uhm, actions you had just performed.’ You commented.

‘Well, you can always report me, miss.’ Eddie, against all his better judgement, smiled.

‘Maybe I should.’ Your heart was still pounding, and you felt so disoriented that even a simple smile made your head spin. ‘What is your name?’

‘Eddie.’

‘Well, Mr Eddie—’ you began, just to be quickly interrupted.

‘No, just Eddie.’ Eddie shook his head.

‘What do you mean? Do you have no family name?’ You had heard of men bringing in street urchins to work for them, but surely, this man was too old for such charity. And you could not imagine your brother to perform such acts of kindness anyway.

‘I do.’ His smile only widened in amusement at the conversation. ‘Eddie Munson.’

‘My, is it usual in America to introduce oneself like that?’ Never had you heard of a man introducing himself by only his first name, let alone a byname.

‘It is usual to me,’ he quipped, ‘And it is more common than not introducing yourself at all.’ The way in which he looked up at you from under his lashes felt accusatory, but you could not find it within you to be upset at the critique, so you gave him your name instead.

‘Pleasure to meet you, Miss Byrnwick.’ He gave you a small, polite bow that reminded you more of how children play Lord and Lady rather than a gentlemanly act. Next thing you knew, a smile was pulling at the corner of your lips, and a small giggle was ready to escape.

For some reason, you hesitated to say your following words: ‘It is a pleasure, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’ While always respecting the titles of others, Eddie never saw himself as one to follow such formalities.

‘That is most improper.’ You held back the urge to scoff.

‘But I insist.’ There was something in the corner of his eye that you managed to catch a glimpse of—this spark that no sunlight or fire could match. It was pure mischief, a spirit of chaos. But still, to call a man you barely knew by his first name was simply not right. Your family may jest as they please about your rebelling attitude to primitive customs, but you had to admit that some things ought to be done in a proper manner. And this was certainly not it.

However, Mr Munson saw it in another light but did not find enough of an interest in the subject enough to argue it further. Rather, he cleared his throat briefly and observed you for a moment.

How silly you must look in your fancy dress! Your hair was done up to match, and your shoes were most likely covered in mud. There was also no doubt that he had overheard you talking to your horse about running away. You had good faith that he could connect the pieces to form the complete picture.

A bird flew past a window, making you glance past Eddie’s shoulder in haste.

‘I hope I am not keeping you from any other plans, miss?’ He finally asked. Could you be so bold as to admit that he was saving you from other commitments by conversing with you?

‘No, of course, not Mr Munson,’ you persisted. ‘I am simply cautious.’ Come to think of it, your screams must have been heard all around the grounds. If those who heard, in turn, had an ounce of common sense amongst them, they would have called for someone in the house. If that was the case, your mother would be here momentarily, and then it was back to the house for you. All you could do now was hide.

‘May I ask what are you being cautious of?’ Eddie followed you with his eyes as you walked through the stables, looking for a hiding spot.

‘If you must know, I am currently on the run,’ you stated while looking over a haystack in the far corner.

‘Ah, so whilst you had accused me of being a criminal, it was you who had been committing the crimes then? Should I now scream for help?’

‘I’d rather you didn’t, ' you said, attempting to climb the hay to get past it. ‘I have already brought much too much attention to myself.’ Your foot slipped, making you tumble back down to the ground. The accident made you stop for a moment before attempting to climb again, looking over your shoulder at the man. ‘Are you not going to even try and stop me?’

‘Oh,’ it was as if he had awakened from a deep thought or had just realised that what you suggested was exactly what he ought to do. ‘Well, would you listen if I told you not to climb up there?’

You pondered his question for a short moment. ‘No, I highly doubt it.’ Thus, you resumed your climbing. As you did, you heard the shuffling of his feet behind you. The next time you slipped up, this time from a far higher distance, he had been in precisely the right place to catch you in his arms.

‘I cannot assure you I will be able to catch you once more, so it is in good conscience that I suggest you stop, ma’am,’ he said as you got back to your feet.

‘You are right,’ you admitted. Then you realised just how close the two of you stood and quickly occupied yourself by looking for another hiding place. That is when you noticed it. You had spent years in this stable and knew every inch of the space, yet… ‘Have you moved things around?’ You looked back at Eddie.

‘Only a little. I’m afraid my predecessor did not have a flair for organisation,’ he explained.

‘That may be so, but I would prefer you would put things back as they were.’

‘Excuse me?’ Eddie could not help but laugh at the demand.

‘Your new floor plan has completely disoriented me, ' you admitted. ‘It is unbecoming.’

‘My apologies. I will be sure to put things back as they were, then.’ His laugh still echoed his words.

You had not expected him to actually agree to this request. ‘You will?’ But quickly, you regained your composure and tried to hide the surprise in your voice. ‘Very well, thank you. Then, since you have discarded all of my possible hiding locations, what do you suggest I should do?’

‘I suggest you run.’ But it was not Eddie who had answered you.

‘Mother, ' you gasped. What was it, in God’s good name, with everyone sneaking up on you today? Lady Byrnwick stood at the threshold of the stables with her arms crossed. Her lips tightened into a thin line as she took a step inside. You prepared yourself for a disciplinary outburst, but instead, your mother focused on the man standing next to you.

‘You must be Mr Munson.’ The kindness in her voice was laughable. The overcompensation of her kindness threw both you and Eddie off.

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ You noticed that he bowed his head in a much more orderly fashion than he had done to you.

‘I hope my daughter has not been too much of a nuisance.’

‘Not at all.’ Eddie politely replied.

‘Good, good. Well, I can already see that my son did a good job in finding you,’ she stated as she looked around the retouched interior. ‘And I hope that you will grow to enjoy England.’

‘I’ve had nothing to complain of yet.’ Eddie proudly said with that smile of his, and for a moment, you thought to have caught his eyes on you for just a second. Your mother nodded along with his words in satisfaction, but this cheeriness dissipated as soon as she directed herself to you.

‘Has your headache cleared, dear?’ Her eyes were spitting fire.

‘Yes, mother.’

‘Then we will be on our way.’ She stepped aside, giving you room to walk outside. ‘Goodbye, Mr Munson.’ Eddie had become the unintentional victim of the venom that perferred your mother's words.

He was polite enough to look away as you made your shameful walk through the aisle between the horses’ stalls, but you couldn’t help but look behind you one final time as you left and catch his favourable grin. What a peculiar man he was, indeed—one whose presence you immediately began to miss.

Perhaps that was because of the company you were in at the time.

‘Have you gone completely mad?’ Your mother scowled. ‘Mr Harrington has been waiting for well over half an hour.’

‘He is still here?’ You stopped in your tracks. This day could not have gone any worse. It seemed like everything you had been doing was working in your favour.

‘Yes, so you better come up with a clever excuse for your tardiness as I will not be embarrassed any longer. I swear, have you no shame?’

‘I am truly sorry mother, I had lost track of the time.’

‘Doing what exactly? What were you doing in the stables, exactly? Considering you had told me you were going out for some fresh air.’ Yes, the air around the horses was not exactly to be called “fresh.”

Unfortunately, you had no satisfying answer to any of your mother’s questions. Come to it, you yourself were unsure what exactly had brought you there in the first place, not to mention what made you stay. It must have been a sense of child-like naivete to think you could hide from your problems the way you attempted.

Problems that were coming closer as Mr Harrington walked towards you through the aisle of hyacinths that grew all around you in various colours.

‘What is he doing here?’ you mumbled towards your mother.

‘Considering the lovely weather, I had offered for us to sit out in the gardens.’ Your mother spoke out loud. That is when you noticed the set table and chairs under a large parasol on the patio.

‘I hope you do not mind. I took the initiative of taking a stroll in your absence.’ Mr Harrington spoke in a cadence that would have been new to you if not for the fact that you had spent the last hour in the presence of a very similar tone.

‘Of course, not,’ your mother had regained her ability to smile. ‘May I introduce my daughter.’ And so she did.

‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting, sir. I completely lost track of time.’ You apologised and were ready to offer your hand to Mr Harrington when you noticed how filthy your gloves had become. In a panic, you pushed both your hands behind your back, trying to distract the man with a wide grin.

‘The important thing is that we are all here now,’ he manoeuvred, which you could not help but agree with, then led you to the patio.

The next hour went by faster than you had ever imagined it would. Mr Steve Harrington turned out to be not only a great conversationalist but a rather fascinating one at that. It was only a fault of your own that you were distracted for a larger part of the conversation. There was simply something about the man’s brown eyes that constantly reminded you of somewhere else. He was very charming and, abiding by your brother’s promises, had a great, though perhaps somewhat awkward, wit. It seemed that his confidence, once clearly overt, had been lowered, causing him to stumble over his words at times and laugh at his own mistakes in a deprecating manner, but never enough to make it a bother in your eyes. Truly, it was all rather endearing.

But you could not, for the life of you, figure out what exactly caused these fumblings in his character, as nothing seemed to be particularly wrong with the man. Though you did not see him as an academic or scholar of any sort, from the way he spoke, you could tell he was one of the more clever men you had the fortune of meeting. And his looks were certainly no topic of discussion either. He was tall and lean, with a wonderful smile and soft brown hair that apparently was more common than imagined, as were those dark eyes and the way he held you in his arms—

You took a sip of the cold water as Mr Harrington expressed his gratitude to your mother for the audience and made sure the message would be conveyed to Lord Byrnwick, too. You nodded and smiled along. Even when he bid you farewell and bowed his head, your mind was elsewhere. As if expecting something to emerge from behind the hyacinths, you could not help but glance in the Eastern direction of the gardens.

‘See, it was not all that bad, was it?’ your mother immediately said, pulling you back to the patio. By then, Mr Harrington had excused himself and was crossing the patio to the exit from the grounds but had turned briefly for a final goodbye, which you met with a polite wave.

‘No, I suppose you are right, mother.’ You had persevered against all odds. As you watched the gentleman leave, you felt quite content with the meeting—happy, some would even say. The only problem was that you could not make quite clear what, or rather, who brought on this particular mood.

To be continued...

Thank you so much for reading!! I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Remember the best way to support writers is to reblog and share. I love to hear what people think of my stories so feel free to leave a comment or an ask or message.

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bethanydelleman · 6 months

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So I do think the lady who wrote this stupid book has a point about modern media excusing terrible behaviour with tragic backstories, because I read a lot of justifications of Darcy that are centred in Darcy having TRAUMA. Poor boy didn't mean to be rude at the Meryton assembly, he's a poor little orphan who just had sister troubles.

Except that blaming this trend/trope on Austen is insane, because Darcy does not excuse his behaviour in this way AT ALL. He does blame his education somewhat, but if anything his excuse is that his parents loved him so darn much that he became a brat. That's not trauma, that's Trust Fund Baby Syndrome.

In fact, the one person who attempts a trauma explanation of Darcy is... Wickham! He claims that Darcy Sr. loved him more than Darcy Jr., causing Fitzwilliam to be jealous of Wickham. Which would be kind of understandable, if it were true, but Darcy doesn't really seem to care about this and clearly loved his father, so if anything Wickham was a minor annoyance in his life pre-Ramsgate.

The narrator says clearly that Darcy has always been like this, it isn't a trauma reaction, "He was at the same time haughty, reserved, and fastidious; and his manners, though well bred, were not inviting... Bingley was sure of being liked wherever he appeared; Darcy was continually giving offence." And Darcy confirms this, he's been rude "from eight to eight-and-twenty" The only time he brings up the whole Georgiana thing is to tell Elizabeth about it, he never blames that event for his behaviour.

