#did I make a Summary of Art last year? I don't think I did... and I need it for this year too aaa | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fayes-fics · 8 months ago

Text

An Artful Arrangement

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)

Summary: A private art lesson with Benedict becomes something else when a Viscount is your subject...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, no incest. Very mild restraint with hands, sensation play, smidge of breast play, vaginal object insertion, vaginal fingering, oral sex (M to F), masturbation, vaginal sex, voyeurism/exhibitionism.

Word Count: 7.7k

Authors Note: Request fill for Anon, who wanted Anthony as a life model for one of Benedict's private art lessons. This request is from last year and I started writing it before the whole Benedict gives up art thing of s3. I hope artist Benedict returns in s4. Anyway, thank you to @colettebronte for beta-reading this monster. Enjoy! <3

“I’m not sure about this, brother,” Anthony frowns, surveying the jumbled art studio at Benedict’s London townhouse.

Sunlight is streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the rear of the property, but Anthony is grateful for the translucent voiles that drape over them; at least there will be some privacy from the surrounding buildings for this embarrassment.

“Too bad,” Benedict shoots back, bemused, fiddling through a pile of paintbrushes. “A bet is a bet, and you lost.”

“You do not need to revel in my misfortune quite this much, though,” Anthony pouts.

“What can I say? The mallet of death does not always ensure victory at Pall Mall,” Benedict chuckles, readjusting one of the two easels in the room. “And I can assure you, this student will be worth your efforts,” he adds enigmatically as his trusty valet appears in the doorway.

“Ms y/l/n is here, Mr Bridgerton,” Mr Smith announces. “Should I see her in?”

“Certainly,” Benedict nods brightly, observing in the periphery of his gaze how Anthony’s interest is piqued at that announcement.

“A Ms?” Anthony echoes quietly as Smith slips away. “I did not think you offered private art tuition to the unmarried lady,” his voice filled with concern, patently preoccupied with the Bridgerton family reputation should Benedict be inviting innocent young women to his bachelor lodgings unchaperoned.

“Do not concern yourself,” Benedict sighs, knowing exactly where the Viscount's thoughts have gone. “I indeed do not do that. I would not wish for that reputation. Widows who have reverted to their unmarried name, however….” Benedict trails off.

“Oh… right….” Anthony nods in understanding.

That, indeed, is an entirely different prospect.

—

You enter the room and suspect you may have interrupted a private moment between the two men before you. Both turning towards you, Benedict looks happy to see you once more; the other man - you would recognise his older brother, the Viscount, anywhere - seems taken aback, but you don't miss the tiny uptick in the corner of his mouth, hopefully also pleased to meet you.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” you nod courteously and move towards Benedict, allowing him to take your hand and kiss the back of your glove in greeting.

“Ms y/l/n,” he rumbles, “it is so wonderful to see you again.”

“Likewise, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, enjoying the warmth of his lips through the silk, that trademark flare of exhilaration in your ribcage when your flirtation with him rears.

This is your fifth private lesson with Mr Bridgerton, and while art has been a wonderful new pastime, you do wonder how much of your enthusiasm correlates to your tutor’s attractiveness. He has been nothing but a gentleman in his actions, almost to your chagrin, although sometimes his glances have felt heated and laden with something that makes your insides glow.

You turn towards Anthony. “Viscount Bridgerton, it is a pleasure to meet you finally. I have seen you from afar at many an event.”

You take a few paces and offer your other hand for him to kiss, but it takes him a moment before he returns to himself and amends his frozen look of surprise.

“Miss y/l/n, the pleasure is all mine,” he replies, and there is something just as velvet in his tone as his brother's, his lips also warm and plush as he kisses your other hand.

Oh, my goodness. They are both entirely too charming and handsome.

“I apologise. When my brother informed me I would be modelling for a widow, I did not assume such a person as yourself,” he explains, his cheeks sporting a delightful dot of colour.

“I was widowed at age 24, my lord,” you explain, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “My late husband, 10th Earl of Pembroke, was a great deal older than me.”

“Should we not address you as Dowager Countess?” Anthony checks, concerned at any potential faux pas.

“Please do not,” you instantly respond. “It is why I reverted to my unmarried name. I have no wish to be addressed as such. The title lives on in his eldest son, the current Earl, and his wife. Who are indeed older than me. I was my husband's second wife. A companion for his senior years after his first wife died.”

Anthony nods in understanding. “It must have been an interesting union,” he offers politely.

“I was seventeen, and the man was nearly sixty,” you sigh. “My parents saw an opportunity to climb the social ladder and took it. I did not dislike the man completely, but I cannot say I was particularly distraught at his passing,” you explain plainly. “I am, of course, grateful his estate provides for me now.”

Having explained your situation as thoroughly as you wish, you turn back towards Benedict, who appears thoroughly entertained by your bluntness.

“Is this my easel?” you enthuse, pointing to the one nearest the windows.

“Indeed it is,” he returns with a smile as he strides past you and clicks the door closed.

“Now the question is, would you prefer your model be clothed or unclothed? You have not done a piece yet on the naked human form,” he points out.

You look over to see Anthony’s face morph into a thousand reactions.

“That was not part of the deal, brother,” he warns lowly through gritted teeth.

“Maybe not, but I think the lady should get to decide, do you not, brother?” Benedict challenges in a tone laced with amusement, his eyes sparkling.

You can see the war on Anthony’s face and decide to offer an olive branch. “I would not wish to make the Viscount uncomfortable in any way…”

“It would not,” Anthony cuts in very quickly. “I was just pointing out it was not my expectation to do so,” his gaze softening as it slips from his brother to you. “However, if you wish it, Ms, I shall remove my clothing.” something in the way he says it causes a frisson down your spine.

You have only seen one naked man in your life. And that is your dead husband—a portly man of advanced years. Something about the look of the Viscount’s tailored clothing suggests his naked form would be very different. More akin to the rugged gardener you have occasionally seen topless at your country home and, yes, touched yourself while thinking of. You are not sure you could keep your wits about you to paint such a fine specimen of a man.

“Let us just remove our jackets for now, brother,” Benedict suggests. ”The lady may then decide if we shall proceed further,” his tone conciliatory as he removes his.

You smile at his gentlemanly offer.

“Now,” he continues, rolling up his white shirt sleeves distractingly. “You may choose to pose your model as you see fit.”

Anthony is doing the same with his shirt, and you find yourself staring at him as well, at the play of muscles in his forearms as he rolls the material. Behind him is an emerald green velvet chaise, and you ask him to sit upon it. He does so and then looks at you expectantly for further instruction.

“Perhaps place one forearm on your thigh,” you suggest, but the pose he adopts isn't quite what you had in mind.

“You can place him in the position you wish,” Benedict chuckles, seeing the knit in your brow, gesturing for you to go to Anthony.

