White Trash Heart àšà§ Chapter 1: Just Beyond Our Window
Donnie Barksdale x Fem!Reader â„ 3.4k Words
A/N: Wanted to write a non-fucked up chaptered fic for Donnie to make him a little more tolerable â„ Not sure how many chapters there will be, but I plan to hopefully add a lot to this fic!! Dividers made by me, @jjaksclayton â„
Warnings/Tags: female reader insert, no use of y/n, slow burn, eventual smut, alcoholism, mentions of domestic abuse, neighbor AU, fluff and angst, will add as more chapters are posted!
Archive of Our Own Link
Everyone in your small mobile home community has an opinion on Donnie Barksdale, and none of them are particularly good. You know better than to get involved with a man like him. The only problem is that the more you cross paths, the more you find yourself wondering if he just might be worth the headache after all...
The first thing people noticed about Whispering Pines Mobile Home Community wasn't the sketchy looking trailers. It was the road. A long, winding ribbon of packed dirt split through the woods, cratered with potholes big enough to go swimming in every time it rained. If somebody came barreling down it too fast, everyone knew. The rumble carried from one end of the park to the other, rattling windows and shaking loose porch decorations that had somehow survived another season.
There were only about a dozen trailers tucked back there, each one with its own personality.
The Henderson boys at the front were responsible for most of the late-night mischief, usually banging on doors before sprinting into the darkness, laughing like they'd discovered the greatest game in history. Miss Patsy's yard looked like a garden center exploded. Someone always had laundry hanging on a line outside whether the forecast called for sunshine or thunderstorms.
Everybody knew everybody. Which really meant everybody knew your business. Especially Earl.
Your trailer sat third from the very end of the road. Earl lived in front of you, just close enough to notice when you left for work, when you came home, and who visited. Any time you left the house, he was outside, waiting to fill you in on the most recent scandals.
Truth be told, Earl exhausted you, but he wasn't mean. He would help you jump your car if the battery died. He'd even keep an eye on your trailer if you weren't home, but he'd also tell the entire park if you had anyone over.
You learned to accept that those qualities came as a package deal.
Behind your trailer lived Mrs. Gertrude. Sweet as peach pie, she was the kind of woman who never let anyone leave her porch hungry.
The first month after you'd moved in, you'd run out of sugar halfway through making sweet tea. You sheepishly knocked on her back door expecting to borrow maybe a cup. She handed you nearly three.
When you tried to pay her for it, she waved the money away.
"Oh, honey," she laughed, "Just come sit with me every now and then. That's payment enough."
Since then, you tried stopping by at least twice a week, usually with whatever you had baked recently.
Beyond Mrs. Gertrude's lot was the last trailer.
Nobody ever went down there. If someone had driven too far down the road, they'd always reverse until they hit your yard, and then turn around.
Donnie Barksdale lived at the dead end of the road. His trailer looked less like a home and more like a junkyard that happened to have walls in the middle.
Rusted truck parts leaned against the skirting. Tires were stacked shoulder-high beside an old engine block. Toolboxes sat open under a makeshift awning. Crushed beer cans glittered in the patchy grass like jewels. There was no porch either, only cinder blocks stacked side-by-side, high enough to reach the door.
The trees surrounding his lot were covered in signs that read, "PRIVATE PROPERTY. NO TRESPASSING. WE DON'T DIAL 911, WE CALL THE CORONER." Every single one featured some variation of a pistol or a shotgun. Subtle didn't seem to be Donnie's style.
You had only met the man twice. The first time was the week you moved in. Trying to make a good impression, you baked chocolate chip cookies and walked them to every neighbor's front door. When you got to Donnie's, he answered after the fourth knock.
He stood tall and broad shouldered as he leaned against the door jamb. He wore blue jeans, boots, and a faded NASCAR t-shirt, all streaked with grease. His hair flowed down to just above his shoulders, like a less weird version of a mullet with a matching dark beard.
You introduced yourself.
He looked you up and down without smiling, "âŠDonnie."
You smiled at him anyway and gestured with the plate of cookies, "I'm your new neighbor! I made these for you."
Donnie took the plate from your hands and shut the door in your face.
That had been the entire conversation.
The second time happened when one of your packages was delivered to his trailer by mistake. He appeared on your porch late that afternoon, holding the box in one hand.
"This yours?"
You thanked him, took it inside, and figured maybe he wasn't as awful as everyone made him out to be. Then you opened the box.
