Jul 22, 2025
⊹pov: you marry elliott in stardew valley⊹
“You've plucked Pelican Town's finest flower... Now, you must care for it with all your heart.”
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⊹pov: you marry elliott in stardew valley⊹
“You've plucked Pelican Town's finest flower... Now, you must care for it with all your heart.”
Night Swim
Elliott x Fem!Reader
Summary: You were feeling particularly down today, not your usual peppy self. Elliott wanted to find a way to cheer you up, and thought the best way might be a playful swim. It ends up far less playful, and more steamy by the end, though.
Word Count: 2,795 words
AN: Don't ask me if fucking in the ocean will mess up your ph balance folks, that's what fiction is for. Ily yearning Elliott <3 you're canon. This fic has fingering and sex in the water ofc.
Read on Ao3
Hm. The waves were uncharacteristically warm today. Salt crusted the sand under your toes, smooth and buttery after hours in the harsh sun. Fishing had been a flop yesterday, and sometimes the heat made the smell of your bait too strong to endure for long periods of time, so you ditched the rod this evening. You choose to spend your free time just sitting by the tide pools. Resting.
Today was a good day for it. Sometimes there was this strange guy that stood out along the edge of the beach, but he was gone now, hidden away from the clear, dusky sky. The waves were rhythmic and soft, creeping up the sandbar to trickle into little rocky formations. You ignored the crabs and corals, forcing yourself to be unproductive. Too often you got caught up in worries of money, of preparation. Your time at Joja really had messed you up, making you forget that there was value to be found in nothing, in idle time.
The sand shuffled behind you, and a tall figure settled into the sand next to you. You turned, facing Elliott. His long red hair was pulled back from his face, the small coils at the nape of his neck plastered down with sweat.
“Farmer,” he said with a little smile.
“What are you doing out here?”
“I live here,” he teased, knocking his shoulder into yours. He sensed there was something off about you today. Normally, you were the sunshine covering the town with your rays. Today, he could see the little rain cloud above your head. “Why so sullen?”
You shrugged, not wanting to get into it. Elliott was so rigorous, pushing himself to write each and every day. Book, exercise, drabble, one-shot… he always had something on the burner, and you were- well- burnt out.
“C’mon, you know you can talk to me. We’re friends,” he said, and then a bit more warily, “right?”
You finally cracked a smile. He could be a little insecure at times, but it was cute. “Yes Elliott, we are friends.”
He visibly relaxed, and you couldn’t help but laugh. He let the sound fade into silence, prompting you to explain. You sighed. “I feel… guilty sometimes. When I’m not working.” He nodded, not interrupting you despite the pause. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be a bummer. I guess after so many years of constant working, constant thinking even, I just don’t know how to let myself be.”
Elliott hummed in thought. “It’s a good thing to be dedicated to your work. It shows a sense of pride, responsibility.”
“No,” you rubbed your temples. Maybe he just wouldn’t understand. “I mean it’s all I think about. Constantly. Did I do enough today? Did I mess up my harvest patterns? Did I forget to pet one of the animals? Did I sleep enough? Do I deserve a break?”
His brow furrowed. “What do you mean, ‘do you deserve a break?’ Of course you do. You’re always out and about, working far too many hours.”
“It doesn’t feel that way.” You hugged your knees to your chest, curling up. “I feel like no matter what I do… it’s never enough.”
He stiffened at the sight. You were never like this. Despite the fact that you two had become fast friends, he wasn’t sure what to do. Elliott was the one always running to you for help, not the other way around. It was… strange to see your lack of confidence, the way your spunky facade was crumbling.
Elliott thought for a few minutes. He often struggled with work himself. No matter how much writing he did, he never believed he had earned the right to call himself a writer. It felt like too big an accomplishment, too important a title. It didn’t matter how fancy he dressed, how many quills and inkwells he squandered money on. It felt like a grown man’s game of dress-up. You had been there for the worst of those moments, your smiling face in the crowd of every reading at the museum, no matter how long. You had been there through every night he spent stubbornly drunk, wasting himself to sleep.
You didn’t need his stoicism right now. Gods, you were such a sweetheart. He couldn’t stand to see you like this, feeling so worthless. Not when your presence lit him up like the sunrise. He landed on an idea, something he had read lately in… a completely normal and not sexually explicit book. He was a proper gentleman! Proper gentlemen could indulge themselves though, right? It didn’t matter now. The idea was risky… but it had seemed to delight the protagonist.
“Do you… want to go for a swim?” It was tempting. You looked so perfect in the dimming light, your face highlighted with the purples of sundown.
“Not right now, Elliott…”
He bit his lip. Ah, that was not the response he had hoped for. It wasn’t like him to beg, to push, but there was more on the line for him than just your feelings. You naked, for one thing.
“Why not? It’s a fine evening,” he kept his voice deceptively calm as he slid off his shirt. He flexed casually, just in case you were watching.
You looked up at him, unamused. “Are you serious? I don’t even have my swimsuit with me…”
He supposed it was a little out of character for him. He didn’t like the feeling of salt in his hair, preferring to let the sun kiss his skin on a sunny blanket. Actually getting in the water was not something he did often. But sometimes, life called for exceptions. Something about turning lemons into lemonade, but you wouldn’t catch him daring to use such a cliche phrase aloud.
“Me neither,” he added, stripping off his pants. Was this too forward? How was it that he could read so salacious a romance and not act half as charming as the male leads? There was no time to question himself. You never questioned yourself where he was concerned.
“Elliott, you live right over there… I’m sure you could grab a swimsuit. I live all the way across town.”
“Solidarity then,” he said proudly, hands on his hips. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be a chicken, farmer.”
You laughed softly, standing up to meet him. “Well isn’t that ironic…”
He considered for a moment. “Technically it’s not an example of true irony as the ancients would have-”
“Oh, don’t start.” You groaned and threw your shirt to the ground, effectively shutting him up. Your sports bra was nearly soaked through with sweat, the night still warm despite the retreating sun.
Elliott’s throat tightened, and he distracted himself from the sight by stripping off his pants. He wandered over to the edge of the water, up to his ankles. It wasn’t cold… but his skin was delicate. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.
“Who’s the chicken now?” He turned to see the cocky smirk on your face as you finally raced past him, splashing out until the water lapped at your soft, sun-bronzed thighs.
There was just enough light in the sky to see the hint of red dusting his high cheekbones, and you smiled helplessly at the sight. He seemed to be avoiding your gaze, and your general direction, though you didn’t know why. You were in a shitty bra and farming panties. They were nothing special, that’s for sure.
Elliott waded out toward you, his teeth gritted as he waited to acclimatize. “I don’t understand why you’re so happy all of a sudden, it’s freezing…” he said dramatically.
“Is not.” You rolled your eyes. “When you spend all day every day sweating out a gallon of water in the sun, this feels like a dream.” He stayed tense, refusing to draw further into the sea. “Did you need some help over there?”
“With what?” he said quickly. Too quickly. Dear gods, had you noticed? He waded out a little deeper, carefully fixing his boxers and avoiding the sight of your ass. Suddenly, he did wish the water was truly freezing. Your panties hugged your cheeks perfectly, making his mouth go dry and his boxers get woefully tighter.
“With this,” you slid your arms beneath the water, sending a sharp wave his way.
“Agh!” He made a strangled sound as the salty droplets spattered his skin, drawing a giggle from you. The sound made him roll his eyes, but any ire faded as he admired the smile on your face. “Seems you’re feeling better now. All it took was tormenting me…” he grinned down at you, watching you duck under the calm waves.
“You’re being such a baby… this is basically bath water.”
“Perhaps for a child sick with fever, I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.” Despite his complaints, Elliott sank down to his chest, kneeling comfortably on the sandy floor.
“Oh, let me try!” You dropped down to your knees, your head immediately sinking beneath the surface of the water.
He chuckled, “I never thought my height would feel like such an accomplishment, but it feels good to beat you at something.”
You shook off the water like a dog, your hair gathering into soaked clumps. Elliott’s laughter faded, he was staring you down now. You picked at your hair, “What? Is there seaweed in it?”
“No,” he mumbled, drifting closer. He brushed a wet strand from your forehead.
“What is it, then?” You felt heat rise in your cheeks.
“Nothing, you just look…” he swallowed again, the apple of his throat bobbing, “beautiful.”
“Thank you,” you murmured, smiling at the compliment.
“No, I mean… very beautiful.” He cupped his hands gently around your face. They were big, warm. “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”
“Elliott-”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that… you’ve been upset today and I don’t want to take advantage-”
For the second time today, you shut him up. His lips were warm, slightly hesitant. He made a muffled sound of shock as you kissed him thoroughly, but after a few seconds, he was all over you.
His strong, muscled arms slid around the dip of your waist, hands bracing your back as he pulled you closer. “You’re so warm,” he mumbled, not bothering to pull away from your lips as he spoke. His tongue traced your bottom lip with skill. He was hungry for you, yes, but he wasn’t sloppy. He knew exactly how to kiss a woman.
He swallowed every little noise you made until you were both breathless, and he pulled away, panting. “We have to stop.”
“Why?” Disappointment laced your tone.
“Because I’ve been hard for the better part of an hour, and if you keep kissing me like that I’m gonna finish in my boxers.” He brushed back another lock of your wet hair, smiling ruefully, “I’d rather not have our first kiss go that way.”