Your heart skips a little as you approach the Viscount, his eyes almost trepidacious as you place your hands tentatively on his shoulders. They are so broad and warm through the thin white cotton of his shirt. You position his arms, noting the latent power in his biceps, fingertips lingering on the material, eager to trail your hands down onto the dark hair dusting his forearms.

“Would you mind raising your chin, my lord?” you ask quietly, and when he tilts his head up, you almost gasp at the intensity of his gaze boring into yours.

“Like this?” he murmurs.

“Yes, please,” you whisper back, “the light catches your face perfectly.”

“Much as it does yours,” he returns softly and something warm spreads under your ribs as you drink in his handsome facial features, almost glowing in the sunlight—a want to run your fingertips over his cheeks, trace the lines of his strong jaw dusted with a trace of afternoon stubble.

“Are you happy with your placement?” Benedict’s voice rings out, cutting into your reverie.

“Yes, Mr Bridgerton,” you reply but do not move, seemingly rooted to the spot.

“Then please return to your easel,” he tutors, with a hint of sharpness you have not heard before.

Part of you is tempted to spin around and ask if he is jealous, but instead, you shoot Anthony a tiny smile that he returns before withdrawing.

You round behind your easel and pick up your charcoal, sketching an outline, as Benedict does the same. A few minutes pass pleasantly as you draw, glancing at Anthony around the edge of the easel to ensure accuracy. You could swear every time you do so; his lip twitches in amusement, almost as if he is trying to distract you.

“Benedict,” you call softly when you think your rough outline is done, “please could you check my sketch?”

It's a flimsy excuse you have used more than once now—a wish to have your teacher move closer. He doesn't disappoint. He takes a few strides and then stops close to your back, assessing your canvas.

“I would say that is an excellent start,” he assesses, his exhaled air wafting through tendrils of hair near your ear. “Except maybe here…” His arm curls close around your side, ghosting your dress, and taps the canvas where you have sketched Anthony’s left arm. “I think you flatter my brother with a shoulder that broad.”

“Perhaps…” you concede, and then your tongue runs away with itself. “It may indeed be easier to ascertain the correct proportions for the Viscount were he in less clothing.”

They both chuckle at your bold assertion, so obviously a flimsy excuse. But there is a vault behind your ribs as Anthony rises to that challenge—a glint in his eye as he stands up and plucks open his waistcoat, shucking it quickly from his shoulders, staring you down.

You swear you can feel the heat radiating from Benedict behind you as Anthony unwinds his white cravat and then, with a smirk, tosses it towards you. It lands draped over your easel; you reach out unthinking, grabbing an end, caressing the fine silk absent-mindedly as you stare covetously now.

Anthony is indeed built like your gardener, possibly even more sculpted. A dark thatch over his chest tapers to a line of hair over his abdominals and trails temptingly into his trousers. You want to see where it leads to. You suspect something much better than you have ever encountered before. With a hint of swagger, he retakes his seat in the pose you had put him in, the stance making his bicep bulge out.

“I do not think I was very incorrect in my proportions, Mr Bridgerton,” you opine tacitly, turning your head a fraction so your temple is brushing Benedict’s jaw, knowing you are goading him.

“Then draw what you believe you see,” he returns, his voice a low whisper, his lips so close to the shell of your ear that your heart pounds in your chest.

Your eyes hold Anthony’s as you daringly glide your fingertips over the back of Benedict’s hand, lingering on the raised tendons before you push the charcoal between his knuckles.

“Perhaps you can guide my hand?”

“With pleasure,” he hums.

The charcoal glides over the canvas in guided unison for a few laden minutes as you draw under Benedict’s tutelage. Anthony’s chest rises and falls steadily as you glance at him every few seconds—a tension in the air that is portentous, crackling. Your traitorous mind wanders—a jumble of images of you laying with both of these men, bringing you untold pleasures with their mouths and hands.

“Are you even paying attention to the artwork?” Benedict's rich voice lilts in your ear as you realise your hand is almost limp under his.

“I… I must confess, my thoughts may be elsewhere, Mr Bridgerton.”

“Tell us. It could be something we would be most pleased to hear,” he posits duskily, his breath hot on your cheek, letting slip that he likely suspects.

“I am thinking… of other artful arrangements of human bodies,” you offer somewhat opaquely.

“Whose bodies?” Benedict presses, this time his lips grazing your earlobe, as you spy a vein throbbing in Anthony’s temple, looking like he wants to stalk over and claim you.

“The three of us,” you confess breathily.

There is a noise from both men that is a beeline straight into your core, and there is a mouth on your skin. You gasp, eyes closing as you sway backwards into Benedict, his lips travelling the column of your neck as your back collides with his solid chest. The gentle suction and warm wetness set your skin afire, tingles running down your arm. Your lashes flutter open, and your blood runs hot to behold Anthony’s face like thunder until you bite your lip and, feeling emboldened, you mouth to him…

‘Your turn’

Instantly, his mien morphs into one of desire, jumping to his feet as you slide a hand into Benedict's thick hair and grab a handful, making him groan into your skin.

“You are entirely too clothed compared to your brother, Mr Bridgerton,” you coquette, untangling yourself from his arms and spinning to look back at him with a raised brow, backing away without looking, knowing you will soon collide with Anthony.

Sure enough, you inhale sharply as toned arms haul you into a firm embrace, the hair on his chest tickling the skin above the scooped back of your dress.

“The lady is not wrong, brother,” Anthony provokes, his tone smug now that you are in his arms instead.

Teeth nip lightly on your earlobe while you watch Benedict fight with his waistcoat, almost wrenching it from his torso. Anthony is more taciturn than Benedict, communicating with his fingertips instead, raking over your dress, silently telegraphing his desire through the gauzy layers. Benedict’s stare is heavy upon you as he unfurls his cravat, you melting into Anthony’s lips skimming down your throat. Benedict makes quick work of removing his shirt, throwing it aside, his smooth chest heaving slightly as he advances upon you. Then his lips descend and claim yours in a breathtaking kiss.

If this is the Bridgerton boys competing for your affection, then you would do anything to keep provoking them. Sandwiched between their bare torsos, Benedict's tongue opening your lips, lathing yours, as Anthony’s mouth skates your shoulder. The taste and feel of them both has you suddenly impatient. To do things you never thought you would even moments ago. A forbidden fruit too tempting to resist. It makes you desirous, unbounded, a keening want to be reckless.

“Take off my dress, gentlemen,” you implore urgently as you and Benedict break apart, twisting to capture Anthony’s mouth now.

His kiss is just as demanding, equally fervent, your heart racing as four hands trace the contours of your figure. You are not sure of who undoes the buttons down your back or who pushes the loosened fabric from your shoulders. Both unlace your stays, tugging almost impatiently until the garment relents and are certain both of them pull your gathered chemise loose, it falling from your shoulders to form a circle around your light summer shoes. Both make a noise as they realise you are now naked. It was supposed to be a little illicit thrill for yourself, foregoing stockings and underwear in Mr Bridgerton’s presence—little did you know how provocative that choice would be.