If anything, Jane Austen was a proponent of "explain but not excuse". Lucy Steele is mercenary because she is barely clinging to her status in the gentry, but she's still portrayed as a villain because the way she goes about trying to secure Edward (and later Robert) is fundamentally wrong. Mary Crawford has a back story full of trauma, she's an orphan twice over, her uncle sounds like a misogynist creep, and yet Austen doesn't accept it as an excuse, Mary must become better to be worthy of Edmund. Willoughby is an orphan, he's in debt, he's made bad choices, but he needs to do better and because he doesn't, he's not worthy of Marianne.

My Point: Don't blame Austen for the trauma excuses all bad behaviour trope, because she didn't start it and she frequently subverted it!

#jane austen #pride and prejudice #mr. darcy #TRAUMA covers all sins #Except no #explain but not excuse #don't blame this trend on my girl Austen #anti Darcy shyboi campaign

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linmeiwei · 4 months

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Deconstructing Mr Darcy

My favourite character in all Austen canon is Mr Darcy. Unfortunately, as soon as I say this, everybody is like

Because when I say this people think of this…

And this…

But that’s not why he’s my favourite character.

There is this famous quote by P.D. James in which she argues that Austen's Emma is like a predecessor of the detective novel, in the way that she sprinkles clues as to what's really going on with Frank Churchill.

And ever since, I've been reading Pride and Prejudice differently, because of course she does something similar there too.

Specifically, Austen constructs this elaborate character puzzle with Mr Darcy at its centre. Every time he and Elizabeth clash, throughout the novel, one of the central conflicts sparks up: what is Darcy really like?

Elizabeth’s early interest in him is often interpreted as sexual tension/latent attraction. I’m not saying this isn’t the case (you can argue about this). But what is evident is that her intellectual interest in characters is roused by him. Because, well, he really presents her with a tricky puzzle.

1) The mysterious man at the ball

When Elizabeth and her sisters go to the Assembly Ball at Meryton, remember, they go there to ogle Mr Bingley. He is the rich, handsome bachelor they hope to dance with when they get there.

But then they actually arrive and it’s someone else who has everyone talking. Mr Darcy. He’s the tall, handsome stranger who turns out to be much, much richer than Mr Bingley, and who gets everyone excited.

Who will he dance with?

Well, nobody because he’s like way too important to deign to notice any of them. He stoops to acknowledge that Jane, literally the most beautiful girl in the county, is somewhat pretty. But her sister is totally beneath his notice.

With this twist upon a twist, the author invites Elizabeth and the reader to abandon their first suspicion that he’s the hero and to consider him a little absurd instead. And this is a comic novel. By that point we have met multiple absurd characters, so we know this is what is to be expected from this story.

2) The cracks

The narrator hints that Darcy enjoys a good gossip with his friends and spends his free time dissecting the many ways in which the local women don’t interest him. Again, absurd, remember? Elizabeth is among the women he judges harshly, but as he sees more and more of her this happens:

So the reader is now invited to some irony which Elizabeth is not privileged to enjoy. But it’s all in service of the comedy, right? Because it’s more delicious for the reader to see the contrast of how much Elizabeth is wrong about what he thinks of her.

You, the reader, have a good chuckle with the author about this, don’t you? But while you’re laughing you’re MISSING A CLUE! And it’s right there: Elizabeth is wrong about Darcy. It’s lampshading the fact that she doesn’t really understand him at all.

3) The real deal

So then we get a little closer to Darcy. Elizabeth stays with him and his friends at Netherfield to nurse her sister. As Darcy continues to admire her, and as she continues to be oblivious, one evening he approaches her and this happens:

Again Elizabeth is wrong about Darcy, but here Austen adds another clue:

So… the guy who has the superpower of turning any normal situation awkward makes this super awkward situation… charming?

And then Austen adds some misdirection by immediately adding:

And we’re focusing on the irony that this guy is more enchanted with her the more she rejects him. And we’re a little amazed at how arrogant this guy is that he doesn’t see how much he is disliked at this moment. Almost as self-important and oblivious as Mr Collins.

And so we don’t see that… he’s nice? And I mean, an arrogant, self-important arse, as Elizabeth thinks of him, wouldn’t be nice at this point. He’d be wounded. He’d make it awkward. Importantly, he’d make it awkward for her.

It’s hard to get out of a situation like this gracefully. But he can. He knows how. He has that ability.

And this works as a bit of foreshadowing too, of course. Dancing and courtship are pretty strongly linked in Austen (and culturally in that era) and so his acceptance of her rejection in this manner lampshades his character as a lover.

But there’s so much more. That time at Netherfield is so rich in character studies, I feel like someone could write several PhD theses on that section of the book alone.

My favourite is the one that happens when Darcy and Elizabeth literally talk about characters. Miss Bingley asserts that Darcy is perfect, has no flaws. Elizabeth is delighted: this is just what she thinks Darcy thinks of himself.

Darcy says: No, I’m plenty flawed, thanks.

Elizabeth is curious now. Go on, oh prideful one, enlighten us mere mortals!

Darcy explains that he’s resentful, that he doesn’t forget or forgive easily.

Elizabeth has to admit that that’s a non-ridiculous answer. She’s disappointed, a little, because what good is that to her, since she wanted to have a good laugh at this expense? But he predicted as much and at the beginning of this conversation challenged her on this to preempt her making a joke of the whole conversation.

He wants to continue to be serious and this happens:

Again, Austen’s sleight of hand: when we first read this, it sounds more like Darcy is just a misanthrope who has a negative and pessimistic attitude towards people. That’s how Elizabeth hears it too.

But he tells us himself: that’s not what he means. Elizabeth (and the reader) is misunderstanding him. And he shows us, right away, by taking her jibe in good humour right then and there.

Multiple times, Elizabeth teases or attacks him, and he’s cheerful about it. He thinks it’s kind of funny. Bingley gets a shot or two in, and Darcy takes that on the chest too.

Austen manages to create this impression of him in the reader’s mind of a guy who is angry and prideful all the time, but when we review his actions, how often is this really true?

4) Darcy through the eyes of others

In many analyses, Elizabeth is blamed for being so easily taken in and so stubbornly mistaken in Darcy, but in all fairness, look at what she has to work with!

So much of what she learns about him is through other people, and so what she knows is filtered by their interests, skewed perspectives and compromised judgements. The fawning of Caroline Bingley and Mr Collins, the hatred of George Wickham, the deference of Mr Bingley, the lack of deference from Colonel Fitzwilliam, the way Charlotte views men, the way Jane always finds good things to say about anybody, her mother’s vulgar prejudice, all of it adds to a picture of absolute confusion. And the worst offender is Darcy himself, of course, because he stubbornly refuses to clarify anything about himself, partly because he can’t and partly because he just won’t.

Darcy’s stay in Hertfordshire culminates in this exchange, at the Netherfield Ball, between Darcy and Elizabeth:

5) Mr Darcy in love

Darcy really is a hard nut to crack, and in large part it’s because he makes himself hard to crack. The baseline here is pretty bad but it gets so much worse the more he loves Elizabeth and the more he is determined to hide from her.

Before, he just doesn’t care what people think of him. But now, he does care and he desperately wants them not to know that he has, annoyingly and embarrassingly, fallen head over heels in love.

Austen strings us along in this confusion until the absolute shock that comes with his proposal. Even though we as readers always knew more than Elizabeth did, and even though both we the readers and Elizabeth had tonnes of evidence and clues about Darcy and his real character, this twist comes as a complete surprise.

And because we, the readers, and Elizabeth, the protagonist, are surprised, we don’t notice another important clue. Darcy is also shocked. Like, we’re all sitting in this scene, aghast, amazed, shocked. We all came to this point following a trail of wrong clues, misdirections, misunderstandings and mistaken assumptions.

But what does this tell us about Darcy? Other than what he finally reveals through his letter, we learn that the entire time he thought Elizabeth:

Knew what she was doing, flirting with and encouraging him

Understood his prevarication

Expected a proposal

The poor man doesn’t come out of this looking good, does he? It makes him look really arrogant, self-important and big-headed. And to an extent, well, it is.

But there’s also another, kinder, reading to all this: that he’s someone who overthinks things.

There’s the conversation in Netherfield with Bingley where he deprecates those who do things rapidly as if it were a virtue. We know from other parts of the novel that he’s a bookish (he prides himself in his library), intellectual (he admires those who read), “clever” (in the narrator’s own words) guy.

Used to responsibility, used to being relied on to guide and advise people, used to solving knotty problems, Darcy approached his problem (loving a girl who is in every way beneath him) in the same way. He deserves a large portion of the smackdown he receives—no argument from me here. It does him good, later, as we all know. But when we revisit the novel, these deeper dimensions of his character become more apparent whenever we come to this moment: that Darcy’s flaws are not just the obvious ones here (pride, arrogance, lack of manners) but also shades of other traits of his.

6) A mystery to the very end

At this point, Austen begins to clear the mist a little. Darcy gets such a blow with Elizabeth’s rejection that our heart does go out to him, and then the letter explains so much, you begin to feel like he’s been wronged with our harsh view of him. We’re brought into his home, and so, slowly, we are shown that, yes, he’s sort of quiet and taciturn, and maybe his people skills aren’t exactly up there, but he’s actually quite nice, at least willing to try to be outwardly more friendly, but in essence he’s a kind person and a responsible landowner. Elizabeth begins to see that he’s rather attractive.

The reader and Elizabeth begin to thaw towards him. And then Lydia runs away, All seems lost. Wickham has been such a wicked force in Darcy’s life, Elizabeth has already tried Darcy to the edge of what any reasonable man would put up with and Elizabeth’s family exposes herself in the worst possible way.

What I love is that Darcy’s true character is always, always most visible through his actions. This mirrors the whole point of the novel of course: that we should pay attention not to impressions, superficialities (words) but to what people really are, and what they actually do (actions). So, Darcy doesn’t say anything, in fact he swears everybody to silence. He just does. He saves Elizabeth’s family in the most warm-hearted, generous and forgiving way possible.

Anyway, I could write books on this subject just because of how much there is to say, and this is but the tip of the iceberg, but I’ll leave off here. I just wanted to explain why I love Mr Darcy, the character, and why you should too. Not as a literary romantic hero, not as a literary crush but as a really interesting, beautifully written, complex character in his own right.