Unable to help yourself, you brushed a hand down his front. Your fingertips slid down the little trail of hair, then down to the v-line of his hips, and then just a bit lower. Fuck, he wasn’t lying. He shivered as you cupped him. He relished the feeling of those strong hands, so gentle with him.
“Ah- please… don’t tease me,” he groaned, nearly whining. Restraint echoed in his words, and he let go of you just a little, afraid to pull you closer.
You squeezed his bulge just a bit and he grunted. “What if I want to.”
He cupped your hand beneath the water, his thumb stroking your skin as he meant to pull it away. He paused. “What?”
You slid your hand down past the elastic band of his boxers, finding the base of his cock and gripping it. “What if I want to tease you?”
He grit his teeth, his hands finding the small of your back again, inching lower to the soft skin of your ass. His breaths were ragged, fading into little grunts as you squeezed him at the base of his thick shaft. “Can I touch you, please?” He nuzzled his face into your neck, tongue darting out to lick a trailing droplet of sweat and sea water from your hot skin.
In answer, you began to stroke him, tugging his boxers down to rub your hand from base to tip. Your thumb found the sensitive band of skin right beneath the head, and you stroked over it, making him buck his hips in instinct.
“Mm, I’m gonna fuck you if you do that again- Please say I can touch you-” Elliott’s voice was desperate, but he would wait until you said yes. You put him out of his misery, nodding and sliding your thumb over his tip.
The growl that followed was nearly inhuman, and within seconds he had your bra unclasped and your panties tangled around your knees. He grunted, fussing with the wet clothes, “Stupid- ah- take them off.”
You laughed and shrugged, “Sorry, they’re farming panties.”
He spared you a look of amusement, and then he had them off of you. You watched him fling both of your wet undergarments toward the beach. They lobbed into the sand like bricks, landing with an unceremonious thud.
Those would be difficult to clean later, covered in sand- but oh. Any thoughts other than pleasure fled your mind as he slipped a finger inside you. You remembered where your hands were, and remembered that you should be stroking him, not just gripping him like a lifeline. You twisted your wrist, changing the angle and pressure, and he let out a strangled gasp. “No- let me get you ready first. I’m too close.”
It would have been fun to watch him spill all over himself, but you needed him to fuck you way too badly. Your hands wound around his neck instead, letting him cradle you in the water as he slipped another long finger into your pussy.
“Ah- Elliott.”
He bit his lip, curling his fingers tentatively as he searched for the right spot. You purred when he found it, and he hooked deeper, adding his thumb to your clit to rub in tandem with each stroke inside you. The water lapped at your shoulders, a soothing kiss against your steaming skin. A wave of pleasure crashed over you as he settled into the perfect rhythm, and soon you were crying out. “Ah- enough, enough… I need you inside me…”
He somehow managed to look cocky, even as his breathing labored into rough pants, “You wanna cum on my cock, huh?”
You nodded. Of course he would find a way to come out on top, even when he was seconds away from spilling. Tease. You yanked his boxers down, lifting up to wrap your legs around his waist. The water made it easy to climb him like a tree, and before he could even moan you had his cock notched at your entrance.
Elliott slid forward, indulging you in your pleasure. He agreed, apparently, that now was not the time to wait. His hands gripped your hips, leveraging himself as he began to thrust. “Shit,” he swore under his breath, already a wreck. “I’m not gonna last.”
“Me neither,” you purred in his ear, nipping and biting along his neck. You wanted to feel him lose, to let go and fill you.
He rumbled a low warning sound, his fingers pinching your clit. “Ah ah, I won’t have you cumming after me.”
He thrusted harder, rolling the little bud between your legs each time his tip found the furthest barrier of your walls. You held out, trying to think of your soggy farming panties instead of how good his dick felt stretching you out, but it was no use. Your mouth found his shoulder, biting down softly as you came, and he grunted at the pain and pleasure. He managed a few more sloppy pumps before following you over the edge, filling you with hot cum.
After a few sweet kisses, he was pulling out of you. The slow, curling waves brushed the cum from your thighs, leaving you mostly clean, but still soaked with salt. You cringed at the thought of it drying on your skin.
As if sensing your thoughts, Elliott grinned. “I think we’re both due for a long, hot shower.” He drew out the words ‘long’ and ‘hot’ until they dripped with innuendo.
You grinned. “I don’t know how you survive out here on the beach every day.”
“I only go in the water on special occasions,” He said, a pleased note in his deep voice. “It was worth it to see you smile, and watch you cum.” He winked and led you back to the cabin, squeezing your hand tight.
requesting dom/softdom elliott with breeding kink o//-//o am bedrotting rn and thus am just gonna send this to cope and cheer myself up AAAA
- 5am anon uwu
Rite of Spring
Soft Dom!Elliott x F!Reader
Summary: When the Flower Dance is interrupted by a sudden downpour, you and your husband Elliott are forced to return to the farmhouse. Luckily, Elliott knows of the Flower Dance's ancient history as a fertility ritual, and finds a more appropriate way to celebrate.
Word Count: 1,788
AN: Double upload todayyyy. I've been so productive and I loved doing this request! My beautiful, sweet, filthy husband. Hope this was everything you were looking for anon ;)
Tags: Established Relationship, Breeding Kink, Second Person POV, Romantic Smut, Light Dom/Sub, Soft Domination, Cock Warming
Read on Ao3
“Hello, fair maiden, might I have this dance?”
You giggled, taking Elliott’s outstretched hand with a little curtsey. “Don’t be silly, of course you can.”
“I’m not being silly, I’m being gallant,” he teased, pulling you out into the sunny clearing. Ribbons decorated the edges of the Cindersnap grove in bright spring colors, waving gently in the spring breeze.
Elliott twirled you once, then pulled you close, his hand sliding down the silky skirt of your white dress. He couldn’t be too frisky out in public, but teasing you was never something he could resist.
You looked around, wondering why no other couples had joined you in dancing yet. Harvey was staring up at the sky, edging toward the tree canopies, and Haley was fussing over the frizz in her carefully styled hair. “Is it going to rain?”
Elliott popped a finger into his mouth, then held it up in the air, checking for wind like the sailors of old. He hummed, shrugging. “Perhaps… I’m actually not sure how to test that.”
You laughed, watching him grin as he carefully wiped his hand off on a napkin. “Thank Yoba you’re not a sailor.”
“My dear, Yoba has nothing to do with it. I could never take to the seas and leave my beautiful maiden behind.” He nuzzled his strong nose into the curve of your neck. “If no one else will dance, then we will flatten the grass ourselves.” He lifted your arms to his shoulders, pulling you in by the waist to dance. “I believe this one is called the foxtrot.”
“Mmm, how classy,” you said, trying to stifle a grin.
Just as Elliott dipped you low to the earth, intending to make a show of kissing your face, the gates of heaven opened into a downpour.
Haley’s shriek echoed across the field as the citizens of Pelican town flocked to low overhangs of oak trees, or the slim awnings of Pierre’s booth.
“Well then,” Elliott mused, water running down the long red locks of his hair. “How unfortunate.”
He stripped off the blue jacket from his shoulders, but instead of covering himself, he held it over you. You slapped his arm in a chiding motion, knowing how much he hated getting wet. “Elliott, your hair!”
He merely grinned, water streaming down his chiseled face and through his thin button down. “Sacrifices must be made for a lady’s benefit.” His shirt, the same powdery shade as his jacket, was soaked through. The light colored fabric turned slightly see-through as the rain funneled down into the clearing, showing off his abs and broad shoulders. “Although, it seems that lady is breaking the rules of propriety with her wanton stares,” he teased, a wicked smirk on his face.
“Oh, shut up.”
Elliott chuckled as he ushered you through the woodland and back to your farmhouse. The walls were warm and dry, much better than his perpetually damp and salty cabin. He rubbed your arms with care as you lit the fireplace with ease.
“It’s a shame the Flower Dance was ruined.” You set a kettle on the stove, heating up water to make tea for your chilly husband.
“Yes,” Elliott called back, moving to the bedroom to dry off. “A shame. But not entirely.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well the Flower Dance wasn’t always just a dance.”
“No?” Elliott was full of little tidbits of history. You enjoyed listening to him. It passed the time as the water crawled to a boil. You set out two matching tea cups, a gift from him, and plunked in the bags of pomegranate green.
“No,” Elliott answered, his voice suddenly much closer.
You set the kettle down as his big arms wrapped around your middle, chin perching on your shoulder from behind. A tingling thrill raced through you as you realized he was naked.
“The Flower Dance started as a fertility ritual hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Spring is the season for growth.” His warm, rough hand drifted down to cup your belly.
“Elliott-”
“Hmm?” he murmured, pressing kisses along your shoulders. His hips rocked forward, and you could feel him getting hard against the skirts of your dress. “You’re soaked through, love, we better get you out of that.”
Without another word from you he peeled the dress from your dewy skin, hanging it over a chair to dry. You protested him taking off your underclothes, but alas, they were wet too.
“The tea will get cold,” you said, crossing your arms to try and cover your bare breasts.
“I don’t care about the tea.” He took your hands in his own, uncrossing your arms to gaze upon your figure. “It’s just me here, darling, you don’t have to be shy.”
As soon as you relaxed, he grinned, tugging you to the bedroom. “Not all is lost today, we can partake in the Flower Dance in the way it was always meant to be enjoyed…” His words sent heat through you, where it gathered in your core to smolder. His hands found their way to your soft thighs, hooking beneath your ass to lift you.
Obediently, you hooked your legs around his trim waist, and he groaned. “That’s my good girl. You always act so aloof until I get you naked and blushy.”