The dress you'd ordered has been pulled completely out of its plastic wrapping before being crammed inside, wrinkled beyond belief. You were expecting to wear that dress for a date that very night!
You stared at it for a while.
"You have got to be kidding me," you muttered under your breath.
Marching down there crossed your mind. So did asking him exactly what business he had opening someone else's mail. Maybe you'd even call the law on him for it.
Instead, you plugged in your iron, took a very long breath, and decided preserving your own peace was worth more than winning an argument with the meanest man in the trailer park.
Outside, somewhere toward the end of the road, the unmistakable growl of Donnie Barksdale's truck echoed through the trees.
You rolled your eyes. He was definitely not the type of neighbor you had been hoping for. It wasn't like you were expecting Mister Rogers, but an ounce of friendliness would have been nice.
The hot water finally chased the ache out of your shoulders.
It had been one of those days where everything seemed to go wrong. The power flickered twice while you were making dinner, the AC unit in the living room barely worked, and somebody's dog had barked for nearly four hours straight. By the time you stepped out of the shower, the steam hanging in your little bathroom felt like the first peaceful thing all day.
You wrapped a towel around yourself and walked into your bedroom. Your pajamas were folded neatly on the bed where you'd left them earlier. White tank top, pink shorts, and your comfiest pair of underwear.
Simple, but cute.
You dropped the towel on to the floor. One leg slid into your underwear before something outside caught your eye. You looked up toward the bedroom window.
There was a face! A teenager's face, pressed close enough to the glass that his nose looked flattened against it.
"Oh, hell!" you screamed, stumbling backward.
Nearly tangling yourself in the towel, you yanked it off the floor and clutched it against your chest. The boy didn't even blink. A slow grin spread across his face as you stood there.
"You sick son of a bitch!" you shouted, "Get the fuck away from my window!"
He shook his head.
Heart hammering in your chest, you shuffled over, keeping the towel wrapped around yourself with one hand while jerking the curtains shut with the other. Your hands shook as you stepped into your underwear, dragged on your shorts, then your tank top. Barely bothering to fix your hair, you threw open the front door.
"Hey!" you yelled out.
By the time your bare feet hit the porch, you could hear another voice cut through the night.
"What the hell're you doin', you pervert?" a man's voice boomed off the trees.
You rounded the corner. The boy, Jake Henderson from down the road, who had been peeping in your window was perched awkwardly on the rusted tow hitch bolted beneath your bedroom window on the end of your trailer.
Donnie Barksdale stood a few feet away, furious.
"W-what?" Jake stuttered.
"What?" Donnie barked back, "You heard me."
"I wasn't doin' nothin', I swear," Jake threw his hands up, "Honest!"
"The hell you weren't."
Before he could climb down, Donnie grabbed him by the back of his shirt and yanked. Jake hit the dirt, flat on his back with a grunt as the breath exploded out of him.
"Oof-" Jake choked out.
Donnie stood over him and spit onto the ground next to his head, "Hope that teaches your sorry ass not to be a fuckin' creep."
Jake wheezed dramatically, clutching his ribs and starting to cry.
Lights flicked on in nearby trailers. Screen doors creaked open. Right on cue, Earl speed-walked across his porch in a wifebeater, already grinning.
"What in God's name's goin' on now?" Earl asked excitedly.
You hurried over to Jake, kneeling beside him despite yourself.
"You okay, buddy?" you put a hand on his arm.
He nodded between exaggerated groans, "I'm fineâŠ"
"You ain't dyin'," Donnie muttered, "Quit actin' like it."
Jake shot him a glare, "I'm gonna tell my Momma what you did to me."
Donnie shrugged, "You want me to tell her you was climbin' around behind a young woman's bedroom first?"
Jake went silent and Earl's eyebrows shot up.
"âŠBehind her what?" Earl said, taking a step forward.
You slowly stood up, brushing your knees off.
You pointed at Jake, "He was watching me through my bedroom window."
Earl's grin disappeared, "Are you serious?"
"He was pressed up against the damn glass," Donnie huffed.
"I wasn't-" Jake protested.
"The hell you wasn't!" Donnie interrupted, "I watched your dumb ass crawl under that window like you was 'bout to climb on in."
You helped Jake stand up and shoved him toward the road.
"Go home, Jake," you said flatly.
He wouldn't make eye contact with you, instead he opted to stare at your nipples poking through your tank top. You were suddenly very aware of the fact that you were braless in the middle of this group of men.
You crossed one arm over your chest and pointed into the darkness, "Go!"