#jane austen #pride and prejudice #mr darcy #literary characters #literary analysis

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bruh-changbin · 1 year

Text

ivy league

pairing: uni boyfriend!hyunjin x afab reader

genre: fluff + smut (minors dni)

warnings: fingering (f receiving), public sex, lowkey exhibitionism, oral sex (m receiving), snowballing (tis’ the season), little bit of cum eating, unprotected sex (be safe), piv, creampie, tit sucking, both are kinda switches?, alcohol consumption

word count: 5.8K

a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR MOFOS!!! my new years resolution is to find out why hyunjin is so fucking hard to write for 😻 maybe it’s bc his personality is kinda all over the place or maybe i just suck but anyways i hope i did him justice. (also for the sake of this fic pls pretend he still has long brown hair bc that was my fav look on him ever)i do apologize as this was supposed to be posted right after new years but i have been a busy busy gal as of late. nevertheless, i hope you enjoy (also apologies if this posts weird tumblr is being A MAJOR PAIN IN THE ASS AS I TRY TO EDIT THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

photos not mine, credit to original owners (retrieved from pinterest)

studying away from home was always a dream of yours. there’s something so enticing about living and learning in a new city that piques your interest. when you got an acceptance letter from an ivy league school a few hours away from your hometown, you didn’t think twice before enrolling.

only then did you find out that 90% of the student body at ivy league schools - or any high status campus, really - are insufferable. there are wannabe jane austen’s and christopher nolan’s at every turn, griping about how getting a 98% on their most recent paper just isn’t good enough (news flash: it is).

ergo, every time you’ve tried to befriend someone you met in the student centre or library or in one of your lectures you’ve discovered they’re too obsessed with their status to even hold a proper conversation with you. there’s only one person who makes studying here at least somewhat bearable: hwang hyunjin.

you met hyunjin in september, a mere 2 days before classes were set to begin for the fall semester. it was somewhat unfortunate, your first encounter, seeing as it entailed you spilling your iced french vanilla all over hyunjin’s silky white button up top. you were trying to shove your wallet back into your bag as you left a coffee shop and he was enthralled in his phone, both of you too distracted to notice the other before colliding.

you both apologized profusely, you for being careless and him for being in the way (he wasn’t) until you insisted he came to your apartment to get cleaned up since it’s only a 3 minute walk away, i feel horrible for ruining your clothes.

he complied, and you led him to your small studio apartment, giving him some privacy to shower and steal whatever clothes in your closet that fit him.

when he stepped out of your bathroom, hair still damp and skin glowing, the rounds of i’m so sorry’s started up again as you handed him back his shirt, now with a large coffee stain on the chest that even your tide pen couldn’t tackle. he grabbed his shirt before chuckling, revealing that he too was a frequent customer of the cafe you were at and often opted to go there instead of indulging in the overpriced shit they sell on campus.

upon discovering that you were both students at the same university you got to talking, which led to hyunjin staying for dinner at your place, which led to an impromptu make-out session on your second-hand couch. when you made it known that you wanted to take things further, he initially declined because hey, i’m not that kind of guy. in the end he couldn’t keep his hands off of you and you were more than happy to lead him down the hallway to your bedroom.

soon after he had you writhing under your cotton bed sheets while making you cum on his tongue… and his fingers and his cock. his shaggy, shoulder length mocha hair felt like silk in between your fingers and the whines and whimpers he let out when you tugged on it sounded like heaven.

so, your first encounter with hyunjin was a catastrophe turned fuck session turned we should do this again sometime…

now it’s the heart of winter and you’re about to sock your boyfriend in the jaw when you see him leaning against the brick exterior of your lecture hall, the tips of his ears stained cherry red and his breath passing his lips in the form of a cloud.

“hyunjin i told you to stop waiting for me outside of my lecture hall’s, you’re seriously gonna get frostbite!” you emphasize by pinching his frozen ears - he winces.

“what happened to hello? how are you?” he complains before slipping his hand into the pocket of your puffer jacket and intertwining his fingers with yours; his hands are so cold you flinch.

“well sorry i don’t want you to get sick,” you roll your eyes while shoving your headphones into your tote bag, not needing them now that hyunjin has graced you with his presence, “and you know that class always puts me in a bad mood.”

“ahh yes that’s the one with the, what was it, douchey prof and even douchier students, right?”

“that’s the one.” you sniffle, nose going numb from the cold wind biting at your face as you let hyunjin drag you across campus to god knows where.

“well turn that frown upside down, i’m about to treat you to the most romantic study date ever,” hyunjin asserts while pulling you in the direction of the student lounge, careful not to walk too quickly so you don’t slip on the ice hidden underneath the blanket of snow on the ground.

although the trek from your lecture hall to the student common room is quite short, only subjecting you to the outside weather conditions for a mere minute or two, you rejoice when you step inside and regain shelter from the cold. a blast of hot air greets you and hyunjin shakes the snow off of his perfectly styled hair, retracting his hand from your jacket pocket.

the two of you make your way down the corridor before waltzing into the main study area of the student lounge, seating yourself on a worn in brown leather couch.

once your winter jacket is discarded you pull your textbook out of your bag, using your peripherals to watch hyunjin pull out his laptop and begin editing photos for his photography class.

it’s serene; watching the snow fall through the window to your left, feeling the warmth radiating from hyunjin who’s sitting to your right. the feeling of hyunjin’s hand (which is still quite cold) on your knee comforts you and you immerse yourself in the words of your textbook, wanting to catch up on the chapters you were supposed to read for this week but didn’t have the time or patience to.

alas, you should’ve known that hyunjin had… other intentions when he said he was taking you on the most romantic study date ever. it only takes a few minutes before you feel his hand inching its way up your leg.

his eager fingers dance across your thigh before groping your pelvis, causing you to clamp your legs shut in surprise, trapping your boyfriend’s hand in between them.

“are you fucking kidding me hyunjin? we’re in public…”

hyunjin scans the vicinity of the student lounge, which, admittedly, there are only two other students present, both so absorbed in their respective textbooks that they’re practically drooling. but that doesn’t mean you’re about to let him finger bang you in a public area in front of your fellow students.

“what, you don’t wanna show everyone how well you take my fingers?” by now his index and middle fingers are playing with the waistband of your panties, waiting for you to give the go ahead before dipping underneath.

“come on, let me play with you.”

try as you may, you can’t resist the twisting of your stomach and the pitter-patter of your heart at hyunjin’s words. by now your pussy is leaking indefinitely and you shift in your spot in a pathetic attempt to alleviate the dull throbbing you feel in your pelvis.

the more you squirm the more pressure you feel from hyunjin’s hand trapped in between your thighs, the heel of his palm pushing against your cunt that’s becoming more sensitive by the second.

a pleasure induced haze clouds your brain and soon enough you’ve convinced yourself that hyunjin fingering you in the student lounge is in fact a good idea. it’s not like anyone can see you, right? you’re sandwiched between the wall and hyunjin, who’s broad shoulders block you from the curious gaze of others - no one would be the wiser.

with a bashful look on your face you ease your legs open, granting hyunjin access to your sticky panties and aching clit. the dexterity in which hyunjin’s hand pushes past your waistband and into the dripping folds of your cunt almost gives you whiplash.

like the little bitch he is he teases you for several moments, the tip of his index finger drawing lazy circles around your clit before gliding down to your hole and then back up again, never giving you what you actually want.

you know hyunjin’s enjoying watching you twitch and shift in your seat as he plays with your cunt; even more so does he enjoy watching you bite back a frustrated whine when he pulls his hand from you entirely, takes a second to coat his digits in his own saliva by sucking on them, and shove his hand back down your pants.

with help from hyunjin’s makeshift lube his slender spit-covered fingers slip inside of you with little resistance, causing your stomach to flutter and churn. the stretch is subtle yet pleasurable and your body automatically folds in on itself: head hung low, knees knocking together, back hunched.

if anyone were to walk by they would hopefully assume that you’re just worn out from the end of semester stress and not clue in on the fact that your boyfriend is knuckle deep in your pussy.

hyunjin starts with small movements, his finger gliding in and out of you slowly while curling upwards in a ‘come-hither’ type motion. he’s trying to make his movements as undetectable as possible, struggling against your tight cunt that sucks him in with each and every thrust of his fingers.

lucky for you your lover was blessed with long fingers, ones that reach so deep inside of you with so little effort that it makes the room spin. little shocks rock your body when hyunjin fully sheathes his index and middle fingers inside of you, the cold metal of the rings adorning his fingers a stark contrast to your hot wet pussy.

the pace of hyunjin’s fingers quickens; your bottom lip stings from how hard you’re biting down on it. your breath leaves you in the form of forced exhales through your nose, the urge to say fuck it and moan aloud for all of your peers to hear becoming almost irresistible and you pray that hyunjin’s going to make you finish before you do something you’ll regret.

hyunjin pushes his fingers impossibly deeper into you, the heel of his palm now providing the most delicious friction on your neglected clit. you resist the urge to grind your hips against his hand.

“are you close?” hyunjin whispers, his plush lips caressing the shell of your ear and sending shivers down your spine. how long has his face been that close to yours? you think, but you’re too out of it to turn your thoughts into words. you just nod frantically, eyes rolling backwards as your impending orgasm looms closer and closer.

the sensation of hyunjin’s fingers pistoning in and of you and his palm bumping your clit is enough to quickly send you over the edge, biting the inside of your cheek so hard you can taste the metallic tang of blood against your tongue.

you cream all over his fingers while sucking in a breath so big it hurts your lungs so as to prevent yourself from making any noise. the grip you have on hyunjins wrist goes limp and you wince as he pulls his fingers from you, placing a chaste kiss on your temple as if to say i’m proud of you.

with that hyunjin casually sucks your wetness from his fingers, briefly wiping them on his pants before returning to editing his photos on his laptop. you struggle to regain your focus on the textbook splayed out in front of you, the pages swimming before your eyes as the pleasure in the pit of your stomach slowly subsides.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“i still don’t understand why you were so adamant about using my kitchen to bake instead of yours.”

hyunjin glances up from his phone at your words, his pupils so dark they remind you of tapioca pearls.

“i live with three frat guys, my kitchen is a biohazard.”

ah yes, that’s right. hyunjin’s roommates, although very nice guys who treat you with respect, are frat guys nonetheless. chan is the cleanest of them all, although that's mostly due to him eating out the majority of the time. changbin and jisung however…

you raise your hands in defence, shuddering at the thought of the army of glasses filled with stale protein shakes that greeted you the last time you ventured into hyunjin’s apartment.

upon seeing you wash your hands in preparation for baking hyunjin joins you behind the kitchen counter. his ring-clad fingers roll up the sleeves of his white long sleeve top before tucking the stray hairs in front of his face behind his ears.

“alright, what are we baking?” he says with his game-face on.

“i was thinking we could do gingerbread… you know, since it’s the holidays.” you begin to search for a recipe on your phone.

hyunjin makes a sour face at this: lips puckered, brows furrowed, eyelids lowered. dramatic. “i don’t like gingerbread,” he states.

“oh? why not?”

“it’s too spicy.”

this motherfucker…

“...spicy? what are you, twelve?”

“i have a sensitive palate!” your boyfriend whines like a toddler.

“shut the fuck up hwang, we’re making gingerbread.”

hyunjin hangs his head in defeat while you trifle through your cupboards for the proper ingredients. soon enough a small pile is formed on your countertop and you begin sorting everything in order to start baking. a slender hand caresses your lower back and you jump slightly.

“you know it kinda turns me on when you’re all authoritative like that…”

of course. leave it to hyunjin to get horny at literally any hour of the day.

“you’re insufferable. does hyunjin jr. ever take a day off?”

hyunjin scoffs, “he does, actually. remember the day you were so swamped with the paper you were writing and me, being the best boyfriend ever, had the decency to not try to get in your pants so you could focus?”

“wow, so chivalrous.”

hyunjin playfully shoves your head and then pats your hair as if to assure you his teasing is all in good fun (you know it is).

for someone who was so adamant about baking for the holidays, hyunjin is incredibly inept in the kitchen. first he adds baking powder to the mixing bowl instead of baking soda, then proceeds to knock over your precious bottle of pure vanilla extract, followed by him getting molasses on his tongue and wailing in disgust because it tastes like straight ass! this is all tied together by him spilling flour all over your countertops because why the fuck not.