“Elliott-” you whined, face turning redder.
“See,” he kissed your lips, one thumb brushing against the warm skin of your cheek. “I think you like this idea…”
“What idea, exactly?”
“The one where I bend you over this bed and fill you with my seed until it drips down your legs.”
Your breath caught, leaving you wordless. Embarrassed, you hid your face in his neck.
“Aww, my shy little sweetheart,” he cupped the back of your head to stroke your damp hair. “Yes, you really do like that, huh?”
“Mmm,” you mumbled into his neck, refusing to confirm or deny.
“I’ll just have to fuck that little ‘yes, please’ out of you then.” Elliott draped you over the bed, one hand between your shoulder blades to keep you face down in the soft, warm comforters. His other hand braced your hip, tugging your ass back so he could nestle his cock between your cheeks.
“You want me to leave my load inside you, tonight, hmm?”
“Maybe...” The pillows muffled your voice, and he laughed.
He smothered you with his hot, slightly damp body, leaning down to kiss down the line of your spine. Your ass arched up of its own free will, curling up like a cat’s to brush against his heavy balls.
He purred against your spine, kissing his way back up to murmur in your ear. “I much prefer keeping you in bed like this… I’ll have to send my thanks to Yoba for canceling the festival.” You shivered at his words, though Elliott mistook it for a chill. “Cold, my love? We can warm up by the fire first if you need-”
“No,” you moaned pitifully, rocking back against his hips. “I need you.”
He growled in response, and though you couldn’t see the look on his face, you could hear how hungry he was for you.
His cock, poking insistently at your ass, realigned between your legs. Elliott held himself tight, teasingly stroking the head through your folds as he felt you growing wetter. “That’s it, darling. Let me in. I’m going to fill you so deep tonight.”
“Fuck,” you mumbled.
Elliott’s hands threaded into the hair at your scalp, taking a firm hold as he lifted your face from the bed sheets. “You’ll have to learn to watch your language for when I make you a little mommy. Can’t have our babies growing up with foul mouths like yours.”
You moaned shamelessly as he dropped your head back into the blankets and thrust into your drippy cunt. He gave you no time to prepare, simply sheathing himself into your tight passage with no remorse.
You wriggled uncomfortably at the stretch, but he held you down tighter. “Shhh, be still.”
Warmth filled your belly as he set a rough pace. His hips were punishing, drilling you into the mattress with a chorus of grunts and growls.
“You’re gonna look so fucking pretty- ngh- once you’re all full of me.” His cock forced its way deeper inside you, tip kissing the very entrance of your womb. “Not gonna let a single drop fall out of this pussy,” he groaned.
His hands slid down your thighs, hooking under your legs to maneuver you like a little doll. He set you on your knees, legs crooked on either side of you so that his tall frame could reach deeper into you.
His thick cock was stirring up your guts, molding you to his shape. “When I’m done with you, you’ll never fit another cock into this sweet cunt.” His fingers slid down between your spread thighs, thumb tracing your clit as he kept his movements steady against your sweet spot.
You knew you would be bruised tomorrow, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The pleasurable ache of his movements had you right on the edge.
He felt it. Felt the trembling of your walls as your cunt gripped his cock tighter, sucking him in. “Oh you’re gonna cum, aren’t you baby? Yes, cum for me.”
You tried to hold back, one last little show of defiance if only to make yourself feel a little less like a slut. But you couldn’t. Elliott’s thumb swirled against your clit, gentle and coaxing, knowing exactly how to play the strings of your body.
You grabbed a pillow, planting your face into it as you shattered with a cry. He leaned over you, a hand leaving your hips to grip your neck in a tight hold. He dragged your face back up from the bed. “Don’t you dare.” He squeezed, lightly cutting off your air. He would never put you in harm's way, no, he did it purely to watch as your eyes rolled back in fuzzy bliss. “That’s it… let me hear you.”
You moaned helplessly as he fucked you through your orgasm, his own following soon after. “Fuck, baby… oh you’re so tight. Gonna milk me dry?”
Hot seed flooded into you, gushing into every corner of your silky passage. His hips moved, a few sloppy, last thrusts, and then he was following you down onto the bed.
Without pulling out, he slid his arms around you to curl around your form in a spoon. You whimpered softly at the feeling of him plugged up inside you, and his softening cock twitched in response.
“I told you I wouldn’t let anything drip out. You’re stuck with me,” he cooed against your throat, holding you tightly. “Now rest.”
Let Me Have You
SoftDom!Elliott x Fem!Reader
Summary: After spending the night at Elliott’s cabin, you wake up thinking you should flee. The farm was demanding, as was this budding relationship with Elliott that you didn't quite understand, especially with Leah around. But Elliott knows just how to address your worries ;)
Word Count: 2,478
Notes: Elliott’s summer seasonal outfit makes me feral. The summary of the plot is very generous, this is smuttttttt. slightly bratty reader, also slightly insecure. A lot of praise and the use of good girl obviously, Elliott is a munch and a tease 100% i would know because he's my husband.
Read this fic on Ao3
It hadn’t taken long for you to learn how difficult the summer months were. The crops this season were delicious and growing well, yes, but it felt like you could never water quite enough. And then there were the animals. They were used to you coming in bright and early, 6 AM every day. It was 8 AM now. They would be nervous…
You really shouldn’t stay. It was still concerning you that you had agreed to spend the night in the first place, but something about him- maybe the long, red ponytail you loved so much, or the way his blue button down showed off his toned arms- there was no way you’d have passed the chance. Not realistically. But what about Leah, what would she think? Would she notice the way her friend was starting to disappear with the new farmer? The farm- this would throw off your whole schedule.
Elliott sleepily draped an arm across your middle, sighing softly into the heat of your neck. “I can tell you’re thinking about work right now,” he murmured, a hint of fond exasperation in his tone.
“Can you blame me? It’s been a busy season.”
“Your Grandpa would be proud to see it, that old farm. I know he would be. You worry far too much.”
Butterflies flared to life in your chest, darting amongst the ribs. You shimmied further into his arms until he stretched, offering his chest. He smelled good, like something that would be called Charcoal, or Ocean, or some other vague, manly, conceptual title. Whatever it was, that soft, fresh smell pleased something in you. There was nothing else like a well-groomed man that used pomegranate shampoo. You knew it was totally within his character to have gotten up before you to dust himself with cologne in preparation of the morning. “Come closer,” he said.
“I was planning on it,” he smiled at the giggle in your voice, then wrinkled his nose at the eyeroll that followed.
“I’m sensing a bit of an attitude this morning…” he tipped your face up, brushing his nose against yours in a show of affection. “Do I have to do something about that?”
“Maybe…” your voice came out a little shy. Eye contact was difficult when he looked like that. His green eyes were so warm and lovely that it was nerve wracking just to hold their gaze.
“Don’t go quiet on me now.” He smiled broadly, “You know I’ll make you use your words.”
“Elliott…”
“That’s my good girl, keep that up and you’ll get exactly what I know you want.”
He laughed softly at the startled blush on your cheeks. It was a terrible curse, the way your blood rushed straight to your face the moment you felt embarrassment, shame, or unfortunately, arousal. His answering smirk was maddening.
“I wouldn’t think you’d have a blush left in you after what we did last night.” He was over you, now, gently shifting you onto the soft, sea salt-scented pillows with such a smooth grace it made your heart ache and your stomach tighten. “Don’t worry, darling girl, it looks precious on you…”
He brushed a soft kiss to your lips, a little promise of the tenderness he held for you, even when he was too hungry to be soft. His lips trailed down your neck, relishing in the soft sheen of sweat there. He’d never admit it, but seeing you so delightfully disheveled, especially after a day in the fields, made his cock twitch in excitement. “You taste good…” his tongue darted out as he left soft, open-mouthed kisses against the crook of your shoulder. His lips brushed over you once, then twice, a third time- before he found that perfect spot. You could feel the smirk pulling at his lips as you purred softly. He was nothing if not attentive.
“Elliott…” you practically whimpered this time.
He tutted softly, “Have you already forgotten all but my name? I thought my little brat would hold out for longer, but I can’t say I’m that upset.” His eyes glinted with a mischief that had your face burning brighter.
You started to sit up, mumbling some half excuse, “Ah- I have to go back, I forgot I left the coop-”
“Ah ah ah,” his hands tightened on your hips, long fingers slotting into the dips you hated so much, but he seemed to love. He moved smoothly between your thighs, pushing them apart with firm strength. “You can leave when I’m done with you.”
“Please-”
“That’s the spirit.”
Your eyes narrowed. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He chuckled at the grumpy huff that came after.
“I do, but I also know that you need to rest,” he gripped the hem of his boxers, the pair you had insisted on wearing despite how he had seen all of you already. He didn’t understand that wish for propriety, but he also respected your wants above anything else. Also, you looked too cute in his clothes. “Let me have you.”
He wouldn’t be getting a response to that. Only another little huff as you turned your face away, staring at the creaky old walls instead, at the foaming ocean beyond his windows, at that painting of Leah’s that still hung on his wall… As if following your gaze, he drew the soft green flannel boxers down your thighs, pressing kisses to your skin as his hands traced their way back up. “Look at me.”
You couldn’t. He might see too much, see that you secretly hated and despised- okay maybe that was too strong. You generally disliked Leah. And her pretty art. And the way she was so thoughtful, enough to have created a painting just for him and then give it to him and probably look at him with that-
He nipped at the sensitive skin between your thighs. His eyebrows were raised, the expression he wore now slightly stern. “I said look at me.”