As you toe off your shoes, the atmosphere seems as heated, the sun’s rays upon your back through the translucent window covering. There is a moment where you exchange laden looks with them, their eyes slipping down your naked body before Anthony leans in and retakes your lips.

“Touch me…” you implore, twisting briefly to address his brother before returning inexorably to Anthony’s hypnotic kiss.

Benedict's fingertips ladder up your ribs from the dip of your waist, his lips dragging hot over your bare shoulder blades. And then you gasp into Anthony’s searching mouth as those large hands seize both of your breasts, covering them entirely, your nipples snagging between his elegant knuckles.

“Here perhaps…” Benedict rumbles as you tear away from Anthony to meet his captivating gaze.

“Yessss,” you hiss hungrily, your breath catching as he plucks gently, tweaks that send a zinging bolt between your legs. You cling to the back of his sturdy neck and crash your lips into his.

“Have you ever laid with two men before?” Anthony’s voice is like velvet in your ear as his warm hands grasp the flare of your hips, his teeth nipping at your neck.

“I have only laid with one man,” you admit as you pull back from Benedict's kiss. “And he looked nothing like either of you.” Your hands rake greedily down both of their honed outlines, a yen to see and touch more.

They puff with pride at your words as Benedict's fingers loop behind your left knee. He roughly pulls your legs up around his hip, surging into you so the rigid mass of his cock, straining in his trousers, presses your mound, making you gasp. Anthony pushes into you, too, his equally sizeable cock passing over the cleft of your bottom, so hot through the fine wool.

“Did he worship you like you truly deserve?” Benedict queries, his cadence achingly seductive.

“I am not sure what that might entail…” your intentional evasive provocation makes him smile crookedly and lean in closer, his eyes glinting enticingly.

“Did he feast on the bounty between your legs with his tongue until you screamed for mercy?” his words dripping from his lips like dangerous weapons, heat pooling rapidly right at that very spot.

“H-he did not…”you stutter over a slightly laboured breath.

“Oh, my poor lady,” Anthony tuts sympathetically. “You deserve to know true pleasure,” he adds, surging his hips again but also taking your hand and kissing your knuckles tenderly.

“Lay down here,” Benedict smiles as he leads you back to the plush chaise.

Both offer their hand to assist you in reclining, the velvet a plush tickle under your spine as you settle down, looking up at them towering over you, your hands itching to tug open their trousers and find what lies beneath, the fabric straining temptingly.

“What do you have in mind, brother?” Anthony asks, his eyes following Benedict as he turns away and appears to grab something from the bench at the side of the room, the sunlight dancing across the freckles across his back. When he spins back around, he is holding three clean paintbrushes.

“I think a sensual experience…” he replies, looking down to gauge your reaction.

“I thought our art lesson abandoned, Mr Bridgerton,” your gaze fixated upon the brushes of various sizes and bristle lengths.

“With my brother as the subject, I concede maybe so,” he remarks casually. “But I believe you to be a much more interesting prospect anyway….” his voice smoky as he looms over you, his eyes raking over you in a way that you can feel fizzling on your skin.

“Agreed”, Anthony chimes in, taking a proffered brush from his brother as they kneel on either side of the chaise, a silent exchange between them.

You want to ask what they will do, but the words die in your throat as Benedict's tongue darts out and wettens the end of a fine-tipped brush. Then, the damp bristles are upon your clavicle, tracing the arc of bone, leaving a thin, wet streak cooling rapidly, goosebumps erupting over your sternum, nipples pebbling. Without needing prompting, Anthony drags a dry, fanned brush over your ribs, tracing each contour. The sensation is different, ticklish, to the point your abdomen ripples, and you instinctively curl up a fraction, biting your lip to tamp down a giggle. Anthony smirks casually as a large hand wraps around your shoulder and pushes you back flat.

“No, no.” Your clit pulses at the warning tone Benedict employs, his hold secure but not painful, staring you down as Anthony repeats the same move upon the other side of your ribs. Your body rolls yet more, rebelling and pushing against his grip. “Stay still. Or he may desist.”

You bite your lip and exhale shakily as Anthony continues teasing brushstrokes over your stomach, each one a flick that makes your skin shimmer. Benedict releases his hold to paint his wet brush across your other collarbone, leaving a trail of his saliva along its ridge and then continuing down over your breastbone. Your breath catches as he trails under the curve of your left breast, just as Anthony’s brush sinks lower. Your instinct is to clamp your legs shut, a sudden wave of timidity, but both men grab your knees and pull your thighs wide apart. Air swirls around your slit as Anthony leans over and captures your lips in an enticing kiss.

“Do not be shy now….” is Benedict’s hot whisper in your ear, his teeth capturing your earlobe as Anthony’s tongue rolls with yours, swallowing your moans as his brush caresses the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs before he glides it between your legs, passing over your clit.

Just that featherlight touch is enough to make you arc upwards off the chaise until again Benedict holds you down, brush stored expertly between his knuckles as warm fingertips press upon your diaphragm, and he hushes you. You have to bite the inside of your cheek as Anthony flicks a few strokes, his warm eyes blazing right above yours. The motions have you throbbing, desperate for more, and you can only gasp as he slips lower, pushing just a fraction of the brush into your soaked pussy. When you do not protest, he grins and pushes a fraction deeper as you bite your lip, wanting so much more for it to be his cock. You whimper as instead the paintbrush withdraws, and Anthony makes a show of bringing it to his mouth, sucking its dripping tip covetously.

“Delicious,” Anthony offers silkily, his face inches from yours, a thronging need low in your pelvis, aching for relief, something you never felt with your late husband. His lips are on yours, lust burning in your belly as you taste yourself in his mouth.

Benedict chooses this moment to swirl his wetten brush tip around your areola, and that has you moaning into Anthony’s kiss, your fingers raking into his lush hair as your other hand shoots out to grab Benedict’s bicep, a need to touch them both at once.

“Please…” your voice cracking, greedy for them both.

“Please, what?” Benedict chuckles darkly, his lips brushing your hairline, again holding you down to Anthony’s sensual onslaught.

“More…”

It's all you can say, tilting to look into his hazy eyes, clouded with lust, enjoying watching you squirm and pant and blossom under their attentions.

“Greedy…” Benedict volleys light-heartedly before kissing you, both of them dropping the paintbrushes, clattering to the floor.

Anthony’s fingers slither back down your centre line, tracing over the sensitive skin beneath your belly button but not stopping until they rest tauntingly over your weeping slit. You gasp into Benedict’s mouth as Anthony pushes a finger into you, his approving groan into your shoulder as you leak down his knuckles has you clenching around his invading digit. He adds another and begins to pump slowly, rocking his fingers rhythmically as your tongue parries with Benedict’s.

