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euthymiya · 5 months ago

Note

Poor wrio comes home to you after a long day, so you surprise him with new lingerie from chiori’s boutique because you’re a good, sweet girlfriend 🙂‍↔️ no this isn’t based on that one scene in your fic

surprise compensation ft. wriothesley

wriothesley is a hard worker. sometimes, when days are particularly long and rough, you have a surprise or two that makes things worth the troubles

contains: 3.2k word count ; fem reader ; adult content. no minors ; established relationship ; nipple play ; cunnilingus ; fingering ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; wriothesley is a serial clothes ripper ; one joke about his cuffs

Reforming criminals is tough work. Wriothesley is capable for the job, of course—he thinks the state of the fortress under him compared to past years is proof enough that he does the job better than anyone else has. But regardless, it’s tough work.

Sometimes they send him ruffians for inmates. They come to him pent up and aggressive. They don’t miss a beat at lunging at him once the cuffs come off, ready to pick a fight and blow steam off on the warden of the prison himself. Wriothesley’s capable though—both in administration and in a fist fight.

That doesn’t make him rub his jaw any less from the sore spot where a punch landed today. It’s rare to get a hit on him, but not entirely impossible. He walks into your bedroom, grumbling under his breath as he rubs into the tenseness of his jawline as you sit up straighter in bed at his arrival.

“M’back, sweetheart,” he mumbles, giving you a tired grin as he carefully lays himself over your body, groaning as his muscles relax for the first time all day on top of your forgiving body.

“Rough day?” You ask sympathetically, titling his head up to inspect the blossoming bruise along his skin.

“You have no idea.”

“New prisoners give you trouble?” You smile knowingly, rubbing a hand over his back, pressing the heel of your palm gently into the tight, punishing knots in his muscles as he grunts into your neck.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he assures. “I put them in place.”

“Not before they set your jaw in place,” you snort, earning a huffed grumble under his breath from him.

“You should see the other guys.” His lips press a small kiss to your skin, sucking gently against your pulse point as he hums approvingly as he inhales your scent. “Rowdy bunch, but I’ll fix ‘em up.”

“Such a hard working duke,” you giggle, “they should compensate you more.”

“Hh?” He chuckles, lifting his head up as he grins at you, “you think so? Think I need deeper pockets for my efforts?”

You hum, leaning in and pressing a slow, but not heatless kiss against his chapped lips, running your hand along his collar until you find the first button, undoing it slightly to reveal more of his sturdy chest. He smiles against your lips, a bit excited, and a little more smug.

“I got you something,” you whisper, voice breathy. He can hear the smile between your words, quirking a brow as he waits for you to continue speaking. “I think you’ll really appreciate it.”

“Who needs better compensation when you’re always rewarding me,” he grins, toothy and charming as he nips at your lips before adding, “plan on showing me this little surprise?”

“Why don’t you unwrap it first,” you murmur, grabbing his hand and guiding it to the hem of your shirt.

His breath hitches—something more carnal, more desperate settles itself into his skin, flushing it a hot shade of crimson along his cheeks and chest, radiating heat along his fingertips that sear into your skin as he works them under your shirt, grazing along your body until they finds your breasts.

He feels the lace, and instantly, he can tell it’s not one he recognizes. It’s new. Something he hasn’t seen yet—it makes him let out a sound of impatience, deep and guttural from his chest as he says huskily, “well, if I must do the work, then so be it.”

He rips your shirt clean off with one tug. It’s his shirt, actually, but you claim it as your own—and you take it very personally, too, when it’s split in two from his impatience.

“Wriothesley!” You scold, gasping as the cool air meets your skin while he discards the torn shreds of fabric.

“There’s more where that came from,” he assures, clicking his teeth as he bites into your neck and says lowly, “let me unwrap my present in peace. I had a long day.”

You roll your eyes, huffing but complying quietly as he admires the dark gray sitting pretty and perfect against your skin, cupping the curves of your breasts beautifully. Wriothesley takes his time, so unlike the impatience he has just moments ago, as he rakes his eyes over your skin slowly. The icy shade of his irises land on the clasp at the front, darkening into a more intense, lust filled shade as they settle on it with interest.

“Like it?” You hum, “Chiori designed it just for me.”

“Did she now?” He raises an eyebrow, trailing a finger along the edge of the padding, tracing the skin of your breast as it spills over the bra, grinning as goosebumps rise where his touch lingers. “I really owe her a proper thank you, don’t I? This’ll make my job a lot easier.”

“It was my idea,” you say petulantly, “what about my thanks?”

“Oh, sweetheart. That’s coming real, real soon.”

You gasp when his hand suddenly undoes the clasp, spilling your tits to the open, cool air of your room as he groans at the sight of your bare chest. He leans down, pressing a kiss to a nipple while you shiver under him.

“All this for me?” he murmurs, hot breath fanning over your skin and contrasting the coolness lingering in the air. “Got a new little set made just for me?”

You nod through a bitten lip, shuddering as he chuckles against you. “Thought you deserved it,” you shiver.

“You shouldn’t have. I might get spoiled, you know.”

“You don’t want to be?” You tease, cutting off yourself slightly with a soft hitch of breath when his rough hand cups the other tit, palm rubbing against a pert nipple and making your eyes flutter closed.

“Oh, I definitely don’t mind,” he flashes you a smooth, toothy grin, one with all too much sharp teeth and all too little shame. “I just think it’ll be a bit of trouble for you to keep up if you get me too spoiled, is all.”

“I don’t think it’s so bad,” you say cheekily, “it’s not exactly a one sided transaction.”

“Oh, I’ll make it worth your while, alright,” he nods—and finally, he wraps his lips around a hardened nipple, grazing his teeth along the nub as his tongue swirls around it, pulling a sweet, helpless little cry from you that shoots straight between his legs where his cock is already half hard.

His rough thumb works the other, rubbing along and pinching teasingly as he whine into his mouth that traps yours into a needy kiss. “Wr-wrio—”

“Yeah baby?” He chuckles, “got something you need’ta say? I’m listening, sweetheart.”

He most certainly is not listening, you want to scowl, because he cuts your words off by pulling a sharp gasp from you as he pinches harder at your clit, making your back arch into the touch as he chuckles. His teeth nip at your jaw, kissing along the skin as your hand cups the back of his head and tangles weak fingers to grasp at his hair.

“You are so….”

“So what?”

“So smug,” you huff, voice strained between pants, “I’m never doing anything nice for you again.”

“Aw, don’t say that, sweetheart,” he pouts theatrically, “you might hurt my feelings. And I didn’t even get to say thank you yet.”

As it seems, Wriothesley’s way of saying thank you is yet again yanking fabric straight off of you, ripping your pants right off your lower half in an unrestrained moment of impatience.

You think you’ll really have to have a chat about his brutish habits one of these days.

“You can’t say thank you by ripping my whole wardrobe,” you gasp, glaring at him with sharp eyes.

“Why would it tear so easily if it wasn’t meant to?” He wriggles his brows, lips curled in a smug, amused little grin that has you melting against the sheets with heat pooling impossibly hotter between your legs at the sight.

Regardless of your irritation at yet another ruined pair of sweats. The conversation can wait until later, though, you think.

“I can’t with you,” you huff.

“Luckily, you don’t have to do much with me, anyway,” he murmurs, lowering his hands to trail over the lacy fabric of your matching gray panties. He marvels at the sight of you, eyes hazy and unfocused as they stay stuck at the dampened spot between your legs. “I-I…I’ll do most of the work,” he stutters.

“Don’t rip these, okay?” You grin, “they cost me a good sum. Surprises aren’t cheap, you know.”

He closes his eyes, exhaling shakily as he mumbles, “you’re trying to kill me, huh?”

You giggle, blinking up at him innocently as you reply, “I’m trying to do something nice for you. You don’t think it’s nice?”

“I think it’s wonderful,” he spreads your legs, hovering between them as he eyes the wet, darkened patch of lace against your dripping cunt even closer, “I just can’t promise I’ll survive long enough to properly appreciate it.”

With that, he presses a kiss against your clit, right through the fabric as you whimper at the minimal contact, twitching into his touch as he laughs.

“Maybe you won’t either,” he flashes a toothy grin, making you huff, unamused.

“Don’t tease,” you scold, “you should be nice to me.”

“You’re right,” he nods, wrenching your thighs apart as he pulls your panties off enough to expose your needy pussy, but not enough to let them past your plush thighs. He like them there, decorating your skin like that for him to see even as he brushes his nose against your clit and kisses at your entrance.

The slick pooling between your legs coats his lips, earning a hum of approval from him as he murmurs, “so sweet. I love this sweet little pussy—don’t you?”

“Wr-wrio—oh, f-fuck,” you arch into him, a surprised gasp leaving your lips, swollen from biting. His tongue is flat against your clit, flicking back and forth against it as his fingers tease your folds, collecting your essence before slowly pressing into your walls.

“Taste so sweet,” he groans, “we don’t have anything like this at the cafeteria.”

“Oh my god,” you whine, slapping his shoulder as he chuckles against your cunt, the vibrations and the hot flash of his breath making you shake against him. “You are so filthy.”

“Yeah? And you’re not having a good time by it?” He challenges, fingers smearing your slick that coats the digits along your inner thigh, grinning as he adds, “you seem like you’re thoroughly enjoying it.”

“Wriothesley,” you plead desperately, “stop teasing. I need you—please.”

“Fuck,” he swears. There’s a harsh twitch of his cock through his pants at the utterly broken sound of your voice—it makes him sink his fingers in instantly before his lips wrap around your clit. “You got me, baby,” he murmurs between sucking on the bundle of nerves, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses against the swollen nub.

“Oh—y-yeah, like that,” you praise, hands finding his hair as your fingers wrap around his strands and tug him impossibly closer. You think he might drown in you—he thinks he might not find a better way to go. “Feels…feels so good, baby.”

He groans into your folds, lapping away at them as his fingers are replaced by his tongue, tasting the sweet, dripping essence of you. His hips grind against the mattress slightly, chasing the slightest bit of friction to relieve the unforgiving throb of his cock.

“M’gonna cum,” you whisper, shaky and broken.

“Then cum,” he demands, “for me.”

You do—like his words command your pleasure. As soon as he tells you to, your cunt flutters with short spasms, pleasure forcing your body into a stiff, tense form as your mouth falls open and your eyes roll back. His tongue works you through your high, traveling between flattening against your clit and fucking into your hole until you’re whining from sensitivity, pulling him away by the hair.

He pulls away. Lips smeared with your slick. Eyes unfocused and dark. Cheeks flushed and red. Hair messed up and plastered to his sweaty forehead.

He looks more fucked out than you, almost. Like he’s just been utterly blissed out to the point of being wrecked just by tasting you.

You giggle, tugging him up to hover over you as you let him pull you into a slow, sensual kiss. You can taste yourself on him. You don’t mind—not when it tastes like his love for you.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, “did you know that?”

“I had a hunch,” you breathe, “you seem to be rather enraptured by me.”

“I’m obsessed with you,” he gives you lazy grin.

You don’t answer—not with words, anyway. Instead, you offer him your reply in the form of a hand sneaking between your bodies, carving space between the press of him against you. Your hand rubs him through his pants, earning a low groan from him as he stiffens over you.

“Your clothes are in the way,” you pout.

He huffs a breathy chuckle through his stifled groans, eyes closed as he mumbles, “that’s a problem, huh?”

“A big one.”

“I can fix that, I think,” he hums.

Watching Wriothesley strip himself of his clothes is intimate. Undressing his scars is like holding a magnifying glass to his past, like studying every dark and hurtful era of his life under a microscope.

It’s nice to know he trusts you like that. It’s even nicer to know he wants to trust you like that. Aches to trust you like that. Needs you to let him trust you like that.

Your fingers run along the scar on his chest, and he shivers at the gentle (something he’s never been used to) feel of you.

“I love you,” you murmur.

“Getting sentimental on me?”

“Yeah,” you grin, “don’t like it?”

“Love it,” he laughs. And then he leans down, nose brushing against yours as he kisses you softer than he has yet to kiss you for the night. So delicate, you’d think you’d break. Maybe he’d break. You’re not sure who he’s trying to keep together at this point. “I love you.”

“Then take me,” you whisper, “I want you.”

His breath hitches at that. Something about the way you look at him makes him decide that taking you isn’t enough. He need to give himself up—needs you to accept him.

“Yeah? And I always want you, sweetheart,” he grins smoothly. Tucked away underneath that smooth, boyish, rough and rugged charm, Wriothesley is gentle. Delicate. Vulnerable.

You can see it in the way his hands shake as they grab your hips to help line himself up with your entrance.

“M’ready, Wrio,” you murmur, pulling him into a soft, open mouthed kiss as he presses his cock against your dripping entrance.

He’s hard—painfully, achingly, and unbearably impatient to feel him around him. The curve of his length has always fit you perfectly, nudged against the right spots and dragged along the perfect ridges of your walls without trying. He sinks into you slowly, inch by inch. Like he’s scared the moment will end too quickly if he goes any faster.

“You feel that?” He groans, once he’s fully pressed into you, buried to the hilt. “Feel what you do to me? You’ll be the death of me one day.”

“They’d get tired of you,” you breathe, strained voice from the way he’s practically splitting you open. “In the afterlife. Send you right back to me.”

He laughs, head burying into your neck before he roughly pulls out just to slam back into you. Once. Twice. Again. Another time. Once more. Until a steady, unwavering rhythm is built and his body is practically one with hours.

“Fuck,” he groans, letting out whiny little pants against your ear that make you question if you’ll near the edge again simply from the sound of him alone. “Fuck, sweetheart—you…you’re so perfect. Take me so nice, make me feel so good.”

“How good?” You ask shakily, voice a strangled, choked version of itself as his thrusts make your words quiver with every snap of his hips.

“Good enough to buy out that damn boutique,” he grunts, “get you every color. Every fabric. Every style. And then I’ll fuck you in all of them to see which one looks best, yeah? You like the sound of that? Think you can handle it? I bet you’d enjoy it, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

“Y-yeah,” you nod, eyes tearing at the corners as his fat tip presses against the spongy, sensitive spot against your walls, balls clapping against your ass as his pre cum mixes with your slick and leaves a mess between your bodies.

You don’t mind it though. You like the mess. You like the proof of him taking you, making you his, having you until your mind can’t think straight.

“Gonna need more than that,” he says lowly, biting your shoulder and making you whimper. “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes—yes,” you sob, “I want it. Want it, want it so bad. Want you to take me right there in that fitting room.”

“Oh?” He breathes out a small chuckle, “that’s quite the fantasy. I’ll see what I can do, baby.”

His thumb reaches to find your clit, rubbing harsh circles in sync with his low, strained voice as he calls you baby. You break at that—hurdle into your second orgasm while his fucks into you with a sloppier pace.

“Oh—g-god, Wriothesley! C-cumming,” you gasp.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, “yeah, yeah. Let me feel you, princess. Fuck.”

His hips are frenzied now—like the height of your pleasure being achieved lets him free, lets him stop holding back as he chases his own orgasm desperately.

It doesn’t take long. One tug of his hair from you to pull him out of your neck and into a heated kiss makes him fall off the edge himself, cock twitching and pouring thick, hot ropes of cum into your abused cunt. The aching pleasure between both of your legs should be too much.

It’s never quite enough.

There’s no enough of Wriothesley. He’s not sure there’ll ever be enough you, either.

“Fuck, fuck—you’re so good to me, baby. So sweet. Can’t believe you’re my sweet little thing. Come home to that pretty face and this perfect pussy. What’d I do to deserve it?”

He’s babbling, words falling from his tongue in cracked syllables as he paints your walls white. Finally—finally, after what feels like an eternity of over sensitivity, he stills. Milked dry with the remnants of his sticky release coating your walls, the insides of your thighs, the base of his cock. He doesn’t even bother pulling out—just collapses over your body as he buries his nose between your breasts.

“You think she could make a set that matches my cuffs?” He asks, grinning into your skin.

You huff between labored breaths, slapping his shoulder as you mumble, “I’m not asking that. I have a sense of dignity.”

“You want me to ask?”

“Absolutely not.”

He pouts, looking up at you as he grumbles, “you’re no fun.”

Wow. Don’t ask me why I produced 3k words about lingerie. I just have lots to say on the matter I suppose

#writing tag #wriothesley x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #wriothesley x you #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #wriothesley smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut

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martiniblues · 1 year ago

Text

spidey boy ; 이민형

pairing spiderman!mark x female!reader

synopsis mark has tried to hide his secret identity from you for as long as possible, to keep you safe, of course. little does he know that you’ve untangled his web of lies long ago and will do anything in your power to get him to admit it. just when you've had enough of him lying to you, he ends up getting caught in the act trying to save your life.

genre established relationship, fighting (if you squint), lots of fluff, slight violence and cat-calling, slightly suggestive, mark calls reader “my girl” and “pretty girl”.

wc 2.9k

“do you think that spiderman guy is actually as good as everyone says he is?” you ask mark, who lay peacefully in your lap as your fingers ran through his hair.

you two had been hanging out after school, as you usually do, watching random channels while you both indulged in each other's day. however, you had articulated this hangout the night prior.

a few days ago, you had aimlessly been searching through mark’s backpack in hopes of finding your calculus notes, which you had so graciously let him borrow, only to stumble upon a very familiar red and black mask balled up in the bottom.

at first, you thought mark had hit peak fangirl. he was obsessed with the superhero after all, completely drawn to the tv or newspaper whenever spiderman was mentioned, but so was every other human being in your city.

so when you began noticing how mark’s late-night appearances and “fashionably late” activities began lining up with the famous building-swinging superhero, your mind put the pieces together.

you tried to understand his point of view and why he wouldn’t reveal this very key detail about himself. it hurt you, though, feeling as though there was something in you that made him not feel comfortable enough to expose himself to you.

so, you compiled a plan to get the truth out of him organically, or as organically as this could be.

“wha… what do you mean?” your boyfriend’s head quickly snapped up, turning on his palm to face you with a questionable look knitted into his features.

a smile teasingly pulled on your lips, knowing you had hit a sore spot in his ego. how couldn’t he be proud of himself? after all, he was known as the hero of your city.

“i don’t know,” you continued, leaning back against the couch, watching your boyfriend swing from building to building on the screen in front of your bodies. “he just seems too full of himself, like cool you can swing from buildings and hang upside down, but we have police and firefighters for a reason!”

it took everything in you to not break character, slowly watching mark’s face grow red at your painful statements. he just looked at you, eyes blown wide and brows pulled so close together that you were certain he could get stuck like that.

with a small giggle, you reached out, brushing your thumb between the crease in his brows and bringing it down to caress his cheek.

“what’s with the face, baby? don’t tell me you're obsessed with him too.” his face slowly relaxed as your soft hand held his face, but his brain was still scrambling with your previous statements.

how could you find him not absolutely amazing? he could swing from buildings and hang upside down!