Jake took off jogging before Donnie could drag him home.
The trailer park settled into an uneasy quiet. Earl looked between you and Donnie like he'd just stumbled onto the greatest gossip of his life.
"You alright?" Earl asked softly.
You nodded, "Yeah, he just scared me."
"Should've scared his ass back," Donnie snorted.
Earl folded his arms and gave Donnie a hard look.
"You could've handled that differently, Donald," Earl said.
His real name was Donald? You almost laughed out loud.
"He was peepin' through her damn window, Earl!"
"That's true, I guess."
The conversation stalled and only then did Donnie take a few steps closer to where you stood. The sour smell of cheap beer drifted toward you before he even stopped.
The old street light behind your trailer buzzed loudly, then flickered. For half a second, darkness swallowed the yard. When the light blinked back on, Donnie was looking directly at you. Something in his eyes caught you off guard. You couldn't place exactly what it made you feel, but you took a half step backward anyway.
Donnie noticed. His mouth twisted into a bitter frown.
"SoâŠ" he crossed his arms, "You can't even say thank you?"
"For what?" you quirked an eyebrow at him.
He looked genuinely offended, "I just dragged some creep off your trailer."
"You threw a kid into the dirt."
"How else is the little prick gonna learn?"
"He's just a dumb teenager! You coulda sent him home. I didn't ask you to play vigilante," you were fuming.
Donnie scoffed when you rolled your eyes at him.
"Bullying a child doesn't make you a hero, Donnie."
Neither of you spoke until he let out a short, dry laugh.
Donnie shrugged, "Well, damn. Next time I won't do nothin'."
He shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking toward the end of the road, kicking rocks as he went. You watched until he disappeared inside his trailer. Your hands were trembling, but you decided not to pay it any mind.
Earl made sure you got back inside safely. He assured you with a pat on the shoulder and a smile that he would stay up to make sure no one else came creeping around.
The smell of fresh blueberry muffins filled your trailer before the sun had fully burned the morning fog away. Miss Patsy's blueberries stained your fingertips purple while you worked them into the batter, but you didn't mind. She always insisted you take more than you could possibly use whenever they came into season.
"The deer'll get 'em if you don't," she'd always say.
You smiled to yourself as you slid another muffin into a small, fabric lined baskets. Half of them were for you, and half were for Mrs. Gertrude. You covered them with a clean dish towel and wandered down the short path behind your trailer.
Her screen door was already propped open.
"I smelled those before you even got to the porch," she called.
She welcomed you inside with a coffee and lavender scented hug.
"My goodness," she peeked beneath the towel and into the basket, "Those are beautiful."
The two of you settled into the tiny kitchen with coffee and warm muffins. Conversation always came easy with Gertrude. She was wise, often giving you answers to questions you were too afraid to ask.
Eventually, your smile drooped as you began to think about the events from last night. Gertrude placed a soft, frail hand on top of yours.
"Everything alright, dear?"
"Something happened last nightâŠ" you trailed off, debating on whether or not you should even tell her.
She gave you a concerned look and squeezed your hand, "You can talk to me."
You told her everything. From seeing Jake's face in the window to Donnie dragging him off the trailer and Earl making an appearance. When you finished, she sighed softly.
"You know, Donnie's always been different."
"I noticed," you stared into your half-empty coffee cup, "I still think he handled it wrong."
"Oh, of course he did," she patted your hand, "But sweetheart, he was trying to protect you."
You looked up at her.
"That boy just doesn't know what protecting somebody's supposed to look like."
"What do you mean?" you tilted your head slightly, intrigued.
Gertrude hesitated, pursing her lips and adjusting her glasses before speaking.
"I knew his daddy. He wasn't a kind man," she nodded gently, "He raised Donnie thinkin' the only way to solve a problem was with his fists."
"OhâŠ"
"He never really learned any other way to be."
You sat quietly, sipping your coffee. She didn't have to say any more than that to get the point across.
You let out a heavy sigh, "I guess I was pretty hard on him."
"You weren't wrong, but neither was he, entirely," she said, smiling.
That thought stayed with you all the way home. Maybe you should've at least thanked him. Not for throwing somebody around, but for trying to protect you. You glanced at the plate of muffins still sitting on your kitchen counter. Four muffins remained.
With an exaggerated huff, you gathered them into your last small basketâ one with a cherry red bow tied around the handle.