Benedict breaks the kiss to brush his lips down your throat, hot kisses over your collarbone, lower still until his mouth is on the swell of your breast. Anthony adds a third finger, wet, filthy sounds from between your legs as your pussy clings to him, feeling so filled. His thumb hooks under your clitoral hood and starts to flick your sensitive nub in time with his finger thrusts just as Benedict's tongue swirls around your nipple, making your back curve up from the chaise, pushing your breast into his open mouth.

“I could watch this for hours…” Anthony asserts with a wicked little quirk of his eyebrow.

You squirm under them, so achingly aroused you feel on the edge of reason. One of them would be more than you have ever experienced before; both at once is almost lethal.

“Me too…” mirth laces Benedict’s response as he trails the point of his nose over your nipple.

They glance at each other, telegraphing ideas silently. Benedict swaps to your other breast as Anthony moves, the angle of his fingers changing inside you, twisting as he rearranges between your splayed legs, pushing your thighs wide open, draping them on either side of the chaise.

The muscular swipe of Anthony's tongue through your slit has you crying out his name, a spike of pleasure so rough it catches you unawares, this act entirely new to you, something so intimate about his whole face buried into the wet heat between your legs.

Benedict kisses his way back up your neck as Anthony’s strong arms wrap around your hips, the solid mass of biceps curled into you as he drives you relentlessly, his tongue a spear lashing your swollen clit. Benedict swings around from kneeling at the side of the chaise to leaning over the curved back, fingers spidering down your skin from your shoulders towards your breasts.

“Is this the artful arrangement of bodies you envisaged?” His words are whispered hotly into your ear, your eyes fluttering closed at the decadent, smokey cadence.

You mumble something incoherent, the rush washing through your system stealing your thoughts, just as Anthony’s fingers start to move inside you again as he feasts upon you, closing his mouth around your sensitive nub and sucking hard with his lips.

“What was that?” Benedict chuckles, a teasing lilt that has you nuzzling your cheek into his lips, his fingertips dragging agonisingly slowly lower, over the round of your breasts, your nipples, still damp with his saliva, pebbled painfully even in the warm room, tingling for his firm touch.

“Yessss…” your reply is a sibilant rasp; he must know this is even better than what you had imagined, but he seems to enjoy hearing your affirmation regardless. Such investment in your pleasure amplifies your need.

Your hand shoots down to tug Anthony’s luscious hair, pushing your pelvis up into his face as he groans his approval of your wanton actions, chasing pleasure covetously. His fingers are buried deep inside you, curling and dragging over a spot that has you climbing so fast. Then Benedict roughly pinches your nipples, throbbing in sync with your clit under Anthony’s tongue, and you are sent stratospheric dizzyingly fast, a touch of rough treatment just what you need to push you over the edge you have been skating.

Benedict swallows your screams as you ride Anthony’s face in a wave of pleasure, clenching hard around his fingers, trying to expel them as he fights to stay inside you. Benedict's mouth is hot, possessive over yours, not letting you up for air in a way that only heightens your pleasure, a tingle zipping over your scalp as you burst and fracture under them.

For a few seconds, everything is blotted out, just a rush of blood in your ears and white-hot pleasure coursing through you. Their touch turns softer as you float down, Anthony’s fingers withdrawing from you with a wet noise as you lay dazed, utterly overwhelmed by the sudden intensity.

“Now that was a work of art…” the filthy poet opines velvety, a handsome, lopsided grin claiming his face as you stare up at him hovering over you, your view upside down.

You are still too stunned even to form words, a stuttering noise that sounds more like a whimper, the only thing escaping your trembling lips.

“I think we may have stolen her power of speech,” Anthony observes wryly, crawling up, dropping pecked kisses onto random spots of your dewy skin.

He settles his muscular body over yours, his chest hair tickling your nipples, his face glazed with your arousal, and his sizeable cock brands your thigh through the material of his trousers. He moves in to steal a kiss that tastes tart, rolling your flavour onto your tongue, seemingly wanting you to savour it as much as he does.

“I've never enjoyed losing a bet more…” he rumbles enigmatically as you break apart, your brow knitting in confusion.

“He would not have been your art model today if he had not lost a bet,” Benedict supplies, his fingers massaging your scalp soothingly, dropping a kiss onto your forehead.

You smile blissfully, head swinging to look at them both, knowing it will broadcast your response, as well as anything spoken could.

“You might be right about the power of speech, brother,” Benedict jests gently as they rearrange on either side of you.

Hands running lightly over your arms and torso. You just assumed, as with your previous husband, that they would immediately move on to pursuing their pleasure, so when they do not, you are slightly confused, especially as their unhurried, sensual caresses reignite that flame deep in your core. After a few minutes of gentle intimacy you are unable to censor your curiosity any longer.

“Will neither of you take me?!”

You don't mean it to sound quite as indignant as it does, even though a large part of you enjoys their shocked expressions, neither expecting such boldness. But then both of their faces morph into a dangerous, smouldering look so similar you can see their shared genetics. It has you biting your lip on instinct.

“We both will if you employ that sort of tone with us…” Benedict threatens sonorously, leaning in so his lips graze your cheek, giving away that is precisely what they want too, a shiver running down your spine at all the possibilities, your soaked clit throbbing anew.

“Is that a promise or a threat, Mr Bridgerton?” You volley back, raising an eyebrow, this new play far too beguiling to resist.

“Insolent little thing…” Anthony growls.

Hands clutch you tightly, blunt fingernails digging into your soft flesh, both of them demanding a kiss, pulling you in each direction to plunder your mouth in turn. A thrill zips all the way from your head to your toes with this sudden change of pace—the gauntlet of challenge you have thrown down, unleashing something primal in them both.

Before you know it, Benedict is standing up, and the sound of buttons popping open makes you inhale sharply around Anthony’s tongue, wanting so much to crane to see him stripping off, but your entire field of vision filled with the powerful Viscount, his hand seizing your jaw.

“Look at me,” Anthony demands, perhaps a tinge of jealousy that you may even dare glance elsewhere when he is kissing the life out of you. Your eyes meet, all blown pupils and damp lips, and it's blazingly intense like he is peering into your very thoughts. “Oh good girl…” he drips praisingly, and something hot and molten unfurls behind your ribs. The smirk that engulfs his face tells you he knows precisely what those two little words have done to you, lust roaring back to life in your veins. “Such a live wire…” he breathes, and you can see it is nothing but admiration. “I will be back…” his promise trailing off as he withdraws, your eyes tracking his movements away from you, taking a seat in a nearby wingback chair, that handsome smirk still there. It makes you want to reach out your hands and beckon him back, a slight pout that he has left you so soon.

