better than bassy ; 18+
requested by ; nobody / redo of old post (from 2018)
character(s) ; grelle sutcliffe
reader info ; cis male, butler for an upper class family
genre ; smut / minors and ageless blogs dni
content ; sexually explicit content, handjob, public sex acts
note ; this was written with a large break in between the majority of the text and the very last portion as i had intended for this to go up on the anniversary of its original posting date (early june) but lost inspiration partway through. but in the spirit of today marking nine years since i started writing fanfiction i decided to get it out now instead. i hope that you enjoy it ^^
original request ; lost to time, unfortunately
In all of your years serving the esteemed Wilkinshire family, you’ve found there to be no task less tedious or unsettling than running late night errands for the lady of the estate. Though between the tall shadows cast by the towering stately homes, the dying light of the few remaining street lamps that never did much to actually illuminate your path forward, and the echoing sound of footsteps on the cobbled street that somehow always sounded unbearably near no matter how far away the other party truly was, you’re quite sure that your mistress would hardly blame you for your feeling less than comfortable — especially with these particular runs becoming more and more frequent in recent weeks as her pregnancy has progressed and her cravings have become more demanding and specific… but you’ve very quickly learned not to question her, and dwelling on such matters won’t make the time pass any quicker either way, so you resolve to clear your mind and march onwards. Into the cold, damp, dark. In search of at least one shop that is open this late into the evening. Lest you return empty handed and face her wrath.
But no sooner had the mildly amusing thought crossed your mind were you hit with the feeling of eyes staring you down from somewhere unseen. A realisation that set your teeth on edge and had you freezing in place as you tried your best to steady your voice, speaking up in a tone that you prayed sounded far more intimidating and calm than you felt — trembling and alone and more like a frightened, cornered animal than a man.
‘I know that you’re there. If you have something to say to me, you’d best get it over with now; I have an appointment to make,’ a lie but they didn’t need to know that, ‘and I’d rather not be late on account of whatever juvenile prank you’re attempting to pull.’
A beat of silence passed. Then another. You can hear your heart pounding more than you can feel it, and it’s taking everything you have to stop your legs from collapsing beneath you under the weight of that unseen state. And then, finally, your response comes in a lilting, feminine laugh that clearly slipped out by mistake, and all of the fear drains out of you in an instant as annoyance seeps in to take its place.
‘Sutcliffe…’ the most recent pain in your ass, a reaper that showed up some months back and has followed you around like the world’s most unshakeable stalker ever since, ‘I can’t say I’m surprised. Any particular reason you’re here right now, or are you just being a pest for the sake of it?’
You try to keep your tone curt and even, but when she finally struts out of the shadows you find yourself unable to stop your lips from curling down in distaste. And disappointment. And maybe a little bit in disgust as you notice all the smears of blood — human, you’re sure, as she’s never been the type to do her job cleanly — dotting her scythe and clothes… and even splattered across the dagger-sharp teeth she’s flashing at you with that lecherous grin of hers. You should have expected this.
‘You know me too well, darling,’ she teases, pursing her lips into a pout you both know is entirely fake before shamelessly launching herself into your arms and continuing on in a tone that’s somehow even more dramatic than before. ‘This must be true love! Oh, my darling, my love, my moon and stars, this only proves that we’re meant to be, don’t you think?’
Your eye twitches and you fight the urge to pull your arms back and let her drop down flat onto the road. You’re barely even listening to her anymore, just staring straight ahead and waiting for her to finish her dramatic monologue as she caresses your face and fully embraces the part of the tragic leading lady… until one particular tangent of hers catches your attention and you find yourself forgetting your decorum in favour of messing with her
‘… I’m just so delicate, you see. That’s why I need a big strong man like you to protect me!’
A desperate bid for attention, sure, but you bite nonetheless — adjusting and tightening your grip on her waist and dipping her low to really sell the fantasy in a way that, for once in the months you’ve known her, actually leaves her speechless.
‘You need me, Sutcliffe? Well, why don’t you show me just how much you mean that then?’
— — — — — — — —
For a good few seconds all Grelle does is blink up at you, half disbelieving and half entirely caught off guard, her face growing more and more pink as you watch her process what you said. And then, finally, she lets out a flustered squeaking sound — something between a dying animal and a deflating balloon — as she grabs you by the collar of your coat and pulls you down into a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. It’s messy, explorative, and wet in ways that taste a bit too irony to be anything less than unsettlingly, but still far more arousing than you expected it to be.