The walk to the trailer at the end of the street felt longer than it usually would. Beer cans crunched beneath your shoes and tall weeds brushed against the hem of your dress as you made your way up to the cinder block steps.
You'd barely raised your hand to knock when the door flew open.
You and Donnie both jumped back.
"Shiiit," he blinked at you, grumbling around the cigarette hanging from his mouth, "What're you doin' here?"
He looked like he had rolled straight out of bed. No shirt or shoes, just plaid pajama pants hanging low on his hips, showcasing a hint of his happy trail and a gold cross necklace laying on his chest. His dark hair stuck up in every direction imaginable, and an unlit cigarette rested lazily between his lips.
"If you came to fuss at me some more, I ain't in the mood," he muttered.
You lowered your hand and lifted the basket instead.
"I actually came to apologize," you paused as he pulled a lighter from his pocket, "I was pretty harsh last night."
"You were."
The lighter clicked and the cigarette crackled to life as he took a breath.
"I know you were trying to help," your shoulders sagged a bit, losing your original confidence.
"Hm," Donnie grunted, studying you through the first curl of smoke, "Those blueberry?"
You smiled brightly, "They are."
He finally looked interested, lifting an eyebrow at you and blowing a puff of smoke out of the side of his mouth.
"Miss Patsy brought me more blueberries than I knew what to do with."
He scratched the back of his neck, "She still got them bushes?"
"Yep. They're loaded this year."
"S'pose they would be. Woman's got a green thumb."
You laughed, "She said somebody better eat them before the deer do."
He reached for the basket handle, almost brushing your fingers with his. Just as he opened his mouthâŠ
CRASH!
Something hit the floor somewhere inside the trailer, followed closely by a woman's giggle. Donnie shut his eyes for half a second and took a deep breath.
"The fuck are you doin' in there, baby?"
A sweet voice answered from out of view, somewhere behind the open front door.
"Sorry, Donnie!" she laughed, "I knocked the lamp over."
Your smile faltered. That shouldn't have bothered you. It really shouldn't. You barely knew the man!
He took the basket from your hands, said a quick thank you, and shut the door in your face. Again.
You stood there another second, staring at the dented white door. Somewhere inside, the woman laughed loudly. Why did your chest feel so tight?
"âŠyou're welcome." you said quietly.
You sighed and headed back home. At least you had apologized, whether he deserved it or not. That made you the bigger person.
-
By lunchtime, you had forgotten three drink refills. By two o'clock, you had rung up a cheeseburger instead of a grilled chicken sandwich. At three, you handed a customer ketchup when he had asked you for ranch.
Your manager gave you a puzzled look.
"You feelin' alright today, hon?"
"Huh?" you stopped in your tracks to look over at her.
"You've been somewhere else all day," she said.
You forced a smile, "I'm okay. Just tired."
But you weren't. Every time you caught yourself staring blankly out the diner window toward the gas pumps, your mind drifted back to Donnie opening his door.
Then, to the woman inside his trailer. Whoever she was.
You accidentally sent old Mr. Lewis home without giving him his change. Realizing it nearly twenty minutes later made your stomach sink. Your manager waved it off, telling you he'd be back the next day like he always was. You still felt awful.
After an eternity, your shift finally ended, you drove home in silence. Instead of pulling into your own driveway, you parked beside Mrs. Gertrude's. She answered the door before you even got a chance to knock. The people in this park sure were good at predicting visitors.
"I was wonderin' when you'd wander over here," she ushered you into her living room and to the couch.
You sat down awkwardly. It took you close to fifteen minutes before you managed to work the topic into the conversation.
"So, um," you cleared your throat, "Donnie had someone over this morning."
Gertrude nodded, "Mhm?"
"A woman."
"I heard. Earl came over here in a tizzy when he found out," she laughed, setting down her glass of tea.
You looked at her expectantly.
"You want to know who she was," Gertrude mused.
Heat crept into your cheeks, "I was just wondering."
"Of course you were, dear," she chuckled softly, "That was his newest girlfriend."
"Oh!" you sounded more surprised than you meant to.
"That Donnie⊠He always has somebody," she spoke without judgment, "Trashy heifers, mostly."
"They don't stay?"
Gertrude shook her head, "Only a couple months, usually."
"What happens?" you felt like you were interrogating her. You couldn't explain what was driving your curiosity so hard, but you had to know.
"Those girls follow that man around like lovesick little puppies," she said quickly, "and then he gets bored, starts chasin' tail somewhere else."