“you don’t think he’s cool? not even a little bit?” mark’s eyes followed yours to the screen. spiderman now being shown saving an older woman from getting mugged.

“i think he’s cool, i guess.” you looked back at your boyfriend only to find his eyes already on your face, his previous expression appearing again. “babe, you can’t be serious.” mark leaned back, feeling completely bewildered by your nonchalant attitude towards his heroic duties.

“it’s not that big of a deal."it’s not like you’re spiderman, so why should it matter if i like him or not?” you titled your head away from the screen to watch his eyes grow wide, and you could audibly hear his breath hitch.

“but…” he quickly let out before catching himself, looking at the tv to see his segment disappear. “but what?” you teased, beginning to feel bad for your ministrations.

he looked back at your face, sighing heavily. “nothing, just like the guy a bit," he said before lying back in your lap to hide his face from you.

this was going to be a lot harder than you thought.

“hey baby~” mark cooed as he stepped into your apartment, takeout bags in hand. you quickly sprung up from your spot at the counter, running to hug your boyfriend after not seeing him for awhile.

after your first attempt to disclose his true identity was unsuccessful, you held off from bringing up the topic for awhile.

but you had finally decided to take a different approach this time.

“i missed you, pretty girl.” the nickname made your cheeks heat up as his cold hands held your face in front of his. he inspected you lovingly, relishing in the fact that he could finally hold you without school being in the way.

“missed you too," you replied before kissing him softly. mark dropped the plastic bag on the counter beside him, pulling you firmly against him. his lips were almost enough to make you forget about your plan.

almost.

“god, i’m hungry.” you pulled away, making him laugh at your cute antics, and he joined you on your couch to eat. as you sat, you pulled off your (mark’s) sweatshirt to reveal the key details of your plan.

mark quickly noticed the black spiderman logo displayed across your chest, at a loss for how quickly your opinion of him changed. “you like?” you asked, flaunting the red baby tee you had bought earlier that day.

“i- i thought you thought spiderman was stupid." he nearly choked on his food, trying not to blush at the image of his girl repping him like this.

“i never said he was stupid, mark. i just thought he was overhyped, but i now understand where all the love is coming from.” you looked down, ogling at your new shirt, sure of its effect on your boyfriend.

“oh…” he tried to fight the grin, trying to cover his lips, but couldn’t contain his relief. “glad you finally came around, baby.” he smiled before shoving his face with more food.

“you’re not jealous?” you asked, beginning to take on step two of your plan. “he is a guy, after all.”

this made mark actually choke on his food. “what? why would i be jealous about that?"

“i mean, your girlfriend wearing a shirt for some muscular superhero who is most definitely sickly hot under that skin tight suit he wears while saving lives." you went on swirling your fork in your food, looking up every so often to see mark’s cheeks darken at the compliments.

he held his head down, but not enough for his flushed ears and cheeks to go unoticed. “why are you so red, baby? i still like you more, you know; spiderman can’t take you away from me.” you reached over and combed your fingers through his hair to feign worry.

“that is, unless he happens to swing by and sweep me up with his insane muscles.” you winked, making your boyfriend turn into a tomato.

“yeah, you wish he would do that.” mark joked, trying to deflate his growing pride, which you continued to boost.

“what? are you saying i’m not worthy of spiderman’s fantastic biceps picking me up and swinging me through the night sky?” mark looked at you quizzically.

you couldn’t be serious, could you?

mark discarded his food, crawling over to trap you beneath his body. "fantastic, you say... and what are these?” he made reference to his own muscular arms peeking through his fitted white tee.

"marvelous," you replied, sliding your fingers softly over your boyfriend's muscles. how lovely it was that you didn’t have to dream of spiderman’s biceps as they sat right in front of you.

“better than fantastic in my book.” mark smiled before catching your lips in his.

your spiderman shirt was soon discarded in that moment but continued to linger in mark’s head days later.

“i’m just gonna go grab a few things. i promise i won’t be long.” you stood in your doorway, attempting to run to the store to get a few things before it got too late.

mark hated this.

“why cant i just go get it or go with you?” mark wrapped his arms around you from behind, making it increasingly difficult to slide on your shoes. he kissed you all over your neck and face, held your hand, pulled at your jacket sleeves, and even attempted to block the door entirely to try and get you to stay, but you were as determined as you ever were.

“i’m a grown woman, mark. i can run down the block by myself.” you turned around in his arms, reaching for your keychain next to his head on the wall, hanging by a hook.

“it’s dangerous out there. wouldn’t want my pretty girl getting hurt.” he slouched against the wall, still holding onto your hand as your whole body nearly made it out the door.

“good thing spiderman will be there to save me from any danger.” you teased him before slamming the door in his face, preventing him from getting anymore words out. not that he could form any from your statement anyway.

as you made your way through the isles of the tiny convenience store down the block from your place, you began to notice a dark figure popping into your vision.

a man decked out in all black and wearing a dark baseball cap pulled down just enough to hide his eyes followed your trail through the store.

he just coincidentally needs the same things, plus it’s freezing outside. that’s why he’s covered up so much, you thought. you can't say much about covering up with your giant black puffer jacket nearly swallowing you whole.

as your shopping trip continued, you couldn’t help but notice the figure not picking up a single item they inspected.

how weird, you thought.

“have a nice night!” the sweet cashier bid you goodbye before you quickly made your way out of the store.

as you exited the glass doors, the figure from earlier greeted you outside. your steps increased in speed as you noticed the figure continuing to follow your path.

you: mark could you meet me outside

you: creepy dude won’t stop following me

you: dude answer the phone

you: mark come on this is serious

you huffed, knowing the figure was still following you from a distance and aggravated by mark ignoring your texts.

“what’s a pretty girl like you doing out here alone at night?” the figure spoke from your side, somehow managing to come up beside you without you noticing.

you stayed silent, pretending to be interested in the cement beneath your feet.

“hey! i’m talking to you!” the voice barked, noticeably irritated by your lack of interest. “i asked you a question, bitch!” a hand grabbed your wrist tightly, stopping you in your tracks.

thinking it was the figure, your body froze seeing spiderman right in front of you. stumbling back, you watched your hero step in and fight off the creepy man, knocking him over before webbing him to the alley wall ahead.

“try and speak to her again, and you’ll get much worse than a few webs on you.” the familiar voice of your boyfriend came out deep and threatening, making your breath hitch. you had never heard him speak like that.

while the bum continued to try and yell through the webs plastered over his mouth, spiderman turned to check on you.

“everything all right? he didn’t touch you or hurt you, babe- i mean, mam?” the fumbling of words made you laugh slightly, knowing the dork under the mask.

“i’m all right, thanks to you, spiderman.” you swooned, so caught up with the fact that your own boyfriend was spiderman and that he had practically beaten and webbed a man to a wall for you.

“what could i ever do to repay you?” you asked, trying not to trip over your own feet at the way the suit hugged mark’s muscle so well. more than any t-shirt ever could.

“just doing my job, as always.” spiderman leaned his body against the wall smoothly, resting his head against his fist. you two stood there in a few seconds of silence, both not knowing what to do.

“you better get headed home; it’s getting late.” he coughed, finally breaking out of his daze.

“no swinging around the city for me?” you asked, pretty disappointed that your boyfriend was about to make you walk home alone. “no can do, web swinging with lovely ladies is a daytime activity only; i wouldn’t want anyone to miss it.” he pulled his body from the wall, shooting up a web to hang from a sign above your heads.

“what a shame. guess you’ll just have to give me a show of the city another day," you replied, watching as mark swung his legs over the sign to hang upside down effortlessly.

definitely trying to impress me, you thought.

“i can see what i can do.” he crossed his arms over his chest before you stepped forward on your tiptoes, placing your hand on his cheek, making him short circuit.

“thanks again, spiderman.” you spoke, leaning into him to place a quick kiss on his mask-covered cheek.

“of-of course. any day, mam,” his voice cracked at your actions, making you laugh as you turned away to walk home.

mark hung in bliss before realizing he was supposed to be at your place, not saving your life in a spidey suit.

you rushed through the door, dropping your bag on the ground and making a beeline to your room. the only place with a window mark could slide through without getting caught.

you swung open your door to reveal a maskless spiderman half way through your bedroom window, eyes wide, body frozen.

you froze in shock, almost surprised that your plan had finally worked. "gotcha," you smiled, leaning against your door frame satisfied.

“uh…” mark scrambled, attempting to put his mask back on as if it would make you forget seeing his face entirely. as he tripped and tumbled around your room, you slowly made you way behind him.

“mark,” you began, attempting to get him to calm down. “baby,” you turned him slowly as he finally got his mask back on. “mark? who’s mark? that your boyfriend or something?” he attempted to deepen his voice to throw you off.

he realized this was unsurprisingly unsuccessful, noticing the smirk that continued to show on your face. “you know him, don’t you, spiderman? he’s the boy who just kicked ass and saved my life less than ten minutes ago.” you said, gently pulling off his mask to reveal your boyfriend’s face.

he stared at you, not knowing how you felt. “look, i can explain this all,” he nervously let out as he looked anywhere but your eyes.

before he could explain, you kissed him softly, wanting to ease his worry and express your gratitude. he saved your life after all, and not just by being spiderman.

“i’m not mad, not at all.” you looked into his eyes, noticing how at ease he seemed to be at the relief of your words.

“i’m so sorry i didn’t tell you sooner. i was so scared you wouldn’t want to be with me or be scared of me,” he ranted, trying to make you see his side in case you had lied and were even the littlest bit mad at him. he hated when you were mad at him more than anything.

“why would i not want to be with you? i love you, mark, so much, it’s crazy.” you pulled his face into your hands in disbelief at his words. “and plus, how could i be scared of such a handsome, strong, crime-fighting superhero who so happens to double as my boyfriend. if anything, people should fear me,” you joked, ripping a laugh from his lips.

“how long have you known?” he asked, pulling you closer by your waist. biting your lip, you looked down, trying to hold back your laugh. “remember when you borrowed my notes for class and forgot to give them back?"

you didn’t even have to finish, seeing the realization wash over his face as the words fell from your lips.

“yeah, maybe putting your suit in your backpack wasn’t the best place.” you both laughed at the situation at hand; mark was completely dumbfounded.

“so that’s why you talked such shit about me and bought that stupid shirt!” he continued to put together the pieces, gripping your waist tighter as he laughed at his own stupidity.

"ding, ding, ding!” you replied, pulling away slightly to take in his whole look, still not being used to see him like this up close. “yeah, definitely need to see you in this more often now."

mark flushed, turning into putty in your presence. your eyes traveled all over the intricate details and meshing of the suit. how it hugged his body and made him look completely unreal.

“do a little spin for me, doll.” you teased, wanting to ease up all the pent-up emotions still hanging in the air. mark giggled at your stupid comment but did as you asked nonetheless, turning slowly for you.

turning completely to the back, not a second went by before mark felt a harsh slap on his skin. “fuck baby! what was that for?” he whined, reaching down to rub the irritated spot.

"sorry, i couldn’t help myself when you have an ass like that, mark lee.” you smiled at his pained expression, putting your arms back to lean against your vanity, still ogling at your boyfriend’s physique.

“guess i really do need to wear this more around you.” he placed his hands on either side of you, trapping you beneath him.

“maybe the story time can wait till later.” you breathed before his lips pressed themselves to yours.

“i love you so much, my girl."

“i love you too, spidey boy.”

now you had mark completely to yourself, spiderman and all with no secrets left to hide.

note | more spider!mark WHAT CAN I SAYYY WHAT CAN I SAYYY. he’s literally my fav mark to write ever like pleaseee get him as the korean peter parker asap!!! anyways, hope you loved this and my request box is always open <333

#nct #nct dream #nct dream fic #nct fluff #nct 127 #nct 127 fic #mark lee #mark lee fic #mark lee fluff #mark lee imagines #mark lee scenarios #mark lee x reader #mark lee x you #nct mark #nct mark lee #nct scenarios #nct x reader #nct angst #mark lee angst

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igotanidea · 9 months ago

Text

Stuck: Anthony Bridgerton x wife!reader

A/N: seriously, I almost titled this chapter "idiot" , XD (and that's also the spoiler alert XD)

part 1 to too much

part 2 : not enough

part 3 : almost there

***

One year ago

„When will you get those irrational thoughts out of your head Y/N?”

“What irrational thoughts?”

“About marriage out of love. No such thing exist in the world, my dear and if you do not start living in reality you shall become a spinster!”

“Mother!” Y/N’s eyes grew wide at the harsh and unjust words. She was still so young and to almost be called an old maid—

“Do not raise your voice young lady. You shall marry this season otherwise you would be putting our noble house in a very compromising position.”

“But-“

“Ah! Do not object your mother Y/N. You’ll do as I say. I know what’s best for you and you shall follow the lead. And that is precisely why you’ll accept when Lord Bridgerton proposes to you.”

“Lord Bridgerton!? Which one!?”

“The viscount, dear.” Her mother fluttered her fan imperiously. “Lord Anthony Bridgerton.”

“There is no possibility that I-“

“Hush!”

“Mother I –“

“You’ll say yes.” The tone of voice became much more commanding, leaving no space for discussion. It was like Y/N’s fate has already been decided.

“And why shall I? Because the viscount has decided he has enough pleasantries exchanged with modistes and actresses and other ladies free of the burden of the title. Because mighty Lord Bridgerton decided it is time to tie bounds with a young noble lady, who will be naïve and foolish enough to look at his antics without as much as a blink of an eye. Who will – dear lord – bear him an heir to the title and be the perfect little wife he would order around.”

“Y/N Y/L/N!” her mother raised from the chaise longue with cheeks flushed due to her daughter impertinence. “You will accept the proposal!”

“I will not!”

“Your father has already made the appropriate commitments!”

“Commitments!?”

“You shall be courted like a young lady should and get married in the fall.”

“Mother!”

“It has been decided. Now, you go and make yourself presentable. Lord Bridgerton has announced his visit in the afternoon.”

***

The visit was a disaster, to use the light words.

It was clear as day that neither Anthony nor Y/N were fully content with this arrangement and subconsciously tried to discourage the other. That way, when one of them would actually break it off, said one would be to blame for the disgrace, that would undeniably fall on both families.

However-

Despite some many character discrepancies they were both pertinacious and individualistic, ready to go the greatest length to have one’s own way. Neither of them was even thinking of surrendering easily.

Therefore, during his first appointment as a suitor Anthony was met with cold stares, minimum exchange of words and very noticeable distance on his future bride’s part.

Immediately matching the atmosphere and repaying in kind, only doubled in intensity.

Getting burned with the tea in response.

Causing a lot of havoc, many fake words of apologies and even more words of assurance that is must have been an unfortunate accident and he holds no grudge.

For obvious reason the time spend in L/N;s household was cut extremely short and Y/N was send to bed without supper to think about her erratic behavior.

Next few visits were no better.

Especially not the one when Anthony and Y/N were to reveal to a wide audience the nature of their acquaintance by strolling on the promenade, beaming with happiness due to their soon-to-be marriage.

“Dear lord, you are to be enthusiastic.” Anthony hissed in Y/N’s ear grabbing her arm with a bit more force than needed “Smile.”

She put on a fake grin when they were passing by some familiar face, but as soon as the woman was gone she turned to Anthony throwing daggers at him.

“Giving me orders already, Lord Bridgerton?”

“Hopefully you can be tempered if we start getting you used to it this early.”

“Oh! Perhaps it should be you to change the perspective my lord. See the real face of a lady you decided to meet at the altar?”

“And here I though your wonderful mother raised you better.”

“Do not dare speak of my mother the ill way!” she almost yelled, almost yanking her hand free from his grip, stopping the walk and challenging him to do something reckless.

“Forgive me.” He became serious in an instant and the words of apologies actually seemed honest. “You are right, I overstepped.”

“Thank you.” She responded with a deep sigh. God knows how much it took for her to stay calm. Regardless of the on-going conflict and differences in views between Y/N and her mother, the young woman would never let anyone offend her family. Not even Lord Bridgerton. And he should know that straight away.

“Perhaps we have started off the wrong foot, Lady Y/L/N.”

“I believe so. Seemingly we have a way to bring out the worst in each other, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Is that a way to tell me I have already seen you on your lowest behavior?”

“Compliments, Lord Bridgerton, you have endured my greatest efforts to cause you dispiritedness.” Despite herself she let out a chuckle.

“I am known for my endurance even in the least favorable circumstances.”

“I shall keep on my efforts, nonetheless.”

“I am deeply convinced that this will be the case”

***

Dearest gentle reader,

It has come to this writer’s attention that the affection between Viscount Bridgerton and young lady Y/L/N is in full bloom.

Despite the initial misunderstandings and noble behavior, that hasn't deceived any member of the ton, even if have been well played, recent news and observation has shown that maybe there's less pretending and more truth to it.

Much to the ton’s discombobulation, young pair has been seen laughing together while the viscount resorted to courting in the way that resemble his late father and Lady Violet Bridgerton manner.

This writer daresay that no elite member would have ever do as much as dream of Lord Anthony Bridgerton picking meadow flowers for his chosen one while walking in the fields, away from prying eyes. Neither anyone would ever think about the forever dreamer lady Y/l/n actually so close to fulfilling her dream of marrying out of love. Irrational thoughts, as someone may put.

It is yet to be decided whether the on-going courtship between lord Bridgerton and lady Y/L/N will be a source of impending scandal in the society or whether those two will actually succeed in keeping this lovable atmosphere for following years.

After all – real love is not easily found and even less easily kept once the obstacles arise.

***

Now.

“You are to be enthusiastic.” Anthony murmured taking Y/N;s arm and bowing to the passing nobles “Smile.”

Those words brought back some memories and she couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony of the history that was in fact repeating itself.

“What is so funny?”

“Your memory does seem so be failing my lord. Won’t you remember the last situation when you told me to express my happiness and contentment to the ton?”

“I—” Anthony cut off, letting out a deep, frustrated sigh.

“Seem like you do after all.”

“Y/N…”

“Been a while since I had to pretend I was content though, given the fact that I truly was, of late.” The hint of sadness and melancholy was not to miss and did not make it easier for Anthony to pursue on the apologies he was tirelessly pursuing.

“Y/N…”

“Good job on choosing the right name since the person, whose hand you are now holding for display seem to be too much for you, my lord. To say the full truth I am fairly surprised you chased me here instead of focusing on spending time with one of your-“

“Don’t you finish that sentence.”

“Oh, I shall not, god forbid. I shall keep the pretenses as any lady married into a good family will.” She send the brightest smile to some kids that were running around, preached by their parents, holding her walls up.

