The first rain of autumn pattered steadily through the entire night.
Morning. The air was cool.
Outside the window, birds chirped now and then, as if chattering about something.
Second-floor bedroom.
Scattered across the floor were the traces of last night.
A lace-trimmed women's blouse, a high-waisted slit skirt, a pair of torn black tights, a red-soled stiletto lying on its side, a few strands of black ribbon, and a small hairclip.
Leon lay on the bed with his eyes closed, listening to the soft patter of rain that still hadn't stopped.
He wasn't thinking about anything. He let his mind go completely blank, soaking in the quiet woven by the rain.
Then the blanket beside him shifted slightly. A slender, pale arm emerged from beneath the covers, groping around on the nightstand.
Leon spotted the gold-rimmed glasses on the surface, reached over with one long arm, and placed them in the searching hand.
"Wh... what time is it..."
Persephone's voice was thick with sleep and slightly hoarse.
She took the glasses, put them on, and emerged halfway from under the covers, yawning lazily as she asked.
"Four-thirty."
"Only four-thirty? Mmm..." she mumbled, eyes barely open. "Then... a little more sleep... so tired..."
Before she'd even finished, she was already rolling over in a haze, one long, bare leg draping itself naturally across Leon's waist as she closed her eyes again, clearly intent on going right back to sleep.
"Persephone!"
Leon spoke up, his tone dead serious.
"As Adventurers, morning training is mandatory!"
"How can you be this lazy!?"
Completely ignoring the soft, half-hearted resistance from the woman in his arms, he flipped over in one smooth motion and pinned her beneath him.
"No... don't!"
The ambush jolted Persephone fully awake. All traces of sleep vanished.
"Don't take them off. I like you in glasses."
"..."
Persephone's face turned visibly, rapidly crimson. She stared up at the man above her, her gaze humiliated, her expression defiant, her voice squeezing out through gritted teeth.
"You... bastard!"
She tried to push him off and he caught her wrist, pinned it above her head with no effort at all. His other hand was already pushing the blanket down past her ribs, then her hips, peeling it off her bare body inch by inch.
He paused there and took her in. Glasses sitting crooked on her nose, lenses catching the dim morning light. Her hair spilled loose across the pillow, the ribbon she'd worn the night before long gone. The full curve of her breasts rose and fell with every short breath, nipples drawn tight in the cool morning air. The dip of her waist, the soft inside of one thigh still pink where his palm had pressed her down hours ago.
His mouth went to the side of her neck where the skin was thin, and Persephone bit down on her own lip hard enough to taste copper. She was sore from the night. He didn't care. His hand slid down the center of her chest, across her stomach, and dipped between her thighs to her cunt. She was already wet again before she'd even processed the touch.
"Stop..."
He didn't. His fingers slid into her pussy slow, the same angle as the night before, and she made a sound against the pillow that she immediately tried to swallow back.
"...hate you," she got out.
He didn't bother answering. His thumb found her clit, and her hips lifted off the sheets before she could stop them.
He kept his fingers in her and lined his cock up with his free hand, pressing the head against her without warning. She turned her head to glare up at him, glasses still on her face, slightly tilted.
"Wait..."
He pushed in anyway. Slow. The angle caught her hip wrong and she gasped, eyes squeezing shut, the lenses fogging.
He stopped moving. Held there, deep, his weight on his forearms over her, and waited her out.
She opened her eyes.
The first thing she saw through the foggy glass was his face. Calm. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to.
He started moving again.
She tried to keep quiet and she couldn't. He had her legs hooked over his elbows, opened wide, and every stroke of his cock pushed deeper than the last. The morning was cold but the sheets under her were already warm, sticking to her back. She could hear birds outside. She could hear herself, ragged little sounds escaping every time he bottomed out. She could hear him breathing through his teeth.
He fucked her hard enough that the bed actually moved. Her hand reached up and gripped the headboard for leverage and he pinned that one too, took both her wrists in one hand again. Persephone realized somewhere in the back of her mind that he'd worked out how she liked to be held in the space of one night.
She came embarrassingly fast. Tried to muffle it, couldn't, ended up just gritting her teeth and shaking. He didn't slow down. He kept fucking her right through it, and the second one came stacked on top of the first before she'd recovered, and that was when she lost her composure entirely and started cursing him under her breath in a steady, unbroken stream.
"Bastard. Bastard. Fucking bastard."