“remind me to never allow you to have access to my kitchen ever again,” you huff in frustration while rolling out your batter, a thin layer of sweat forming on your upper lip.

“why? I’m having fun… are you not having fun?” a cheeky grin is plastered across his face as he places his hand on the flour-covered counter before smacking your ass so hard you shriek. whipping your head around, you gape at the perfect flour handprint imprinted on the seat of your favourite pair of pants.

“WHAT THE FUCK HYUNJIN!!???” you shove his chest before frantically dusting the flour off of your rear. hyunjin can’t seem to control his laughter.

“payback!” he says cheerily while wiping his hands on the hem of his shirt. by now the smell and taste of flour has filled the air of your kitchen.

“payback for what you dipshit??”

he smiles, “for when you spilled coffee on my shirt.”

“are you fucking kidding me hwang? that was like four months ago!” you return to kneading the dough in front of you, although now you do so with much more aggression, “need i remind you that the coffee incident is how we met in the first place?”

“i knowww~” his palm glides across your upper back in a soothing motion before he rests his chin your your shoulder, “i’m just teasing.”

you bite back a smile before glancing at hyunjin perched on your shoulder, his squishy cheeks matching the soft gaze of his eyes. domestic bliss. you continue to knead the dough in front of you until it’s ready to be rolled out.

when you turn to look at hyunjin again he’s leaning into you even more, pink lips puckered slightly and eyelids closed causing his lashes to grace the tops of his cheeks.

you throw flour in his face.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

it’s new years eve and you don’t know what to wear.

“just throw on something skimpy and call it a day,” jeongin says through the speaker of your phone, “you’re supposed to be here in like an hour, remember?”

“i can get ready in an hour,” you respond while holding various garments up to your body and gazing at your reflection in the mirror. so many options, so little time.

“i don’t know about that y/n, remember halloween?”

you do remember halloween. more specifically, you remember jeongin whining and bitching for the entirety of the two and a half hours it took for you to transform yourself into ty lee from avatar: the last airbender. it was worth it though, you looked exactly like her.

“come on, that was a one time thing. i’ll be at your place on time!” you whine while tossing an unworthy crop top onto the pile of clothes on your floor that’s steadily increasing.

“i don’t know y/n you’re pretty indecisive and-” you hang up on him, not wanting to hear him bitch and whine about your inability to make even the most minuscule decisions.

it takes you half an hour to choose the perfect outfit, and then another half hour to do your makeup and hair, followed by a fifteen minute stare-down with your reflection in the mirror as you question everything. is this really the best look i can come up with? your head hurts and you haven’t even started drinking yet.

“y/n~” hyunjin whines from his place in the living room, “are you almost ready?”

you give him a half-assed yea before exiting your bedroom, giving yourself and your outfit one final check in the mirror.

in preparation for tonight’s celebration you helped hyunjin bleach and dye his hair a shade of icy blue last night, almost permanently damaging his bathroom sink and counter in the process. his now cerulean mane matches the blue of his denim jacket that has an eye-catching collar lined with fluffy white fur (faux of course - no animal cruelty here). his pants are denim as well, a quintessential canadian tuxedo, and just a hint of silver glitter is detectable on his eyelids. you could eat him right the fuck up.

“you look cute,” you purr before waltzing over to your boyfriend and standing in front of where he’s sat on the couch.

“as do you,” his eyes scan your body, “the five hours it took you to get ready paid off.”

“i did not take five hours to get ready hwang, you’re just impatient.” you pat his leg as if to say get off your ass, it’s time to go, prompting him to push himself off of his couch and over to the coat rack by his front door.

“this coat totally clashes with my outfit,” you complain as you pull on your thick puffer jacket.

hyunjin feigns sympathy, “it’s either that or you freeze. come on, chan’s wondering why we’re not there yet.”

hyunjin all but yanks you out the door, locking it behind him before the two of you step onto the bustling city streets that are teeming with people searching for a place to drink and celebrate.

arriving at jeongin’s a mere couple of hours before midnight, you rid yourself of your chunky winter coat and start to mingle with the rest of the crowd. hyunjin, despite knowing more people at the party than you, stands behind you like a lost baby sheep for the entire night, waiting for you to loop him into whatever conversation you’re having.

you briefly speak with jeongin, who teases you for arriving late (how he managed to spot you and hyunjin sneaking in later than you said you would arrive is beyond you) and then encourages you to get a drink and ‘let loose’.

in the kitchen you help yourself to whatever alcohol you can find - most of the selection isn’t to your liking and you regret not bringing your own drinks from home. nevertheless, you force some pathetic margarita mix down your throat before spotting hyunjin’s roommates, chan, changbin and jisung, in the crowd and heading over to converse with them.

time seems to fly by and soon enough there are only a few minutes left until it’s time to ring in the new year. someone, most likely felix, blasts madonna through the speakers and a livestream of the new york ball drop is displayed on the tv in the living room.

“y/n?”

“yes hyunjin?”

he hesitates, starry eyes looking everywhere but your own, “will you be my new year’s kiss?”

you stifle a laugh; the poor boy looks like he’s about to puke after asking you that so you try your best to play nice.

“of course i will.” you caress your boyfriend's cheek ever so gently, his cheeks turning rosy and flushed as you do so.

around you the cheers from the other partygoers have increased as the countdown displayed on the tv hits the thirty second mark. as the ball descends on the screen your fingers reach for hyunjin, grasping his wrist in excitement as the two of you start to countdown alongside everyone else.

“3….2….1….HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!”

as soon as the clock strikes midnight hyunjin’s pillowy pink lips are attached to yours, capturing you in a heartfelt kiss to celebrate the ending of an old year and beginning of a new one. it would be a crime not to reciprocate so you do, only pulling away when you hear jeongin start to make gagging noises at the two of you over everyone else's cheers.

felix jumps onto the couch and changbin uncorks a bottle of pommery cuvée louise with a celebratory pop!

before you can approach changbin and ask for a glass of champagne that he splurged on for the special occasion, you’re being dragged down the hallway. away from the music and cheering and people and into a dark, empty bedroom; based on the decor you assume it’s felix’s.

the metallic click of a door being shut and locked echoes throughout the empty room and when you turn to face hyunjin pursues you again. away from the curious gazes of bystanders he kisses you with unrestrained passion and lust - a kiss that isn’t just a simple display of affection but a kiss that says i want this to lead to something more.

in the confines of this empty bedroom you allow yourself to melt into his lips, his touch. you inhale his scent and push your tongue past his teeth and into his mouth, tasting a hint of the miller lite he was sipping on earlier on his tongue. with ease hyunjin makes his way down your jaw and to your neck, placing affectionate open mouth kisses against the sensitive skin of your throat. occasionally you feel his canines nip you before his tongue glides over your skin.

“i’ve been wanting to be alone with you since we left the apartment,” hyunjin admits sheepishly, the ends of his hair tickling your ear.

“is that why you spent the entire night hiding behind me?”

like a deer in headlights, hyunjin freezes, “maybe…” you can feel his lips curl into a small smile from where they’re attached to your neck.

not wanting to waste any more time you shove hyunjin off of you, your hands grasping the collar of his denim jacket before dragging it down his shoulders and arms, followed by his shirt. hyunjin follows suit and moves to unbutton his jeans, pulling them down his thick thighs. now he stands in front of you wearing only his briefs, his hard cock straining against the material, the glow from the moon painting his skin a cool shade of blue.

when you step closer to him you can feel his breath fan across your face, watch his eyes swim with curiosity and enamourment, see his chest rise and fall with each and every shaky breath. your fingertips hook into the elastic waistband of his briefs, yanking them down and letting them pool at his ankles before gently guiding him to sit on the bed behind him.

now that hyunjin’s seated you move to kneel in front of him, kissing your way down the soft milky skin of his abs and around his belly button and the insides of his thighs. his cock stands fully erect, and you lick your lips before getting yourself ready to suck him off.

when you first fucked hyunjin all those months ago you were taken aback at how perfect his cock was. not to sound cliche, but it felt as if the two of you were destined to be together with how well he fit inside of your cunt and down your throat. now, you admire him once again before licking him from base to tip.

time is of the essence you think before taking his length in your hot mouth.

over the course of time you’ve spent dating and fucking hyunjin you’ve discovered that he’s very sensitive… and very vocal. as soon as his cock is in your mouth he’s struggling to keep quiet, the veins on his neck tensing and his knuckles white as he grips the bedsheets underneath him. it’s not like anyone would hear him lest they be pressed up right against the bedroom door, but still, he tries his best to preserve at least a little bit of his dignity.

for the sake of your throat you wrap your hand around the base of hyunjin’s dick, opting to jerk what you can’t comfortably fit in your mouth. the soft muscle of your tongue expertly wraps around his length as you begin to bob your head, starting off slow so you don’t overwhelm hyunjin (who already seems to be going into sensory overload).

the movements of your hand are in tandem with those of your mouth, the nails that you got done for new years looking so perfect wrapped around his sensitive cock. small beads of sweat begin to form on your temple as you continue to work hyunjin to his release, not wanting to stop until he’s satisfied. your knees are already starting to ache from being pressed against the cold, hard floor but you pay the discomfort no mind.

above you, hyunjin’s struggling to keep himself under control. he’s been on edge all evening, and now that you’re having your way with him he can’t quite contain his delectation. surely there are other people fucking at this party right now, right? what does it matter if he makes a bit of noise?

fuck dignity, he wants to let you know how good you’re making him feel.

hyunjin’s bottom lip throbs in relief when he releases it from his teeth, allowing his head to fall back while groans of pleasure shamelessly tumble from his mouth.

your ears strain to block out the noises from the ongoing party so you can hyperfocus on every single sound that passes hyunjin’s lips. your lips wrap around his length like a glove, providing him with the most perfect amount of friction. you pick up the pace in order to get him there faster, ignoring the slight cramping in your wrist.

“y/n i-” one of his hands lets go of the duvet and wraps around the back of your head, “i think i’m gonna-” he cuts himself off with a cry of desperation.

with reluctance you pull your lips off of his cock, continuing to jerk him with your mouth agape and tongue sticking out. with a needy, high-pitched moan that he does nothing to try to suppress, hyunjin pumps his load into your waiting mouth.

his cum is pure and white like the snow falling softly outside of the bedroom window. it sits hot and heavy on your tongue as you rise from your spot on the floor, watching with hungry eyes as hyunjin’s pink-stained chest heaves sighs of pleasure before you press your lips to his. both of your mouths open automatically, his tongue slipping past your teeth allowing him to taste himself. your tongues swap semen and saliva and you reluctantly pull away when you need to swallow and regain your breath.

the view of hyunjin panting and covered in a sheen of sweat, his own cum seeping from the corners of his mouth, is a sight to behold. you’ve never laid eyes on anything so sinful yet so holy and beautiful at the same time - your panties become unbearably wet.

hyunjin stares at you with eagle eyes as you rid yourself of your clothing, tossing each garment on top of his so a small pile is formed on the floor.

in one swift move you’re on top of him, knees digging into the firm mattress on either side of his bony hips. without saying a word you line his cock, that’s already semi-hard again, up with the soaked hole of your pussy before sinking down his shaft. the two of you whine and groan into eachothers mouths at the sensation, and you still when your hips are flush with his.

“i don’t… i don’t think i’m gonna last long,” hyunjin whines so pathetically you go weak in the knees. ugh! you wanna lick him all over.