At this point, mockery and distancing herself from the entire unfortunate events, if not fight, was the only way to prevent the emotional and mental breakdown and falling into tears. She was hurt. She was deeply hurt on a level she never thought existed. Anthony’s behavior hit precisely in all the sensitive spots, leaving her overthinking and wailing inside. Reminding her of all the years in her family’s household, being forced to act according to the standards, which she constantly broke, defying all the rules of ossified society and paying a heavy price for being herself despite the odds.

Being called too much, constantly.

Until she met Eloise, which was freeing. Y/N could finally feel like herself, spending a lot of time with Bridgertons.

And then meeting Anthony.

And actually creating a happy story with him, believing she would once and for all be free of the typecasting and tag putting.

But he started behaving in the same way to which she was exposed her entire life.

Too much.

Not enough.

And it made her angry.

“Please do forgive me for not easily being shaped in the wife you want me to be.”

“Shaped? I never wanted you any different!”

“Is that so?” she raised an eyebrow teasingly and it got her furious glance of her husband’s and the tightening bruising grip on her wrist. “you’re hurting me. Again.” The emphasis put on the last word actually made Anthony realize that he was not made of stone, but the words he wished to say were not coming easily.

“Y/N…” he clenched his jaw. She was mocking and challenging him even now, when he was trying to admit he was wrong and trying to apologize for the wrongdoings.

“Yes, my lord?” she took a step back, smiling in that light way that made him even more furious.

“I believe you wanted to spend time on an intellectual conversation with my sister. Forgive me-“ he bowed in a distant manner reserved for strangers rather than spouses “-for being as impertinent to interrupt ladies’ time. I shall withdraw and leave you to continue on your – surely important- exchange”

And with those words, much to the shock of not only Y/N, but also Benedict and Eloise, who were still following them, Anthony bowed again and started walking away, raising clouds of dust due to the speed with which he rushed off from the place where he left his beloved wife.

Feeling the weight of failure and heartbreak on his shoulders, without a single way to make up for his mistake and keeping the face of a viscount at the same time.

Convinced that she hated him and there was no way to regain her favor and affection.

next part (finale!) : Just right

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#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fic #bridgerton angst #anthony bridgerton angst

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joelmillerisapunk · 8 months ago

Text

Divide my legs like a mathematician

Dbf!Joel x virgin!reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 4K

Summary: you find yourself drawn to Joel's confidence and charm, unable to resist the forbidden fruit. After sharing an intimate moment by the pool, you're left feeling both guilty and exhilarated, eager for more.

Warnings: 18+, virginity loss, reader has first kiss, age gap (reader is early 20's and Joel is however old you need him to be.) Reader has hair and breasts, and wears a bikini, unprotected p in v, m&f oral receiving, fingering, Joel comes twice. Joel, being a typical middle-aged man, saying "you know.."

Notes: please do not read if this kind of dynamic or situation is offputting or something you do not like or enjoy or object to. Please be responsible for yourself and your fic reading. Love you bye 💝 and don't ask about the title unless you wanna hear and see something weird 😂

The sun beats down relentlessly, its fiery rays reflecting off the shimmering surface of the pool. You've sought refuge by its side, lying on a vibrant, floral towel, your swimsuit clinging to your skin. Your eyes flutter closed, and you breathe in the scent of chlorine and sunscreen, letting the warmth of the day lull you into a state of peaceful relaxation.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a shadow eclipsing the sun. You squint up, the brightness giving way to the familiar face of Joel Miller, your dad's old buddy. The one you haven't seen in a few years.

His salt-and-pepper hair, flecked with silver, is styled in a casual yet purposeful way. His muscular build is evident through his t-shirt and swim trunks. Joel's eyes, a stunning shade of chocolate brown, crinkle at the corners as he turns his attention to you, a smirk playing on his lips. "Well, well, well, who do we have here?" he asks, his gaze sweeping over your body in a way that makes you feel a bit nervous.

You shield your eyes from the sun with your hand before you reply, "Hey Joel, my dad's not here. He had to run some errands."

Joel chuckles, a small smile playing on his lips. "Well, good thing you're here to keep me company while I wait for him.”

You roll your eyes, but you can't help the heat that rises to your face. "I'm not here to entertain you," you say, trying to sound stern.

Joel chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "You know you've sure grown up since I last saw ya, more beautiful than ever."

You can't help but feel a little flattered by his words, even if you try to hide it. You've always had a bit of a crush on Joel, but you know that he's off-limits, the forbidden fruit. He's your dad's friend, and he's much older than you. You've never even had a boyfriend, but there's something about him that you find irresistible. Maybe it's his confidence, or his sense of humor, or the way he makes you feel when he looks at you. Whatever it is, you can't help but be drawn to him.

You try to play it cool. "Oh, please, you're just saying that because you feel awkward being alone with me and you're trying to be nice."

"Maybe, maybe not," he admits. "But that doesn't change the fact that you're beautiful."

You feel your heart flutter at the way the word rolls off his tongue, but you try to hide your reaction. "Prove it," you say, challenging him.

Joel raises an eyebrow, chuckling. "Prove it?" he repeats. "How do you propose I do that?"

You shrug, trying to act nonchalant. "I dunno, race me to the other side of the pool, maybe?"

Joel's laughter rings out, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief as he accepts the challenge. "You're on.” With a swift and fluid motion, he peels off his shirt, revealing his muscular chest and arms. The garment lands carelessly on a nearby chair, but you barely notice as your gaze follows the contours of his physique. You notice how broad he is and how beautiful in return you think he is.

Joel dives into the pool, cutting through the water with surprising grace and agility. The splash startles you, breaking your reverie, and you take a deep breath diving into the pool swimming as fast as you can towards the other side of the pool.

The cool water feels refreshing against your skin, but you're determined to win the race. You swim with all your might, your legs kicking furiously behind you. But despite your best efforts, Joel reaches the other side just before you do.

You come up for air, panting slightly, and Joel grins at you. "I win."

You stick your tongue out at him. "Fine, you win," you concede. "But that doesn't mean you're right about me being beautiful."

Joel's expression softens, and he looks at you with a seriousness that takes you by surprise. "You know darlin, I'm not just sayin' it to flatter you," he says as he gets out of the pool and then helps you out. "I've always thought you were beautiful. But now, you're all grown up, and I can't help but notice the way you move, the way you challenge me, it's all so - intoxicating."

His words make you feel self-conscious, but also excited. You've never had anyone talk to you like this before, and it's both scary and thrilling.

Joel notices your reaction and takes a step closer to you. "I know this is unexpected, and maybe even a little inappropriate," he says. "But, I can't help the way I feel. And I think you feel it too, don'tcha darlin?”

"I-I don't know," you stammer.

Joel's expression softens, and he reaches out to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face. "It's okay, take your time. I'm not goin’ anywhere." You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. You've never felt this way before, and you're not sure what to do. "It's okay," he repeats. "I know it’s a lot to take in.” Joel moves so his body mere inches away from yours. "You ever done anythin' before, you got a boyfriend?”

You pause, feeling the air get tense. You can't believe how abrupt he is to just ask like this. You shake your head, feeling a bit ashamed you've never even kissed a boy before, let alone have a boyfriend.

Joel can see the uncertainty in your eyes, but he also sees curiosity and desire. He takes a deep breath, and his eyes never leave yours. "You know, I can teach you how to please a man, how to be pleasured. I wanna make sure that when you do decide to be with someone, you're not so inexperienced."

Your eyes flitter around, never fully meeting Joel's gaze. "I dunno I've never done anything like this before," you admit.

Joel's expression softens, and he reaches out to gently take your hand. "I know babygirl," he says. "And I'm not going to push you into anything. But I want you to know that I'm here for you, if you want me to be."

You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. You know that what Joel is suggesting is wrong, but you can't help feeling like a snake, trying to convince yourself to take a bite of the juiciest looking apple you’ve ever seen. He's always been so helpful, and now that he's offering to show you the ways of intimacy, you can't help but be tempted. You really don't want to be so inexperienced when it's your real first time. "I want you to teach me Joel," you whisper.

Joel's face lights up, "I promise to make this a learning experience for you, somethin’ you'll never forget."

He takes your hand and leads you to a secluded spot by the pool, sits down on the grass, and pulls you down next to him. "First things first, let's start with the basics. You ever touch yourself?"

You shake your head, feeling yourself fill with embarrassment.

"S'okay," he says. "This is all new to you. Just do what I do, okay?"

He takes your hand and guides it to your bottoms, helping you to slip your fingers under the fabric. You can feel the heat radiating from your core, and you gasp as Joel's and your fingers brush against your clit.

"Just relax," he says, his voice soothing. "S’all about pleasure."

As you continue to touch yourself, you can feel something building inside of you. It's a strange, unfamiliar sensation, but it's also incredibly pleasurable. You moan softly as Joel continues to guide your hand, his lips close to your ear.

"That's it," he murmurs, his lips close to your ear. "Just relax and enjoy the sensation." You can feel the heat radiating from your core, and you can feel your body tensing as you get closer and closer to your first orgasm. Joel can sense this too, and he places a hand on your belly, feeling each jolt and tremor as it passes through you.

"Just let go, baby," he whispers. "I've got you. You're safe."

But suddenly, you pull your hand away, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"I can't," you say, your voice shaking. "It feels too weird."

Joel can see the look of fear and uncertainty in your eyes, and he pulls you against his chest.

"Yes, you can, I promise," he says, his voice soothing and reassuring. "Just let yourself feel the pleasure. Let me help you, baby. Tell me what you're feeling, baby," he says, his voice gentle and coaxing. "What does it feel like when I touch you like this?" He starts rubbing circles on your clit again.

You take a deep breath, trying to put your feelings into words. "It feels...good," you say, your voice hesitant. "But it's also scary. I've never done this before."

"I know, baby," Joel coos. "But there's nothing to be afraid of. I'm here with you, and I'll never let anything bad happen to you."

Joel can see that you need a different approach, something that will help you to relax and let go of your inhibitions.

He pulls away from you, his eyes meeting yours. "Let's try something a little different," he says with a gentle voice. Before you can protest, Joel is moving down your body, his lips pressing gentle kisses against your skin. When he reaches your thighs he gently guides them further apart, leaving kisses all the way until he reaches your swimsuit bottoms, he pulls them to the side, exposing your clit. You gasp as you feel his tongue flick against your clit, the sensation almost too much to bear.

"Just relax," Joel murmurs, his voice soothing. "Let me show you how good this can feel."

He continues to lick and suck at your clit, his fingers slipping inside of you to stroke your G-spot. You can feel pleasure building inside of you, more intense than anything you've ever felt before.

"Yes, just like that," Joel murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Let go, babygirl. Let yourself feel it."

And suddenly, you do. The orgasm crashes over you like a wave, so intense that you can barely breathe. You cry out whatever vowels and constants your brain can, and your body shakes with the force of it. Joel doesn't stop, his tongue and fingers continuing to work their magic. Another orgasm builds inside of you, even more intense than the first. You can feel yourself on the edge, your body trembling with pleasure.

"Come on, babygirl, come again, such a good girl."

And you do. This orgasm tears through you like a lightning bolt, so intense that you see stars behind your closed eyes.

Finally, the orgasm subsides, and you collapse back onto the grass, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Joel moves beside you, his arms wrapped around you as he holds you close to his body.

"How do you feel?" he murmurs, his lips close to your ear.

You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "I feel...amazing," you say, quietly.

Joel smiles, his eyes meeting yours. "I'm glad," he says. "That's exactly how I wanted you to feel." Joel's expression is gentle as he looks at you, gauging your reaction. He then reaches down and slowly starts to undo the drawstring of his swim trunks. "You ever seen a cock before?"

You shake your head, feeling a mix of curiosity and nervousness. Joel seems to sense your apprehension, and he takes his time as he pulls down his swim trunks, revealing his erect length. Your eyes widen as you take in the sight before you, the way the sunlight dances off his smooth, taut skin, the way the veins protrude just slightly, creating a roadmap. Your gaze drifts down to the base, where the same salt and peppered hair that graces his head dusts his pelvis. Joel gives you a moment to take it all in before speaking again, his voice barely above a whisper, "Do you wanna touch it?" The question hangs in the air.

You nod, feeling a surge of excitement and curiosity. Joel's hand finds yours, guiding it towards his stiffening cock. You can feel the heat radiating off of him. As you wrap your fingers around his shaft, you marvel at the weight and firmness of it in your hand.

"Mmm, that feels so good," Joel moans, his eyes fluttering closed as he relaxes into your touch.

Encouraged by his reaction, you begin to explore his cock more fully. You stroke your hand up and down its length, feeling it twitch and throb beneath your fingertips. Joel helps guide your movements, his hand covering yours as he shows you the rhythm he likes best.

"Tighten your grip a little... yeah, just like that," he murmurs, his breath hitching as you increase the pressure. Joel's moans become louder and more frequent, and you can feel him grow even harder in your hand. It takes no time at all for Joel to reach his peak.

"Fuck baby, I'm gonna come," Joel gasps, his hips thrusting forward.

You pull your hand away, unsure of what to do. Joel opens his eyes and looks at you. You look like a deer in headlights, and the sight almost makes him come without help. "It's okay, baby," he says with a gentle voice. "You don't have to do anything. Just wanted to give you an idea of what it feels like, what it looks like, what it tastes like," he says softly, "But, if you're curious, I can show you how to pleasure a man with your mouth."

You nod, your curiosity getting the better of you. "I want to, I wanna learn."

Joel smiles, his eyes softening. "Okay, just remember to take it slow. There's no rush."

Joel takes your hand and guides it down to his cock, which is already rock-hard and pulsing with desire. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, and you're eager to explore him further. With a gentle nudge, he encourages you to take him into your mouth.

At first, you're hesitant. You've never done this before, and you're not sure what to do. But Joel is patient and kind, gently stroking your hair and murmuring words of encouragement.

"That's it, baby," he whispers. "Just relax and take your time. Mmm, yeah, just like that."

Emboldened by his words, you begin to explore him more fully. You wrap your lips around the head of his cock, swirling your tongue around the sensitive tip. Joel lets out a low moan of pleasure, and you can feel his hips bucking up towards you.

Encouraged you take him deeper into your mouth. You suck harder, your cheeks hollowing out as you work him over. Joel's moans grow louder and more frequent. Suddenly, he grabs a handful of your hair, guiding your head up and down in a steady rhythm.

"Fuck, baby, I'm gonna come," he gasps, his voice tight with pleasure.

You pull back, letting his cock slip out of your mouth with a wet pop. Joel opens his eyes and looks at you, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Keep goin’ like you were, just swallow if you can, it's natural."

Joel's eyes flutter closed as he helps guide your head back down to his cock, savoring the feeling of him growing hard in your mouth once more. You wrap your lips around him, taking him in slowly, and begin to move your head in a gentle rhythm. Joel's breathing grows heavy as he lets out a low moan, his fingers finding their way into your hair.

You can feel him tensing up, and then, with a shudder, he comes, filling your mouth with warmth. The taste is strange and unfamiliar, but you swallow, determined to please him. You pull your mouth away from him quickly, probably a little too quickly. "Joel," you say, your voice hesitant as you look over at him, catching his breath. "Can we... do it?"

Joel looks at you, his expression serious. "Do what, babygirl?" he asks, puffing out a response through caught breathes even though he knows what you're asking.

"You know...have sex," you whisper.

Joel's eyes widen, and he looks at you with a mix of surprise and desire. "Baby, I just came," he says, his voice gentle. "Let me catch my breath for a bit, and then we can figure somethin' out."

Joel's eyes meet yours, and he can see the slight hint of disappointment in them. But he understands, and he takes your face gently in his hands, leaning in close so that his mouth is almost touching yours. "Don't worry, babygirl," he says, his voice soft and soothing. "I'll make it worth your while." You can feel your heart flutter at his words, and you can't help but smile. Joel's breathing begins to return to normal, and he pulls back slightly, looking at you with a serious expression. "I think I have a couple of ideas," he says. "But, it's gonna take some effort on both our parts."

You nod, eager to please him and experience more of the pleasure he's shown you.

Joel takes a deep breath, looking at you with a serious expression. "I want you to take your top off."

You look at him in surprise, your hands instinctively going to cover your chest. "What? Why?" You ask, your voice hesitant.

Joel reaches out to take your hands in his, his eyes meeting yours. "Because it's a natural part of a woman's body, and it's one of the things that turns me on the most," he explains. "And I want to be able to pleasure you fully, without any barriers between us."

You bite your lower lip, you've never been naked in front of anyone before, and the thought of doing so with Joel is both terrifying and thrilling. But you trust him, and you want to please him. Taking a deep breath, you nod your head, signaling your agreement. Joel's eyes softened as he smiled, his hands moving to gently guide you onto his lap. You feel a flutter in your stomach as you straddle him, your thighs brushing against his. His fingers deftly undo the knot that holds your bikini top in place, and the fabric falls away, leaving your breasts exposed to the warm summer air. You feel a shiver run down your spine, your nipples hardening in response to the exposure.

Joel's eyes darken as he takes in the sight of your bare chest, his breath hitching in his throat.

"Mmm, so perfect baby.” Before you can respond, Joel leans in, his mouth capturing one of your nipples. You gasp at the sensation, your hands instinctively going to his hair as he sucks and licks at your breast. Joel's hands come up to cup your other breast, his fingers teasing your nipple. You had never felt anything like this before, the sensation of his mouth on your breast, his hands caressing your body. It's intoxicating.

Joel's hands start to wander down your body, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. He reaches your bikini bottoms, and you can feel him tugging at the fabric. "Lift up for me, baby,"

You do as he asks, lifting your hips off the ground as he pulls your bikini bottoms down your legs. You're completely naked now, exposed to Joel's gaze, but instead of feeling embarrassed, you feel a thrill run through your body. Joel's eyes are dark with desire as he takes in the sight of your bare body.

"Fuck, babygirl, you are so damn delicious," his hands reach out to touch you. He runs his fingers along your inner thighs, teasing you. "Spread your legs for me, baby, nice and wide," he says, his voice low and commanding.

You comply, spreading your legs apart.

He leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear. "You have no idea how fucking sexy you are, do you? I've been dreaming about this for years, imagining what it would be like to touch you, to taste you."

You gasp as Joel's hand slips between your legs, his fingers finding your clit. "You're so wet," he growls, his fingers circling your clit in slow, deliberate movements. "I can feel how much you want me, how much you need me. You think you're ready, baby?"

You nod, feeling a surge of excitement and nervousness. Joel moves between your legs, his body hovering over yours. He looks into your eyes, searching for any signs of doubt or hesitation.

"If you want to stop at any time, just tell me," he says. "I won't be upset."

You nod and shyly say, “I'm ready.”

Joel positions himself at your entrance, his tip pressing gently against your opening. He looks into your eyes, searching for any signs of discomfort or fear. "Just breathe, babygirl," his voice soothes you a bit. "It might feel a little uncomfortable at first, but I promise it'll feel good real soon."