But you inhale sharply as warm, ropey thighs part yours, and your attention is pulled back to Benedict, prowling over you on all fours, naked now. The glimpse of his rigid cock bobbing between his legs catches your breath before he claims your mouth and lowers himself upon you. So much heat and lithe, supple musculature. He doesn't even ask; your knees spreading wide is the open invitation that he takes, angling his hips and slipping into your waiting weeping pussy with one decisive thrust that has you grasping his shoulders and calling out. The blistering stretch is unlike anything your previous husband could achieve, and you are grateful for just how aroused you are, the feeling just the right side of painful. He holds still buried to the root, his handsome face rightfully smug as you adjust to this novel feeling of utter fullness.

“Is that what you needed?” He leans down and whispers those words in your ear, your breasts crushed under his smooth, hard chest. The tone is doused with brazen provocation that you can't help but rise to, one of your hands sliding covetously down his back.

“I think you know the answer you seek. Impress me, Benedict...” you incite as you grab his shapely rear, his responding groan vibrating your entire being. He withdraws and surges back in, your toes curling into the light fuzz on the back of his calves, what you have fantasised about for many weeks now, better than anything you have idly thought during each art lesson with him.

Benedict nuzzles into your neck and starts to set a rhythm that has you panting with each stroke, your back chafing the rich velvet fabric of the chaise, engulfed in his heat and woodsy scent, caged around you, his hands hooked under your shoulders, pulling you down onto his invading cock, his lips murmuring encouraging words onto your throat.

Movement out the corner of your eye distracts you, and you twist your head a fraction to see Anthony naked now, too. That dusting of dark hair on his chest tapers over his toned stomach, a thin trail leading all the way down to the patch around the base of his cock. He has taken himself in hand and is watching you intently, eyes trained on you as his brother fucks into you over and over, rolling with him.

‘I want you…’

You mouth to Anthony, a need to have him desperate and wanting. His nostrils flare, and he bears his teeth, his grip on his cock vice-like, speeding up, a glistening bead of moisture squeezing from his tip at your very words.

“Call her a good girl,” Anthony snarls, an instruction as much as a suggestion.

“Why would I when she is looking at you while I fuck her?” Benedict scolds satirically, and that has you swinging your attention back to the man inside you, a little flare of guilt in your gut that you are unable to divide your attention between them, wanting them both. “There she is,” he teases gravelly as his lips ghost the shell of your ear. “There’s my good girl….” he adds for good measure, the lowest register you have ever heard from him, and you cannot help your body’s response.

You clench around him, and he groans long and low, his grip on you harsher, snapping his hips so forcefully his hip bones dig deep into your splayed thighs, your eyes rolling, his tip grazing your hilt.

“So fucking perfect…” he curses, his mouth opening yours, raiding you, setting a pace so punishing now you can only cling to him, moaning loudly, him nudging your swollen clit with each stroke. The chaise squeaks under the onslaught now, feet scraping hard on the polished wood floor.

Still, you cannot stop your stolen glances at Anthony as Benedict huffs into your neck. He looks so majestic, knees splayed, eyes trained on you. You want to climb into his lap and ride him until your teeth are rattling. You can feel yourself climbing higher, each jolt to your clit another step closer, a gentle flutter in your pussy you know Benedict can feel, him emitting little groans with each involuntary constriction.

“You are so close. Come for me again; I need to feel it,” Benedict pleads breathily, pulling up to meet your gaze, a sheen across his forehead as he ploughs into you, never faltering in his athletic pace.

One of his hands sweeps down your flank, long fingers squirrel between your bodies, unerringly finding their target, a scream ripping from your lungs at the extra stimulation. A few flicks from him, and you are gone for a second time, hurtling towards the stars, bowing upwards, tensing hard, each muscle snapping taught as body and mind are flooded with ecstasy.

Distantly, you hear Benedict growl, more animal than man, a litany of filthy praise you can barely decipher tumbling from his lips as he pulls out abruptly, you whimpering at the sudden loss, your pussy bereft, rippling around nothing now as his hot seed spills onto your belly.

He collapses onto you for a few beats; his weight is heavy and cloying, his lips meeting yours in an artless kiss. Then you feel him climb off of you slowly, a soft rag dragging over your skin as he cleans you of his seed and mingled juices. He kisses your cheek chastely, but his words are interrupted by Anthony calling out across the room.

“Are you ready for more?”

Your attention immediately snaps across to the Viscount. Without thought, you are springing to your feet, gait uncertain, like a newborn fawn finding its legs as you take a few shaky steps towards him, an exquisite ache between your thighs from all that has transpired.

“Are you coming to me?” Anthony coos impressed, his hands shooting out to steady you, gripping your waist.

You nod enthusiastically, utterly drunk on the tide of pleasure coursing through you, which greatly entertains him. You climb into his waiting lap and draw him immediately into a filthy, wet kiss. Your tongues tangle as you shuffle forward into the wide, comfortable chair, his hips sliding forward to meet you, and without preamble, you rise fractionally and sink onto him, your puffy, swollen channel suctioning onto his thick veiny cock with a filthy sound. He groans beautifully as you sink, taking him into your pussy, the stretch of him just as mindblowing, perhaps even a shade thicker, like his physique. You stutter a curse, eyes to the ceiling, wrapping your arms tight around his neck, your nipples pressed into the fur of his chest, his balls pressed between your bottom cheeks as you sit speared upon him.

“Are you going to ride me?” His question is rich like chocolate, buzzing against your chin where his mouth is now hooked open, his teeth grazing the bone there.

“Yes,” you slur, tilting your gaze down to look down at him, already knowing you would do it until your body gives out, so desperate again to feel that high only they can provide.

“Good girl.”

They know it's a weapon now and deploy it with gleeful abandon. Reflexively you contract around Anthony’s cock, both of you calling out, his muscular thighs tensing under your weight, his toes lifting from the floor. He utters a curse, too, a hand wrapping around the nape of your neck, then cupping the back of your head, tugging the hair at your scalp between his knuckles.

“Ride,” he commands, low and slow, a menacing tone that has you stuttering with restoked arousal. A burning need to please him, to do precisely what he tells you to. And so you push up until his head is just inside your pussy, then drop back down, shuffling your stance wider to get a better range of motion. He watches you with a hooded, scorching gaze; a devastating quirk of his eyebrow has you moving steadily. Pressing all of yourself into him, with each pass, his hard abdomen scuffs your distended clit, your pussy lips so puffy now with so much arousal and repeated blows.

He nudges your face aside so he can teeth your earlobe. “You feel exquisite. All swollen with lust,” he croons, his breath gusting hot, his choice of words making you flare hotter, driving onwards with renewed vigour, a slight burn in your thighs as you rise and fall upon him, feeling yourself dripping down onto him, needing to cling onto him to keep seated.

“Could we do this on the floor?” you murmur into his stubbled cheek, realising your range of motion is slightly restricted by the shape of the chair.

His response is immediate; without leaving your body, he effortlessly takes your weight, wraps an arm around you and somehow manoeuvres smoothly onto the floor, his spine now resting on the front of the chair cushion—so much vigour and athleticism from both of these men.

“Turn around, sweet girl,” you startle and whip your head over your shoulder.