Well, there it was. Exactly the reminder you needed. Donnie Barksdale was not misunderstood. He wasn't some lonely man waiting for the right woman to come along. He was trouble with a capital T.
Friendly neighbors. That was all you could afford to be. You could wave when you passed him. Maybe even bring over food every now and then if you baked too much, but that was the line.
Keeping your distance from Donnie Barksdale suddenly seemed like the smartest decision you'd made since moving into the trailer park.
The only problem was that for some odd reason, you couldn't stop thinking about him.
Rouge cakes soon mold, and the flowers wait for no one. No sooner are you done picking, then they bloom again.
ONLY YESTERDAY (1991) dir. Isao Takahata
It starts off with you seeking refuge in the church during an ice storm after getting kicked out of your apartment. You'd never really been the religious type, but you figured while you were there you'd light a candle and maybe pray just in case.
Of course he notices you right away. He'd never seen you before that day. You were brand knew to him.
Even though every part of him screamed that it was wrong, he couldn't help the feeling he had of attraction towards you. It burned in him. In the deepest parts of him.
Against his better judgment he struck up a conversation with you. Asking you about your life and what brought you into the church that evening.
You explained your plight to him and once again, though his mind begged him not to, he offered for you to stay in his quarters for the evening while he slept in a pew.
What was a single night turned into three and after the third night John began to lose hold of his restraint and give into his own temptations.
You were no help, wearing a pair of his casual clothes and giving him that look.
He went from sleeping alone to sleeping in his bed with you. He told himself it was just cuddling. It was just sleep. But you both knew the truth.
Eventually he tells you he loves you despite the nagging fear and sinfullness of it. You happily reciprocate his feelings.
When people where around for sanctuary or guidance or even for confessions he made sure to keep you safely tucked away in his room. His little secret. His little sin.
Soon you began wearing on his sanity. Little things like brushing your hand along his thigh for a quick second or rubbing up against him in his sleep. He knew if you kept it up he would eventually snap and he was right.
One quiet night as rain hit the roof of the church relentlessly, he had decided enough was enough. You'd been teasing him all day and he knew he was already past the point of no return. He waited until dark and when everyone was gone he locked the church to make sure no one would come in and hear the two of you. Damn his soul, he had to have you.
He took you back to his quarters and did things with and to you that woukd surely make god close the gates of heaven to him for good. But you were his heaven... and his hell. His miracle and his sin.
So here he was, guiding people to the lord by day and commiting sins of the flesh by night.
Only in death will he ever find out if it was worth it, but for now he'll enjoy his little slice of forbidden fruit to the last drop.
Do you think people who enjoy dark/taboo fiction deserve to be shamed and harassed?
Yes, I believe they deserve to be shamed and harassed (anti ship by definition)
No, I donât think they deserve to be shamed or harassed (proship by definition)
Voting ended onJul 11
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A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! An unlikely flirtation turns into a dark obsession... Warnings: MDNI!!! Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, dead doves, see ch 1 for full warnings. pics stolen from pinterest yarrrđŽââ ïž -> all chapters
Twenty-nine.
You wonder about this all through the gorgeous gourmet dinner Donaka treats you to afterwards. It sets a chill in your bones, and for once Donaka isn't completely privvy to your internal workings.
"Are you sad we didn't win the scrolls, sweetheart?" he asks somewhat kindly, even if you know he's quietly mocking you the whole time. "Cheer up, I'll get you something nice to lend to HKMoA next time."
You decide to pop a tidbit of roasted goose in your mouth, rather than answer this immediately.
You can't voice the real question you want to ask here in public. "Did you just pick a fight with the 14k Triad?"
Even though you're in an intimate seating for two with a sweeping view of Victoria harbor, so close you're practically tangled up in his long legs under the table, you have a feeling that wouldn't go over too well.
"WhyâŠbother heckling your brother, after all this time?" you decide to ask instead. "I assume he was just a child, when all those things happened?"
"You think I'm punishing my innocent half-brother for the sins of my father?" he asks with a smirk, reaching for a braised shrimp with his chopsticks.
Yes, you do wonder if there's displaced resentment from the child who was left behind, for the child who was The Chosen One.
"IâŠdon't know."
"Believe me, he's no innocent. We'll leave it at that here."
He says it in that tone that should end it for you, if you're smartâbut you've already established that you're an absolute idiot when it comes to this man.
"But are theyâŠstill connected?" You don't know how else to ask about the Triads in veiled terms in public.
"Are you afraid, bunny?"
You chew your lip a little, sensing you're treading dangerous ground.