You nod, taking a deep breath as Joel starts to push inside of you. You feel a sharp pain as he breaks through your barrier, and you can't help but gasp at the sensation. “Ah, Joel, it hurts," you whimper, your eyes watering.

Joel curses under his breath, his eyes filled with concern. "I'm sorry, babygirl," he says, his voice gentle. "I know, I know, I gotcha.” He continues to move slowly, giving your body time to adjust to the intrusion. You can feel yourself stretching to accommodate him, and you can't help but wince at the discomfort. Joel leans down, almost kissing you, his lips soft and gentle against yours. "It's okay, babygirl," he murmurs. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

As he continues to move, the pain starts to fade, replaced by a strange, unfamiliar sensation. It's not entirely unpleasant, but it's not exactly comfortable either. Joel seems to sense your confusion, and he starts to move his hips in a slow, circular motion. "Feel that, babygirl?" he touches your lower belly where you can feel his cock hitting. "That's your body gettin’ used to me. It's gonna feel good soon, I promise."

And he's right. As he continues to move, the sensation begins to shift, becoming something more pleasurable. You can feel yourself getting wetter, your body responding to Joel's movements. "That's it, babygirl," Joel murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Let yourself feel it. Let yourself feel me."

He starts to move faster, his hips thrusting harder against yours. You think you can feel yourself getting closer to another orgasm and Joel can sense it too. "You like that, babygirl? You like feeling my cock inside of you? You like feeling me stretch you open, fill you up?"

You nod, a small whimper coming from the back of your throat.

"Good," he breathes, pushing his hips deeper into yours, the friction making him groan. "Tell me when you're gonna come, sweetheart."

You feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "I-I'm gonna come," you gasp.

Joel's eyes widen, and he nods, his hips thrusting harder against yours. "Come for me, babygirl," he growls, his voice low and commanding. "Come on my cock."

The orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, so powerful that it feels like every nerve in your body is firing at once. You can't help but cry out, a loud, primal sound that probably alerts everyone in close proximity to what's happening. Your body convulses with pleasure, every muscle tensing and then releasing as waves of ecstasy wash over you.

Joel's thrusts become more erratic, his hips slamming against yours with a fierce urgency as he chases his own release. His breath comes in short, sharp gasps, each one hot and moist against your ear. "Fuck, babygirl," he groans. "I'm so close. I'm gonna come too." You can feel him throbbing inside of you, each pulse of his cock sending another shiver of pleasure through your body. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper inside of you, wanting to feel every inch of him as he fills you up with his warmth.

And then he's there, his body tensing as he reaches his own peak. "Fuck, babygirl," he groans. "Oh fuck!" He collapses on top of you, his breath hot and heavy against your neck.

You can feel his heart pounding against your chest. For a moment, neither of you say anything, both of you too caught up in the afterglow of what just happened.

Finally, Joel lifts his head, looking down at you with a mixture of awe and desire. "Fuck, babygirl," he murmurs, his voice still low and husky. "That was...incredible."

You wrap your arms around him, feeling a surge of affection and gratitude. "Thank you," you whisper into his ear as you instinctively start stroking his hair.

Joel looks up at you, "What are you thankin’ me for?"

You feel a mix of embarrassment and shyness. "For showing me how good it can feel."

Joel smiles. "You're welcome, baby girl. I'm glad I could be the one to show you." He leans in, his lips capturing yours in a soft, gentle kiss. You can feel yourself getting lost in the moment, in the feeling of Joel's lips on yours, in the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

Your first kiss.

But all too soon, the bliss comes to an end. Joel pulls away, his eyes meeting yours. "I better get goin'," he says. "Your dad will be back soon."

You nod, feeling a surge of disappointment. "Okay," you say kinda pouty.

Joel smirks and lifts your chin in his hand so you're looking at him. "Don't look so sad, babygirl," he says, his voice gentle. "This is just the beginning. I promise to show you so much more."

With that, he gives you a quick kiss on the forehead and he gets up, putting his swim trunks back on. You watch as he walks away, your heart heavy in your chest. You know that what just happened was wrong, that it's not something that should have happened. But you can't help the way you feel, the way your body responds to Joel's touch. You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. You know that you should feel guilty, that you should be ashamed of what just happened. But all you can feel is a sense of excitement, of anticipation. You know that this is just the beginning.

And you can't wait.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #virgin!reader

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nimnia · 22 days ago

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b⚝hind th⚝se ey⚝s

▹ synopsis : in just one phoning live with minji had fans going wild and crazy for both of you... are you really not a real couple behind the scenes? (it had fans thinking.)

▹ genre : pure fluff, small smau

▹ taglist : @flyingcigarettes

▹ a/n : there's going to be more versions of "behind those eyes"!! but i think the titles will be a bit different... idk :) i hope you enjoy this one!

▹ versions : hanni ver. | danielle ver. | haerin ver. | hyein ver. (platonic)

› masterlist

"do you have any favorite lipstick, y/n?" you read. your eyes beam when someone finally mentions it, "yes, i do have one! it's a very very cute one, and i have been wanting to show this to you guys for quite some time..."

minji watches you standing from your seat and heading to get your bag. you rummage through it, not noticing minji staring at you with low-lidded eyes.

you come back with your hands intertwined and a large smile on your face, sitting back down on the chair with minji's arm resting on your chair's armrest.

you looked excited as you took another second to read the comments, "are you guys ready?" it was like talking to kindergartens. it made minji smile knowingly behind you.

then you open your locked hands, revealing a rather medium sized lip balm. "it's a caramel flavored, guys! one of my favorite flavors in the world is chocolate and caramel."

you rotate the mentioned item to the camera, making sure to get every detail you could get.

"since they don't have chocolate flavored, i took the caramel one! it's called 'nikky luck balm' and it's one of the infamous ones out there, so i just took it without hesitation." you laugh, opening the lid and turning to minji.

"i'll let you smell it first."

you said as you reach the open lidded balm to the older girl, who kept her eyes on you before averting it away to lean close to the item. she sniffs and lets out a small hum of content.

"oh, that does smell so nice. do you have it on you today?" she suddenly asks, leaning back to her chair as she stares at you blankly.

you blink before shaking your head, "i haven't actually. wait, let me just-" immediately, you turn to the camera and slightly get close to apply the lip balm onto your lips.

minji continues to watch you, covering her mouth with her hand and her cap slightly shielding her eyes from the camera, but anyone can catch a glimpse of where it landed.

pursing your lips together, you smile happily to see your lips gleaming and neatly applied. you were satisfied at your own work. "heh."

when you turn to minji, you give her a look when you notice her blank stare. "you want some too?" you ask genuinely, not seeming to notice what's going on behind minji's eyes.

minji blinks twice before smiling and removing her hand from her mouth, "sure." as if you know, you gently rub your finger on the balm and carefully apply it on her lips.

with the same finger you used to apply the balm on your own lips.

her lips are instinctively slightly parted for you to have better access on applying it, and you appreciated that small gesture.

but of course, you didn't notice her gaze on you.

after a little while, you sent a rather cute smile— unintentionally, but you were excited and satisfied— and leaned back to look more at minji's gleaming lips with your balm.

"hmm. looks great on you~" you hum in satisfaction, nodding your way as you slowly turn to the camera while closing the lid of your lip balm.

beside you, minji turns to the camera and smirks with one of her brows bobbing slightly.

fans were screaming in the comments and certainly squealing in real life, anyone can tell.

─────

"you know, my mom..." you started, looking into her phone to look for your conversation with your mom. minji was leaning towards the camera to read the comments.

when she hears you letting out a small sigh, she turns to you to listen attentively.

"she keeps sending me money even when i told her not to." you sulk quietly, pouting at minji as you gave her your phone. she took it and read what you both were talking about.

"i told her not to send me money because they need it for their grocery every week. even dad tries to convince her that i'll manage, but like," you shake your head with pursed lips.

minji didn't even finish reading the conversation, already had her head to you. she ended up staring at your lips as you talked about your mom and dad.

until the very end of the ranting, she didn't take her eyes away from your lips but she had to when you turned to her suddenly, thinking that she wasn't listening to you.

fans always catch on these kinds of things, so it became so obvious that they're flaming the comments again.

─────

you were starting to feel hot in your comfy jacket, then when looking behind for the remote, it was actually turned off.

"wait," you muttered quietly, standing from your seat and walking towards the remote to turn it on. but knowing that the aircon will take time to cold up the room, you decided to remove your jacket.

"girl, you didn't even notice the aircon was off?" you chuckle, sitting back again with your jacket on your lap, revealing your black tank top that was underneath the former jacket.

she shrugs, taking a quick glance at your top before looking at your jacket. "give." she only said before snatching the jacket from your hands.

you didn't mind, though you gave her a look again before turning to read the comments and replying to them.

and minji just burying her face on your jacket before putting her legs up and rest her chin on her knee with your jacket underneath her head.

─────

after leaving minji alone in her live to buy snacks and drinks since you haven't eaten yet. she insists that she'll buy them instead, but you were stubborn and immediately left the room, leaving minji alone sulking.

talking and chit-chatting with the fans to kill time, and after a little while, you finally came back with the familiar paper bag. you grin towards the camera and immediately sat on the chair, handing the bag to her.

"i bought a lot, so choose any." you coolly tells her, leaning forward to the phone to read the comments.

feeling the eagerness, minji quickly opens and take out a snack that she first saw. "ohh, i like this one! dani likes it too, i think." she said, reading the name of the snack before ripping it open.

hearing the sound, you turn to her to see her munching on it already. you laugh at her chubby cheeks, holding back the urge to pinch them and instead, you shift towards her and opens your mouth.

minji glances, cheeks turning rosy. she takes one from the wrap and carefully throwing it onto your open mouth, her fingers accidentally brushes against your pink lips.

she tries not to flinch at the sudden shiver, but seeing you smirking at her while chewing the food made her heart erupting like a volcano.

though, she plays it cool.

minutes later, you were drinking your soda while minji was still eating with a new snack this time. you burped quietly as you place the soda can on the table, then you felt a soft nudge.

you turn to see minji bobbing her brows at you, "soda?" she mumbles softly, and damn, it sounded so small and adorable to you.

chuckling, you take the soda can from the table and hands it to her. minji takes it from your hand and drinks it directly, not bothering to distance her lips from the spot you were drinking.

fans, at this point, are destroying the comment section on live.

─────

"i love this perfume because i got it from hanni's mom! she's the sweetest, i swear," you cry, moved by how sweet your member's mom is to you despite not seeing each other too often as you hoped.

you lightly describe the scent of the perfume and how you take it daily ever since you received the item. minji listens carefully and remembers something.

"oh, this perfume? ohh, i really like this smell too!" minji chimes in, excitement in her voice was visible as it got louder. "the members also like it, especially dani and she has never stop trying to go to you to take a sniff."

you both laugh at the memory of danielle constantly sticking to your side everywhere because of your scent. even during practice and you were a bit sweaty, but that didn't stop dani from, basically, breathing the scent of you.

(weird? ok.)

the perfume scent lasts longer than a day, and since you had it last night on your skin, the smell was still there, fresh as new. and minji— oh, minji.

moments later, she was already sniffing and smelling you while leaning on you. you kept yapping about your day and moments with your members, and you just let minji do what she wants.

even if that wants is her leaning on you and smelling your perfume with a soft smile.

oh lord, please help thy bunnies fans.

#newjeans #뉴진스 #newjeans minji #kim minji #minji x you #minji x reader #newjeans minji x reader #fluff #smau

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flamingpudding · 11 months ago

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Glitterbombs for rogues

A/N: I got sick over the holidays. So I did not do any of the writing I originally wanted to do. So instead of that Christmas Story you get this Mark Rober inspired little tidbit.

Tim had a new favorite Engineer Youtube. The boy was a bit younger than him but a genius Engineer judging by the hand full of videos Tim had marathoned through. According to the listed self-introduction part of the video, Danny was currently an engineering student in Gotham with the goal to work one day for NASA. (Tim held out some hopes that he maybe could snag the kid for WE if possible. He had already sent out an internship offer after the third video he had watched)

Either way, Danny had potential and ideas that borderlined on mad science. But made his videos of his little projects even more entertaining and interesting to watch. Tim's favorite so far was Danny's explanation on how he reconstructed his toaster so that it would launch itself into space after the third his roommate burned toast with it. He did buy his roommate a new toaster at the end of the video though.

Still Tim liked this guy and his videos. So with anticipation he clicked on one of the newer videos. The title having caught his attention: 'Why Glitter'.

Instead of the usual introduction bit with little highlights of Danny's previous project the video started out with a big fat warning in red letter to not attempt to replicate anything in the video. That had Tim very curious already, but then a little video clip following that had Tim spitting out the coffee he was just sipping from.

Thankfully he missed spitting on his phone, still he jumped out of his cozy bed where he had been watching YouTube on his phone and hurried over to his laptop. The video, meanwhile, was continuing playing. He could hear the usual music from the introduction part as well as Danny's voice explaining his reasosn -which were valid, Tim had to agree with some of them- once that part was done.

By now he had fired up his laptop and was researching. The video in the background was explaining how Danny had build his Glitterbombs similar to the once another youtuber had but slightly modified them since he was not going to use fart-spray. Tim eyes widened as he found the first correlating news articles, wondering how they hadn't seen them sooner, but a glance at the date revealed that they were only posted a couple of hours ago.

Danny in the video was no explaining about his fist chooses victim and Tim dived onto his bed from his desk to get his phone back in his hands. Wide eyed, he watched as Danny obviously with a GoPro strapped to his head, crawled through what looked like an air vent. Once he reached an opening he looked through the slits into what appeared to be Riddlers hide out. Danny took the Camara of his head so that he could grin into it making the sign for silence as he barely contained his own chuckles. The other then waited for a moment, the camera work now getting wonky and the video even glitching out but a second later Danny was back in focuse before pointing down and then directing the Camara to his view. There in Riddlers hideout now sat Danny's self engineered glitterbomb.

"No he didn't..." Tim muttered as the video cut to a different scene. Danny was now walking through the sewers, humming cheerfully while explaining why he chose who he choose.

Another cut and... Tim spluttered. How the hell did Danny manage to just walk into Arkam?! So he hadn't seen wrong at the beginning of the video.

Growing paller with every cut on how Danny delivered his self-engineered Glitter bombs, Tim started to fear for his new favorite youtubers safety. Thankfully he had already done his work on Danny's person when he sent the internship offer. Now he just needed to get Danny to freaking safty.

He dragged himself to his laptop still in disbelieve as various clips of the rogues getting glitterbombed from the bombs perspective started playing. And yep, he definitely didn't see wrong now in the beginning. The Joker was one of Danny's chooses victums. Aside from the fact that he was so going to download and save that video for eternity as well as share it with his brothers and friends, (because as funny as it was that most of them were Gotham rogues, Luther and another millionaire by the name of Masters had also been made victims.), he still had to figure out how to ensure this definitely insane youtubers safer from the warmth of 90% of their rogues now.

Great newly discovered favorite youtuber has just painted a big fat red target on himself.

Tim was just about to call everyone in when a bonus at the end of Danny's video started to play.

He recognized that safe house.

He recognizes the weapons displayed on the walls also.

Oh... that's...

Still laughing Tim still sent out a message to everyone. When asked why all he did was sent them the link to the video with to timestamps.

The first one of the Joker getting glitterbombed

The second one being Red Hood getting glitterbombed.

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helenanell · 6 months ago

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Contempt of Court || Challengers

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Art Donaldson X Fem!Reader

CW: 18+ MDNI. Alcoholism / substance abuse. Suicidal ideation. Mentions of car crash/ injury, infidelity (technically - Art is still married to Tashi, but they’re separated) Angst. Smut. A little toxic.

Wordcount: 10.8K

Notes: No use of y/n. Set after the events of the film. Reader is a Tashi stan (There’s too much Tashi Duncan erasure happening and I won’t stand for it.)

Summary: Still recovering from an injury that put your tennis career on pause, your publicist has landed you a deal to be an ambassador for Nike. What she doesn’t tell you, is that so is Art Donaldson: the player who bad-mouthed you in a live, post match interview two years ago. You only find out once it’s too late.

(This story was inspired by the dynamic between Billy and Daisy in Daisy Jones and The Six. But…make it tennis.)

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

For eight agonising weeks, your wrist has been encased in a cast, but now that it’s finally off, you feel far from relieved.

As the doctor had sawn into the plaster, producing a cloud of white dust like he was breaking into a bone instead of revealing a healed one, you had actually felt panicked.

After the car crash, you had spiralled into a pit dug with your own self-pity and pain. And once you’d reached the bottom, you’d staved off the encroaching darkness with alcohol and too many painkillers.

You’d taken drugs before at parties and drunk until you wiped your own memory, the consequence being waking up with your skull practically splitting open from pain. But there was something profoundly different about becoming intoxicated in the hopes of rendering yourself numb:

You hated yourself whilst you were doing it, and once the harmful buzz wore off, you hated yourself a little bit more.

You had become fast friends with shame in the past few months.

You have been desperate to play again, screaming, crying and practically tearing off your own skin with the need to get back to work- to not let yourself fall behind or your ranking suffer.

But, amongst the amalgamation of negatives there had been a sort of relief, too. Relief, because the choice had been taken away from you.

The accident hadn't been your fault and nor could you force your bone to heal faster, so for a brief period of time, you had convinced yourself nothing was your fault. For once, you couldn’t be blamed for your own fall from grace.

But now your bone had healed and if you didn’t give recovery your all, it would be your fault. If there was no triumphant comeback, it would be on you.

Another thing to fail at.

Another thing to lose.

All of which only added to your bafflement over your publicist’s insistence on coming over this morning, in order to discuss ‘a major opportunity’ that wasn’t related to a competition.

You had originally tried to worm out of it, but your coach had found out and given you the third degree.

You’re already tired at the thought of it and you don’t even know what it is yet. You don’t want to think about anything but tennis. You don’t have the energy for it.

In all honesty…you’re hanging on by a thread.

‘Drinking too much’ is a far too casual phrase for how you’ve been living: it has connotations of casualness- a glaring lack of stakes. For you, the stakes are unbelievably high.

You know you can’t afford to become alcohol dependent because even being a functioning alcoholic isn’t an option for you. The only way to function as an athlete—to maintain your career trajectory and the attain the US Open title—is to be at one hundred percent.

Mixing your painkillers with straight vodka isn’t one hundred percent: it’s a cry for fucking help. Except you can’t let anyone hear the cry, you need to stifle it.

It’s bad enough that pictures of you being rolled away from your totalled car in a gurney had been plastered over the internet for weeks after the accident. The alcoholic, pill popping tennis pro was a story that would never go away.

It would morph into an ugly sort of infamy: you’d been in the exclusive club of American sweethearts and heartthrobs who had been hounded so much by the ‘devoted’, that it had driven them to substance abuse to drown out the noise and fortify against the flashing lights.