You finally dragged your gaze back to his. A small smile passed over his handsome mouth as he pressed a gentle kiss just above your soft mound. A reward. “Good girl, now open your thighs.”
His hands pressed gentle pressure to your soft curves, coaxing your thighs further apart before he rewarded you with a few more kisses. “I don’t want you thinking about anything- anyone- else right now,” he said, short and demanding. The thought of your attention straying from his touch only made him more determined to wreck you.
His hands slid the rest of the way up your thighs, his thumbs gently spreading your folds as his warm tongue slid up your slit, just shy of your clit. “Mmm- and here I thought I’d have to put in more work on you today,” he growled lowly, pulling your thighs up and over his broad shoulders, “so wet already.”
Something in his gaze looked as if he was on the edge of restraint, as if this strange relationship between you two had gone on for long enough. He didn’t want to dance around his desires anymore. He just wanted to fuck you. Again, and again.
You gasped as a long, skilled finger slid inside you, his lips capturing your clit with a gentle suck as he searched for the spot that made you shake. He barely gave you time to adjust before he pushed another finger inside. He hissed as your sweet gasps echoed through the cabin, drowning out the calming sounds of the sea. He’d sooner drown in the depths of your body than any sparkling expanse of water.
“Is that how you like it?” His fingers curled in a playful motion, another smile gracing his face at the moan he drew from your lips. “Tell me darling.” You nodded furiously. “Tell me with words,” he corrected, pulling away from that spot just long enough to see the desperation in your eyes at the thought of denial.
“Please,” you finally managed to say, your voice warbling with pleasure as his fingers returned to that soft spot inside you.
“See, it sounds so much better when you’re attempting to beg.”
Your brows lifted in surprise at his choice of words. Attempting? His fingers gently massaged your sweet spot with the barest pressure. “Oh,” he crooned, “you didn’t think I’d accept that, did you? No, my darling, I’ve heard you beg far sweeter for much less. Ask me again.”
The look on his face was devilish. He had never been so forward with you. “Please.” His fingers slowly slipped away from where they had been circling your tender cervix. “No! Please- Ah, please Elliott.”
“Better,” he cooed, this time cupping your clit with his lips. His fingers once again hilted inside you, curling and pumping in the perfect rhythm to make pressure build in your abdomen.
“Ah fuck-”
His brows lifted again, and your cheeks heated. You knew you were in trouble for that one. He hummed, sucking on your clit one last time, before pulling away with the softest kiss. “Dirty- that sailor’s mouth doesn’t suit a pretty girl like you.” He moved back to kneel between your thighs, his hands bracketing your face as he leaned down to kiss you. “Lucky you, that I adore your sweet kisses too much to punish you in that way,” he purred, relishing the shiver he evoked.
“Shall I leave you there? Don’t you need to return to your precious livestock?” He teased.
“I-”
“No, I didn’t think so.” He mocked, though there was a pleased lilt in his deep voice. He spoke between more passionate kisses to your mouth. “I’m afraid you’ll have to bargain for more.”
“What do you mean?” You whispered against his lips.
He grinned, not the same as that cocky smirk he wore when he knew he had touched you just right, but the grin of a man who thought he had just come up with the greatest idea. “How about this… I’ll let you finish- anyway you like- if you… meet me at the Stardrop tomorrow?” Your heart melted. He had meant that to be a demand- but asked it like a question. Even when he was being playful, he wanted your answer to be freely given. Even if he likely knew you’d give no answer aside from yes.
But wait- “Tomorrow?” He nodded. “Don’t you and Leah usually- I thought you were busy on Fridays.”
The anxious look that had been building on his face at your hesitation disappeared. “Oh darling, I’m sure Leah will understand if I have other plans for tomorrow.” Your face stayed wary, and he smiled, pressing his forehead to yours. “I want to spend time with you. Leah and I are friends, nothing more. Not like how I want to be with you.”
Your heart stuttered. You whispered his name for a third time that night, this one sounding more tender than the last. “Elliott…”
His cock throbbed at the beautiful sound. The way your lips curled around his name ignited a fire in his belly- and lower. You finally noticed the desperate hardness beneath his own boxers, reminding you of what he was offering for his end of the bargain.
“Yes- yes-”
“Yes, you’ll go with me?”
“Yes to everything,” you barely got the words out before pulling him back down to you, your lips locking with his as you slid your hands across his shoulders and into his long, soft red hair. He moaned, hands leaving your body for only a moment as he tugged his boxers down.
Instantly he was touching you again, cradling you with one arm while the other gripped his cock, stroking desperately as he guided the leaking tip to your entrance. You were moaning before he even pushed inside, drawing a once-again cocky chuckle from his chest. “So needy…”
He pushed the tip inside you, the head stretching you open as he held back from just pounding into you the way he wanted. Not that you’d mind, but he was determined to be a gentleman.
You growled, locking your legs around his hips and forcing him deeper. That gentlemanly act did not last. He grunted with pleasure and sank in all the way. He had enough restraint to offer you a moment to adjust, and then he was thrusting. His hips slapped against yours lewdly, but his arms tugged you into his middle with a fierce need. He could feel every place on his skin that didn’t touch yours, and he wouldn’t settle for you thinking that any place on your own body felt unloved. His hands roamed your back, your thighs, your tits, with eagerness, all while he slammed into places deeper and deeper than he had any right to find.
“You feel so good… Ah- I’m-” His jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth, determined to have you finish before he spilled inside you. He slowed the pace down, changing the speed and the depth until your eyes fluttered shut in bliss.
“Right there,” you panted. He nodded, his fingers moving to gently thumb your clit. He rolled the tiny bud with a soft pressure that had you biting your lip and digging your nails into his back. “Ah-”
“Shhh,” he hushed, his lips returning to that spot at the base of your neck, the gentle slope of your shoulder that had him looking to you as his muse. “That’s it- my good girl, you sound so sweet when you’re about to cum.”
He gave your clit a gentle pinch just as his cock pushed against your cervix, and before you could even blush at his words, you were falling apart. He shuddered in pure pleasure at the way your warm pussy tightened, pulling him deeper inside. The way your muscles fluttered and clenched was heavenly, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. “Oh fuck-”
You had never known him to swear, but he grunted these desperate words into your neck, then again up against your ear. “Fuck.”
He pumped himself into you a few more times before gently pulling back. “You have to let go of me, darling,” he teased, gripping his dick at the base to finally free himself from your tight depths.
He took a moment to admire the flood of cum that dripped as he withdrew, and then he was up against you, pulling you into his arms. He pressed your head to his chest, long fingers raking through your hair and lightly scratching your scalp.
You must have made some sort of pleased noise. He chuckled and pressed you in tighter. “I do love doing that with you, but I hope you know I’m interested in far more than your perfect body.”
“I know,” you whispered. He still wasn’t convinced you did, but he would work on that.
“Rest now. The farm can wait another day.”
Lessons in the Margins
DaddyDom!Elliott x Fem!Reader
Summary: You stumble upon Elliott’s drafts of Camellia Station, only to find out that the love interest, Clara, is modeled after you. Unfortunately, you spoiled the surprise, and snooping gets punished ;)
Word Count: 3,416 words
Content: I wanted to write a DDLG style fic w elliott bc he is absolutely the most daddy bachelor. This is very smutty but certainly not lacking in romance, he’s still a complete romantic gentleman. I envision Elliott as being stern, but also very loving, never wanting to push too hard. Use of nicknames/honorifics like daddy, kitten, baby, and darling. Also some light spanking. Yes, this is self indulgent, but that's okay!! If the Daddy kink isn’t your thing please don’t read!!
Read on Ao3
Elliott’s cabin creaked in the sweltering summer silence. You were certain that it should have been designed with a harder wood in mind, being exposed to so much moisture, but raw materials were expensive to import into such a little place like Pelican Town.
Elliott hadn’t returned home yet, but he had taken to leaving his cabin open for you ever since you started dating. He wanted you to see his cabin as a welcome place to rest, even if he wasn’t there. He had also taken to keeping snacks around, small sweet things or energy bars, anything he saw you enjoying. It was sweet, a sentiment that had never before been offered to you by any other lovers. Lovers- ha- the word sounded so old fashioned. You really were picking up on Elliott’s habits of speech.
His plants were doing well. The green leaves felt firmer, now, ever since you had taken to watering it yourself. Too many times he had used sea water. You were surprised he hadn’t killed them all yet. Beside the little rose, the rest of his desk was covered in paper. Scraps lifted at the corners as a warm, salty breeze blew in through the windows, and you carefully grabbed for his glass paper weight, securing the looseleaf. His handwriting was beautiful, a strong, inky cursive with loops and splotches that spoke of dedication. It was as if he had coated the quill with too much ink, trying to lengthen the amount of script between dips.
You hummed to yourself as you looked closer. Camellia Station, the draft was titled. Sometimes he ran ideas past you for the story, or asked you for little details. What is your favorite flower? I need it for a scene in an old woman’s house, or, if someone said happy birthday to you, but it was the wrong day, how would you react? You always indulged his questions, even if they felt a little silly without context. Sometimes, you wondered if he asked you questions under the guise of his story on purpose. Once, the question had been, “what is your favorite stone- no not the kind for building- I mean the pretty kind…” A few days later he was pressing kisses to your shoulders, slipping a delicate chain around your neck. He had somehow gotten the metal right without even asking. You didn’t know he had paid attention to those things.