"I'm afraidâŠof things I don't understand." That's the truth, at least.
"Hmm. I thought that maybe you were thinking about the prospects of the future," he taunts you with that infuriating curl of lips that equally lights you up and makes you want to smack him. You shift in your chair, aware for the umpteenth time that this man still has your panties in his pocket.
"I mean, tangling with a south Asian crime syndicate isn't exactly on my bucket list," you feel safe saying, sotto voce. It's certainly not a problem you ever dreamed you might have to seriously consider.
"Do you think I'm not already a target for the unsavory elements of this city?"
"IâŠ"
Oh boy. He doesn't sound angry, but you feel like your walking into a trap all the same.
"Do you think I can't protect you? My cherished mistress who I cosset in my fortress of a home?"
So that's how it is, huh? Even while you know he's gaslighting the shit out of you, rewriting whole chapters of your origin story with a single pretty sentenceâŠthere's still a tingling warmth that creeps through your bones.
Are you cherished? Because you're still having trouble shaking the thought that you were just elbow candy this evening.
He's merciful tonight. He doesn't make you answerâor he doesn't want to hear what you actually have to say. "You did well."
You feel yourself soften even more. You want to believe that you were just overreacting. Do you really think this man isn't already ten steps ahead of you, or for that matter, the rest of the world? Suddenly you feel rather foolish. Of course he has this well in hand. Do you really think you of all people could foresee a danger he didn't?
"So did you," you finally answer, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. "That was quite a game you ran tonight."
He takes your hand from across the table, pleased that you're finally coming around to see things his way. Pressing lips to your fingers, he nips lightly at your knuckles, smiling wider when you jump. "I think you're the one who told me to fuck him up."
You can't help but giggle, giving in to your baser instincts now that some of your fears are put to rest. "Did you see the look on his face?"
"It was priceless."
"Oh, you put a price on it."
He picks out another tidbit with a smirk.
"What would you have done, if he stuck you with the 100 million?"
Donaka just shrugs. "I would have paid."
You cant help but shake your head, reaching for a chiu chow dumpling. It's still so surreal to you, that your consort has that kind of hard cash on hand. "Seems like a big risk." You take a bite, loving the chewy texture, closing your eyes for the savory flavor bursting over your tongue.
He smiles a little, watching you enjoy the spread of food he'd ordered. "For large reward. That's how the game is played at my level, bunny."
You consider him again, looking over his handsome features with a discerning eye. Then it dawns on you, and you don't know why you didn't see it before.
"You got something more than revenge out of this operation tonight."
His smile is like the flash of a tiger's fangs. "You are a sharp little thing."
You wait, but of course he doesn't volunteer any extra information. You wonder if one of his security clients put him up to it. A rival tech guru perhaps, someone Security Systems Alliance has a big contract with, a job for the CEO himself to ruin a competitor.
If Donaka was willing to risk a 100 million like pocket changeâhow much was the reward?
It seems to please him, that you're catching on to the spirit of the op, even if you don't have the exact details. There's a heat in his dark eyes that goes straight to your loins, as he kisses and nips at your fingers again. He's so bitey when he's feeling amorous. Why does that sharp pain go straight to your clit?
That darkest primal heart of you that is not interested in logic or feminism is always volunteering to be devoured by this man.
You've long decided that your libido is an unhelpful bitch.
Donaka levels you with a weighty gaze, one of those piercing looks that makes you feel like all your internal workings are totally laid bare.
He likes it, that you're not a complete idiot about business and its related politics, so long as you don't defy him too much. It will serve him well, for the plans he's formulating for you.
You did well tonight. For the most part, you didn't flinch. Maybe he'd enjoyed it, when you hid behind him, when Dominic first made the scene. Your instincts are good there too. But even when you felt uncomfortable, you doubled down and backed his play. That is the kind of loyalty he requires of you, if you expect to be allowed out of the house at his side.
He dares to think his conditioning of you is turning out to be a success. He has to hand it to you. You've held his interest longer than any of the others, and you were certainly his toughest mistress to break. Despite your misgivings, he thinks he's managing to mold you into the type of companion he requires. However, even now, while you're lavished with jewels and draped in silk he knows the money isn't enough to hold you.
It's the less tangible things that forge his most effective weapon against you. UnfortunatelyâŠthat's turned out to be a double-edged blade.
He still doesn't think he's a man who's capable of love, but whatever this is between you? It is singular, and consuming, a burning need, a ravenous craving that has yet to be satisfiedâand he's finally decided to use it to his advantage rather than gnash his teeth over it.