So, no one could know. No one.

Which is why, as your publicist pulls into your driveway, you’re rushing to hide a half full bottle of vodka inside a hideously expensive—and also just hideous—vase that had been given to you as an engagement gift.

Two years ago, when your fiancé–and fellow tennis player–had been caught in 4k, kissing a barely legal actress from a HBO teen drama, you’d almost smashed the vase. But, something about destroying a gift from Serena Williams felt like spitting out the ambrosia a god had fed you from their very own hand.

So, while your ring had been thrown into a ravine (best not to dwell on that.) the vase had remained.

The doorbell rings much sooner than you’re prepared for. Who knew a five-foot-two woman in heels could move so quickly?

You run over to the door, chewing down on two pieces of gum you’d hastily shoved into your mouth to cover up the scent of alcohol. When you pull it open, you’re met with the stern face of your Publicist, Rebecca. She’s tiny but terrifying, her sharp features framed by a pitch black bob.

Sometimes, it does feel a bit like you’re talking to Edna Mode, but you’d never dare say that.

“Rebecca, hi!” You’re aware the greeting is too happy, and try not to grimace.

When you step back to allow her to enter, Rebecca frowns at you as she passes.

“Why are you fake smiling?” she questions. “Your cast is off, you should be actually happy.”

You drop the toothy grin, wincing with embarrassment as you follow her into the kitchen.

“I am happy about that, obviously.” You clear your throat, overly aware of how disingenuous you still seem. “What I’m not exactly overjoyed about, is whatever this ‘opportunity’ is.”

You watch as Rebecca grabs bottle of water from the fridge and then pulls out a stool to sit at the kitchen island. You follow suit, dropping down beside her.

“Well, you should be. I practically had to sell my soul to get them to pick you.”

You level her with an unimpressed look. “Wow, Rebecca, way to raise me up from rock bottom.”

She waves you away. “Oh, please! You hate when I coddle you.”

You huff, dropping your chin into hand and propping your elbow on the counter. “Okay, out with it then. What is it?”

Rebecca’s cheeks split with a blinding grin. “Nike.” She declares gleefully.

“Nike.”

Her smile dampens, disappointed you haven’t burst into happy tears. “Yes, Nike. You know…Just Do It.”

“Yes, I do. I’d just prefer not, you know…do it.”

Your publicist looks just about ready to slap you. “You’re kidding. It’s Nike.”

“Oh, is it? You haven’t mentioned that.”

Rebecca’s frown becomes a scowl and you think about ducking when she angrily snatches up her water bottle. But she doesn’t throw it, just waves it around as she begins to rant at you:

“Do you know how hard it was to get this?! They wanted Naomi Osaka but I convinced them to go for you instead. And christ knows they were hesitant after the US Open meltdown-”

“We agreed not to refer to it as a meltdown.” You cut in. “My therapist says it has negative connotations that, ‘make me feel a harmful degree of shame.’”

Rebecca scoffs. “You went to one session with that therapist and then fired her because you didn’t like that she drew you a diagram.”

“It was condescending: I’m not five, I don’t need visual aids.”

“Okay, just shut up!” Rebecca barks, smoothing down her still immaculate hair and taking a deep breath. “This isn’t actually up for discussion. You’re doing it.”

“I’m not doing it.”

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( Two Weeks Later… )

‘Just Do It.’

It’s the first thing you see when you walk into the Nike office for the photoshoot.

The poster from a past campaign with Andy Murray has been blown up to ridiculous proportions and framed, hanging in on the first wall that greets anyone who enters.

“If they make mine that big I won’t be able to look at it. I’ll actually vomit. ”

When Rebecca–who is the epitome of a chatterbox–remains silent, you turn you head to look down at her. She’s already peering up at you, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

Your eyes narrow with suspicion. “What have you done?”

Rebecca lets out a laugh laced with unadulterated fear. “Okay…so, any minute now you’re going to be super fucking pissed at me and you have every right to be, but remember that as you’ve already signed the contract, you don’t have a right to walk out of here.”

You stare her down, knowing it doesn’t take much intimidation for her to crack.

You don’t end up needing her to blabber, however, because not even five seconds later, the door you’d just come through swings open and a lone figure enters.

As you turn, you feel your publicist actually take a step away from you.

“Rebecca, I’m going to kill you.”

You’re not looking at her as you spit out the threat, your eyes are already boring into the man who’s noted your presence and is lingering just beyond the doorway.

Your history with Art Donaldson is far from extensive. In fact, while the trajectory of your careers have practically run parallel, the two of you have spoken maybe twice.

But then, almost two years ago, the U.S Open had happened.

Still dealing with the fall out of your fiance’s cheating scandal, you’d been in potentially the worst mental space of your life. And yet, you had still made it to the final.

But, during the match…well you’d sort of lost your shit. And then you’d just lost. It had been dramatic and mortifying.

Then, with the dust not even close to settling, things had gotten even worse.

Having just clinched the men’s singles trophy for himself, Art Donaldson had sat down for his live post-match interview and one of the first questions he’d been asked, was about your ‘comportment’ during the final.

You would never forget his answer:

'Well, obviously it’s a massive disappointment. In so many ways the match between those two women today was legendary. But it always stings when you see someone get in their own way. Anger like that doesn’t belong on the court: it’s infantile and disrespectful to staff and to the fans. It threatens to overshadow what was otherwise a phenomenal game of tennis for both of them.'

When he had then been pressed for his thoughts on what should be done in regards to sanctions, Art had simply said: ‘I think whatever she’s feeling that made her act that way, is probably punishment enough.’

In a few minutes, Art had made you a subject of scorn as well as unwanted sympathy. He’d made you sound simultaneously contemptible and pitiable.

He was right, but he hadn’t needed to sound so sanctimonious when he’d said it. And telling the world your own mental anguish was probably torment enough, was just salt in the wound.

In your own defence, you had gone into the final right off the back of the announcement that your ex-fiancé’s new girlfriend was pregnant. And the dates had made it blindingly clear, that conception had happened whilst you were still with him.

You’d never felt so worthless or dehumanised. And then, after you’d practically killed yourself playing the match of your life, only to lose, Art fucking Donaldson had felt the need to call out your behaviour.

‘Anger like that doesn’t belong on the court.’

Anger ‘like that’ wasn’t something you’d brought to the competition in your overhead luggage, it was a parasite that had been poisoning your blood.

You’d thought that sort of self-cannibalising rage was in your past, bust as Art starts walking over to you, it rears its ugly head once more.

And he has the gall to smile at you. It’s an amicable, almost anticipatory smile.

You barely even register when Rebecca ducks away, muttering something about finding the photographer.

Art calls out your name as he stops before you, the corners of his eyes creasing as his smile intensifies. “It’s good to see you.”

“The feeling is not mutual.” You intone harshly.

Art’s smile doesn’t drop, it just becomes tighter, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Ah- so you are still upset about what I said at the Open.”

You glare at him, forcing yourself to stop gritting your teeth lest they shatter. “What could possibly make you think that I wouldn't be?”

Art laughs softly, running a hand through his short blonde hair. “Well, because your coach and your publicist both assured me that you weren’t.”

Those fucking traitors.

It looks like you’ll be going into tomorrow with only your nutritionist and your physio left on your team.

“They lied.” You reply sharply.

Art tilts his head, his gaze becoming brazen in the way it assesses your face. “Clearly.”

“Well, obviously this isn’t happening.” You gesture between the two of you. “I’m not doing a photoshoot, let alone an entire campaign, with you.”

“I don’t see why it can’t go ahead.” Art declares casually, his lips tugging upward as he observes your indignation.

You take a step back, not trusting yourself not to lunge for him.

“Well, it’s a good thing I have little regard for your opinion then, isn’t it?”

Art's brows draw together, some irritation beginning to pollute his easy going demeanour. “You do care.”

“Excuse me?”

“You do care about my opinion, because f you didn’t, you wouldn’t still be this pissed over something I said years ago.

“Pissed?” You almost choke on the word. “You made me sound pathetic. Weak. You insulted my entire career!”

“I seem to recall saying that your match was ‘legendary.’ Phenomenal, is another word I used.”

If there wasn’t so much anger writhing in your gut, you might have rubbed it in his face that for something he’s outwardly dismissing, he seems to remember what he said about you very well.

You step up to him, closing the distance in two strides.

“‘Whatever she’s feeling that made her act that way, is probably punishment enough.’ You said that about me in front of peers and fans in a live interview that was watched by thousands!”

“You’re telling me you don’t think you were out of line?” Art challenges, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning in.

You know he’s not wrong: it hadn’t been your finest hour. In fact, the morning after, with your behaviour laid bare in the cold light and already being picked over by commentators and tabloids, you had been able to acknowledge it may very well have been one of the worst hours you would ever have.

But you’d rather die than acknowledge that to Art.

“Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you!” You hit back disparagingly.

Art’s fingers dig into his arms. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re a hypocrite, Art. I watched your match against Patrick Zweig at the…what was it- Phil’s Tire Town Challenger? Someone recorded it from the stands. Tell me, what emotion were you bringing to the court when you yelled ‘fuck you’ at him across the net?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not proposing a thesis, Art. This isn’t up for debate. I’m just telling you what I saw. And it seems to me, that you have some fucking anger issues of your own, so quit chewing me out over mine.”

“Chewing you out–” He splutters, his cheeks flushing with outrage. “Wow, you really do have a victim complex, huh?”

“Fuck you!” You seethe.

Your exclamation doesn’t dissuade Art, instead he gathers momentum:

“You’re acting like I should fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness over an entirely reasonable answer I gave to a question about your piss-poor behaviour. But I didn’t make you launch your racket across the court or cuss out the line judge. You’re not a tragic woman, or some wronged heroine, you’re a grown woman throwing a tantrum because I wasn’t very nice about her in an interview, two goddamn years ago!”

“Well, I’m a bitch and you’re a hypocrite, looks like neither of us should be tennis’ poster child.” You snap, pushing past him and heading for the door.

There was absolutely no chance you were doing this photoshoot. Nike could give Naomi Osaka another call.

Just as you’ve got past him, Art is following you, snagging your wrist with his hand. “Hey! I didn’t call you a bitch.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone. Badmouthing people in public forums is your move.”

You yank yourself out of his hold and with his eyes burning into the back of your head, you leave Art Donaldson alone in the lobby.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( Three Weeks Later… )

In the intervening weeks since your confrontation with Art, you have discovered just how airtight employment contracts can be.

Nike should really give their lawyers a raise, because you have been assured that there is more chance of you sprouting wings, than being able to get out of the ad campaign.

You’d been forced back to the studio a week later with your tail between your legs, but while you’d felt genuinely apologetic over the inconvenience caused to Nike’s team, your fury at Art had only compounded.

Thankfully, the feeling had been mutual and the two of you had passed the entire shoot in utter silence. Neither of you had offered up so much as a hello or goodbye to the other, and while it had clearly been painfully awkward for everyone around you, it had worked out quite well.

Unfortunately, you and Art had been called back for a day of what they were calling ‘action shots.’

Which is why you’re currently at a country club, dressed in all of Nike’s new gear, being forced to actually play tennis against Art.

If it was anyone else, you would already have drawn attention to the fact that your wrist is in excruciating pain, but you refuse to falter in front of him.

Besides, as much as you’re loathe to admit it, playing against Art is exhilarating.

The team have just called for a break and somehow, despite the innumerable people that have been buzzing around you for the entire day, you and Art suddenly find yourselves alone at the side of the court.

You’ve done well at remaining civil with each other, but that’s only because you only said ‘hello’ and ‘ready’ before you’d started playing.

Unfortunately for you, Art seems to be in the mood to antagonise.

“I don’t get why this is making you so miserable.” Art says, dropping down onto the bench beside you with a shit-eating grin on his face.

You hold up the can in your hand, fingers biting into the condensation slick metal.

“I specifically asked for Tangerine La Croix and they’ve given me Pure.” You mock. You couldn't care less about what you’re drinking.

“Funny.” Art deadpans.

“And here was me thinking you’d jump at the chance to call me a diva.” You answer, donning a smirk of your own.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

Some genuine anger colours Art’s tone and it only feeds the fires of your own.

“What?”

Art grabs the can from your hand and maintains eye contact as he steals as a sip.

“You refuse to let go of a few critical, but very valid sentences I said about you in that interview and you’ve used them to construct a narrative about my dislike for you. I don’t dislike you.”

“Oh, you don’t? That’s good, because this amicable exchange is really making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

Art groans, slumping back on the bench. He manspreads so wide that his knee knocks into yours.

“Can you not just enjoy yourself? It’s a beautiful day and we’re being paid to do what we’re great at.”

You wrinkle your nose and try to snatch back the can, but Art tightens his grip and the metal crumples as you both tighten your hold.

“Yeah, well, not everyone gets off on having their face on a billboard.” You sneer, almost falling back when Art suddenly lets go of the can.

It’s practically empty and completely deformed, so you slam it down onto the empty space beside you.

“How do you know that I do?”

“What?”

“How do you know that I get off on it?” He repeats glibly.

“Because, you’ve clearly wanted to retire for years and now that you have, you can monopolise on the popularity that your wife built up for you and live off clothing lines and ads for the rest of your life.”

“Being great at tennis built up my popularity.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you actually believe that, Art? So many phenomenal players go widely unknown for their entire careers. You are only The Art Donaldson instead of just plain old Art, because Tashi Duncan made you a brand. She’s responsible for your legacy.”

“She didn’t make me.”

“Maybe not, but she did mould you into what you are. You would have been just another generic Stanford whiteboy if she hadn’t decided to give you fucking form.”

“You talk about her like she’s God.”

“Are you telling me that’s not what it feels like when her attention is solely on you?” You challenge, but you don’t wait for an answer. “You know, I actually played her quite a lot when we were teenagers– we always ended up being us against each other in finals– and even then…it was like trying to play against an elemental force. Every time, without fail, there was a tiny part of me that just wanted to fall to my fucking knees in front of her. But I never did, instead it made my game better. She made my game better. Tashi put all she had into you after her injury, the least you could do is acknowledge what she’s done for you.

“You don’t have to tell me what I owe my wife.”

You scoff, rising to your feet. “I’m telling you what you owe your coach.”

You don’t actually know where you’re going as you walk away, only that you need it to be far from him.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( Two Months Later… )

At the launch event for Nike’s new line, you’re standing in front of the massive poster that’s at the forefront of the campaign and swallowing down bile.

It’s a great picture, you’ll give them that: Your feet are practically lifting off the ground as you throw up the ball for a serve, your expression is contorted with a ruinous passion that portends some sort of violence. And across the net, there’s Art: he’s dropped into a crouch, ready to pounce once you send the ball his way. In the face of your fury, his anticipation comes fitted out with his signature smirk.

It’s not just a great photo, it’s phenomenal.

You want to tear it off the wall.

You’re on the verge of asking anyone if they have a pen so you can scribble over Art’s face, when the man himself appears beside you. In your peripheral vision you catch a glimpse of his sleek, all black suit, but you don’t turn to look at him.

“I’m not sure you’d get away with defacing it in front of so many people.”

Trying to suppress your eye roll would be a fruitless endeavour, so you turn to face Art, forcing him to bear witness to your indignation.

“You should know by now that I have little regard for decorum. You certainly like commenting on my lack of it.”

“I thought you’d still be hung up on that.”

“Yeah, well, some of us have follow through.” You give him a venomous smile. “How is retirement treating you?”

“Ah, I should have known.”

“Known what?”

“You see retirement is quitting. So, you’ll force yourself to continue well past the point you should, your game will get shittier and shittier, so by the time you’re forced to quit, people will be pitying you instead of remembering how phenomenal you were.”

There’s a compliment in there, but you’re not feeling generous of spirit enough to pluck it out of the insult.

“I know when to stop, Art. It’s just not now.” You answer coldly.

“Okay, when? Like- give me your timeline. You must have thought about it.”

“Not yet.”

This answer seems to really frustrate him and he just stares at you, a muscle in his jaw feathering as he grips his champagne flute.

“Do you think I didn’t notice how much your wrist was killing you when we played each other? Are you really going to wreck your body out of stubbornness?”

“You know, Art, what you did wasn’t bowing out at the perfect time, it was cowardice. You skipped right to the curtain call when you still had a last act left to perform. You never got that US Open trophy, did you?”

Art sighs, his gaze moving back to the photo of the two of you. "Yeah well, something tells me you won't either. Have a good night."

Then he's backing away, his stare lingering on you even as he lets the crowd reabsorb him.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( One Month Later… )

Had Tashi Duncan not been one of the people in your life that you most respected and admired, you wouldn’t even have considered attending the fundraising gala for her and Art’s foundation.

But you were, quite frankly, obsessed with her, so of course you had come.

Sitting in an uncomfortably tight dress at a table of people you don’t know and with a fair amount of alcohol circulating through your system, is quite possibly the most painstaking thing you’ve ever gone through.

Apart from the car crash. That had been pretty bad.

But you’re adamant you won’t think about the car crash tonight, or the fact that, somehow, your wrist seems to be getting worse; devolving to a state more dire than when the cast had first come off.

The meal—which you hadn’t been able to stomach—had come and gone and now the auction is beginning. Tashi is up on the stage, dazzling in the way that only she can and Art is standing at the bottom of the set of stairs that lead up to the platform.

Unfortunately, your table is very close to the front and you’re positioned right in his eyeline.

Art keeps stealing glances at you with an emotion you can’t place. You had tried to switch seats with the man across from you, but the asshole turned out to be a real stickler for assigned seating.

If only to distract yourself, you whip out your phone, resting it in your lap beneath the table.

The moment you open up Instagram, your heart drops into your stomach.

You thought you had expunged any remnants of your ex from your life, but it seems you’ve missed a mutual friend on Instagram, one who has just reposted his engagement announcement with his girlfriend and mother of his now one year old daughter.

That bastard has broken your heart and wrecked your head, but while your life just keeps getting worse, the universe has seen fit to bless him with everything he’s ever wanted.

The auction is already in full swing when you rise clumsily from your seat and weave through the tables, heading for the closest exit.

It’s only as you push open the door and begin to sway, that you realise you’re actually quite tipsy. You might have drunk a little too much before you’d left the house.

It’s freezing outside, but you can’t face going back for your coat, so, unsteady on your feet, you flee into the extensive gardens that surround the estate that’s acting as the gala’s venue.

You walk well past the point where the lawn lighting disappears and clamber over a fence that has ‘restricted area’ prominently posted in front of it.

You don’t know where you’re going, but as you stagger down the hill, your sadness is alleviated very slightly by the sight of a massive pond that you’re sure is beckoning to you.

You kick off your heels and drop down onto the bank, quick to put your feet into the water. Once you’re settled, you retrieve your hip flask from your clutch and begin to guzzle vodka in earnest.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

You turn and you find an incensed Art striding towards you. You’re more than a little delighted by the sight of mud splattered over the polished surface of his shoes.