“that’s okay,” you coo while running your fingers through his hair, “just want you to feel good.”

grasping his shoulders for stability, you temptingly grind your pelvis against his. the tip of his cock is nestled deep inside of you that it makes you feel so unbelievably full and content. it’s moments like these where you wish to be consumed by hyunjin, wish to hold him and be in his hold forever and ever.

the slick, wet sounds of you fucking hyunjin raw fill the room, your cunt sucking him deeper and deeper with each and every roll of your hips. your vision goes blurry when he attaches his soft lips to your breast, switching between sucking on it gently and using his tongue to tease your sensitive nipple.

the soft whimpers and please go faster’s that your boyfriend emits encourage you to pick up the pace, your hip bones knocking against his with each gyration. by now your clit is begging for attention so you lower your hand to press quick, somewhat careless circles into it, hissing at the pleasure it provides.

the need to cum begins to creep its way into your senses: your vision becomes spotted and blurry, your legs begin to quiver and shake, the pit in your lower abdomen grows bigger and bigger threatening to swallow you whole. hyunjin continues to sloppily suck on your tit, the sensation going straight to your aching cunt.

no words need to be exchanged in order for each of you to know that the other is close. it’s evident in the way your movements become more frantic desperate and in the way hyunjin’s blunt nails dig into the flesh of your thighs, his jaw going slack against your breast.

a few more movements and you reach your orgasm, muffling a lewd and graphic moan by biting down on hyunjin’s shoulder. for several moments it feels as if you’re on cloud nine. sparks fly behind your closed eyelids and the ringing in your eyes is loud enough to block out the sound of the party (which you almost forgot about) but not the increasingly loud moans coming from hyunjin. you can hear and feel him cumming a few seconds after you, his stomach tensing as he cries out for you.

he spills his seed inside of you and you shudder, feeling incredibly warm and worn out.

with limbs feeling like lead, you lift yourself off of hyunjin before collapsing onto the mattress, the duvet cover immediately clinging to your back that’s damp with sweat. you feel hyunjin’s cum slowly begin to seep out of you and you cringe, knowing that you’re going to have to explain and apologize to felix (or whoever the owner of this room is).

beside you, hyunjin works to get his breathing back under control, his eyes closed with a blissed-out expression on his face.

“i don’t wanna get up,” he whispers into the dark room.

“so don’t.”

the two of you lie there, basking in the post-orgasm bliss that puts you on the verge of sleep. the room smells of sex and sweat and you can’t help the small smile that makes its way onto your face, knowing that there’s no other way you’d rather spend ringing in the new year.

you hear him moving before you feel his touch. the soft tips of his fingers caress your clammy palms before intertwining with yours, an affectionate move that has your cheeks flushing and makes you wonder how did i get so god damn lucky?

if it weren’t for hyunjin your ivy league studies would be filled with empty days and empty nights. you somehow managed to find solace in a sensitive, 5’10” boy who teases you and then whines when you tease him back. on days where the cold seems to be unbearable he keeps you warm with his skin on your skin, his lips on your lips, his heart to your heart.

without him you’d be stuck at a prestigious school filled with prestigious people pursuing a prestigious degree that you’re not sure you even like, yet he somehow makes you forget all of that.

and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

#stray kids smut #hwang hyunjin smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids blurbs #stray kids x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin facfiction #hwang hyunjin blurbs

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justzawe · 5 months

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interview | zawe ashton

Actor, director and writer Zawe Ashton has no interest in being perfect. Drawn to the messiness of being a villain, Ashton uncovers the heartbreak behind the anti-hero as she takes on the role of the formidable, Dar-Benn, in Nia DaCosta’s The Marvels. Relishing the chance to make “her-story”, Ashton and DaCosta bonded over literature and their joint vision for an empowered, all-female, ethnically diverse ensemble. The lack of diversity on screen wasn’t lost on Ashton growing up as an aspiring actress – the ability to rectify that and heal her inner child is a mission Ashton is grabbing with both hands.

The vastness of the Marvel realm means most actors in Hollywood have their Marvel audition story. For Ashton, there had been previous close encounters, narrowly missing out in the latter stages. But with DaCosta, it was different. Ashton recalls, “We bonded over literature. Nia wanted to make a very small movie based on a Jane Austen novel and I was absolutely into this so we talked for a good couple of hours. But instead, what ended up happening was her asking me to play a villain in this movie… The process was so natural, I didn’t have to think so it made my goal really clear to serve Nia’s vision. Being part of this piece of “her-story” with the youngest black woman to direct a Marvel film felt extremely important as a moment in my career.”

A departure from her traumatic high school physical education lessons, Ashton felt empowered by the experience of getting into physical shape for the role, all while transitioning into motherhood. “It ended up being transformative. The entire stunt team I worked with touched my heart in such a deep way… They helped me realise a physical world so far removed from botched PE classes that had made me think that I couldn’t be a physically strong person. It was very powerful.”

It was also the opportunity to set her inner child free on set that made the transformation into Dar-Benn so liberating. She enthuses, “Having the inner child run wild was the best – and scariest – part of this film… I had to play which most of us haven’t done since the sandpit. So indulging in that was a very unique experience to have in front of thousands of people. But it was so fun – I honestly loved every second of it.”

But it was her character’s vulnerability that Ashton sought to capture. “Anti-heroes have always been attractive to me. As a child, I was drawn to the reasons for why they did what they did. So I was always really satisfied when we got to see their vulnerabilities that helped us to understand them.” And while egos often get in the way, Ashton had no qualms playing the villain. “I honestly feel like the responsibility to be the hero would be too much on my shoulders. I’m very comfortable in a space where I don’t have to present as perfect, where I get to be a bit messy or a bit frightening or a bit off centre… I always find that a very interesting journey to see why someone on the outside wants to carry out what they want to carry out.”

Despite history being made with The Marvels, Ashton isn’t shying away from debates around wider representation across the film and TV industry. She considers, “Being part of a completely female driven cast is really important – bringing different ethnicities to the screen heals the inner child within me. I think back to myself as a young girl looking to film and entertainment and not seeing a broad spectrum of representation, and how that was more damaging than I could have realised or vocalised at that age. So being part of something that makes another little girl not have to experience that is very moving.”

And while she’s hopeful for the future, Ashton knows there’s still a long way to go. “I think the scale is tipping. But there is still a huge amount to do to truly, holistically balance out the things that need to be balanced out to have a healthier industry. I feel very grateful to at least be on that road and be part of the conversation… There are so many voiceless people out there, who should probably have the mic instead. But this industry is extremely powerful in terms of how we interact with it. So I’m really aware that I have this platform because of the work that I do.”

Not content with shaping conversations on screen, Ashton is also changing the narrative through her work as a writer and director. She muses, “There are a lot of stories that are brewing inside of me that I’m desperate to get out… You get to a certain point in life where you have this incredible vantage point over a huge portion of your lived experience that you can’t really access while you’re still living it. One of the benefits of aging is that your creativity really can deepen. You have even more life experience to draw from and more creative ways of looking at that life experience. It’s another way for me to process life.”

With so many stories to tell, one character that remains a cherished favourite is the enigmatic, if not slightly deluded, Vod from Jesse Armstrong and Sam Bain’s, Fresh Meat. Ashton enthuses, “I cherish her as a character so deeply. I cherish the team that helped bring her to life – all the amazing production and design team who were all part of bringing her weird and wonderful world to life. Often as an actor you can be known for a role that has a small trauma attached to it, so the character becomes an avatar that you feel slightly trapped in because how you view the character isn’t how the audience see the avatar, so I was lucky. It’s one of the biggest achievements in my career so far!”

As Ashton continues to find her voice both on and off screen, she’s discovering new realms of possibilities.

#zawe ashton #article #interview #schon magazine

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agerefandom · 10 months

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A Good Omens S2 Review

Hello everyone! I lied and watched the new season of Good Omens and because I have thoughts on it, I thought I'd write a little review. This is from the perspective of someone who was a book fan for over a decade before the show came out, so it is quite critical of the show, so please keep that in mind! I expect that it's much more enjoyable for folks who didn't spend so long invested in a different version of the characters.

Short/Spoiler-Free: Season two was a fun time with excellent new characters, but the finale sets them up for a disastrous third season, and making Crowley and Aziraphale the main characters really does dilute the original message of the novel.

The rest of the review contains spoilers and is over 1,300 words because I was an English major in Uni. Carry on for those curious!

Let’s start off with the things that I liked about the show!

1.The actors for Crowley and Aziraphale are continuing to kill it with their performances: the physicality they bring to their characters is a delight, their timing in the comedy sections is impeccable, and I enjoy watching them do their thing.

2. Gabriel as a comedy relief character was amazing for me. I usually don’t enjoy comedy (and didn’t enjoy a single joke in the flashback scenes, but that’s entirely my fault probably for not liking humorous TV) but Gabriel really did tickle me.

3. Loved the terrifying Jane Austen ball where Aziraphale just messed around with everyone’s brains! Very chilling show of angelic power, potentially wasn’t played as horrific as it could have been, but still very nice! I like when Aziraphale is scary.

4. Muriel is my child and I love them with my entire heart. They were a delight of a character. Really brought new life to the show, and a new person to learn the message of the book (humanity as divinity). (Although the second season didn't really... carry that lesson for Muriel or for anyone else, so never mind that.)

5. The new human characters were also enjoyable and very sweet. Their dynamic was believable and real and that was good to see.

6. The writers really did just decide to make every side character gay and half of them use they/them pronouns. I have mixed opinions on it, but ultimately I did think it was a lovely little detail, especially with the angels/demons who are more separate from human genders.

Okay, now let’s get into the rest of things.

I think my overall conclusion from this season is that Crowley and Aziraphale were not, at all, made to be main characters. Even in the first season, I felt that they overemphasized them. In the book, the focus is split between them and the larger plot, with lots of little side vignettes to make sure the reader is kept grounded on Earth, with the humans, who are the emotional centre of the book. Aziraphale and Crowley play as foils to human nature in Adam and they are not the main characters, though they are, of course, the main marketing force.

Making them the main characters, especially in Season Two, meant dropping a lot of their character progress and giving them a lot more angst than they had in the novel. Both of them feel very young, where in the book they definitely seem more like they’ve been around for several millennia. I also feel that they aren’t totally allowed to be as fucked up as they were in the book? (Maybe that’s just a personal vendetta: I am furious that Season One took out the scene where Aziraphale kills his magician’s dove out of carelessness.)

Okay, two small things and then I’ll get to the finale.

First of all, interesting to get confirmation that Crowley was in the war on Heaven and actually took up arms? Feels contradictory to his ‘demon who sauntered vaguely downward’ description and also odd to his character that he would have fought directly against Heaven but I imagine that’s building to some other twist involving Crowley’s Fall in Season Three, so I’ll let it go for now. (I still think it makes show!Crowley very different from book!Crowley though)

Gabriel and Beelzebub were a very nice thing, although underdeveloped. It made me sad to see that they, as newly appointed side characters, can have a simple relationship, while Aziraphale and Crowley are now main characters and therefore need a more tumultuous and dynamic relationship that they didn’t have in the book, where they were actually relatively solid.

Now let’s go for finale time.

Ultimately, I absolutely hated two key things about the finale.

First of all, the kiss. I’m not sure if it was a direct response to the harassment about S1 being queerbaiting or if it was always the plan to have an explicitly physical relationship between the two, but I’m so mad about it either way. It just accepts the narrative that a physical relationship is the only stable one (ie. if Aziraphale had kissed Crowley back, it would have fixed everything and they could have been together). I also don’t really want my Good Omens show to be a religiously charged commentary on queer love, which it immediately became, especially with Aziraphale’s immediate response being “I forgive you,” which highlighted everything I didn’t want Good Omens to become.