The page on top of the messy stack was careful, less hasty looking than the others, and you couldn’t help but peek. You knew Elliott wouldn’t be pleased, the story was meant to be mostly a surprise after all. You went to pull away, to busy yourself elsewhere, but the words caught you,
“-blooms were soft and perfect. It seemed to him that Clara had a gift. Things that needed fixing found themselves better off than before once under her hands. Not only did the flora curl towards her light, the station’s machinery purred instead of clicking impatiently. It made the small town all the better, working with a kind of synergy it would lose without her.”
You couldn’t stop yourself from reading more, little drabbles about Clara’s eyes, which sparkled like your own, or her hair, sun-lightened the way yours had become with so many hours in the fields. You were Clara. Something giddy bubbled in your stomach, and you tamped it down. Oh god, he would know. A hand to your now hot cheek confirmed your fears.
You jinxed it. Elliott’s rhythmic footsteps echoed as he slid into the cabin. His handsome face broke into a warm smile as he saw you, and he put aside his leather satchel to draw you into a hug. “Hello, my darling.”
You pressed closer to him, hiding your face in his broad, sun-warmed chest. He chuckled at the way your little hello muffled into his shirt.
“Are you comfortable like that?” He cooed, petting your hair gently. “I would like to look at you, if you’d allow me the pleasure.”
You huffed another little noise and Elliott slid his long fingers into the hair at the base of your neck, tugging your face back to look up at him. “There’s my sweet girl. Why so shy today?” He traced his fingers over your red cheeks. “Have you been using sunblock? You know how I feel about you risking your pretty face to the elements…”
Your cheeks somehow reddened further in the silence and he grinned. “Oh, what did you do, you mischievous thing? I can see the guilt all over your face.” He looked around the room, his eyes travelling from his decor, to his bed, then to his plants, where they then settled upon his papers. They were held down by the paperweight, and he was certain he hadn’t left it that way.
You looked up at him, watching his eyes widen with realization. “Are you mad, Daddy?” You said quietly, a spark of worry kindling in your chest the longer he paused. He himself seemed flustered, like he had his own worry blooming at the thought that you had been spoiled. However, Elliott’s face softened, melting into an exasperated fondness at the honorific. It might have been a tad manipulative to play the Daddy card right now, and by the way his eyes glinted and crinkled into a smile, you knew he had caught on to your little game. He could never be mad at you, though.
“Did you go poking your little nose into Daddy’s things, baby?”
“Maybe,” your voice came out in a mumble, and he tipped your chin up to face him.
“And what did my baby see, hmm?”
“You made Clara just like me?” you asked hesitantly. It felt a little strange, maybe conceited, to assume that she was you. He was under no obligation to hold you as his muse.
He only ruffled your hair and pulled you in tighter, stooping his shoulders to rest his chin atop your hair. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” he rumbled.
“I couldn’t help myself.”
“I know, baby, and I love my curious little kitten. I hope you’ll still want to read it, even if the surprise is spoiled…” Bashfulness crept through his tone, as if he were worried you’d lose interest in him now that you knew.
Your gaze instantly shot to his, craning your neck to look at him properly. “Of course I’ll still read it. Elliott, I love reading what you write, surprise or not. You’re so talented. I’ll always be your biggest supporter.” The charming lilt that colored your voice when you played the part of his little girl dissipated for a moment. He searched your eyes for certainty, wanting to make sure you weren’t just coddling him.
Elliott pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. He wanted to soothe the nervous look that warped your delicate features, but at the same time…
A glint of mischief lit up his pretty green irises. You gasped as his big, soft hands slid down to your thighs, gripping you just below the rear. He hoisted you up, clicking his tongue to prompt you into wrapping your legs around his waist as he sat on the edge of the bed. “You know, darling… little kittens who go where they don’t belong get punished.”
He chuckled at the way your eyes widened. The pleased look on his face assured you that he wasn’t truly mad. This was just an opportunity for him to tease you, to get back at you for being nosy.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. It won’t happen again.” You shifted more comfortably into his lap, relishing the way his hands slid up your soft rear to bracket your waist.
He squeezed your hips gently, growling a little at the way your softness felt against his lap as he pulled you flush against him. “And how do I know for sure that my sweet baby has learned her lesson?”
“Because I promise I did?” you answered with a sheepish smile that had I’m in trouble written all over it.
Elliott laughed, his head tipping back a bit to expose the elegant line of his throat, the Adam's apple that you wanted lick and bite until he was too hard to take you slowly. “Do you know how cute you are, darling? It’s so hard to punish you when you give me that face.” His eyes dilated with love and affection as he rubbed circles into your hips with his thumbs. He found the crease where your hips bones met your plush thighs, and he grazed the soft skin teasingly.
A purr slipped free as you pushed your face into his neck. Soft, slow kisses were the fastest way to have him grunting in your ear and rutting you like a beast.
“Ah ah ah,” he tutted softly, even as he tilted his head to give you more room to nibble. “Naughty thing, you know I'm not going to give you what you want until you’ve earned it.”
“Well how else am I supposed to earn it?” Sass warped your tone, and he cocked a brow.
“You are certainly not in the position to be speaking to me that way,” Elliott said sternly. “Should I put you over my knee today?”
“No,” you whined softly, sticking out a pouty lip.
He kissed it sweetly, ignoring the pout on your face. He went back in for another kiss when you didn’t put it away, and he pulled your lip between his teeth. “Manners, darling. Give Daddy a proper kiss.” His hands tugged you closer, not stopping until your clothed pussy settled against his now straining bulge. “If you don’t wanna be spanked, I suggest you start finding a way to make up for your nosiness.”
You bit your lip, a blush rising to your cheeks. He was terribly good at being a Dom. Somehow, to an illegal degree, he alway knew exactly what to do to make you blushing and embarrassed. A cocky looking grin tugged at his handsome mouth as he felt your hips swivel, rocking back and forth in a shy rhythm.
“Is that all you’ve got for me, baby? I know my naughty girl can do better than that.”
You huffed a whiny breath, bracing your hands on his knees, just behind your hips, so you could roll your hips into him with a little more force. He groaned at the sight, his hands gliding up your sensitive sides to cup your tits. He stared at them, his thumbs rubbing the soft peaks until he felt your nipples turn stiff. His gaze dragged its way up from your tits to take in your face- flushed and needy. “Daddy, stop teasing…”
“I’m not teasing you baby girl,” he said matter-of-factly. “If you want more, then take it.” He knew your preference was to be lead, to be manhandled and held as he fucked you the way he wanted, the way he knew you needed. But this was a punishment, this was him just loving the way you squirmed in his arms when he pushed you out of your comfort zones.
He purred as your hands slid to the button on his pants. He looked too good sitting there- perfectly ironed black slacks, half unbuttoned white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms- your mouth watered. The zipper slid easily, exposing the blue of his boxers. The fabric had already turned navy with his pre-cum. You could see the way his cock twitched under your heavy gaze, and he held his breath as you ever-so-gently pulled him out of his pants.
“You’re such a sweet girl… even when you don’t get what you want.” He grunted as you gripped him and squeezed. “You can squeeze harder than that baby, I’m not going to break.”
His eyes glittered with amusement as you gripped him tighter, stroking. He cupped your hand with his own larger one, showing you how he liked it. “Mmmm yes, just like that…ngh,” he trailed off, his lips parting on a moan as you circled the tip with your thumb.
He tugged at the lower hem of your dress, a cream colored floral that he had complimented just once. You wore it all the time now, and he praised you endlessly for it. “I love it when you get all dolled up just for me, makes me wanna carry you around like a little princess to show you off.”
“I need you-” you murmured, turning slightly desperate. Okay, maybe a lot desperate. Elliott radiated confidence, control, and as much as it irked your defiant side, it made your tummy tingle to submit to him. It felt almost safe, to know that he was always one step ahead, always reading your body and your mind before you yourself knew what you needed.
“I already told you that you could have it, baby,” he smirked, waiting for your predictable protest.
“But-”
“Does baby need her Daddy to tell her what to do?”
He laughed at the pouty nod you gave as an answer.
“What do you say?”
“Please, Daddy.”
“And?” he prompted further. “What do little kittens say when they make a mistake?”
“I’m very sorry…”
“You’re so full of shit,” he murmured in your ear, nipping at it with affection. “Go on then, ride me.”
Your pussy tingled as he patted your thigh expectantly, leaning back to watch as you carefully pulled the center swath of your cotton panties to the side. He smirked as you struggled to hold the fabric and guide his hard cock to your entrance. A laugh rumbled in his chest, but he finally decided to help you. “How about we just take those pesky things off, hmm?”
You nodded, your face once again flushed with embarrassment as he lifted you off of his lap and carefully tugged your panties down your legs, marveling at the little bows that decorated the elastic. “I see you wore the cute ones today… you knew what was coming when I got home, didn’t you?”
He peeled the dress off of you last, neatly folding it and setting it aside on his bed, not that you would be needing it anytime soon. He smirked as he thought of you showing up to his house in it and being seen by the town in that same dress tomorrow. They would know you spent the night in that cabin by the beach, and that drove him wild. You were his.
“Aren’t you gonna take your clothes off too?” The question came out a bit uncertain. Sometimes you felt just a bit insecure with only your own body on display.
He held his dick in place, coaxing you back into his lap. “Oh no, baby. You’re just giving Daddy a little ride, aren’t you? That’s all you’re good for after misbehaving like that.”