There sat on the chase, lower half now wrapped in a drape of crisp white fabric, looking like a Grecian statue made flesh, is Benedict—a sketchpad and charcoal in hand.

“Turn around so that I may draw you in the throes of passion,” he clarifies, that dangerous crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You look back to Anthony, suspecting from the twitch of his lip he is more than happy about this development. Silently he spins you both around and lays prone on the polished floor underneath you, still rock hard and buried deep in your pussy. Placing your hands on his chest, you lean forward slightly, take a deep breath and then start to ride again, slowly, the slight discomfort of the hardwood under your kneecaps heightening your pleasure somehow. The range of motion possible now allows you to experiment, to test the delicious drag of his cock by tilting your pelvis in each direction, then in a circular motion, hitting a spot inside that has you hissing and your nails scraping through the thick thatch of hair there.

“Take what you need…” Anthony advocates through gritted teeth, reading your every signal.

Your eyes ping up from his imploring expression to Benedict, his gaze holding yours daringly as you start to fuck his brother again. Wantonly, luxuriating in the rapt audience you have. A liquid cascade of heat deluges you, the scrape of charcoal on the page spurring you on—to be more daring, leaning back to grab Anthony’s knees as leverage for your movements, your breast pushed high into the air, more performative knowing this carnal moment is being committed to paper.

Benedict mouths words of encouragement as you glance down to see Anthony’s eyes now screwed shut, his biceps bulging in stark relief as his hands clamp your waist, and his hips rock upwards with each downstroke you take, chasing his peak with the same vigour you are, each press of his cock better than the last. Your muscles scream from all the effort, but you do not stop, a bead of sweat sliding down your spine as you ride roughly, with abandon. Anthony’s eyes are open again now, his hands cupping your breasts and pinching your nipples so hard you stutter. Greedily you mash his thick cock right against that same spot that has your mouth slack, head tilted up, and fingers curling into his flesh, shocked at how close you are yet again in such rapid succession.

“Say it,” you grit out, staring up to the ceiling, not looking at either, not sure even you know who you are even asking.

“Good girl..” it's in perfect unison, and that is what pushes you into oblivion.

You grind to a halt, pussy contracting in waves around his cock as he writhes under you, him gasping loudly as you again float far away, that blissful cloud almost making you miss his urgent call, him eventually hauling you off of him, just in time for him to paint your belly with a thick arc of seed, his whole body jerking with the almost violence of release.

He collapses under you, quivering, utterly spent, and you do the same. Faceplant into his chest, rubbing your nose into the musky dampness of his chest hair as you huff breaths, bone-deep but sated exhaustion from the exertion.

Pliantly, you allow Anthony to slip out from under you and you feel him pick you up bridal style as you curl into him, fatigue lapping your edges. He places you onto the chaise, and then both men are flanking you, limbs tangling and gentle kisses as they entwine around you. It’s a few quiet, tender moments before curiosity again gets the better of you.

“May I see it?” you query quietly, abashed, pressing your nose into Benedict’s shoulder, not willing to meet his gaze.

His laugh is rich and resonant, reaching around to grab his pad and show you. There, in elegant charcoal lines, is a scandalous but beautiful rendition of you, naked, your peaked nipples standing proud, head thrown back. The detail is perfect, even down to the patch of downy hair at the apex of your thighs. There is no rendition of Anthony, but at one glance, you can tell it is a depiction of an erotic capture of a woman riding a man. The very picture of passion, just as he promised.

“It is stunning,” you gasp.

“It is yours,” he rushes out.

“I… I want it to be yours,” you confess ardently, your hands sliding to grasp Anthony’s arm draped over your belly. “Both of yours..” you confirm.

Warm lips kiss your cheek on either side.

“We will treasure it.” Anthony asserts as Benedict nods sagely.

You stifle a yawn and nuzzle into their warmth as Benedict suggests you all retire to his bedroom upstairs.

“Tis only 3pm...” your protest is nominal at best, and you allow him to pick you up, wrapping you in another sheet as Anthony does the same, trailing behind you as Benedict ascends the stairs.

“When is your next art lesson?” Anthony queries as the door to an opulent bedroom swings open.

“Tomorrow?” you riposte cheekily, and they both chuckle as you add: “If you will have me…”

“I do believe that can be arranged,” Benedict confirms fondly as he approaches a handsome four-poster bed.

“Artfully…” Anthony adds wryly as you share a laugh with them both, falling into their welcoming joint embrace.

masterlist • wips • taglist (follow this blog to be tagged)

Taglist pt1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @kisskissshutmydoor @hanji-emo-blog

782 notes · View notes

iholdwhatican · 1 year ago

Text

reunions

pairing: art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig

read part 2 here!

length: 3.8k

tags: y/n is art donaldson's wife ; birthday party ; surprise visit from patrick ; art is down bad ; patrick wants y/n ; possessive!art ; the boys are fighting ; no use of y/n ; pining ; sexual tension

summary: you want to make your husband's birthday special, so you invite his attractive, charming, estranged childhood best friend in the hopes that they'll make amends. surely nothing will go wrong, right?

author's note: i can't stop thinking about them i am so ill. this is the first of presumably many challengers works. and yes i did make a new blog just for this, don't judge me. this is a drabble that was stuck in my head but I do have more for it should it be wanted! preferably something that leaves you sandwiched in between them :3

originally posted by iholdwhatican

You told yourself this whole thing happened out of the goodness of your heart. You’d just wanted to be a good wife and make your husband’s birthday the best it could possibly be. Because Art Donaldson was the most amazing person you’d ever known, and he loved you, and he deserved the world. There was nothing off limits when it came to him, no line you wouldn’t cross.

You knew how much Patrick had meant to him, how much he missed his best friend. Your cheeks hurt from how wide the stories made you smile, how happy he sounded when he recounted the things he’d gotten into with the eccentric tennis player. And you knew how sad Art was that they didn’t talk anymore.

So what better time to remedy that than for his birthday? That was a wonderful surprise, right? Right?

Upon meeting Patrick Zweig, your first thought was how the hell this man got along so well with your Art. Not to say he was a bad person, but he was just so… much. He was cocky, indomitable, the kind of person that knew what he wanted and what he was worth and wouldn’t settle for anything less. He was a force not to be reckoned with, no matter what. He was also unbelievably charming (and not bad on the eyes, which you would never admit), and you hated the way his sweet-talking got under your skin.

He asked you how Art was. You told him he was fine. Retired, now. Making the most of a quiet life. You’d just celebrated 3 years of married life. He asked to see wedding photos and you didn’t miss the sadness in his eyes at missing the event. You happily obliged. It was the most romantic day of your life, after all.

And you couldn’t help but internally pat yourself on the back. Patrick missed him too. You could mend the broken bridge between them, and your husband would be thrilled. He’d reward you for your good work.

You asked Patrick to come to Art’s party. To make contact again. To come back into his world. He only hesitated for a moment, asked if Art knew and was okay with it.