“I was having some time to myself.”

“You needed to walk all the way down here to get it?”

You laugh caustically, gesturing at him. “Well…no. Obviously I should have walked even further away.”

Art huffs, entirely unimpressed. He takes a few steps further down the bank and holds out a hand beckoning you over.

“Come on, you need to come back inside.”

“Why is that?”

“Because, you offered tennis lessons with yourself as an auction item and you’re up soon. You need to be on stage.”

Ah. You’d forgotten about that.

“Why do I need to be seen? It’s not like they’re buying me.”

“You still can’t stay in there. Get out.”

“I’m not in it, Art. I’m just dangling my feet in the water.”

“Well, you can’t ‘dangle’ your feet in there, it’s a pond not a swimming pool.”

“I can’t?” You feign a bafflement as you look at your feet, submerged in the murky water. “I sort of already am?”

Art moves even closer but falters, his bright eyes becoming an invading force: his gaze takes hold of your edges and peels them back.

He can see inside.

“What’s wrong?” He probes, the harsher edges of his previous words now nowhere to be found.

“At the moment, it’s you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not actually, but I’m getting there.”

Art’s eyes flick to the metal object glinting in your hand. “Is that a hip flask?”

“What a keen eye you have.” You mutter sardonically.

“Okay, I'm serious now, get out.”

“Oh, he’s being serious!” You mock, rising to your feet.

But you don’t move away from the pond. Instead, you turn and start walking backwards into the water you wobble when your bare feet sink into the mud, icy liquid seeping into the thin fabric of your silk dress.

Art lunges forward, closing the distance until he’s standing at the edge of the water. His hand darts out and he grabs your forearm.

“You’re too close to drunk to be near a body of water, let alone in one. You’ll drown yourself.”

Art plucks the hip flask from your fingers with his free hand and tosses it into the grass behind him, all without taking his eyes off you.

Then he seems to actually register where his hand is. He’s still gazing into your eyes as his thumb brushes over the scar above your wrist.

“Compound fracture.” You say on a bitter breath. “The bone went right through. Fucking drunk driver. Funny that, isn’t it? He crashed into me, fucked my career probably permanently and then I became a drunk to cope.”

Some of the hardness in Art’s expression melts away, but it pools into the bags beneath his eyes and the shadows beneath his cheekbones, making him look almost distraught. Once you realise it’s sadness--no, pity--for you, you wrench your wrist out of his grasp and wade further back into the pond.

You gasp, shocked as the frigid water wraps around your legs in an eager embrace. It’s like it’s clinging on, wanting to keep you forever.

You find the thought of it quite peaceful.

You think on Art’s words from months ago: he’s right, about you being too stubborn to know when to stop. You won’t retire until you’re physically falling apart.

But what if you just sink down into the water right now? You’d disappear and the memories would be of a great player gone too soon.

God, you didn’t realise you had such a large ego that you’d consider letting yourself drown just to save face.

Art is beyond unimpressed now. He’s furious.

“Get out.” You just smile at him, stepping further back. The water reaches your navel and you let your fingertips skim over the water. “I’m not kidding, get the fuck out. Now.”

“Will you just back off!” You erupt. “We’ve done the campaign, we’re not friends, there’s no reason for us to be involved.”

“None of that gives me a reason to leave you alone out here.”

“Why not?!” You protest desperately. “It’s not the ocean, I can’t be swept out to sea!”

“Get out of the water.”

“No.”

“Get out.”

“Get fucked.” You hit back, letting yourself sink back into the water.

As you move to float on your back, another frantic laugh bubbles up as you're enveloped by its icy grip. Your dress becomes heavier, a five thousand dollar weight around your body, urging you to sink lower.

You turn your head to the side so that you can see the surface of the water:

This far out of the city, the stars are no longer choked by smog and so are able to tear through the darkness. The water perfectly mirrors the sky, so much so that it’s like you’re swimming in the cosmos. If you open your mouth, you could take some of it into yourself.

You had struggled to get out of bed this morning, but now, in the quiet night, you have the chance to swallow a thousand stars–

Impudent splashing disrupts your peace.

Your head shoots up, water running in eager rivulets off your hair as you watch wide eyed, as Art drops into the water. His jacket and shoes have been discarded on the edge of the bank.

“What are you doing?”

Art doesn’t answer, instead he drives through the water towards you, his strides producing ripples that disturb the reflected constellations. Shooting stars.

You’re not very far out, so just as Art closes in on you, you plant your feet on the muddy bottom of the pond and stand up.

The fabric of your dress is dark and slick against your body like an oil spill. The breeze blows a tentative breath against you, causing your skin to pebble and your nipples to harden.

Art reaches for you but your hand flies out and you swat him away.

You push yourself further out, giggling at his expression as the water comes up to your chin.

Then Art’s diving after you, the white material of his shirt submerged in the water.

“Art, this is a pond, not a swimming pool.” You tease, amusement blooming.

In fact, you’re relishing the sight of his arms pushing through the water so much, that you forget to make another escape attempt.

Before you know it, Art is right up in front of you, his breath coasting over your face as he wraps an arm around your middle beneath the water.

You drive your feet into the mud, your smile growing as he looks exasperatedly up at sky. His fingers press into your side.

“This is so beyond funny.” He grouses, trying and failing to tug you closer.

Seeing as you’re not actually drunk, you’re not sure what comes over you, but you’re seized by a giddy, childlike urge.

You decide to give into it.

Art’s eyes widen slightly as you rush forward, pressing your chest right up against his. Then, you place one hand on each of his shoulders and push.

There’s a brief moment, where your face rises above Art and he gazes up at you, droplets of water rolling off your face and onto him. He’s looking at you in the same way you had been gazing up at the stars. Perhaps you’ve become one of them. Wouldn’t that be something?

Art realises too late what you’re going to do.

“Don’t you dare–”

You push all of your weight onto his shoulders and dunk him into the pond. His head goes under, short blonde locks floating up in the water.

You immediately let him go and when he comes up, spluttering for air, the hand not on your waist winds around the back of your neck, threading into the hair at the nape of your neck. He pulls you flush against him again.

When he speaks, it is a whisper you feel against your cheek. “You’re such an asshole.”

Your hands fall onto his waist beneath the water. “I know.”

You shriek as Art tips you back, his hand still cradling the back of your neck as he dunks your head into the water in retaliation. It feels like a baptism.

When you come back up, he's chuckling as you gasp for air.

“I had to do that.” Art defends.

He notices you scrambling to push soaked strands of hair out of your eyes and proceeds to help you, his hand brushing over your cheeks and forehead before returning your sight to you.

“I feel like you didn’t have to.” You splutter, fighting back a laugh of your own.

You’re suddenly glad for his grip on you- you’re far too flustered to stand firmly on your own two feet.

Art’s cheek’s dimple as he smiles, shaking his head at you. Your breath hitches.

When he’s unencumbered by negative emotion…Art shines.

He leans in again, his lips grazing the shell of your ear:

“Don’t start something you’re not prepared to finish, sweetheart.” Your breathing becomes even more laboured as he draws away, his nose briefly dragging against your cheek. “Now…get out of the goddamn pond.”

And then he’s pulling away, leaving you gaping after him as he moves back towards the bank.

His touch is an absence you really wish didn’t feel so profound

“Spoilsport.” You grumble. But you’re already moving after him.

The alcohol you did have in you has disappeared; shocked out of your system by the frigid water and the feel of Art’s hands.

You wade back towards the bank, your hip flask is nestled in the grass and glinting seductively in the moonlight.

With Art’s back to you, you let yourself stare as he drags himself out of the water. His shirt is stuck to his body and entirely see through, settling into the ridges of his muscled chest. The moon’s light shines through the fabric hanging from his sleeves, making it look like the membrane of wings.

As Art kneels on the grass, you blink rapidly as if he’s a vision you can dispel from your sight.

You can acknowledge he’s attractive- you’re not blind– but you can’t abide the yearning arising within you. You don’t have room for that in your life, for anyone, but especially not for him.

You finally reach the edge of the bank and then Art is kneeling at the edge, holding a hand out for you to take.

You consider him for a moment and process the newfound ease on his face. He seems almost serene.

You fight off a shiver that you blame on the cold and ignore his outstretched hand, pulling yourself out of the water unaided.

“Really?” Art bites out irritatedly, watching as you wander over to your hip flask and sit down right beside it. You take it into your hand and unscrew the cap.

When you bring it to your lips you look right into his eyes. “Really.”

You throw your head back, the path the vodka burns down your throat is a welcome discomfort. You had felt far too peace just now, floating in a sea of stars with Art.

But those weren’t stars, just a reflection of them. It was a trick. Nothing that could ever be real.

When you drop the now empty flask into your lap, there are tears in your eyes.

When was the last time you’d felt even close to the happiness you’d found in that water?

It wasn’t real.

A traitorous tear is already rolling down your cheek as you drop your eyes to your hands.

“Hey.” Art says softly. He kneels down beside you, one hand on your soaked back as the other plucks the flask out your lap. “What’s wrong?”

You make a noise that’s half sob, half laugh. “I already answered that question.”

“Yeah, except I know you’re full of shit.” When you look up at him, Art’s frown becomes something gentler. “I know I’m not your problem.”

You scoff, shoving his chest. He sways backwards, but drops down onto his knees, planting himself on the ground beside you. His hand is still on your back.

“Yes, you are actually.” You answer nastily. “You really are.”

“Just tell me.” Art whispers, ducking his head into your field of vision so you’re forced to look at him. His free hand settles on your cheek. “Tell me what’s wrong because this…is sort of scary.”

You lift your hands and clasp his cheeks, digging your fingers in. You’re overcome by a violent impulse to tear into his skin.

It would be far easier to draw blood than confront how you’re beginning to feel about him.

“Aww.” You croon. “Did I scare the poor little baby?”

“Stop it.” He scolds. His hands move to grasp your wrists but he doesn't pull you away, not even as you press your nails further in.

But you won’t stop- can’t stop. Your feelings have become spiteful and unruly, running away from you at a pace which you can’t hope to match.

You can’t take the strain. And because Art is the contributor to that is closest to you, it’s him you’re going to lash out at.

“No, really, I didn’t think you’d be such a pussy.” You forge on, spewing venom. “I scared you by getting in a pond? Grow the fuck up, Art.”

But Art doesn’t rise to it. His jaw doesn’t clench and his grip on you doesn’t tighten.

“This isn’t okay.” He says, tentative but assured. “You’re not okay.”

“No, I'm not!” You snap wrenching your wrists free. “But it’s got absolutely nothing to do with you.”

You try to rise to your feet, but Art doesn’t let you. He moves so he’s kneeling either side of you, his legs pressing into your thighs as his hands fall onto your shoulders. You can feel in the way his fingers press into you that he’s fighting the urge to shake sense into you.

You look up at him, slightly startled by his forcefulness. His back is facing the moon now and his drenched body is limned in silver.

Before you can berate yourself for even thinking about it, you’re winding your hand around his tie and dragging him down, smashing your lips against his.

You shouldn't be doing this, a large part of you doesn’t want to, but it feels like the only way to purge yourself of him. And what kills a bacteria faster than blazing heat?

Art lets out a warning groan, but your teeth nipping his bottom lip is all it takes to have him leaning in. Even your kiss feels like a fight, battling each other for control, pressing with bruising force.

Art crowds over you, guiding your back against the grass.

You let yourself fall.

As your back presses into the earth, one of his hands settles on the side of your neck as he drags the other up your leg. When he peels up the sodden material of your dress, his hand exploring your thigh, the cold air bites tauntingly against your rapidly heating skin.

Your hard nipples brush against his soaked t-shirt and the feeling is so tantalising, that you find your back arching, pressing yourself into him and chasing the sensation.

When you let out a moan into his mouth, Art draws back as if some unseen hand has pulled on him.

He’s still agonisingly close, his lips a hair's breadth away as he gazes down at you through heavy eyelids, water droplets running down his face from his hair. His breathing is ragged.

Art’s eyes close and with his sight lost to him, his lips drift closer to you again and his teeth nip at your chin. After placing a ghost of kiss over where he’s bitten, he takes a deep breath.

Then his eyes open, and his expression is blank. It makes you feel sick.

You’re burning up with want, but you can already see the realisation of your transgression settling into the very bones of Art. He’s about to spurn you, disdain no doubt working its way to the surface. So you have to get there first.

“Poor, sensitive Art, scared by a kiss.” You goad. The words are forced out and they feel malformed on your tongue. “Don’t worry your little head over it, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Art drops his eyes from you, shaking his hand as he pushes himself off up.

“Nice try, but I know what you’re doing.”

He mumbles it and doesn't give you a chance to acknowledge it befores he’s on his feet and walking away.

Tears prick insistently at the back of your eyes but you force them back, pressing the heels of your thumbs into them until it hurts.

You sit up, feeling leaves and blades of grass sticking to your exposed skin.

You feel the air shift behind you, and are startled when you peer over your shoulder and find Art standing at your back. He has his shoes back on and is gripping his dry jacket far too tightly.

You find your voice, but it’s weak: “What am I doing Art?”

He doesn’t meet your eye, instead he opens up the jacket in his hands and settles it over your shoulders. You sit there, stunned as he tugs it around your body. Then he leans down and over your shoulders, his breath on the side of your face as he deftly buttons the jacket up.

Art encloses you in the dry garment that carries the scent of him.

“You’re doing the same thing as me.” He says quietly. It sounds almost painful for him to talk. “Running away. I guess we’re both cowards.”

And then he’s gone, marching back up the bank without another word.

You’re left sitting there, wrapped in his jacket and staring out at the pond.

Not the night sky.

Just a pond.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( Three Months Later… )

After your cast had first come off, Wimbledon had felt like an intimidating but still far off thing; a dark shape on the horizon, but one you had to squint to see. But then it moved closer, barreling towards you like a bat out of hell.

You’ve made great progress in your recovery, you really have…but all your extensive physiotherapy hasn’t been able to heal the nerve-damage you’d turned out to have- at least not in a timespan that’s workable for a professional athlete.

You’re done. Tennis career over.

And your worst fear has come true: it hadn’t been your choice. Injury has forced you out and the public discourse is rife with commiseration and useless, positive platitudes.

Art has been proved right. Everything would be so much better had you known when to quit. You had preferred ridicule to this.

But until you’d come to Wimbledon, it hadn’t really sunk in yet: you hadn’t had the moment of finality.

What closure has ended up feeling like, is the final nail in your coffin.

As you had watched the first matches of Wimbledon from the stands, Rebecca glancing at you constantly–presumably to check you weren’t about to burst into tears–you had felt as though you were being buried: each serve and volley another hand tossing dirt on top of the coffin, sealing you beneath the ground for good.

At least one part of your day has been successful. You have completed the challenge you’d set for yourself that morning, which was to not drink any alcohol until the evening.

It has been excruciating.

Evidence of your victory lays in your trembling hands as you fit your keycard into the door of your hotel room. You’re desperate for what you know sits waiting for you on the other side.

But then, just as the lock mechanism chirps to let you know you’ve been granted entry, someone calls your name.

Your keycard is left in the door as your fingers fall away from the handle and you turn to face Art. He’s stopped himself a safe distance from you and is gazing at you with what looks like…relief?

Of course you knew he was at Wimbledon–you’d narrowly avoided crossing paths with him a number of times already today–but to hear his voice and having his probing stare directed solely on you, is as debilitating as you remember.

You haven’t seen each other, or even spoken, since the night by–or rather in–the pond.

The only place the two of you are still together in any capacity, is on the Nike billboards that are still occupying space throughout the world.

And as if Art’s thoughts align with your own, he says:

“You pull an impressive disappearing act.” He steps closer.

“That suggests you went looking for me.” You counter, pleased with how detached you sound. “We both know you didn’t.”

“No. I didn’t.” Art replies frankly.

“So I didn’t disappear, did I? You just couldn’t see me.”

Art moves towards you some more, stopping an arms length away.

“It felt the same.” He utters lowly. “You were gone.”

You shrug halfheartedly. “So were you.”

Then you press your back into the door, fingers seeking out the handle, shaking now for a reason other than alcohol withdrawal.

You really don’t know if you’re running away or urging him on, but when you push open the door and duck inside, you do know that you’re not angry when he follows.

You put your back to the hallway door, expecting Art to move past you and head into the suite, but he doesn’t. At least not right away. Instead, he stops right in front of you, looking down at you as the door swings shut.

You would barely have to lift your hand and you’d be touching him.

You hate that he looks so good. He’s in simple navy dress pants, a white shirt sitting snugly on his chest, the top few buttons undone.

The two of you stand like that for a minute or so, and just as you realise that your breaths have practically synchronised, Art is moving away from you and wandering inside.

It’s only then, as he ventures deeper, that you remember what you’ve been so eager to get back into the room for. You curse yourself, letting your head fall back against the wall behind you.

Even if he hadn’t already seen them, it would be too late for you to hide the line of alcohol minis that you’d gathered from the bar cart.

You’d set them out earlier, the process almost meditative. It had been a promise to yourself: get through the day without drinking and you can have all of these once you’re alone.

But now they’re standing out in the open, displayed on the nearby desk like pieces knocked off a board in a game that you’ve been playing against yourself.

You watch helplessly as Art walks right over to them, his hands in his pockets. Your face flushes with shame.

Art cranes his neck back to look at you. You’re still pressed against the wall, afraid that if you take one step closer, you won’t be able to stop yourself from taking ten more. And you don’t want to be close to him when his face shifts into pity or revilement.

“You planning on drinking all of these?” Art asks, turning back to the bottles as if he knows his gaze is steadily undoing you and wants to grant a reprieve.

Eased slightly by the remarkable placidity of his tone, you’re able to answer calmly. But you still don’t move.

“That was the plan.”

Art lets out a non-committal hum. “Why?”

You laugh awkwardly, wringing your hands together. “I don’t know, why does anyone drink?”

“I don’t care about anyone, I'm asking about you.” His voice is firm, but the foundation of it is something less solid. His words shake on the way out.

You’re overcome with the urge to be honest. It’s actually a lot easier when he’s not looking at you.

“I drink because at some point in my life, every tiny thing became really difficult- like, embarrassingly difficult, to the point where I feel like a child again. And it turns out that ineptitude is easier to bear when you feel like you’ve imposed it on yourself. I drink because it makes me feel helpless…but, helpless by choice.”

The confession hangs suspended in the air, a horrifying, complicated marvel- like a beautiful butterfly now dead and pinned by its wings to a board.

Art speaks into the silence, his back still turned to you. “Do you want to forget? Is that part of it?”

“Forget what?” You’re struggling for breath now, his presence drawing all of the oxygen from the room.

He half-turns his head, blue eyes settling over you once more. “All of it.”

“There’s not enough alcohol in the world for that.” You say morosely.