đđđ
Rather than make the trek back to Shek O, Donaka introduces you to the penthouse apartment he keeps downtown for late nights in the city. It's filled with sleek masculine luxury, dramatic lighting and more priceless art, but you can't help but think it's rather impersonal compared to the beautiful house where you live together. You wonder if this is a place where he can bring people, that won't reveal much about who he truly is.
You also wonder if he's brought other women here, and your stomach involuntarily lurches with the thought.
He lets you look around, rather than pouncing upon you like he so often does. He seems content for the moment to watch you, chucking his jacket over the couch and pouring himself a drink before taking a seat by the window. The lights of Hong Kong spread out behind him, a glittering tapestry of wealth and commerce sparkling as far as the eye can see.
"Do youâŠstay here often?" you fish, winning a twitch of a smile from this man who always sees straight through you.
"When I work late."
With a hand on your hip you watch him undo his tie, loosening the first few buttons of his shirt. The sight of him like this, relaxed and undone after your big evening, manspreading in his chair with an amber drink in handâŠit does something to you, spreading like warm opium in your veins, and you're not sure why.
Maybe because it's only you who gets to see him this way.
Or at leastâŠso you hope.
In a dizzying moment of lucidity, in this apartment high above the world while looking upon this heartbreakingly handsome yet oh so mysterious man seated half in shadowâyou realize that you will probably never truly know Donaka Mark. Not all of him, at any rate. No matter what he gives you, his secret heart will always be something he keeps completely for himself.
There will always be something you do not know.
Perhaps this would not bother you so much, if you weren't falling so hopelessly in love with him, despite your better judgement.
He certainly knows every thing there is to know about you, and everything that makes you tick. It's not fair in the least.
He'd called you his cherished mistressâŠthat still warms you inside, like a shot of high-proof liquor. Cloying. Heady.
Disorienting.
You're not sure you possess the mercenary detachment it takes to be a true mistress. And if he has other lovers who he brings hereâŠyou would lose your goddamned mind, no matter how he framed it.
YetâŠespecially after watching him work tonight, nor are you sure you have what it would take to be a public consort to this powerful man, either. Tai tai jokes aside, you know that deep down you are just a lost little gremlin who observes the foibles of life going by, preferring to leave the big moves to others.
You wanted to go out and about with him so badlyâbut did you really think you have what it truly would take to stand at this man's side amongst his peers, a pleasant smile on your face and a dagger hidden behind your back at all times?
You little fool.
What is it you want, then?
Safety from heartbreak, might be the real answer, but that is only an illusion for any of us, no matter what course we take.
All you really know for certain is that you control of none of this, and it makes your head spin.
He meets your introspective gaze with that little smile of his, giving you time or feeding you more rope to mentally hang yourself with, whichever.
"I liked having you with me tonight, bunny," he offers, as though he knows you are silently reeling, admiring him from a distance with those big watchful eyes. "I meant it, when I said you did well."
Damn him for knowing when a little praise goes a long way. Because the truth is you did enjoy yourself, even if the implications of the battle scared you.
"I like being with you too," you confess quietly, feeling ridiculously shy all of a sudden under the microscope of his gaze.
"You're safe with me, you know. You're mine, and I'll never let anything bad touch you. Do you believe me?"
Once you simply would have laughed with disbelief at this. Why is there such a lump in your throat now?
"I want to." That is the truth, though not exactly what he wants to hear.
That tear of a smile widens a little more for you. Maybe because whether you believe him or notâŠyou're not getting any say in the matter. Not really. Not unless you grow a spine again and make another crack at escapeâperhaps you both know you're not going to do it. Not now.
You're in too deep.
Maybe you're a fool, but you are not immune to that heat in his eyes. To be desired by this powerful man is a heady thing, and even if you know it's the catalyst to your demise, you can't fight it. Especially not now, after how many glasses of plum wine? And all the excitement of the evening, the high-stakes auction and even the element of dangerâŠhe couldn't have orchestrated your arousal any better by feeding you straight aphrodisiacs.
"Come here." The order is delivered in a throaty growl that floods your center, desire a sleeping dragon that coils in your loins.
You start to obey him, but you freeze for the scolding hiss of air from between his teeth. "Take that off," he demands, gesturing with one long finger. "I've wanted to see it on the floor since the moment you put it on."
You wonder vaguely how much of this manâs day goes to checking the cameras at home. How often does he watch you?