Elliott smirked at the way the blush spread from your cheeks and down to your collarbones, down to your breasts as he snapped free the clasps on your bra and set it aside with care. Oh, that made you angry. Defiance reared its head as you crossed your arms, standing before him now.
“I’m not riding you now,” you grumbled.
“Oh, you’re not?” His brows lifted. He was very interested in seeing where this would go.
“No, I'm not.” You had meant for it to sound confident and secure, but it came out petulant and grumpy.
“You think you have a choice?” Elliott growled and hoisted you up into his lap again, delivering a sharp smack to your left cheek. You gasped, hands flying to his shoulders as he soothed the sore spot on your rear with a gentle touch, only to spank you again on the other side. His hand slid back to his cock, stroking a few times before notching the tip at your entrance. “Do I have to ask you again?”
With a bit of prideful reluctance, you huffed, but finally sank down. His cock stretched you slowly as he let you set the pace. Every inch felt somehow bigger than you remembered it being since he last had his way with you. The angle, the work of gravity, it had his cock nestling into places you didn’t know existed.
Warm, soft lips pressed against yours, and you slipped out of the haze his thick cock had put you in. “I thought I lost you for a moment there.” He rubbed his nose against yours affectionately. “Does my sweet girl think she can move or will I have to do everything myself?” he teased with self-satisfaction.
A sudden determination to please him welled up in your chest, and your hands tightened on his shoulders as you lifted your hips and sharply slammed them back down. He grunted, his eyes closing for a moment, and you repeated the motion. His hands found your waist despite his threat, and he helped guide your movements, making sure you didn’t get too tuckered out. “Fuck… little tease. I love you so much,” he whispered against your lips. His voice quickly dissolved into mindless panting, and after a few strokes he was lifting you up and down himself. His strong, toned arms held you fast, impaling you on his cock as it throbbed within you.
Suddenly, you were on your belly, a pillow being shoved beneath your waist as he propped you up comfortably. He jostled your hips into place, smacking your ass again as a warning to hold that spot for him. “Keep still.”
You felt his thumb gently circle your clit, and then he couldn’t wait any longer. He slid into your tight cunt, stretching you out yet again as he hit a new angle that made you melt.
“Ohhh my god, Daddy… yes.”
He groaned and slid straight home, his tip hitting your cervix as he finally let go and pounded into you. You felt his heavy balls thump against your swollen clit, teasing the nerves, and you slid a hand down to play with it.
“Good girl… that’s a good girl,” he praised in between harsh pants. “I’m gonna fill this pussy, baby.” He growled, only pausing his thrusts for a moment to lean down and whisper, “I’m not hurting you, am I?”
You let out a pathetic moan in response, shaking your head where it rested on the plush pillows he had swaddled you in. With that permission, he was slamming into you twice as hard. His pounding had the bed creaking, the salt warped wood struggling to hold against his violent movements. His pants became less pronounced, his rhythm faltering into sloppy thrusts that had your toes curling each time he pushed too deep. A few more rough strokes, and you were falling off the edge with him, vision going dark from the pleasure. You knew your cervix would be bruised, that you’d have to stay the night for sure. Who were you kidding, you would have stayed regardless.
Warm, thick cum seeped into your pussy until you were full and satisfied. Elliott draped himself over you, careful not to crush you with the full force of his weight. You felt his lips graze our shoulder, leaving slow, lingering kisses across your shoulders. He licked a stripe of sweat off of your skin, humming to himself. “Did you like that, baby?”
“Mhmmm.” it was all you could do, make that pleased noise as a wave of sleepy bliss washed over you.
“You mean so much more to me than just a nightly tryst, okay darling? I only say those things because I know they drive you wild.” he gripped your jaw, tilting your face back so he could reach your forehead from where he lay, still blanketing your back. When you mumbled your acknowledgement, he nodded to himself. He knew that you liked it, and he was confident you knew it was all part of the act, but he promised to himself to spend tomorrow spoiling you outside of your dynamic.
You stayed in bed like that for a while, with him letting himself soften inside your warmth before finally pulling out. He loved the feeling of you gripping him, holding onto him and his cum like you didn’t want to ever let go. Tonight, though, he knew you needed to sleep.
He nested you in his arms, holding you as close as he could get you, even as sleep pulled your mind into a long, much needed dream.
Lady of the Valley
Regency!Elliott x Farmer's Daughter!FMC
Summary: Annette Fallow, a poor farmer’s daughter, disguises herself as the noble Antoinette Duvalle in order to attend a debutante gala. Her aim? To secure a deal with Lord Elliott Granger, the arrogant owner of the Granger Printing Press. Elliott sees through her noble ruse quickly as she stumbles through her introduction- but he offers to sponsor her writing. However, she must fulfill her end of the bargain. Nettie is roped into etiquette lessons, a fake identity, and a highly improper personal arrangement. Is this relationship with an egotistical Lord worth it to make her way in the world?
Word Count: 2,476
AN: New fic alert! Regency SDV came to me in a fever dream. This chapter is very tame, but the series will eventually include smut.
Read on Ao3
“Lord Granger, allow me to introduce my daughter Abigail.”
Elliott smiled, taking the pale lilac hand of the little wench in front of him. He brushed a kiss to the knuckles of her silk gloves, giving her- and her mother- his most charming smile. “Miss Marchand, lovely to make your acquaintance.”
“I can play the flute, as well as read and write cursive to an excellent degree,” the girl said begrudgingly.
“That’s lovely,” Elliott bowed his head a bit in acknowledgement. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Lady Caroline Marchand had money, but her daughter was known to be a wildcard. Rebelliousness wasn’t something Elliott disliked, but Abigail’s flavor of attitude was often impolite- even rude.
“But- Lord Granger.”
Elliott slid into the crowd as quickly as possible. Not a full disappearance act, but it was enough to buy him some time. He wouldn’t have bothered to show at all on a chilly autumn day like this, but it was the start of the debutante season. Elliott knew he should be in attendance for the girls’ first presentations.
For a man in High Society, time never ran out. Elliott Granger could marry as he wished, when he wished. Thus, he had all the leisure in the world when it came to finding a wife. Perhaps perversely, though, it gave Elliott no small measure of satisfaction to be doted on by the women of the valley. Elliott was not a product of old money, like many of his acquaintances. He had earned his title, his land, and his sprawling estate, all through sheer grit as an apprentice. Inheriting the town’s printing press was no feat of luck. To some degree, Elliott deserved their attention.
That very attention, though, made him more and more disenchanted at every gala. He was beautiful, and personable, he had had lovers before his wealth for that reason. But, the established women of the town were a different breed. Only status seemed to matter.
“Elliott.”
He stiffened at the sound of his name coming from a masculine voice. Had he angered the girl’s father..? Elliott turned toward the open window to see a man in a thick velvet coat, the deep emerald of the Porter family crest.
“Doctor Harvey,” Elliott said, shaking the man’s hand.
The grin on Harvey’s face was jovial. He was the town doctor, nearly nobility himself with the wealth he had garnered, and he had been one of Elliott’s first friends in the town. Despite his rather nervous disposition, Harvey was a kind man deserving of his attendance to this event.
“This will be the year for us, my friend.,” Harvey said, lifting a glass of bubbly gold liquid to his lips. The sentiment struck Elliott as a bit naive, too hopeful, so he ignored the statement and surveyed the ballroom with sharp eyes. Harvey did the same, another flute of champagne finding its way to him after finishing the first.
“I fear for your liver on a night like this, Porter.”
Harvey laughed, pushing a glass from a nearby curtained table into Elliott’s rough hand. “Everything in moderation. Liquor may not be good for the body, but it soothes the soul.”
“I don’t know how you keep your license…”
Harvey laughed again, and Elliott smiled despite himself. Comfortable silence fell between them as they enjoyed the window’s cool breeze. It was quickly turning warm in the ballroom as dancing began, and autumn’s chilly gusts were suddenly welcome.
“Do you have your eye on any of this year’s gems?” Harvey asked after a moment.
Again, Elliott’s gaze drew across the crowd. Miss Abigail Marchand was to be avoided, but she seemed to be occupied with a few of the town’s younger lads. There was Penny Fairchilde, who frequented the Granger Printing Press, but she was a quiet girl. She wasn’t exactly his type of woman. But… “You and Miss Fairchilde could make an excellent match, Doctor.”
Harvey hummed at the thought. “Penny? She’s a sweetheart, but have you seen the girl she attends the salon with? Now that is a bright mind.”
Elliott nodded. Maru was in fact very bright. The Whittler family was one of old wealth, and they were at the forefront of innovation in carpentry. There would certainly be competition for the daughter’s hand. “You should ask her to dance before her card is full.”
Harvey shook his head, fussing with his cravat. He seemed redder than before. “No, I couldn’t. Miss Whittler could do far better than being tied to this town. She could travel, perhaps even study for herself.”
“As if her father would allow her,” Elliott said with a scoff. “That proverbial leash is tight.”
Elliott turned to see another drink in Harvey’s hand as the Doctor yet again fussed with his neck piece. Elliott snatched up the glass with loving frustration. “Get a grip, sir.”
He gave Harvey a light shove on the back and watched the Doctor stumble out into the crowd, spectacles drifting down his nose until he could fix them again. Harvey found his way to Maru instantly, having watched her all night, and soon the two were dancing. It seemed he had skipped the line of suitors. Good.