You have learnt that getting drunk doesn’t rid you of all the thoughts that torment you in sobriety, it just pushes them further to the back. Even if you drink so much you can barely walk, the thoughts remain, banging on the barrier and demanding to be let back in.

Art doesn’t respond to that. He turns back to the little bottles and you watch as he reaches out a hand and knocks over the one closest to him. He pushes it forward, sending them all toppling one after the other like dominos. His eyes are set on them as they roll around on the table, a couple falling onto the plush carpet. And your eyes are set on him.

Then, he finally turns to properly face you, knocking the fallen bottles with his feet as he leans back against the table and crosses his arms against his chest.

He’s waiting, you realise. Waiting for you to speak. Waiting for you to make the first move. Wanting you to come to him.

You push off the wall and start walking towards him. “Why did you follow me in here, Art?”

He sighs, the corner of his lip pulling up with a melancholy smile. ��Because you make me feel helpless.”

That almost stops you in your tracks, but you recover quickly, barely a footstep faltering as you advance on him. Your heartbeat is a warning drum in your ears.

Once you reach him, Art widens his legs, allowing you to step between them.

As you settle your hands on his thighs, his duck beneath your dress and come to rest on the bare flesh of the back of your legs. He draws you closer, making you fingers dig into his trousers to steady yourself.

You sigh, your eyes fluttering shut as he leans forward, brushing his lips against your exposed sternum.

You’re still flushed and sweating from the uncharacteristically blazing English sun and you shudder as Art’s tongue darts out lapping at the moisture there.

You rock forward, placing your chin on the top of his head, inadvertently pressing his mouth further into your skin. His lapping tongue turns into kisses, kisses that travel down onto the swell of your breasts and into the valley between them.

Even when he reaches the fabric of your dress, he doesnt let it stop him: Art’s lips close around your clothed nipple, wetting the thin fabric with his saliva. You let out a breathy moan into his hair as he moves onto the next one.

As Art works his mouth against you, you push your hands higher, letting your fingers brush the bulge in his pants before they’re settling on his belt buckle.

He says your name, each movement of his lips searing into your flesh.

“Do I make you feel helpless?” He asks, his hands moving up to curl in the sides of your underwear.

“No, Art. You don’t.”

As you undo his fly, he begins to pull your underwear down.

“Why?” He closes his mouth around your breast and bites down just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

You remove one of your hands from his crotch and use it to grab the back of his neck, you pull him away from your chest, forcing him to look up at you as your other hand disappears into his trousers, palming his hardness.

Even as you step out of your underwear and kick it away, you’re starting to stroke him. His mouth falls open, sucking in a breath as gazes up at you as if you hung the moon.

“How could I feel helpless?” You goad, leaning in and resting your mouth beside his ear to whisper. “When I have so much power over you?”

Art’s initial answer is to buck up into your hand, chasing the friction you’re moving too slowly to give him, but when you laugh at his desperation, he’s surging up, wrapping his arms around your waist and spinning you.

In a flash, you’ve taken up his position: ass resting on the edge of the desk.

Before you can catch your breath, Art has his hands on your knees and is spreading your legs, exposing your bareness to him.

But apparently he still hasn’t got you where he wants, because his fingers then wrap around the back of your legs and he lifts you, placing you further back onto the wooden surface. More bottles roll off the edge and drop into the carpet.

Then, finally, Art’s eyes meet yours. His smirk makes a return.

“So…” He begins, his hands gathering up your dress and leaving it to bunch up at your waist. “I have absolutely no effect on you? None at all?”

“No-” You can’t even finish your thought let alone the word before his fingers are running through the wetness between your legs. Your instinct is to shut them, but his hips are in the way, so you only succeed in holding him firmly in place.

You are left to stare as he lifts his hand up, evidence of your arousal glistening on his fingers. Then, slowly enough that he can watch the realisation of what he’s doing dawn on your face, Art takes his fingers into his own mouth.

His eyes meet yours and do not shift away for even a second as he licks your wetness from his skin.

The tightness in your belly becomes almost too extreme to bear, and a throbbing begins between your legs.

“I want you to ask.” Art says, his fingers–now wet with his own saliva–drawing circles on your inner thigh. “I want you to ask me to fuck you.”

“I thought you were here because I make you feel helpless?” You try to sound taunting, but your voice is ragged with want. “Now you want to be in control?”

Art leans down and you expect an abrupt, bruising joining of your lips, but instead he kisses you slowly, tenderness in every gentle movement. His mouth is is still aligned with yours as he answers:

“It’s not about control, sweetheart. I just want to hear that you want me as much as I want you.”

You begin to kiss along his jaw, your sentence formed with words cushioned between the press of your lips:

“I want you to fuck me, Art.”

Art's fingers curl around your jaw, bringing your lips back to his as he frees himself from his pants with his other hand. Your kiss is languid but rapidly growing with force, passion driving pleasure ever closer to point of pain.

“Condom?” Art questions into your open mouth.

With his fingers digging into your chin, you can't shake your head so you’re forced to gather enough of your wits to speak again:

“Birth control.”

“Okay.” Art pecks your lips before lifting a hand and spitting onto it. Then he’s fisting himself in his hand and pressing inside of you.

Your legs immediately wrap around his waist, hooking together to pull him in even further.

Art lets out a shuddered breath, his head dropping to your shoulder as he settles himself inside of you.

He kisses and licks across your collarbone, only stopping when he comes across the thin strap of your dress. With a little growl, he takes it between his teeth, tugging it back and then letting it ping back into your skin.

You laugh, still adjusting to the feel of him inside of you as you move to pull down the top of your dress. But Art has other ideas. He stops you with a slow thrust, rolling his hips just enough to have your hands wrapping around his neck instead.

“Let me do it.” He’s giving a command and yet it sounds like a grovel.

Then, in unison, his fingers find the straps of your dress and he’s pulling them away, tugging the bodice down and exposing your breasts to him completely. His hands fall onto them immediately, palming the supple flesh and lifting them up higher so that he can kiss them even as he begins to rock into you.

Just as your heartbeat begins to find some sort of rhythm again, Art pulls out of you almost completely before driving back in. Your breath is knocked out of you and as he begins to thrust with controlled rapidity.

Your hands fall to his still covered ass and dissatisfied with the lack of contact, you push your fingers past the waistband and dig your nails into his naked flesh.

Art moans into your neck, clamping down with his teeth as he picks up his pace yet again.

“Art-” You call out, lost in the press of him inside you.

The table begins to shake so much that it’s slamming against the wall, the noise perfectly aligning with the sound of your hips slapping together.

“Tell me this doesn’t make you feel out of control.” Art pleads, his movements growing frenzied.

By this point you can hardly think straight, so you give in, his statement going unanswered as your head is thrown back in pleasure. Art chuckles, licking up the column of your neck.

“I think I got my answer.”

“Shut up.”

When Art laughs at you again, you remove your hands from his ass and grip his face instead, drawing his lips back up to yours. He opens wide, panting into your mouth before your tongues start to move together.

You stay like that, mouths joined and breaths shared as his thrusts become messier, his hands on your back beginning to tremble.

But you’re not close yet and he knows it. He reaches between you and presses his thumb into your sensitive bud, applying enough pressure that, combined with him driving into you, has you quickly coming undone.

You break the kiss, crying out as your body is wracked with convulsions.

Art smiles, his eyes drooping closed as he chases his own release. And it doesn’t take long. You’re still coming back to yourself when his hips stutter and his fingers dig into you. He lets go, spilling inside you.

You both go still. You press your face into his chest–his shirt now dappled with spots of sweat–as he places a kiss on the top of your head.

You’re both breathing heavily, reeling in the wake of your joining when your phone–tucked into your purse that you had dropped by the door–begins to ring

Still inside you, Art shifts, pressing closer as his lips begin to kiss a path down your cheek. “Don’t answer it.”

You lean back just enough to meet his eye and smile. “I’m not going to answer it.”

Art matches your grin as he leans down and gives your lips a peck. “Good. Because I’m nowhere near done with you.”

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #challengers movie #art donaldson smut #mike faist #tashi duncan

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drowning-in-paragraphs · 2 months ago

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LATE NIGHT, SAFE HANDS.

• jude bellingham x gf!reader

• warnings: just the horrible title. (Also, English is not my first language!)

• summary: Jude Bellingham’s quiet night is interrupted when his girlfriend arrives home drunk after a night out. Amid playful chaos, he faces the ultimate challenge: getting her to finally sleep, revealing the warmth and humor of their relationship.

PART 2: EARLY MORNING, SWEET KISSES

His girlfriend had gone out with her group of friends tonight. She´d had been looking forward to it all week. They had been together for about eight months, and things between them felt easy, natural, despite their busy lives. Jude was head over heels for her, and though they weren´t living together yet, they spend a lot of time at each other´s places. He trusted her completly, however he couldn´t help the subtle flicker of concern that burned in his chest.

Earlier that evening, she had sent him a picture of her outfit for the night, teasing him with a playful "Rate it out of 10." He remembered grinning at the sight―she looked stunning in that red dress that left Jude staring at his phone for way longer tham he´d like to admit. His reply was a teasing, "Solid 11. You´re gonna have every guy at that club staring at you. Take care, yeah?"

She´d reply with a string of laughing emojis and a lot of hearts of different colors and added, "Promise! Love ya."

Hours passed, and with her occasional messages about how much fun she was having and how the club had "grwat music bt terriblw cocktailss" and a few blurred slefies, Jude couldn´t help but laugh before texting her to be careful, trying not to admit that maybe he was a little bit unease.

Around 1:30 a.m, the messages and slurred audios from her had started to slow down, but he wasn´t too worried. He figured she was just caught up in the fun, dancing with her friends and enjoying the night. After all, it was still early. Still, he checked his phone more frequently, feeling a little restless as the minutes ticked by without a response.

"Everything okay?" he´d sent about an hour ago, hoping for an answer.

Nothing.

Jude sighed, staring at the screen for a moment before tossing the phone back onto the couch beside him. He told himself not to worry. She was probably, no, she was definitely fine, just lost in the music, and her phone was somewhere deep in her bag. But a small voice in the back of his mind kept telling him otherwise.

He tried not to be that boyfriend. You know, the one who texts every five minutes to check up on her. But as the clock ticked closer to 3 a.m. and still no word from her, his foot started tapping nervously against the wooden floor. He shot her another text, "You good? Getting kinda late..." Jude stared at the screen, waiting for those familiar typing dots to appear, but after two minutes of nothing, he sighed. He set his phone down, leaning back against the cushions, trying to keep his mind out of it.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen.

By the time it hit twenty, Jude was seriously considering calling her. Just to check, he told himself. He had refreshed the chat multiple times but there was no response. He unlocked his phone and was about to hit her name when the sound of the doorbell cut through the quiet.

Frowning, Jude stood up, wondering who could be visiting at this time of night. As he approached the door, a series of knocks came, maybe a little frantic. His heart race just a little. Who could possibly be knocking at this hour?

He then swung the door open and froze.

There she was, standing in front of him, her makeup smudged, her hair slightly tousled, and that same red dress clinging maybe a little bit higher than when she went out. But what really stood out was the way she was standing, as if she was going to fall at any minute, with sparkling eyes and cheeks flushed―whether from the cold air or the alcohol, Jude wasn´t sure.

But the smile she gave him? Bright as ever.

"Juuuuude!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms up as if she´d just seen him for the first time in weeks.

He couldn´t help but grin at the sight, feeling the relief flood through him. She just threw herself into his arms before he had a chance to react. He caught her easily, wraping his arms around her waist as she giggled into his chest.

"Hey, hey," he said softly, trying to hold back a laugh of his own. "You alright?"

She pulled back slightly, swaying on her feet as she looked up to him. "Of course I am. Why wouldn´t I be?" Her words slurred together, and she had to repeat the question a few times.

"You´re plastered," he stated plainly, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Your plastered," she tried to imitate him. "Am not," she protested, though the wobble in her stance told him otherwise. She tried to step forward, but Jude quickly caught her before she could topple over.

"Please tell me you didn´t come walking all the way here like this," he asked, closing the door behind them with one hand, the other firmly around her waist.

She gave him a pout. "Wanted to see you."

“Yeah, I figured that much.” He chuckled, guiding her over to the leather couch. “Come on, sit down before you hurt yourself.”

She let him guide her but promptly flopped onto the couch with dramatic flair, kicking off her heels and curling her legs beneath her. She looked at him, a playful glint in her eyes.

“Jude?” she asked sweetly.

“Yes, love?”

“I'm hungry.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to make you something?”

“Nooo...” She shook her head, grinning mischievously. “I wanna cook.”

Jude immediately burst out laughing, kneeling beside the couch as he looked at her incredulously. “Babe, you’re drunk. You can’t even stand up properly, let alone cook.”

She squinted at him, clearly not appreciating his lack of faith. “I can cook. I make the best... sandwiches.”

“Sandwiches? That’s the bar we’re setting?”

She nodded eagerly, but before he could protest further, she was already struggling to stand, making a beeline for the kitchen. Jude quickly jumped up to intercept her, catching her around the waist before she could get too far.

“Oh no you don’t,” he said, pulling her back toward him. “You are not cooking in this state.”

She notice how warm he was. “Jude…”

He laughed, tightening his grip around her. “Nope. Not happening. You’re going to hurt yourself or burn the kitchen down.”

“That is not true.”

“I’ve seen you try to use a toaster when you’re half-asleep. I don’t need you burning down my kitchen with us inside.”

With a huff, she slumped against him, clearly defeated but still playful. She tilted her head back to look at him, her frown returning. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m a lot of fun,” he corrected, pressing a kiss on her forehead. “You’ll see how fun I am tomorrow when you wake up with a hangover,” he teased. “Now, how about we get you some water and you go to bed, yeah?”

“I don’t want water,” she mumbled playfully, leaning her head onto his shoulder and putting her hand on his back. “I want… you.”

Jude felt his heart do a little flip at her words, though he tried to play it cool. “Yeah, well, you can have me tomorrow after you drink some water.”

He got up and headed to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and bringing it back to her. She was now sprawled across the couch, one leg dangling off the side as she stared up at the ceiling, mumbling something incoherent.

“Here,” Jude said, sitting her up gently and handing her the glass.

She took it begrudgingly, sipping at it like a child forced to take medicine. “I didn’t want this,” she muttered.

“I know,” Jude said, rubbing her back soothingly. “But you’ll thank me in the morning.”

After a few sips, she set the glass down and looked up at him with wide, adoring eyes. “You’re so good to me,” she said softly, her voice suddenly tender.

Jude smiled, feeling his chest tighten in that familiar way it did whenever she said something sweet, even in her drunken state. “Of course I am. Someone’s gotta take care of you when you decide to get hammered.”

“Jude, I’ve already told you that I’m not—,”

“Alright, alright,” he said defeated. Then, after making sure that she had drunk all the water, he lifted her as if she was nothing and carried her to his room.

The softness of the mattress and the sheets made her yawn. As Jude carefully wiped off her makeup and gave her some of his clothes, she couldn’t help to smile, adoring his features. When one of his hands brushed where her ribs where, she giggled at the motion, leaning her head against his chest. “You’re my favorite person,” she whispered.

His heart melted. “And you’re mine,” he whispered back, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

They stayed like that for a while, she snuggled up against him as Jude absentmindedly ran his fingers through her hair, soothing her into a more peaceful state. Her tipsy giggles slowly faded, replaced by soft, sleepy breaths.

“You okay now?” he asked quietly.

“Mhm,” she hummed, half asleep against him.

Jude looked down at her, his chest swelling with affection. Drunk or not, she always managed to make him feel like the luckiest guy in the world. And despite her occasional recklessness, he wouldn’t trade moments like this for anything.

#jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x you #jb5 #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham imagines #hey jude #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham comfort

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ceoofglytchell · 2 months ago

Text

Spare Time

Summary: As King, Aegon Targaryen does not have much spare time anymore and those he has he mostly spends drinking with his friends in a tavern until… you come along. The most desired maiden in the realm they call you, Lord Tyland Lannister’s daughter, but your playfulness is just as grand as your beauty. Your father may not have time for amusements, but you most certainly do.

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

Word count: 5135 words

Warnings: mdni, Reader is Lord Tyland Lannister’s daughter, Reader is described of having Lannister like features, canon divergence (blood & cheese has not happened yet), yearning, aegon being a bit of an ass, kinda enemies to lovers, heavy drinking, drunken making out, smut, oral (f receiving), dry humping, no mention of Y/N

Notes: This one has some more… spice in it, because I feel like aeg deserves it. As always, feedback and criticism is always appreciated and please remember that english is not my native language.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

"The Magnanimous... what does that even mean?"

Aegon flopped down on his throne, his legs draped over the armrest, a glass of red wine from the Arbor in his hand that was only half full. He slurred his words and his breath revealed that the king was quite drunk. His three friends, Eddard, Martyn and Leon, had made themselves comfortable at the foot of his throne and were also drinking. They usually did this in taverns or a brothel, but that evening the young king had decided to entertain them in the throne room of the Red Keep.

"You could always be 'Aegon the Strong'?" Martyn suggested with a laugh, slapping his thighs as if he had just made one of the funniest jests mankind had ever heard. But that was not the case.

"No, my nephew has already taken that one."

His friends laughed and he giggled with them, taking another long sip of his wine.

"By the gods, magnanimous means the same as generous. Please, read more."

And then of course there was you, the daughter of Tyland Lannister, the most sought-after maiden in the realm and a complete nuisance. You were annoying, rebellious, playful and you never seemed to be able to keep your mouth shut. A spoiled brat, that is what you were. It was all he could think of as he saw you leaning against one of the pillars in the throne room, your golden hair falling down your shoulders and a red dress adorning your feminine curves. You might be annoying, but you were just as beautiful.

"Fine, but I still don't want that title. I want a title that sows fear but also trust in the people,” he replied with a sigh and stood up from his throne again to walk back and forth on the steps, thinking about which name would meet those criteria while being careful not to cut himself on the sharp ends of the melted swords.

“Aegon the Dragonheart!” Leon said, whereupon you rolled your eyes and held your own bronze wine glass to your forehead, as the cold worked wonders for you at that moment, as you were sure that these men were giving you a headache.

“That’s better.”

Suddenly Martyn started to giggle and he pointed at his king with a wide grin on his face: “Aegon the Dragoncock!”

“Yes! The untamable beast!” Aegon laughed, spreading his arms triumphantly, as if that was indeed the best title he had heard that evening, when ‘magnanimous’ was far better, especially because the lords and ladies understood it. The common folk would not know what it meant directly, but it sounded good enough for history if he did not want to be remembered as ‘the usurper’. But certainly not as Dragoncock!

“Fine, that is enough for me. Good night, my lords, Aegon.”