Framing the kiss immediately as a sin is such a bad move, I don’t know what the writers were thinking??? Emphasizing that Aziraphale is an angel and however much he can want Crowley by his side, he can’t kiss him because he’s an angel and kissing is… something that needs to be forgiven?

However the line was supposed to be read, it really seemed like a religious condemnation and it hurt more than I care to admit. Aziraphale in the books is so comfortable with his perceived queerness, and his recoiling from it here with Crowley at the point where it becomes explicit… I didn’t care for it.

And secondly, the promotion.

That was so stupid on so many levels. My partner said that it wasn’t in character, since Aziraphale is not an ambitious angel and seems like someone who would turn tail and run from a promotion. I can’t say I remember his relationship with ambition in the books, but I respect and trust my partner’s opinion on that.

More importantly to me, it entirely muddies the message of the story and it reflects very darkly on what season three will involve.

Good Omens was never about ‘fixing’ Heaven or Hell. It was about honouring humanity as the truly divine mix of both, about not allowing them to end the Earth, and about finding a small place for yourself to live: a bookshop, a garden, a cottage, a town.

Aziraphale choosing to go and reform Heaven totally turns that on its head: now there is no ending for the show without either abandoning or fixing Heaven, and how is that going to work?? You can’t turn angels into an anarchy because it’s very clear they have no real natural inclination to ‘goodness’ but neither can you truly save Heaven, because what are you going to do? Declare that there’s no more cancer for young children? No more evil in the world? God has designed the world with evil in it, and there’s no rewriting that. Suddenly Good Omens has to grapple with what was once ineffable and almost unimportant to the lives of the characters: the true purpose of Heaven and Hell.

I have absolutely no faith in almost any TV show to tackle that question (The Good Place gets a minor pass), and no interest in watching the story be told through Aziraphale and Crowley, who have always been more grounded characters in a world of too much divine bureaucracy.

On the note of divine bureaucracy, I felt like it was lacking from the flashback scenes. While I enjoyed them overall and really appreciated some of my favourite book moments finally being adapted on-screen, they didn’t really address the paperwork they were covering for each other: seemed more like the two of them running around having almost random adventures, whereas in the novel they were often doing each other’s temptations and salvations in a much more ‘oh, check that off the list and write a progress report to the supervisor’ kind of way.

Again, this is because Aziraphale and Crowley have been made into Main Characters and their place as subordinates is now unimportant. They are making Big Decisions and causing changes in the world, and I truly don’t believe that’s what Aziraphale and Crowley were made to be. They were just an angel and a demon who tried to solve the apocalypse and didn’t end up doing anything because the anti-christ was a little too human for the whole plan to work in the first place.

And I miss them.

#good omens critical #hark i say nothing #not agere #on one hand i don't want to use main tags #but on the other hand i want blacklists to catch it??#so i shall babble in the tags #in the hopes that the main tags will be far enough down #that it won't show up in the actual tag #good omens 2

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the-forest-library · 9 months

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August 2023 Reads

The Annotated Persuasion - Jane Austen

Nothing But the Truth - Holly James

The Last Word - Katy Birchall

The Deja Glitch - Holly James

Love, Theoretically - Ali Hazelwood

The Dane of My Existence - Jessica Martin

They Hate Each Other - Amanda Woody

Mister Magic - Kiersten White

Stars, Hide Your Fires - Jessica Mary Best

Legends & Lattes - Travis Baldree

The Study of Poisons - Maria V. Snyder

This is How You Lose the Time War - Amal El-Mohtar, Max Gladstone

His Majesty's Dragon - Naomi Novik

Sea of Tranquility - Emily St. John Mandel

The Brothers Hawthorne - Jennifer Lynn Barnes

Give Me a Sign - Anna Sortino

Rewind - Lisa Graff

Tuesdays at the Castle - Jessica Day George

Mice Skating - Annie Silvestro

The Rock from the Sky - Jon Klassen

Ancient Night - David Bowles

Fangirl, Vol 1 - Sam Maggs, Rainbow Rowell

Fangirl, Vol 2 - Sam Maggs, Rainbow Rowell

Family Style - Thien Pham

It's Lonely at the Centre of the Earth - Zoe Thorogood

Congratulations, the Best is Over - R. Eric Thomas

Strong Female Character - Fern Brady

Everything I Know About Love - Dolly Alderton

Sipping Dom Perignon Through a Straw - Eddie Ndopu

Organizing for the Rest of Us - Dana K. White

You Just Need to Lose Weight - Aubrey Gordon

Vibrant - Stacie Stephenson

How Not to Hate Your Husband After Kids - Jancee Dunn

Allergic - Theresa MacPhail

Generations - Jean M. Twenge

Enough - Shauna M. Ahern

Sensitive - Jenn Granneman

The Lady's Handbook for Her Mysterious Illness - Sarah Ramey

Dressing Barbie - Carol Spencer

Goblin Mode - McKayla Coyle

How to Resist Amazon and Why - Danny Caine

The Artist's Way - Julia Cameron

Bold = Highly Recommend Italics = Worth It Crossed out = Nope

Thoughts:

Some really good reads this month, and some disappointments. I really enjoyed They Hate Each Other and was surprised by how much I liked the Fangirl manga. I also finally found an Ali Hazelwood book that I didn't DNF, lol.

Goodreads Goal: 289/400

2022 Reads | 2023 Reads

#2023 reads #book reviews #book recommendations #books #booklr #bookish #reading #bibliophile

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 2 years

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The Agony of Desire

Part 9 // Masterlist

Warnings: Smut (18+), fingering, oral, unprotected sex, knife kink, a little bit of choking, food play (honey).

I hope you guys like it 💓

Happy Friday

"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."

-Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

He doesn't know this feeling well.

Contentment, perhaps.

It's not satisfaction, or pleasure, or happiness.

It's, the feeling that things are starting to get better, and for right now, they're okay.

Because he woke up with you in his arms, and that makes him feel... some type of way.

It's too early to figure it out, he's too relaxed to think about how he feels- having you so close to him is screwing with him.

And when you moan his name, he swears he's going to die.

Billy wants, he needs, he aches, he yearns. He feels like he can hardly breathe with you around and with each moment his resolve crumbles and he's worried that when there's nothing left to hold him back, he's going to do something that makes you pull away from him for good.

You're still asleep, whimpering his name, small grinding motions on his thigh, slotted between your legs. He can feel himself growing hard in response to you.

His tongue licks slowly over your breast. You sigh his name.

"My name sounds so pretty in your mouth, baby, makes me wish I could make a recording of you." You sigh in bliss as his cock moves slowly inside you, dragging against your walls deliciously.

"You- I- mmm." You say, gasping in the wake of pure pleasure.

"Poor little thing can hardly speak with my cock so deep inside her." He smiles in the light of the morning sun, the smile on his face makes you heart beat faster.

"You should wake up now, baby, you can't keep dreaming about me all day."

"What?" You murmur, and suddenly you're thrust into consciousness.

It's still him, but a future version, not the version of him from the past that torments your dreams. No, the version of him that you wake up to is responsible for two years of heartache.

Your face is buried in his chest, a white shirt preventing you from feeling his skin against your cheek. His leg sits firmly between your thighs, probably an attempt to get comfortable during the night, but now, it rubs against your wet centre through your sleep shorts and you let out a small, shaky whine at the sweet friction where you need it the most.

He lets out a low groan in response, one that sends shivers straight down your spine.

"Are you okay, baby?" Billy asks, voice laced heavy with sleep.

"Yeah," you sigh, trying to shuffle back, away from his tormenting thigh.

"I can feel you soaking my thigh," he murmurs, reaching out to hold you in place.

"Want me to help you? Make you feel good?"

He raises his thigh just a little and you gasp, reaching up to grip his shirt in your hands.

"Billy..." you plea.

"Shhh, pretty girl, let me help you out, no strings attached, yeah?"

He guides you onto your back, hooks one of your legs over his hip to keep your thighs open.

Your head on his arm, he's on his side facing you, his warm hand spreads over the skin right above your shorts.

"Need you to tell me yes, baby, not gonna touch you unless you want it."

You don't look at him, turning your head into his chest, breathing in his natural scent that is sweeter than he'd willingly admit.

"Yes. Billy. Please. Want it."

"Good girl." He sighs and then his hand slips under your shorts.

You're a little embarrassed at how wet you are, and he's barely touched you.

He strokes your slit gently, humming in appreciation at your lack of underwear below your shorts.

"Want to tell me what you were dreaming about? Could hear you whining my name in your sleep."

You hesitate, a little scared to admit to him that he torments your dreams, but you decide to anyways.

His middle finger grazes your clit and you whine, he shushes you calmly, giving in to you, rubbing slow circles over your aching clit.

"The morning after... Santorini." You say with a cry as he gives a single harsh swipe over your bud.

"Oh, that was a good one," he chuckles, "Hiding in your closet and waiting for you to come back to the hotel. Chasing you through the room until I'm fucking you on the balcony. Watching my come drip from your mouth and fall on your tits."

He groans.

"We didn't leave the bed until the next day. God, you took me so well, my pretty girl so drunk on my cock."

You whine, angling your hips up in a silent plea for him to go faster.

"Need it so bad, Billy."

His breath tickles your ear, you feel the scratch of his beard follow.

"I bet you do baby, been so long without a real orgasm, hmm?"

He takes his time, dipping down further to push a single digit into you. You gasp as he fills you, with a feeling that it's too much and not enough all at the same time.

He starts off slow and measured, your body undoing itself under the gentle pleasure.

"That's my girl, just needs someone who knows what they're doing, yeah?"

"Y-yeah." You sigh.

And then his pace is picking up, and you can hear the filthy, wet sounds so distinctly in the room.

You're on edge embarrassingly fast, and you whine, trying to fight your orgasm because it's too soon, and he'll stop when you come and you don't want him to stop, you just want to keep clinging to your ex-boyfriend and the life you had with him before-

"Shhhh," he says into your ear, "I can see that pretty head overthinking. Be a good girl and come for me."

There was no resisting it then, your toes curl and you come hard, around his single digit, gasping as you clench around him.

You feel like a knot, unravelling under his fingers, he curls them upward a bit, prolonging your orgasm and making you sob into his chest.

You make a noise of disapproval when he pulls away, raising your head to meet his eyes.

He smiles at you easily.

"Good morning, baby." He says, kissing the spot above your eyebrow slowly. You close your eyes, leaning into him.

"See you upstairs." Is all he says before he detangles his body from your and steps away, leaving you alone in your post-orgasmic haze.

Fuck forgiveness, you decide, and fuck no strings attached. Billy Russo was yours, and it was time he realised it.

You've never really dressed up for breakfast before. So this time, when Billy hears the elevator open, and he looks up to smile at you, to see you in a short summer dress, he knows he's in trouble.

You're so alluring, beautiful. The pancake he's working on almost burns.

You're at his side in moments.

"Do you know where the honey is?" You ask, smiling up at him.

He swallows.

"Cupboard- There." He points to one nearby.

He tries to refocus on the task at hand.

Pancakes.

Yes.

Cakes made using a pan.

He turns when he notices you grabbing one of the chairs around the dining table.