Though before either of you can truly lose yourselves to the moment, you pull back and — after taking a moment to preen at the way she whines so beautifully and brattily at being denied — state your one request for her. One that you know she’ll struggle with, that she’ll hate, but that you can’t help but feel giddy about watching her struggle with as penance for all the headaches you’ve suffered from because of her in the past.
‘I need you to be quiet,’ the words are rushed and breathless and come out a bit more desperate than you intend, but you push through regardless, ‘and if you make even the smallest sound I will stop. I will stop and we will never do this again. Do you understand?’ Grelle creases her brows in displeasure and opens her mouth to respond but you cut her off before she can get the words out. ‘No sounds. Nod or shake your head. Do you understand? Do you want me to continue?’
She huffs, rolls her bicoloured eyes, and puffs her cheeks out in an infantile display of annoyance, but after only a few short moments of playing at defiance Grelle inevitably gives in and nods her consent in the most adorably pathetic motion you’ve ever seen. But, still, that’s all you need and you don’t waste anymore time before leaning down and sinking your teeth into the smooth, deathly pale curve of her throat — a deliberate attempt at messing with her, which just barely doesn’t succeed as you watch her, through hooded eyes, fight to bite back the moan that surely would have spilled from her lips otherwise.
You coo patronisingly at her obedience and offer her a small bit of praise to tide her over as your free hand slowly inches downward to touch her precisely where you know she needs you the most.
‘Good girl. I knew you had it in you,’
— — — — — — — —
With only the barest brush of your fingertips over her clothed erection you can already see and feel the woman in your arms struggling to stay quiet and still. Eyes falling shut, muscles tensing up, throat bobbing quickly as she swallows back all of the moans you’re sure she’s positively dying to let out as you lazily toy with her aching cock. And, perhaps, if you were a kinder man you would have kept up this gradual pace and give her a grace period to get her bearings and properly adjust to the sensation. Perhaps you’d press a chaste kiss to her temple and smooth her hair with your free hand and whisper praise to settle her mind as she does her best to be good and follow your instructions. Perhaps you’d even let the smaller sounds slip past without a word, merciful and kind and understanding. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
But unfortunately for her, you’re not so kind. In fact, after all the headaches she’s caused you you don’t think you could find it in yourself to make this experience any less difficult for her than it already is. So, with great amusement and no mercy, you hurriedly unbutton her slacks, plunge your hand into her underwear, and start pumping your cold hand along her blazing hot length without giving her a single moment to adjust to the blessedly cruel pace you set.
You’re fast and rough and wet about it: grasping her just tight enough to make her legs shake but not so tight as to actually hurt her; rubbing the pad of your thumb over her leaking tip with every thrust and using her precum to further lubricate the next slide up and down her throbbing length; flicking your wrist so fast that you have to actively fight the growing ache in your joint to keep going, tilting your head down to bite her neck as a poor attempt at distracting yourself just so you can continue to torture her without breaking yourself in the process. You can feel her pulse spiking beneath your lips, can feel her swallowing down every groan and moan and whimper as her throat spasms under your teeth, and you find yourself biting back a laugh at just how hard she’s trying for you. For herself. And so, with your teeth still digging into her skin, you start to tease her a bit, mess with her head, your words hurried and breathless and low as you focus on ruining her just enough to earn yourself some peace.
‘So wanton,’
‘Desperate little whore,’
‘Is this what you wanted? Pathetic,’
‘If only you were always this quiet,’
‘Are you close already?’
‘At least you can follow some instructions,’
‘See how good things come to those who behave?’
‘Look at the mess you’ve made,’
Then, with a pitchy and broken whimper that sent a greater shock to your straining cock than you’d ever dare to admit to, Grelle finally comes undone and spills her cum into your fist. Her spend dripping pathetically down onto the pavement as you continue to lazily jerk her off, internally delighting in the way she squirms and gasps in your arms before she eventually cracks and begs for you to relent, her words garbled and slurred like a drunkard as she complains in her signature bratty manner of overstimulation.
And, for once feeling merciful, you comply and hand her your handkerchief to wipe away the blood beading upon her lips — a gesture that she clearly appreciates. Then she grinds her ass back against you in a wordless provocation for more that you refuse acknowledge, instead bidding her a stiff farewell before turning sharply on your heels to return, empty handed and now entirely uncertain of how to explain your absence, to your employer.
Grelle calls out an invitation for another meeting, debauched and secret and picking up right where you left off, and despite knowing better you find yourself silently considering it as you wander off down the street. Leaving a heaving, sweaty, and visibly satisfied and smug reaper in your shadow.