You turned to leave the throne room and retreat to the comfort of your chambers instead, as you really missed your bed right now and a hot bath might do your aching head some good. However, you immediately heard cries of protest from the drunken men, who wanted you to stay and drink a little more with them. You did not think Martyn, Leon or Eddard wanted to sleep with you, but were just happy to have found another drinking companion, but you were not so sure about Aegon's intentions. Sometimes you thought you could see his eyes resting on your cleavage or your hips, but you could be imagining that. But it matched his reputation.

"It’s still 'my king' or 'your grace' for you, love."

That made you turn back around and fold your arms across your chest, looking at the silver-haired man with raised eyebrows. He, however, had a grin on his lips and seemed amused. Oh, sometimes he made you angry.

"Fine, Your Grace," you curtsied deeply, letting your hair fall over your shoulders but allowing Aegon to peek under the high neckline of your dress, which made a lump form in his throat. "I wish you a pleasant night."

Before the men could call you back, you hurried out of the throne room with a giggle, gathering your skirts in your hands while the heels of your shoes echoed across the cold stone floor of the Red Keep. You liked drinking with them and chatting about trivial topics, but the king... the king was a whole other topic entirely.

After you left, everything in the throne room was quiet for a moment and only the flickering of the torches that were attached to the walls or the breathing of the guards could be heard. No one moved, no one said a word.

"Do you think I have a chance if I try harder?" Martyn asked the group with a clearing of his throat, whereupon Leon hit him on the arm, knowing how their friend must feel about you.

"No chance, my friend. She's too pretty for you!"

The three drunken lords started laughing again, but Aegon just sat back down on his throne, a feeling of jealousy filling him for a reason he couldn't quite explain.

You were annoying and he certainly did not like you much, but he could not deny that he wanted you. And Aegon Targaryen usually got what he wanted, and if he didn't, he took it regardless.

"See that, Jaehaera? That is a lion. They are like cats, but much bigger and much stronger.” You pointed with your finger at the drawing in the book, which you held so that the little girl on your lap could look into it with you. She, however, seemed more interested in the butterflies fluttering over the rose bushes than the picture of the animal that adorned the banner of your house.

Not far from you and the little girl on the lawn of the garden, Helaena sat in the shade of a tree and embroidered, while in front of her Jaehaerys played with wooden horses and seemed to be having a lot of fun, which was quite a sweet sight.

As one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting, the twins had quickly grown on you, but the queen herself was still a mystery to you, as you could never interpret her knowing looks and confusing words. At one point she told you that lionesses should not dance with dragons. To this day, you still wondered what that meant, but lately she had been talking about rats more often anyway, and you certainly couldn't help her because you were disgusted by those.

"I want to play with daddy," the little princess murmured, to which you could only sigh because you were trying to entertain the little one, but you were not a nanny. You were just trying to make Helaena's day more pleasant by taking some of the work off her hands because you quickly noticed that she preferred peace and quiet and being alone above all else. You just wanted to help.

"Do you see the balcony up there?" you asked, pointing to a large balcony at the top of the Red Keep that would definitely give you a wonderful view of the city with all its beauty and flaws. "There is the council chamber. Your daddy is there right now, discussing important things.”

“Are you going to visit Morghul with me?”

You blinked in confusion and shook your head slightly, because visiting Morghul meant going down into the dragon pit and you certainly did not wish to do that. These large winged creatures had always been frightening, even when you lived on Casterly Rock and curiously leafed through illustrated history books yourself.

“No, I… I cannot. Lionesses like me should not dance with dragons,” you repeated the same words the queen once told you, whereupon Helaena looked up from her embroidery and looked at you for a moment with her eyebrows furrowed, as if she could not understand why you had said that.

“You sound like my mummy!” laughed Jaehaera before suddenly jumping off your lap and running to her brother to play with him.

With a sigh, you looked back at the book, which had actually been written for children, but it was the only thing you had at the moment and the sun was shining so beautifully on your skin and warming your body that you did not want to get up and look for something else to do. After a while of reading in silence, you noticed that the queen and her children had apparently gone back to the castle and you were now sitting alone in the shade of the branches of the weirwood tree and you could hear the gentle rustling of the leaves, which calmed you down.

For a moment everything seemed so peaceful, until he suddenly appeared in your field of vision and the calm was suddenly over.

"What a beautiful day, don't you think? Almost as beautiful as you."

With an exaggerated roll of your eyes, you leaned against the bark of the tree and closed the book, laying it next to you, while you now shifted your attention to him, since he could not be ignored.

"I did not know you were a poet, Aegon."

Aegon laughed and sat cross-legged on the ground in front of you, resting his chin on his hands, while the rays of sunlight falling through the thick red canopy of leaves cast soft shadows on his face. He wore black trousers, a loose blue shirt and a dark green embroidered coat, which he had left open, and of course the thick golden chain that always hung around his neck. Sometimes you wondered if he slept in it because you never saw him without it.

"Darling, I am anything but a poet. For you, however, I think I could make an exception." He replied with a witty twinkle in his amethyst eyes, which had always captivated you since you first met.

"Oh yes? I thought you were more of a drunkard and a male whore."

You may have expressed yourself a little too harshly, because the shine in his eyes suddenly disappeared and the king suddenly looked at you as if you had just murdered a puppy in front of him, when you were actually just trying to make a jest. The man sitting across from you was extremely sensitive, which you were not really aware of, since you had only come to King's Landing a few months ago and had been assigned to the queen as a lady-in-waiting. If you had been here earlier, you might have noticed the scratch marks and bruises on his cheeks whenever his mother or grandfather hit him.

But that gleam in his purple eyes disappeared as quickly as it had come, and a small smile pulled the corners of his mouth upwards again, hiding his pain under humor and lightness. "You wound me, darling."

"I do? Just a moment ago you seemed very proud of your attempt to lure me into your bed." A jest, that was all it was, but you did not expect that this jest would set something in motion that would probably change your life forever - in your eyes at least.

"Did I now?" Aegon, suddenly in a good mood and motivated again, played with a small flower that grew in abundance on the grass you were both sitting on, while he looked at you with a look that sent a shiver down your spine. "Would you like to be in my bed? I can assure you, it is comfortable and warm."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes exaggeratedly to make sure he saw that you had no interest in it, even if a small part of you was interested in seeing how much of his reputation was actually the truth and how much was just hearsay.

"Definitely not. I am not climbing into bed with someone who calls himself 'Dragoncock'."

He sighed, but quickly moved closer to you so you would not just get up and leave, which you usually did. Often times, it was only his friends and himself who were left, but you always left early, which he found extremely unfortunate. He had never seen you completely drunk or in a state of pleasure that he was only too happy to put you in.

"I was only kidding. I was drunk! I accept being called magnanimous too.”

“And you don’t even know what that means.”

Aegon let out a frustrated groan and fell backwards onto the grass, ruffling his silver hair even more and adding wrinkles and dirt to his clothes. Not that he cared. He was the king, he could run around as he pleased, but you had just brought him to the point of frustration again. Gods, you were difficult.

“What have I done to you to make you treat me like this?” he grumbled, looking up at the blue sky, which was devoid of any clouds, just a few birds flying wildly, frolicking in their natural habitat. Oh, to be as free as a bird.

"You are annoying me." Maybe it was not the wisest decision to talk to a king like that, but he had asked you and you had given him an honest answer, even if it was only a half-truth, because it was not him that was annoying you. What annoyed you was the way he made you feel. Whenever he was there, you felt strange because you were always hot and you always felt like you needed something that only he could give you.

"I'm annoying you?" The king propped himself up on his elbow and looked at you leaning against the hard, rough bark of the tree and staring at him. He could not believe it. The feeling was actually mutual.

"Sometimes I just want to spend my spare time in peace and quiet, and then you suddenly appear."

Strange. Aegon had never thought about it like that before. When you were not with his sisters and children, he would see you sitting alone in some place most of the time, doing the gods knows what, and in his eyes you looked lonely. He did not want you to be alone or feel bad, which is why he usually brought you along to his drinking companions so you could all drink together and be happy. He never thought that that was what was annoying you.

Besides, a beauty like you should not be sitting around alone somewhere, where anyone could come and snatch you away. You were a member of his court and therefore you were under his protection and he did not want a single hair on your pretty head to be hurt.

"My apologies. I... have not thought of it that way before."

You blinked in surprise and just looked at him for a moment without saying a word. Had you heard correctly? Had Aegon Targaryen actually just apologized to you when he did not need to, since you actually secretly enjoyed his company most of the time. So he was capable of being something other than a fool after all. Maybe your father was right when he told you that somewhere beneath the facade a decent man was hidden. Perhaps you could get through to him if you tried.

"Then I will just ask you, instead of always surprising you. We wanted to go out into the city tonight, after I am done with my duties, to have some fun. Would you do us the honor of accompanying us, dear Lady Lannister?"

Aegon grinned at you, and you should know that that grin did not mean anything good, but the way he asked the question, as if he wanted to take you to a feast instead of a regular tavern, made you nod. Hopefully you would not regret that decision at the end of the evening.

"Good. I will come with you. But you have to promise me that you will bring me back to the Red Keep safely afterwards."

"I promise."

The sun had just disappeared behind Visenya's hill and bathed the sky in a graceful golden glow, and you stood in front of Aegon's chambers, waiting for him to open the door for you so that you could sneak out of the castle together. Your gentle features and the golden curls that marked you as a member of House Lannister were hidden under a black cloak and you wore the simplest dress you owned, which was still more ornate and beautiful than anything the women of the small folk owned. After all, your father only wanted the best for you, his only daughter.

You heard no loud voices telling you that his friends were nearby, nor did you hear anything else from inside his chambers. Perhaps he was still trapped in a council meeting? Or maybe they had simply left without you? Yes, that had to be the answer. They probably did not want a woman with them when they went to the Street of Silk or-

Suddenly the wooden doors to his chambers opened and tore you out of your thoughts. The king stood before you, his hair disheveled and wearing only a loose shirt and trousers. He did not look like he wanted to leave the Keep this evening anymore. He did not even look like he wanted to go and drown himself in wine and other desires, which was extremely uncharacteristic of him.

He quickly grabbed your hand and pulled you into his rooms and closed the door behind you. His chambers were dark and only lit by a few candles and the soft light that still fell through the balcony, and a fire flickered in his fireplace. The atmosphere seemed somehow... romantic. What was happening here?

"Where are the others? Did we not want to go into town?" you asked him, confused, and you pulled your hood off your head so that he could look at you properly. The flickering lights made it seem as if shadows were performing a dance on your pale skin, which he could not take his eyes off for a second. In this light you looked even more beautiful, he thought.

"There was a change of plans, little lioness." Aegon replied and sat down on his sofa, which he had personally dusted off any dirt before you came, because he had a plan. He had always wanted you and tonight he would have you.

You started to nervously play with the rings on your hands, which was a habit you had picked up from your mother when she was still alive. You did not know what he was up to or what plan he was talking about, but somehow you were also intrigued.

"How about we both spend time together here? I have more than enough wine and I can prove to you that I am not that annoying after all."

Oh, so that was what he was after. He thought you had the wrong idea about him and now he wanted to prove you wrong. Maybe you should do the same, because it seemed like he also saw you differently than you really were. This evening could help you both get closer and maybe, just maybe, he would get what he wanted. You would give it to him, but only if he did it right.

"I am not as bad as you think either, Your Grace," you said with a small smile playing around the corners of your mouth before you sat down next to him on the sofa, but at a reasonable distance, which would most likely decrease, knowing him.

"You will have to prove that to me," he said playfully and turned to the small side table that was next to the seat, and he poured you both a glass of sweet wine from the Arbor, which counted as his favorite wine along with the stuff they drank in the south in Dorne. Dornish wine did not taste nearly as good as this, but it served its purpose better than any other.

"I shall do my best." You took the golden cup of wine that he handed you and the smell of alcohol immediately filled your nose. It was only when you came to King's Landing that you started drinking so much that the smell alone relaxed you and he was probably largely to blame for this development. But you could not bring yourself to blame him.

"Oh yeah? Then start. Convince me."

You hesitated for a moment, taking a sip from the wine glass, because you did not know how to even begin to convince him that you were not a spoiled, annoying brat, but just a woman like any other, even though he probably would not see it that way.

"I... I honestly don't know how," you admitted, your cheeks turning a little pink.

"Fine, then I will start. I wanted you all to myself and that is why I stayed here with you. Martyn and Leon went into town alone.”

This was something you definitely did not see coming. You had first assumed that he just did not feel like leaving the castle at this late hour and that he preferred the comfort of his chambers, but the fact that this was the reason he did not want to share your company with his friends surprised you. He had actually done you a favor by doing this, because you knew that at some point they would have turned onto the Street of Silk and then things could have turned out badly for you if some drunk man had taken a liking to your appearance. You could only have hoped that he would have protected you, but perhaps this was his way of doing that.

“When I was younger I had a cat and my uncle made me believe it was a lion cub for months,” you told him with a giggle, because it was true. Your uncle, your father's twin brother, could be a real jerk sometimes, and ever since you found out that your beloved lion was actually a simple cat, you never spoke to him again. In fact, you even avoided him at all feasts as punishment, which was very amusing to think about sometimes.

"I sometimes slept next to Sunfyre in the Dragonpit."

"I hate all sweets except lemon tarts."

"I once went swimming drunk in Blackwater Bay at night."

For what felt like hours you shared stories like this, drinking and drinking and drinking. At some point you had started drinking from the same cup, and his head was resting on your lap while you ran your fingers through his hair. Neither he nor you knew how you got there, although the next morning you could perfectly remember what happened immediately afterward.

"You know, I thought you were the most annoying woman I have ever met!" Aegon slurred drunkenly, his hand squeezing the side of your waist, his mind filled with the thought of how good it felt to have his head resting against your soft thighs and how wonderful the way was how you ran your thin fingers through his silver hair as if you were gently brushing it. He wanted more. He wanted you more than ever, even though he had several cups of wine inside him and could barely concentrate on anything other than the thought of pushing you onto your back and taking what he wanted. He could do it, but he managed to control himself - for now.

"And I thought you were just trying to bed me!" you laughed, although there was some truth in that statement, since you really did believe that was the only reason he was always around you.

"I do. I want to bed you and I will do it if you let me.”

Your fingers stopped sliding through his curls and your breathing became faster. You were slightly in denial, because you had not expected him to admit it so easily. He wanted you. He wanted to lie with you, claim your maidenhead and ruin you for all other men, and by the gods, you could feel yourself suddenly getting hot and instinctively clenching your thighs together at the thought.

When Aegon felt you rub your legs together for a moment, he felt his self-control slowly slipping away. He was arousing you. Knowing the effect he was having on you made him feel triumphant, because he finally had you where he wanted you. You were so close... and all he had to do was grab you.

"Do you want this? Do you want me to take you, to show you who I really am?"

A shiver ran down your spine, especially at the way he looked up at you, but you also knew that it would be the worst decision to let him take you now, because you were still unmarried and a war was brewing on the horizon. Your hand might still be needed. But that did not mean that you could not have some fun.

"I am still a maiden, Aegon."

He immediately opened his mouth to make a crude remark or say some other clever thing, but you quickly put your index finger on his lips so that he would be quiet for once.

"But that does not mean I do not want you."

Before you could say anything else, you suddenly felt his strong hands grab your hips and suddenly you were lying on the sofa beneath him and he was hovering over you, looking down at your heavily breathing, drunken form with a wide grin.

"Gods, you are divine," he simply murmured before he lowered himself onto you and began attacking your throat and neck with kisses, causing you to wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer, his body pressing against yours.

"Fuck, I can't wait... I want you..."

"Oh, Aegon..." you whispered breathlessly as he found a certain spot on the side of your neck and immediately began sucking and nibbling at it. It would surely leave red marks on your flawless skin, but you certainly would not complain.

"Need to taste you...need to be inside you..."

Without another second's hesitation, he pulled your dress up until the red fabric reached your hips and your pretty legs and the long stockings you wore came into view. He would only have to pull your skirt up a little further and he would see the object of his desire, the thing he had been dreaming of for weeks.

"Please, Your Grace...touch me..." you begged as your fingers dug into his shoulder-length silver strands and tugged lightly, causing a low growl to escape him.

He did not know if it was your pleading, your fingers in his hair, or simply the way your chest rose and fell rapidly as small whimpers escaped you at what he was doing, but it was getting harder and harder to hold back. In his eyes, you were breathtaking. Better than any whore he had ever fucked.

"You are begging? Already?"

His hand traveled the length of your leg until he reached your soft thigh and he began to trace small, slow circles on the flesh that would probably drive you to the brink of insanity. That was exactly what he wanted, though. He wanted you to go insane over him. He needed it.

"Aegon, please... I need you..."

"As you wish, my lady."

Aegon pulled your skirt up further and then, in the darkness of his candlelit chambers, he was able to catch a glimpse of your exposed, wet cunt. The realization that you had been wearing no smallclothes the entire time made him even harder than he already was. The effect you had on him was dangerous.

He quickly switched positions again so that he was on his back and you were resting on his hips, making you bite your lip hard as you could feel his hardness pressing against you. You would give anything to feel him inside you, but you also knew that would be too hasty, even if you were both drunk. Maybe you would allow him to feel you another time, if he behaved well.

He pulled you further up, away from his hips and towards his shoulders, making you eye him with furrowed brows, not knowing what he was about to do. You had always assumed that men could only feel satisfaction from their cocks.

"Come on, I want to taste you," he said impatiently, pulling you even closer to his face, your womanhood almost touching his chin.

"You... you want me to...?"

"Gods, woman." He pushed you against him with force, a surprised squeal escaping you as he buried his handsome face in your cunt and without hesitation he began to lick you and push his tongue into your hole while his hands held your thighs tightly so that you would no try to escape him. You moaned loudly and your hands immediately buried themselves in his hair, but in your state you did not know if you wanted to push him away from you and pull him closer to you - or both.

While he feasted on your sweet nectar, you brought one of your delicate hands behind your back and leaned back ever so slightly so that you could place your hand on the obvious bulge in his breeches and slowly stroke him up and down.

Aegon cursed under his breath and his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he felt your hand caressing him, something he had dreamed of for weeks and something he had always imagined when he had touched himself at night with the image of you in his mind. The little lioness had her claws out and he was going to enjoy every second of it, even though he knew it would not take him long.

His nose nudged your clit over and over a few times while his tongue stimulated your wet hole, eventually causing you to cum undone with a cry of his name and your grip on his cock loosening, so he quickly got you back under him and he began to move his hips fast and hard against your own, chasing his own relief.

You just laid there breathing heavily as you wrapped your arms around him to hold him while he took what he needed from you. It only took a few more thrusts before he groaned lowly into the crook of your neck and tainted the inside of his breeches with his spent.

You both lay there breathing heavily, he still with his face in the crook of your neck and you stroking his back with your gentle hands as if he needed rest now.

"We will repeat this."

And that you did.

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#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x female reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #tom glynn carney

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