You never enjoyed the expectation of putting on a show for a lover. The demeaning aspects aside, youâve just never felt that comfortable in your own skin. Yet there is something about this man who likes to watch everything, from your meagre day to day tasks to moments that are decidedly more intimate, and maybe this level of voyeurism has transformed you somehow. You relish the hunger in his gaze as you slide the strap of your dress from your shoulder, then the other, until the pretty silk is pooled at your ankles and you are wearing nothing but your cascade of black pearls and your Louboutins.
At the crook of his finger you walk to him with a slow deliberationânot just so you won't trip on your dress at your feet. Maybe you are learning to savor the anticipation in his little games; you want to remember the look on this manâs face forever. Someday, when heâs had his inevitable fill of you, youâll hoard it in your memory like a dragon with a precious pearl...
You climb into his lap, guided by his big hands upon your haunches that pull you into the cradle of his broad body. You are engulfed, caged, completely consumedâhe explores the curves of your bare flesh with a gentleness that breaks your heart. Why is this man allowed to touch you as though he loves you? The sum you would pay to hear the words⊠Millions. A kidney. The deed to your very soulâŠ
His full lips are soft yet demanding upon your mouth, your neck, the tips of your breastsâŠand as you writhe upon his rigid cock you fear you signed that last part of yourself away to him a while ago.
He stands with you in his strong arms as though you weigh nothing at all, his mouth never leaving yours as he carries you to his bedroom in a few long strides. As soon as you touch the mattress he is on you, more urgent now, his sharp teeth nipping the tender insides of your thighs before wrecking your center with his tongue.
You are his creature now.
The words appear in your mind as you arch beneath him, helpless against the storm of this man's passion, pursuing this pleasure that only he has ever managed to give you. He is like the typhoon that terrorize these shores in late summer; violent, awe-inspiring, inevitable.
The best you could ever really do is just try to hold on.
He abandons you at the very edge of your completion, smirking down at you with a warmth in his eyes that contradicts that cruel smile. Your whine of protest only seems to delight him more. "Hush, bunny," he quiets you, divesting himself of the rest of his fine clothes. "You're cumming on my cock tonight, or not at all."
You're floating in a golden daze as he guides you on top of him, teasing your wet folds with his blunt tip, making you moan and writhe with the unbearable madness of it all. In the morning there will be purple shadows upon your hips, where the tips of his strong fingers pressed into your flesh, guiding you upon him.
Perhaps he is the master of this torture, but he is not immune to it as you capture his tip in your weeping chanel, squeezing him greedily as he glides inside. The satisfaction of hearing him moan kindles a warm triumph inside you. Such hubris is a dangerous thing; he reads your satisfaction in this small victory, baring his teeth with a vicious delight that gives you chills all over.
It's rare that he lets you ride him like this, taking his cock at the pace of your own pleasure, savoring the ache of him filling you full before withdrawing again. But perhaps he's still running the show with his diabolical thumb upon your ripe bud, anticipating your rhythm with devastating precision.
He watches you riding him like a goddess of the sea in nothing but your ropes of pearls with a savage glee. Dripping in his wealth, taking his cock deep in that sweet pussy like you are meant to do; you were made for him. He's more and more certain of it with every minute that goes by.
You are his creature.
You think it again as the warmth builds inside you once more, as inevitable as the crash of the waves upon the shore. With your back arched tight as a bow and the strands of heavy pearls teasing your nipples, you break to pieces for this man. You scream as you milk every ounce of pleasure to be had from his hard cock and his clever hand, until you feel him shudder and spill his seed inside you with a roar.
You are his creature, but there are worse things.
That is what you tell yourself as you collapse upon his broad sweat-slicked chest, gasping for breath with his arms around you.
i know i've been super inactive here recently BUT! i am working on a chaptered (Trailer Park Neighbor) Donnie Barksdale x reader fic :3c something a little more slow burn-y and normal (as normal as a Donnie fic can be lmao). it won't be as... dark as previous things i've written i promise. it'll appeal to more people, i hope.
i noticed a lack of Donnie fics in general, especially longer ones, and this will give me an opportunity to write in some of the ideas i've had but never written.
**if anyone has any simpler Donnie Barksdale ideas they wanna see written into this, shoot me an ask and i can see if it would work with the story! (you would be credited, of course, if you wanted to be)
vaporwave
dailybridgerton
theartofmadeline
areudirty
blakekathryn
snowghoul
turnnoffyourmind