"Do you want me to-"

"-No thank you Billy, your pancakes are going to burn if you don't pay attention."

Shit!

He watches you from his peripherals, using the chair to climb onto the counter and then watches you reach up to grab the honey, the base of your dress rising to reveal the plump base of your ass.

He drops the spatula.

Cursing, he bends to retrieve it, looking up at you from a lower angle, confirming his suspicions.

You weren't wearing any underwear.

You little fucking tease.

His brain floods with ideas. The things he wants to do to you. He wants you sore and aching and unable to move and unable to speak. Billy wants to satisfy you in every way possible, to teach you what being a little tease is going to get you.

You gasp when his arms wrap around you, you hadn't seen him move.

He pulls you off the counter with the small bottle of honey still gripped in your hand.

"Billy? Are you-"

"Tell me no." He says, placing you on your feet. He looks so worked up and flushed, that you can't help taking a step back. He grunts, mirroring your movements, you can see the hunter behind his eyes, barely restrained, and begging to be set free.

"What?" You ask, confused.

"If you don't want this. Tell me no."

The corner of your mouth lifts slightly as you take another step back. He follows.

Another step, and another, you carefully uncap the honey and pour a drop onto the tip of your index finger.

You bring it to your lips slowly, moaning at the delicious flavour, eyes locked on him.

"I have been... so incredibly patient with you, love. I've put up with all your teasing and torment and if you push me any more, I'll make you really, really sorry."

You raise your eyebrows, rolling your eyes and turning away. The table is right behind you, another step back and you'd have bumped into it.

You suck in a surprised breath when you feel him gently push you against the table. His front to your back, you pretend to study the empty hardwood table intently.

"I'm tired of you testing me." He whispers, snaking an arm up to grip your throat. His grip is firm, deliciously tight, telling, in his state of unhinged- ness.

You look up at him with a small smile, catching another drop of honey on your fingers and slipping it into your mouth.

"Tell me you don't want this."

"Bite me." You whisper.

"So you do want this?"

You smile widens.

"Bite me." You say with more casual challenge in your tone.

Another drop of honey on you finger, but this time it falls short of your mouth, catching on your bottom lip and rolling down your chin. His hand grips your jaw, tilting your head up so that he can snake his hot tongue over the sticky honey.

You let out a pleased sigh, he groans.

You can feel yourself getting lost in him. Enjoying the ache of having him so close and yet not close enough.

You turn, catching another drop on your thumb and swiping it onto his face, from the corner of his lip, up, to the apple of his cheek, avoiding his stubble.

He bends easily for you, turning his head to give you the best access, as you lick the honey from his skin.

He says your name so carefully, a slight shake to his voice and you know he barely has any control left.

"What do you want, Billy?" You ask into his ear, jumping to sit on the table with careful movements, gripping his shirt and pulling his body against yours.

"I want... to show you what you almost lost. I want to make sure you know it's what you deserve."

"Really?" You ask, touching your nose to his as he nods, his arms encircling you. You feel like a live wire, or something that flutters, paired with desire and excitement and you realise that being with him feels like the best feeling in the world.

"I want to get on my knees, spread your legs and taste you, run my tongue over your perfect cunt until I can feel you come on my tongue. But more than anything- I want you to want it too."

You hum in thought.

"It does sound very nice." You acknowledge, resisting a sigh as his hands trace over your hips and down your thighs, his hands trailing under the skirt of your dress to grip your bare hips.

"I've wanted this for so long," He murmurs against your mouth, "Tell me it's real."

You smile, gripping the back of his head and pulling him in.

His mouth meets yours impatiently. Your kisses are fevered and filled with eager desperation. He gives and takes and you're glad to be what he needs.

His thumbs circle the soft flesh of your hips, reminding you of how easily he can have you, after you'd decided to forgo underwear today.

He grips your legs, bringing them up to wrap around his hips, his hands trailing into your hair to grip your head firmly, making sure you feel the force of his kisses.

His hands trace everywhere, down your neck and over your shoulders and up your arms. He moans into your mouth, pushing his tongue past your lips.

It feels like no time has passed at all. The feelings you had for him then hit you with full force now, reminding you that Billy's the only person in your life you've ever felt so open with.

He kisses his way down your neck, over the exposed area of your chest, your head falls back as you moan his name.

His control snaps.

He pushes you back, you elbows bump the table and you look up at him in surprise and enthusiasm.

His skin is flushed pink as he pushes your dress up, and then grunts in displeasure, reaching for the retractable knife in his back pocket.

You're aching for him, and you can only blink at him with open trust when the blade of the knife springs open from the handle.

"You look so pretty in this dress." He says smoothly as the cold blade of the knife runs over your chest. Your breathing is sharp and shallow but you keep your eyes on his face, ignoring the knife as it slides between your breasts.

"I'm glad I bought it." He murmurs, pulling the knife upwards to cut through the fabric.

The dress barely makes a sound as it's ruined by the knife, and you watch him carefully, as he exposes your body to him.

The knife slides smoothly down the middle of your dress, he swallows when he realises that there's nothing stopping him from having you.

He moves surprisingly slow, parting the dress, and pushing it from your shoulders. You sit up, undoing your bra and slipping it off, looking away from him, unable to hold his gaze when there's nothing stopping him from looking at your naked from.

He siezes your jaw, tilting your head up to look into your eyes for a moment before kissing you fiercely, murmurs your name into your mouth and makes you feel like you're drowning and floating all at the same time.

He kisses your cheek, and then your neck, nibbling at the corner where your neck and shoulder meets and you can't help but make a low sigh of pleasure.

You don't see exactly when he reaches for the honey, but you gasp when something unfamiliar drips onto your collarbone.

His tongue is there in seconds, licking it from your skin, cleaning you up with a few strokes of his tongue.

He moves lower, and you lean back to give him space to work.

A drop of honey on each breast, followed by his tongue once more. Slick and dextrous, he leaves you pining, looking up at you with a smile, before moving lower.

Your thighs are next, and you whine when his tongue laves over the tops of your thighs, so close to where you need him.

Finally, you're lying on your back, parting your legs shyly for him.

He lets out a long groan when he sees you, dripping for him, even more than you were this morning when you were in his bed.

Billy suspects he may be tormenting you, just as much as he's tormenting himself by prolonging this, but he can't help it, he wants to savour this, the first touch, the first taste of you in years. He'd be a fool not to make this as memorable as possible.

He leans forward, pressing his lips against your mound for a few seconds, placing gentle kisses over your thighs, and against the wet seam of your cunt.

"Missed you so much." He says into your thigh, glancing up at you, and then back down to your pussy.

He leans down, and you hold your breath in anticipation.

He starts off slowly, with gentle, chaste kisses against your cunt, moving into deep kisses, and finally you let out a cry of his name when you feel his tongue drift over your clit.

You could just come on the spot, with the way you feel like you're already on edge from all the teasing he's done.

He moans suddenly, gripping your thighs to keep you still as he presses his face firmly between them.

He may just as well be kissing your mouth, with the way he moves, angling his head from side to side, grazing over your clit gently.

He pulls back for a moment to look up at you, he takes in your shaking, desperate form.

"You were about to give this up for life. You think that would have been fair to her?"

Her? Is he talking about your pussy?

He leans down to give your pussy another soft kiss, your eyelids flutter.

"She deserves so much love, baby. But don't worry, she's all mine now."

And then he's giving you exactly what you need, paying attention to your small bundle of nerves, swirling his tongue in careful circles, increasing the pace slowly, his hands gripping your thighs firmly. Your body falls back, relaxes on the chilled table as he licks you to his heart's content, one hand sinking into his soft hair.

You can't help rocking your hips against his face, the pressure building so swiftly inside you that you feel like you're about to explode.

He moans, the sound is rough and broken, but he doesn't stop his assault in your senses.

"Gonna make you come on my tongue now." He says, as if you have no say in the matter, and you think he might be right about that.

He pushes your thighs up, spreading you even wider so that he can taste every inch of you.

Your toes curl, your thighs shake, his tongue does not stop.

You sob his name, it's the only thing your jello of a brain can formulate.

"BillyBillyBillyBillyBillyBilly-" over and over again until you're forced to breathe so that you can say it again.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek to stop your mindless rambles, sucking in air as his lips seal against your clit, his tongue swiping over your trapped bud repeatedly until your body jerks against its will.

Your hand slams against the table, back arching as you come apart on his tongue.

Your eyelids flutter as you shake, letting out a breathy moan with each wave of pleasure that slams into you.

He doesn't stop, licking you through your orgasm, drawing it out and only stopping just before it gets painful.

You suck in long breaths of air, looking up at him with a blissed out expression when he raises his body.

The moment is electric between the two of you. You sit up, looking into his eyes, eager to reach out and touch him.

"When was the last time you did that?" You ask curiously, with a tilt of your head.

His eyes widen

"Two years ago- Why? Was it bad?"

You laugh, reaching out to cup his cheek.

"I came on your tongue, didn't I? No, I was just curious if you'd- on that agent..."

"Oh," he says quietly, thinks for a moment before shaking his head, "From the first time I tasted you, I knew you'd be the only one I wanted."

You groan with delight, gripping his shirt and pulling his body towards you until he's forced to crawl onto the table above you.

"Fuck, Russo, you're already getting to fuck me, no need to encourage me more."

He laughs, genuinely, wholeheartedly, and you laugh with him.

"I was just telling the truth baby." He says, dropping his head to kiss you more.

He's still fully clothed, in his shirt and shorts, and with his body on top of yours you don't feel as exposed as you expected.

When you reach to pull his shirt over his head, he grabs your hands, pinning them beside your head in one swift move.

You whine against his lips and he laughs into your mouth.

"You're being so greedy baby, relax."

"You'd be greedy too if you haven't had sex in two years." You complain.

"I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere. You can wait a little bit longer." He murmurs, kissing the tip of your nose.

You huff.

"Fine." You say with a mild hint of annoyance that you don't mean.

His mouth tilts into a firm line, before he's leaning back on his knees and pulling you up with him.

He turns you, so that your back is pressed to his clothed front, and you can face the floor length windows that overlook the sea.

It's a bright, sunny morning with you, naked on the kitchen table in your ex-boyfriend's arms.

His hands roam over your body, to palm at your breasts and pinch your nipples. You hiss at the pleasure, with some pain mixed in, relaxing against him easily.

"Tell me you're mine," he whispers into your ear, "Say it."

You look up at him, feeling your heart pick up speed at his words. Truly, you weren't completely sure, but you couldn't deny him the words.

"I'm yours." You murmur, gasping, when at the same time, he slips his hand down to push two fingers into you.

"Oh, fuck, Billy," you gasp, trying to breathe through the sensation.

His fingers filling you up so well, they still when they're all the way inside you.

"I've wanted this for so long, dreamt about this for so long. I'm going to fuck you till you cry and then just a little bit more until you're begging me to stop."

He retracts his fingers a little and then go in again. You gasp, clenching around him, and then sighing blissfully as he begins a slow pace.

"I want you begging for me at every moment and aching for me when I'm not around."

His name is a whispered plea on your lips. He begins to pump his fingers into you at a slow pace. You drop your hands to grip at his thighs, desperate for more but unable to beg. He curls his fingers and presses up against that spongy spot inside you that has you crying out in his arms.

"That's it baby, all over my fingers like the good little girl you are."

His pace quickens, and with just the right tug of your nipple, you clench down on his fingers as you come hard.