Elliott nodded to himself, downing his drink. And the remnants of Harvey’s. And perhaps he should steal a few hors d'oeuvres before leaving…
He slid a handful of biscuits into the pocket of his tailored red coat and made his way to the marble archway of the ballroom. He would go perfectly unnoticed, everything according to plan-
“Excuse me, Sir, could we dance?”
Elliott bristled, turning to see one of the debutantes. She was tanned by the sun, uncommon for someone with status. Hmm. The girl curtseyed low, fixing a lock of mousy blonde hair as she righted herself. It was a terrible curtsey, off kilter. “Lord,” he corrected stiffly.
“I’m sorry?”
“Lord,” he repeated. “I am not a Sir, my title is Lord. Shouldn’t you know that?” He looked around to see where her mother was. He did not recognize the girl, so she couldn’t be local high nobility, then. “What is your family name?”
The girl paused, carefully fixing the skirt of her gown. A gown, Elliott noticed, that was made of a drabber linen than was appropriate for a debutante. A cornflower blue over the typical powder. “Duvalle, Antoinette Duvalle.”
~~~
“I’m not familiar with the name,” Lord Granger said.
Annette Fallow should not have been allowed inside. Whoever the Archduchess Marnie had employed to count guests at the door, they were not well versed in signs of forgery. Antionette Duvalle was a name as fake as the glass gems on Nettie’s necklace.
Nettie smiled her brightest smile. She had only one chance at this. There was no time to second guess it. “It’s French.”
“How lovely,” Lord Granger said dryly. “I, too, take inspiration from the French in my work.”
Her smile tightened. He wasn’t buying her act for a minute. Shit. “I’m not sure I follow…”
The Lord’s eyebrows rose a level higher, nearly reaching his fine red hair. “You don’t? My apologies. The Lady Caroline Marchand speaks excellent French, perhaps we could go speak with her-”
Nettie’s smile rippled, and she forced it back into place. “After a dance? The music is just so lively, I wouldn’t dare miss it.”
“Something tells me you would dare to do a lot of things.”
Gods, he was charming, wasn’t he? Even when he was pulling apart her plans like a ripped seam, he was charming.
Nettie had seen him ride past her family’s fields on his mare. That’s when he caught her eye the first time, carrying his satchel of pamphlets. Maybe it was a bit… strange to follow after him, but when she found out Lord Elliott Granger would be in attendance at the Harvest Gala, she had to attend.
“A dance,” Nettie said, hoping she seemed charming, rather than annoying. “You could allow me just one, couldn’t you?”
Lord Granger considered for a moment, but held out a hand. It was warm, and surprisingly rough. That wasn’t common amongst nobles. He must do at least some of his own work, then.
The ballroom glistened. Autumnal vines bracketed the columns and curled amongst silver plates of food and wine. It was like nothing she had ever seen. Elliott led her towards the marble floor. As he stood straight, falling into formation, Nettie realized this was a grave mistake.
The debutantes, the lords and ladies, their sons, everyone here was taught formal dancing. Nettie had rhythm, sure. The village folk sang and danced around a bonfire nearly every week. But that kind of dancing was different. It came from the soul, where as this kind came from a book. A book she hadn’t read.
Lord Granger’s lips curved slightly at the edges, his eyes sparkling as if he knew. “Miss Duvalle, surely you’ve not lost your dancing spark already?”
“Not at all,” she said, following the other women’s footsteps. Three paces right, then turn, then some kind of orbiting motion?
“Good,” a grin lit his face and Nettie swallowed hard.
One, two, three, now turn. Now pace. A smile. Bat your lashes.
Lord Granger seemed impressed with her, but it wasn’t too hard yet. This type of dancing was slow, formulaic. It was meant to allow the dancing couples a chance to speak. All the better.
“Granger Printing Press, is it your namesake?” Nettie’s words nearly threatened to trip her up. The nobles used an elevated vocabulary, one that she had spent her whole adolescence trying to learn so that she could be successful. To get off her farm and out of the village. That part was not so hard, now, but the accent… that was where she struggled.
“It is,” he nodded.
He had not yet settled into the dance, as if he were waiting for her to mess up. He knew it would happen eventually.
“Do you read frequently, Miss Duvalle?” Lord Granger seemed insistent on addressing her by name, making sure it dripped with sarcasm and disbelief with each annunciation.
He was less charming than she thought.
She straightened her shoulders. That would be important to remember. “I do. Reading is one of my sincerest joys.”
“Perhaps I shall have to print in French,” he smirked.
For a moment, the facade of polite, natural elegance slipped, and Nettie’s eyebrows narrowed.
As quickly as she could, she plastered the genteel smile she had worn all night back in place. But it was no use. Wicked delight gleamed in the Lord’s eyes. He lowered his voice, moving as close to her as he could without risking a misstep in the dance. “Why don’t you tell me who you really are? We both know you aren’t meant to be here.”
“Annette,” she said quietly. The attendees of the ball were absorbed in their own conversations, but she knew that the older ladies often hung to the side to eavesdrop.
“Annette what?” Lord Granger said, far too loudly for her liking.
“Fallow.”
“Annette Fallow?” He repeated and Nettie grit her teeth at the projected sound. She slid her foot out from under her dress, stepping on his toes. If only she were wearing the stiffer flats of the debutantes, it would have hurt more.
He sucked in a breath, but it did not deter the grin on his face. “Fallow, you’re the farmer’s girl, aren’t you?”
Her eyes narrowed, giving up on the pretense of sophistication. She tried to sound proud of her background. It was hard. “I am.”
“The peasantry have their own fields to graze in.”
Nettie shut her eyes a moment and took a breath. “I am here to make a request of you.”
His eyes glittered. “Well, go on then.”
“How much would it cost me to employ your printing services…”
He stopped. So quickly that the couple following their turn-about fumbled as well. Lord Granger coughed, draping a hand on her lower back as he led her finally out of the throng of dancing nobles. “You wish to print something. You are aware this is for large scale production and not little childrens’ poems, yes?”
She bristled at the condescension in his tone, but bit her tongue. She needed to stop talking back, he was interested. “Yes.”
“What do you wish to print?”
Nettie cleared her throat. She had prepared this pitch for hours, practicing on the rabbits in her hutch. “I have a small collection of short stories that explore the themes of class, marriage, a-”
“Short stories, tch… I assume your summary will take up half the pamphlet.”
She turned her nose up at him. “Fine then, I’ll find business elsewhere.”
“I doubt you will, Miss Fallow- Ah- Duvalle.” He ducked down, his face inches from her own upturned glare. “But perhaps we could… come to an agreement.”
Dangerous words. Maybe not on the surface, but she knew them for what they were.
Lord Granger chuckled a soft, dry sound. “Don’t worry, I think it will be mutually beneficial.”
Lord Whittler was looking, as was Lady Hale. She uncrossed her arms from her chest, shaping herself back into a demure lady of the valley. “Go on.”
“I will have a look at your stories. If they meet my standards for print, then I shall begin a small batch. We can see how they perform.” He paused. That was his own end of the bargain. What was hers?
“I won’t have the reputation of Granger Printing Press harmed by your status, but it's clear you’ll never make a name for yourself on your own. I’ll sponsor your little act, support your histories, and you’ll study with me. Etiquette, writing, the formal dances, perhaps even…” he smiled with mild amusement, “the duties a woman performs for a noble husband.”
A wash of rose tinted Nettie’s cheeks. “That’s- why, that’s obscene!” A few onlookers paused their revelry, and Nettie lowered her voice to a furious whisper. “No.”
He shrugged a shoulder, turning toward the moonlit exit. “Then find yourself a different publisher, perhaps you will have better luck outside the valley… if you can get there.”
Another breath. In and out. How much did she want this? Freedom, her own wealth? A name for herself, fake as it may be? Yes, she wanted it. “I accept, Lord Granger.”
“Elliott,” his grin shown as wide as the mouth of a wolf. “I think you’ll prefer the taste of my first name. I know I’ll prefer the sound of it on your lips. On the morrow, Miss Antoinette Duvalle. I look forward to our partnership.”
She heaved a breath as he finally meandered to the exit, strolling like a man with all the power in the world. For someone like Nettie, he did. For some reason, she felt far more excited than scared. And that was dangerous.
heyyy so i read Lady of the Valley (holy moly it's already been a year since that came out?!?)
and i was playing stardew the other day -- TO MY SURPRISE, I'm at the ex skill level that gives me the title "granger" as my skill level. I thought it was a last name of sorts at first and. well. safe to say I was hysterical. and throwback to lady of the valley. i felt compelled to include you in my nostalgia
Omg i didnt even realize it was a skill!! We need to have last names added to the game that would be so cuteeeee
I cannot believe its been a year i should go back and finish that fic for real 😩
Im busy on my mission to obliterate my old reading record (only 24 in a whole year, so far im at 20 and its may so im totally gonna beat it) but im sure ill be in a writing mood at some point.
Thank you for sharing, this is so cute!
Lady Of the Valley, Chapter 2
Regency!Elliott x Farmer's Daughter!FMC
Summary: Nettie is called to visit Harewood House, Lord Elliott Granger's estate. His reponse to her manuscripts is less than ideal.
Word Count: 1,857
AN: I've been working on so many fics, so apologies for the delay. I split up some writing into a small chapter so I could get this updated! Hope you guys like this one. :)
Read on Ao3 / Chapter 1
“Nettles, there’s a letter for you,” Isaac Fallow called. It was the only warning he’d so generously give to his sister before opening the letter himself, which he may have already done. “A Lord Elliott Granger… how perplexing, how scandalous.” Isaac drawled. Mocking the high posh accent of the nobility was one of his favorite things to do.