The lie slipped off your tongue easily. Of course, he’s wanted this for a long time. It’s a surprise, but a most welcome one. You didn’t have details on what happened between them- only knew of a falling out while Art was in college- but it couldn’t be that bad. Anything could be overcome, right?

Patrick accepted and you hoped the lump in your throat was from excitement and not dread. You thanked him for meeting you, told him you’d forward him the details, and went back to your husband.

The day of the party came, and you were so nervous you could hardly take it. You’d spent the last couple of days working yourself into a frenzy, convinced that this reunion was a terrible idea and your husband would hate you. You had no right to bring an estranged friend back into his life, on his birthday no less. And without saying a word to him.

God, what the hell was wrong with you?

You gripped the edge of the kitchen counter and downed your third glass of water. It did nothing to soothe the dryness in your throat. Or the pounding of your heart. You wondered how fucked you’d be at the party if you took a Xanax right now. Or five.

Just then, Art peeked his head into the kitchen, donning a sweet smile when he spotted you. He looked as handsome as ever, sporting a well-fitting polo shirt and khakis. His hair was growing out again, starting to show those boyish curls you’d fallen in love with all those years ago. He made his way over to you, wedding band sparkling on his finger, and your heart melted.

You loved him so much. Had you ruined his birthday with your stupid meddling? Maybe even ruined your marriage?

“Hey, beautiful.” He greeted, sliding a hand around your waist and kissing your head. It was a familiar gesture, a normal one. He loved touching you, keeping you close. You loved it just as much, “The cake was just delivered. You went way overboard, as usual.”

You pretended you weren’t overcome with dread and cupped his cheek, “Shut up. There’s no such thing as overboard. You deserve this, okay? You deserve to be celebrated.”

Please, please don’t be mad at me for inviting him. For bringing him into our world. Please still love me. I did it for you. I’d do anything for you.

His eyes crinkled as he smiled- in that perfect way you adored so much. He leaned down to kiss you again, this time on your lips. It was gentle and caring and everything you were to each other. It made you want to cry. Art was everything. All you wanted was to give him the same.

The doorbell rang, breaking you two out of the moment, and your husband pulled away. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Well,” He spoke, looking at you like there was nothing else in the world, “That must be our first guest.”

You hummed happily, “Guess it’s time to celebrate you, Birthday Boy. Shall we?”

“We shall.” He teased, doing a mock bow as he offered you his hand. You took it, laughing, and the two of you made your way to the front door.

You took a deep breath and tried not to focus on the unhappy way your stomach was churning.

The first hour of the party went by with a pleasant lack of reunions-turned-altercations. Patrick had yet to show his face, and you wondered if he might not come at all. Part of you was relieved at the idea, while the other couldn’t help but be frustrated.

He said he would come. What if the surprise didn’t end up being a bad thing? How would you know if he never showed?

God, you needed a cigarette.

You’d spent the entirety of the party so far glued to Art’s side, being his doting wife as you made conversation with everyone. Your eyes continued to stray to the door, looking for a certain dark-haired man. Every single time, you were disappointed. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised. From what you’d heard, Patrick wasn’t really someone who could be counted on a lot.

Maybe this whole thing was just a big mistake. And maybe the part of you that truly felt let down at not getting to see him again was something you should never, never look into.

You patted Art’s chest and stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “I’m gonna check on the food. I’ll be back.”

He nodded, smiled, and pressed a kiss to your temple. His arm released its grip on you and he continued his conversation with an old Stanford buddy without missing a beat. He was fucking incredible. At everything. You were crazy about him.

The food didn’t actually need to be checked on. The caterer was high-quality, and they knew better than to fuck up one of your events for your husband. You had full trust in them- you honestly just needed a breather. This whole night had felt like a cold fist clenched around your heart.

Instead, you grabbed yourself a large glass of wine and made your way to the patio to enjoy some cool night air.

The area was blessedly empty, allowing you to slip out of the hostess facade. You were more than happy to do it, especially when celebrating Art, but the circumstances tonight were making it much harder than usual. Which was, of course, entirely your own fault. Way to go, you! Knocked it out of the park tonight, didn’t you?

You sighed, leaned against the railing, and took a long gulp of your drink. The weather was slightly chilly, and it felt amazing against your heated skin. Already, you were finding it easier to breathe. And think, for that matter.

“Shouldn’t you be at the party, Mrs. Donaldson?” A familiar, spine-tingling voice spoke, breaking you out of your peaceful moment.

You whirled around, eyes landing on Patrick fucking Zweig leaning against the wall of your house. A lit cigarette hung from his lips, his hands nonchalantly tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. They went well with the button-up shirt he wore, a stark contrast from the shorts and hoodie he’d had on when you first met. He looked good- really good. Enough to make a pit grow in your stomach.

“I thought you weren’t coming.” You blurted out, thankful that the darkness was shrouding your red face. His face was just barely illuminated by the orange glow of the cigarette, and you watched as he looked you up and down, “Also, how’d you get back here? I didn’t see you walk into the house.”

Patrick kicked off the wall and walked over to you, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth. His curls fell over his forehead, and you found yourself fighting the urge to brush them out of the way- the same way you always did to Art. You swallowed deeply. What the hell was wrong with you?

“I told you I’d come, didn’t I?” He responded matter-of-factly, blowing a puff of smoke into the air. The smell made you nostalgic. You and Art had made a pact years ago to quit together, but God did you miss it sometimes. You licked your lips and tried (and failed) not to stare, “I snuck in through the back. Thought it’d be less messy that way.”

You had no idea how he’d been able to get back here, but you decided you weren’t gonna ask. It didn’t matter in the long run, anyway. Besides, he was probably right. You had no idea how Art was gonna react, and it was smart to have it happen in an isolated area.

“Probably smart.” You muttered, taking another swig of the wine. The feeling of his eyes stayed on you, burning into your skin, but you didn’t meet his gaze. You didn’t want to think too hard on why.

“He doesn’t know you reached out to me.” It wasn’t a question, but you responded to Patrick’s words regardless. He’d find out eventually.

“No.” The admittance came out with a heavy breath, like you were releasing the weight that had been on you all night. In a way, you were. You ran a hand over your forehead, “I don’t know what happened between you two, he doesn’t talk about it. But I just- I’m terrified he’ll hate me for bringing you.”

Why the hell were you pouring your heart out to this stranger? What was it about him that drew you in so much and made you want to bring down your walls? How was this charming man already under your skin from one damn meeting? And how the fuck were you supposed to explain any of this to your husband, his estranged best friend?

You needed another drink. Or ten.

“You really love him.” Again, not a question. But you answered. You had to.

“More than anything else in this world.”

Patrick offered you his half-smoked cigarette and you took it without thinking. The sting of the smoke in your lungs was like coming home. It was so good it almost made you cry. But lots of things made you want to cry right now. You could taste mint on the cigarette, like he’d been chewing gum before lighting up. The same kind Art always chewed.