He doesn't stop, increasing his pace and cresting your orgasm until you're on the brink of another. Your eyes squeeze shut, shaking your head in resistance of his will. It's just too much too fast.

His hand grips your jaw, turning your head roughly so that his lips brush yours.

"Don't fight it. Let it happen." His breath is hot on your lips, his encouragement burns under your skin like a wildfire, "Come on, do it for me. So good."

His praise, paired with his fingers leads your orgasm to sear through your body so quickly that your head spins.

Your eyes squeeze shut, you claw your fingers into his thighs and you cry out when you come, going limp immediately after, unable to hear him for a few moments.

His voice takes a second to register in your head, his words are soft and encouraging against your lips. You hear words like "So good for me," and "Wanted this for so long," paired with, "Need you so bad," on repeat while you come down from your high.

It takes you a second to suck in a breath before you're mumbling, "Need you so bad too."

He chuckles, kissing your cheek affectionately.

But you're not done with him, not even close, and this time, when you reach for his shirt, you're determined not to take no for an answer.

He lets you tug his shirt off, and you can't help leaning forward to kiss his skin.

You rub your cheek against his chest, marvelling at the smoothness of his skin, your hands roam his body with a similar, feverish need as he did to you.

But you can't help it, reaching down to unlace his shorts and push it past his hips. He finally decides to help you, tugging his pants and boxers down his legs in a rushed excitement.

You breath hitches when his cock bobs free of confinement, hard and leaking and you want to sink to your knees and take him into your mouth with a hum of appreciation.

He doesn't stop you when you bend, suckling on his leaking tip and moaning at the salty taste of him. You missed this so much, closing your eyes to appreciate the weight on your tongue.

He lets out a quiet grunt, hands sinking into your hair, guiding you into bobbing your head a little on him.

His grip is firm when he tugs you up by the shoulder, looking into your eyes for a moment before he leans forward to kiss you again, sweetly.

You want to say the words to him, tell him you missed him like nothing before, but you're a little afraid, so instead you settle for deepening the kiss, trying to let your actions do most of the talking.

He pushes you back, and you go willingly, smiling when he crawls over you to cover your body with his. The table is chilly beneath you, but all thoughts leave your head when you feel his cock trace the seam of your pussy.

The emotions rolling inside of you are intense, you cry out when he taps his cock on your clit a couple of times, before lining himself up.

His eyes meet yours, in a silent moment when his eyes are asking the question, 'Are you sure?'

Your stomach flutters, you give him a nod.

You hold eye contact as he slips the head of his cock into you, breath catching as you open up for him. He's big, you feel the uncomfortable pinch as he stretches you open. It's too much, and not enough, you once again find yourself feeling painfully empty, and yet painfully full. There's not enough of him inside you but oh god it's way too much already.

Your mouth opens with a silent gasp as he moves in deeper. His dark eyes still locked with yours. You feel him tremble for a second, letting your slick wetness coat him before he moves further still.

I love you, you want to say, but you're worried that you only feel this way because of the act, the intimacy of taking him into your body, welcoming him into a space that you've sort of decided a while ago, would only be his.

Not that he should be allowed to know that, with the hurt he put you through.

He stops when he's sheathed fully inside you, giving you a moment to get adjusted, willing to wait for however long, until you say you're ready for him.

His hand cups your cheek, drifts into your hair, he dips his head to kiss you.

"Move," you say when he parts from your lips to mouth over your jaw, "Please."

He doesn't stop his affectionate actions, kissing your neck when he slides out a little to thrust back in.

You let out a little whine, hoping to encourage him to stop teasing you with small thrusts.

He grunts out a little laugh in your ear.

"I know you need it faster baby, but I have to take my time with you. This poor pussy hasn't taken me in two years. I don't want to hurt her."

Fuck, why did he have to say it like that? Like you were a fragile little thing made to be treated gently by him. It made you frantic, it made you burn, it made you yearn to be broken. All he wanted to do was make sure you were enjoying yourself on his cock, but his gentle affection and careful kisses only stoked the fire inside you.

You pull his mouth to yours, kissing him hotly, hearing him groan when you bite down on his bottom lip. He gives you a deep thrust in response.

You let out a choked sob, his cock gliding against ever needy spot inside you perfectly. Thankfully, your eager response gets him moving, pumping into you as deep as possible, making your head spin in delight.

He was losing his mind too.

Your cries were sweet torment to his ears, after not hearing it for so long, he was getting consumed in the sounds of your enjoyment.

"Why do you have to sound so pretty?" He murmurs aloud, feeling you clench around him as if you'd heard what he said in between cries of your own. Billy wanted you lost in a sea of pleasure, to destroy your ability to speak and think, so that you wouldn't resist him ever again.

He tries to keep his head on straight, but you're just too pretty, too wet, too warm and tight around him. Your mouth tastes too good and your skin is too soft and he feels his eyes glaze over as his need for you corrupts him.

He doesn't realise that his pace picks up, until your nails are clawing into his shoulders, your cries are just broken sobs of his name.

Your legs are shaking, and you can't do anything more, except take.

"Prove that you're only mine." He says, eyes blown wide, "Come on my cock."

You clench involuntarily, his pace his harsh and steady.

"Yeah baby, just like that. Say my name."

Your back arches off the table, his cock hitting just the right spots at just the right pace and you struggle to understand the mechanics of moving, and speaking and eventually even breathing as you realise you're at his mercy now.

It's what makes you come. Hard- harder than you ever have before- your back bows even more, you think you hear your shoulder pop in protest of your position, your vision blinks in and out of focus as his name leaves your lips, followed by cries of completion.

He grunts when you clench around him repeatedly, his cock stills inside you, letting you ride out your orgasm, watching you slowly go still and pleasure drunk beneath him.

You heave in air, feeing strands of your hair stick to your damp forehead. Your body relaxes, resting against the table as bliss fills your head.

Your brain focuses when his nose brushes yours.

"Hello." He says affectionately.

You smile, "Hi."

His mouth meets yours next, the kisses are plentiful and quick, giving you space to breathe while showing his appreciation for you.

"How was that?" He asks, and you can see a hint of insecurity buried behind his eyes.

You almost sass him some more, instead you try to be honest.

"It was amazing, mind-blowing, perfect." You say, watching him smile, feeling his thumbs circle your nipples for a moment before he straightens.

"Good, because I'm gonna make sure you can't talk when I'm done with you."

At which point, he tugs your body off the table, repositioning you until you're bent over it, open and ready for him. A swift kiss to your pussy before he's pushing into you again and you sob at the way he fits just right inside of you.

His hands grip your wrists, tugging you back a little so that your back is arched. His pace isn't slow or gentle, he lets out grunts of satisfaction as his cock thrusts right into you.

Eventually, holding your wrists isn't enough, and he needs you closer, needs to whisper filthy thoughts into your ear.

His hand wraps around your throat, pulling you up, you scramble to use your hands to accommodate your weight, pressing your palms into the table to keep you steady. He doesn't stop railing you.

"Just the thought, that you were about to give this perfect body away to that dumb fuck makes me so mad."

You can only breathe his name.

His other hand presses against your lower abdomen, increasing the pleasure you feel deep inside you.

"Think he'd ever be able to give you what you need? No way baby, you were made for my cock and mine alone."

You whine in agreement.

"I need you so fucking bad, and I'm never letting you go ever again."

Your eyes roll back in your head, your body shakes, coming around his cock for a second time. Your legs wobble beneath you and you feel him pin your hips to the table to keep you upright.

You want to scream your love for him from the top of this island, you want to crawl into his arms and stay there forever. Maybe you want to wear a ring on your finger that binds you to him permanently.

The thought pulls you back into reality, acknowledging that these were just crazy ideas fuelled by an oxytocin high.

He's sweet and kind to you once more, rubbing the rough stubble of his beard over your cheek, like a cat, moving affectionately against you. You welcome it easily, kissing any available space you can reach.

You sigh when he pulls out of you this time, picking you up quickly and placing you in a sitting position at the edge of the table.

Your arms wrap around him, pressing your cheek into his warm chest, hearing the fast drum of his heartbeat, your fingers drifing into his hair. His hands smooth over your shoulders and down to grip the flesh of your ass.

You smile up at him, crawling back on the table, to lie down in the centre. You part your legs, showing him your dripping core, sliding your hand between your thighs to tap gently on your glistening clit.

Billy's mouth waters, biting at the corner of his lip, he gets up onto the table and crawls toward you, silently appreciating the sturdiness of the table. Getting a handmade table had been the best decision.

He doesn't stop until his face is pressed between your thighs, he tugs your hand away from your clit, leaning in to give you slow, languid licks. He listens to the little sounds you make, loving that he can pull this reaction from you with just a swipe of his tongue.

You're perfect, and soft, and sweet, and he can't stop touching your body, can't stop kissing your clit.

It takes him a moment, but eventually, he does stop, raising his body and pushing into you with a long groan.

You take him so easily now, relaxed, and fucked out of your mind, and he starts slowly, wanting to watch you come undone one last time before he comes too.

He pulls your legs up, perching one on each of his shoulders, listening to the way your gasps get a little more high pitched with the change.

You feel like an instrument, or a toy, made to be played with, and manipulated into whatever position he desires, and you're glad to do it.

His pace increases, never having to beg him for more because he always knows just how much you need.

"Are you mine?" He asks, between thrusts.

You nod frantically, "All yours."

A harsh grunt as his thrusts get rougher.

"Say my name, baby."

"Billy." You say, followed by a soft cry.

"What was that?" He asks.

You're struggling to speak.

"'M yours, Billy."

He's so deep inside you, that you struggle to take in air, pretty sure that he's hitting your cervix with each thrust.

"Who owns this cunt?"

"You."

"Who?"

"You!"

He leans forward a little, your thighs burn with the unfamiliar stretch. His hand squeezes your throat.

"Who's the only man that gets to come inside you? Hmm? Who's the only man that will ever come inside you?"

"Billy!"

"That's right, princess. Only me. Say it."

"Only you, Billy, only you, just please, please, please-"

His grip on your throat tightens, he slams his hips against yours a few more times.

He releases your throat just as you orgasm. You come with a silent scream, your body tense as wave after wave of euphoria takes control of your body.

He can't withstand the feel of your pussy clenching around him anymore, he pumps his hips a few more times before he comes hard.

Billy gasps in bliss, filling you to the brim easily, feeling you milk him dry.

Your legs ache when he takes them off his shoulder, he slips out of you in the next second and finds himself lying on his back beside you after that.

You ache so much, but in the best way possible, heaving in breaths beside him as you reach for his hand.

Fingers interlaced, you stay like that for a while.

"Wow." You mumble, eyes closed, warm sweat cooling on your skin.

You make a small hum of surprise when you feel his lips wrap around your nipple, suckling at the soft skin until it stiffens in his mouth.

You raise a hand to drift it into his hair, your body feels like lead, stiff, and unwilling to obey any command.

After a few moments, you drift to sleep on the hard table.

The next time you wake, you're in the warm water of the bathhouse, tucked under his chin as he cleans you up.

"Shh, baby," he soothes, when you try to raise your head, swaying you gently in the warm water.

"Go back to sleep, I'll keep you safe."

You let out a soft sigh, feeling him kiss the top of your head as you drift back to sleep.

A/N: 😁

This is what I imagine the bathhouse to look like, if anyone's interested.

#The Agony of Desire #billy russo #ben barnes #billy russo x reader #my writings #billy russo x female reader #the punisher #billy russo smut

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