Annette Fallow flew down the hall, quick as she could. The old oak floors of her family’s cottage creaked in protest as she skidded to a stop and snatched the letter from her older brother. “Gimme that.”
Isaac relinquished the letter, but stayed to leer over Nettie’s shoulder. He had always been terribly nosy, even as a child. “Why on earth is Lord Granger writing to you?”
“No reason,” Nettie snapped, scuttling back to her bedroom with haste. Isaac followed after, stomping across the hall with work boots that were slathered in mud from mucking the stables.
“Do not come into my room with those,” Nettie growled. The bright red rug on her floor was ornamental, and any stain took to the threads like flies to honey.
“Would serve you right, you left the gate open yesterday. I had to chase down Folly all the way to the hedges!”
Nettie rolled her eyes. “It was an accident. And Folly has gotten into worse things than the hedges…” like the neighbour’s chicken coop that time, or Mrs. Mullner’s tray of scones last Thursday.
“Open it, I want to see.” Isaac’s eyes glinted in the evening sun, the dark brown of his irises warming to mischievous gold as he eyed the envelope in Nettie’s hands.
“It’s my letter!” Gods, he knew how to push her buttons like no one else.
“Why so secretive?”
Nettie narrowed her eyes. “Because you are a bigger gossip than Lady Hale.” Ever since her husband Kent had taken up arms, she found gossip to be a remedy for loneliness and empty time. Somehow, Isaac rivaled her.
“You know I would never spit on your name, Nettles.”
Again, Nettie’s eyes swooped to the ceiling in annoyance, but she had to smile. Her mother was long gone, but the nickname stuck. Annette was rambunctious, stubborn as stinging nettle. Yet, she had secured the audience of one of the most powerful lords in the ton.
Annette ripped open the envelope, taking care only to preserve the wax seal, and of course the thick parchment inside. It was of high quality, soft and leathery to the touch, slightly warmed by the sun. Suddenly, Nettie became more worried about the cost of Lord Elliott Granger’s services than his agreement to publish her.
Dear Miss Duvalle,
Following our conversation at yesterday’s gala, I require your presence at Harewood House. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding your way to my Estate. When you arrive, ask for the Headmaid Leah.
As you can likely tell, I have a very discerning eye, so do not bother bringing anything but your best pieces.
I also ask that you bring the dress you wore to the Harvest Gala, it is entirely the wrong shade of blue and you must never wear it again.
Lord Granger
“The Harvest Gala!” Isaac gasped.
Nettie scrunched the letter up in her hands, wrinkling the poor paper as she glared at him. It was a lady’s worst nightmare to have an older brother. They believed every woman’s concern to be their own. “You gossip! Hush now, it was nothing.”
Isaac brushed back his unruly blond hair. Like Nettie’s own, it was rather wheat-y, but the sun had lightened it considerably after hours outside. The sun had also given them both freckled tans, though, and that was more damning for Nesttie’s noble facade than dirty blonde.
It would be long sleeves then all season. She had to hide those horrible tan lines.
“You snuck into a ball.” Isaac said, almost to himself. There was a hint of disbelief in his tone, as if he couldn’t believe she had gone so far. “How did you even do that?”
“Fake name, fake backstory, pretty dress and fake jewelry.”
“Don’t they have door checkers?”
“Not well-informed ones.”
Isaac’s handsome face flashed with momentary approval before stiffening again. “You’re not looking to marry, are you?”
“No,” Annette said quickly. Too quickly, perhaps. She wasn’t, in fact, looking to marry. But if she should come across a good man with Granger’s help…
“Because we would never be able to put together a dowry,” Isaac continued, his voice turning stern. It was not hard for him to sense her lies about marriage, or for anyone to sense them, really. Nettie had too many expressions, too many thoughts and opinions on everything. Being able to hold onto a fake identity for most of one night had been a feat, though Lord Granger hadn’t bought her act.
“I know, I won’t be proposing anytime soon,” she said with a little smile. “Besides, marrying means I’d have to leave the farm. What would you and Pa do without me?”
Isaac took in a long, slow breath. “I’m not sure, Nettie.”
~~~
The walk to the village was long and Nettie felt every step of it. Her shoes, the same flats she wore to the Harvest Gala, were wearing at the soles. She had no other nice shoes and no other nice dresses besides the one Elliott had instructed her not to wear, so she wore a cream linen striped with raspberry gingham. It was the cleanest she could find. If you squinted your eyes a little, it sort of resembled Lord Granger’s house colors.
Elliott’s manor came into view a street before Nettie reached it, rising high above the tree line. Harewood House’s turrets cut across the sky, crenellating the clouds with pale English stone work and blooming ribbons of ivy. Ivy was bad for mortar, but Lord Granger likely prioritized aesthetics above a building’s foundational safety. Nettie made sure to knock on his door with a bit less force.
“May I help you?” the maid said, only swinging open the dark oak door about half way.
“Yes, I have audience with Lord Elliott Granger, he told me to ask for Leah?”
“That’s me. I’ll just go check with Lord Granger, what was your name again?”
“Nett- Antoinette . Duvalle.” Nettie smiled, trying to cover up her slight misstep.
The maid, Leah, nodded her head. “Why don’t you just wait here a moment?” she said. Her smile did not meet her eyes as she turned, flipping a gingery braid over her shoulder.
A moment later, the door opened again. This time though, Lord Granger was there. Nettie stumbled in her haste to curtsey.
“Enough of that,” Elliott said impatiently, ushering her into his estate. “Your curtseys are terrible. Someone might see.”
Annette’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t bother to retort. He was probably right. She was in the habit of avoiding High Society on her family’s farm, not bowing before it. Isaac was the one obsessed with scandal and court intrigue.
Following Lord Granger like a quiet shadow, Nettie allowed herself to look upon the lavish foyer. Not admiring, she insisted to herself, just looking. The room was draped in red velvet, and yet it did not feel dark or stuffy, nothing like her spider-filled cottage. Windows kept shadow at bay, gilding the room with plenty of sunlight.
“Is everything to your taste,” Elliott said with no lack of sarcasm.
She quit her staring. “Oh-uh- yes.”
“No ‘uhs.’”
“What do you mean?” She gave him a funny look.
“No uhs, or ums. Vocal filler is unacceptable.”
“S-sorry…”
“No stumbling either,” Elliott said. “If you are to play this part, you must do it well. You don’t want everyone catching onto this farce as quickly as I did, yes?”
Nettie bit her lip, chewing on it anxiously. Elliott turned when she did not answer, then stopped in his tracks.
He towered over her, stepping close enough that his scarlett lapel brushed the front of her dress. Eyes wide, Nettie did not even dare to breathe as Elliott brought a gloved hand to her cheek. It was warmed through from the heat of his broad hands.
Elliott’s eyes narrowed, and he plucked Nettie’s lip from between her teeth. “None of that either.”
It took only a blink for him to right himself, back to guiding her through the manor as if there had been no interruption. She stumbled into following.
~~~
“Hmm.”
Nettie sat atop a deep, dusty armchair, busying her eyes with the bright flora of Elliott’s conservatory. Dahlias, blood sage, hyacinth, and more flowers she could not name seemed to shimmer under a gentle dew, no doubt evaporating under the hot glass dome.
“Hmm,” Elliott mumbled again, followed by vigorous scratching. He had taken up red ink to correct Nettie’s work- quite liberally. His writing desk sat in the middle of the conservatory’s brick center, and the extravagance of this setup did not fail to amuse her.
“Hmm…” Another scribble.
“Will you say something?” she finally snapped, glaring at him from across his desk.
He finished his sentence with leisure, before finally meeting her gaze above a pair of thin reading glasses. “I’m sorry?”
“Hmm, hmm. I thought that was considered vocal filler?” She was standing now, hands braced upon the counter.
Elliott took a long breath, reclining in his seat as he propped his ankle on a knee. He set down the paper and ink, folding his hands in his lap.
“Well?”
“Well?” he asked her right back.
“Say. Something.”
“I have nothing to say,” he answered.
“All of that scribbling and you have nothing to say?”
“My apologies,” he cleared his throat to clarify, “I have nothing to say, so long as you cannot be patient enough to listen.”
She bared her teeth, pushing off the table to take a moment. Pacing was a bad habit of hers, but Nettie had no strength to correct it. A headache was coming on.
Elliott appeared suddenly irritated, and he stood to match her. “Might I remind you, Miss Duvalle ,” he said, words echoing with a drawl of ire, “that you came to me for my assistance. I have no time for games, nor the children who play them.”
Nettie whipped around, arching on her toes to come face to face with Lord Granger. “I am not a child,” she spat between tightly clenched teeth.
“Then do not act like one.” They stood there, Nettie panting with anger, until Elliott relented with a careful step back. “Leave me. I shall call upon you again when I am done reading your manuscripts.”
Nettie did not go, rocking back onto her heels like a stubborn cat.
“Leave,” he repeated. His tone was tight in a way that suggested he would not ask again.
Hands fisting in her skirts, Nettie stormed out. She followed the long meandering brickwork until she was back in the main room of Harewood House. The Headmaid Leah jumped back from the door as she entered.
Leah was not a maid of discretion, then. She was a filthy gossip.
Nettie willed the redness of rage to fade from her cheeks as she passed the spindly girl. Fixing her frock very demurely, Leah gave her a smirk. “Have a good evening.”