He didn't answer. He came inside her. Held there, pulse to pulse, his forehead against hers, the rims of her glasses pressed lightly into her cheekbones.
For a beat he didn't move. Then he pulled out, and her body twitched once at the loss.
She kicked him.
It wasn't a hard kick. It connected with his hip bone and pushed him sideways off the bed, and he hit the floor with a thump and an exhale. Persephone yanked the blanket up around her chest and curled away from him, scarlet, glaring, tears of indignation glistening at the corners of her eyes.
The afterglow still lingered on her beautiful face, but those indignant eyes instantly killed his post-nut clarity and got him going again.
"Unbelievable!"
"Un. Believable!"
"You... you bastard! I never in my wildest dreams imagined you'd be this depraved! I thought the way you used to look at me was bizarre enough, but now... you actually... actually!"
"That's too much!"
"Way too much!"
"Shameless!"
"Disgusting!"
"Scum!"
"Trash!"
"Filth!"
Persephone's eyes were wide with disbelief, her trembling finger jabbing at the man who'd committed these crimes against her, her hoarse voice hurling one curse after another. She looked fierce, but beneath the bravado, her eyes betrayed shock and panic she couldn't put into words.
And with everything that had just happened still raw, Persephone was on the verge of tears from sheer indignation.
Leon got up from the floor like nothing had happened, climbed back into bed without a care in the world, and pulled her into his arms, looking down at her with that domineering intensity.
"Satisfied?"
Persephone's face burned. Her eyes were defiant, her lips pressed tight. She said nothing.
Leon's mouth curved. A flicker of amusement crossed his eyes.
"Good. That's exactly how I want you, Persephone."
His voice carried a note of genuine pleasure.
"Never give in. I love that look on your face."
"Now, put the glasses back on."
...
...
Time flew, and before long it was breakfast.
This morning's spread was simple: toast, fried eggs, bacon, milk, coffee, potatoes, beans, and some cheese slices and shredded cheese.
Standard, traditional Orario breakfast fare.
Nothing fancy, but everyone was eating with gusto.
"Leon, where's Miss Persephone?"
Jeanne spoke up while spreading butter on her toast.
Leon was wolfing down bread, washing it down with swigs of milk between bites.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and flashed an easy smile.
"She headed straight back to Wheat Manor after she got up."
A look of regret crossed his face.
"Shame, really. I wanted her to stay for breakfast."
Then his tone shifted, turning matter-of-fact.
"You all know how it is. It's autumn now, harvest season. Demeter's swamped since it's the busiest time of year. She's got all that farmland around Orario to look after, and she's stretched thin as it is."
"Persephone's the Familia captain and Demeter's right hand. She's gotta lead by example. Everyone at the fields and orchards is waiting on her."
Before he'd even finished, every person at the table, both little elves included, fixed him with a unified look of pure contempt, as if staring at a dumpster fire.
"Scum!"
As the Familia's resident mood-maker, Laurier didn't hold back, going straight for the jugular.
"Mr. Leon, you're actual human garbage. You have your way with Miss Persephone, and then the next morning you act like nothing happened!"
Leon snorted, expression darkening. Even his beloved cheese-and-egg toast didn't taste good anymore.
"This... this isn't entirely my fault!"
Under the combined assault, already knowing he was in the wrong, he scrambled for an excuse.
"I tried to get her to stay! She was the one who insisted on leaving. I couldn't hold her back!"
Jeanne gave a cold laugh but said nothing, just viciously bit into her baguette as if taking her frustrations out on the bread.
Kureha had her head buried, face burning red. Her mind was playing last night on loop: the muffled gasps and cries drifting through the wall from the next room, the peaks and the satisfied sighs and whimpers. She didn't even notice that her face had nearly plunged into her soup bowl.
Of the three, only Rose remained perfectly composed. She ate elegantly with knife and fork, eyes gently narrowed, seemingly lost in the enjoyment of her meal.
But... Aura noticed that Rose's knife seemed to be pressing down a little harder than necessary while cutting her bacon. If not for her sharp eyesight, she'd never have spotted the faint but clear scratches scored into the bottom of the plate.
Rose is a master of emotional control. That level of composure is... terrifying.
Aura swallowed quietly, carefully averted her gaze, and did her best to shrink her presence, terrified of getting caught in the crossfire.
Too dangerous!
This house is way too dangerous!
You know what... maybe I'll just go explore the Dungeon instead.
Aura nibbled at her fruit salad in tiny bites, quietly making her plans...
...
...
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