It made something flip in your stomach.

“Well, from what I can tell, you’re pretty great. Super caring, based on how far you went in an attempt to make him happy. Shit, you tracked me down, which is a feat in itself. And you’re gorgeous, obviously. I’m surmising that you’re basically the whole package.” He spoke calmly, as if every one of those words didn’t make your heart jump into your throat. You chugged your drink to use it as an excuse for your rosy cheeks, “So I don’t think there’s any way he could hate you. Even for inviting me here.”

You were speechless for five long seconds as he took the cigarette back and inhaled. Then you finally got your brain to stop lagging, “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.” He countered, continuing the pass back and forth of the cigarette, “And I know Art. He wouldn’t marry someone beneath him. The fucker somehow always gets the ones way out of his league.”

You didn’t comment, but you knew what Patrick was referring to. Tashi Duncan. The now pro-tennis player that he’d had a thing with back in the day. You didn’t know the details, but you knew she was a point of contention between the two men.

Honestly, you tried not to think about Tashi. She was gorgeous, super talented, and an overall seemingly great person. Art had passed up on that for you, and it got to your head a lot. You wondered if he regretted it. Or at least wondered what his life could’ve been like.

You didn’t think you were out of his league. In fact, you thought the opposite. Not that you needed to tell Patrick that. Your insecurity and jealousy issues could stay yours alone.

“Well, I don’t know about that.” You murmured.

The cigarette began to dim as you took the last drag, flicking it off the balcony and down into the grass below. With both the alcohol and nicotine gone, you started to think you probably needed to get back to the party. Your husband would be looking for you, and you didn’t want to keep him waiting. You just had to figure out how Patrick would fit into the equation.

“If you weren’t taken, I’d be trying to charm the fuck out of you right now.”

The statement caught you completely off guard. You looked over at him, eyes wide, and tried to keep your cool at the sexy smirk on his face. God, he was so fucking attractive.

You blinked once, twice, a third time, “What?”

His smile grew at your flustered state, “I have great taste in women, and I’d flirt with you if I could. So I’m saying you’re definitely a catch. And totally out of Art’s league.”

You licked your lips. Subconsciously, “I’m pretty sure that was flirting.”

“Was it?” He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed, “Oops.”

You ran your finger over the rim of your wine glass, trying to think of something to say. You came up empty. You were married- to this man’s childhood best friend. To the love of your life. He shouldn’t be flirting with you. And you definitely shouldn’t be enjoying it.

“There you are! I was starting to worry.” Art’s voice broke the tense silence, and you turned around to watch him making his way to you with a smile. Then he spotted Patrick and his smile dropped as his face filled with recognition, “You- what the hell are you doing here?”

You opened your mouth to speak, to explain and mediate the situation, but the dark-haired man beat you to it.

“Your pretty little wife invited me.” He said, which was probably the worst thing he probably could’ve chosen. You internally buried your face in your hands.

Art’s jaw clenched and his eyes lit up. It took you a moment to realize that the expression was anger. Honestly, it took you by surprise. It was extremely rare to see him angry, and never was it directed at you. And though he was looking at Patrick, you were terrified that in this instance it was.

“Let me explain.” You immediately choked out, clutching your empty wine glass like a lifeline, “I really just thought that-”

“She thought you missed me and wanted us to reconnect. As a birthday surprise. Isn’t that sweet?” Patrick butted in, throwing an arm over your shoulders. Art looked ready to murder someone (probably the tennis player holding you), “I doubt it was easy contacting me, but she managed. All for you.”

You laughed nervously, ducking your head, “Well, that’s not-”

“Let go of her.” Art demanded. His voice was cold and dangerous. Possessive. It made something twitch in your core. Oh, you liked that.

The brunette didn’t hesitate to do as he was told, holding his hands up in surrender, “My bad, man. I just feel like we’re already such close friends from hanging out together. Don’t you think so?”

The last part was directed at you, and Patrick nudged you. You gave him an incredulous look.

The charming, sweet man you’d just been talking to was gone. He was replaced by a cocky, near-disrespectful antagonist who was trying to egg your husband into some kind of altercation. And he was using you as the bait.

You couldn’t lie that you were frustrated, but it did feel a bit nice to be in an almost tug-of-war between the two men. You liked being an object of affection or desire.

“You should head inside, baby.” Art spoke to you, though his furious gaze never left Patrick, “Our guests will wonder where the hosts went. I’m gonna talk to Patrick for a minute.”

You’d be damned if you told him no. Even though this situation felt like a mess that was definitely all your fault. Damn you for inviting Patrick. Damn him for being so captivating. And damn Art for loving you so much that the sight of another man touching you made him see red. This entire thing was like a whirlwind.

“Okay…” You whispered, moving towards your husband and the house. You gave Patrick a small smile, hoping to convey your thoughts to him. Please don’t hurt him- he’s my world. Then you stopped at Art’s side and placed a hand on his bicep, “I’m sorry if this was a bad idea. I just wanted to make your birthday special, is all. I didn’t mean to fuck it up.”

He finally looked at you, just long enough to give you a loving smile and a shake of his head, “You didn’t ruin anything. I’m so proud of you for doing all this for me. Don’t worry.”

Then he kissed you, only to stop and pull away, “Is that- were you smoking with Patrick?”

You sucked on your teeth and nodded, “Yes, a little. I’m sorry. I just-”

But then he was kissing you again, hard and needy. Like he wanted to fuck you right then and there. Your face burned bright red, and you could feel Patrick’s eyes on the two of you. Art had never acted like this in all the time you knew him. But right now, within thirty seconds of being around his old friend, he was putting on a show to prove that you were his.

You belonged to him. And he wanted Patrick to know it.

You really, really fucking liked this.

When he pulled away, you felt dizzy. From both the kiss and the wine you’d downed. You barely had time to take a breath before he was lightly patting your cheek and sending you inside. You managed to take a look at the two men before rejoining the party. They just stared at each other, like they were in a standoff.

It was unbelievably hot.

As you went back to your guests, lips still tingling, only one thought was coming to you.

You wondered how long you could keep Patrick around, just to see what it would do to your precious husband.

#challengers #challengers movie #challengers 2024 #art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #challengers fic #challengers fanfic #art donaldson x patrick zweig #challengers x reader #challengers x you #art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig #tashi duncan #charly writes!!#reunions series

3K notes · View notes

miley1442111 · 1 year ago

Text

(part 1) before his choice- a.donaldson

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: i imagined a fem reader but as per usual, imagine what you like :)

this is like the prelude to the other stuff but i get that it's confusing that it's coming out later- i didn't think i'd turn this into a series so i didn't exactly have a plan, sorry :)

this is 18+, mdni plssss

summary: how it was before art ruined your relationship

pairing: art donaldson x reader

warnings: smuttttt, 18+, piv using protection (don't be silly, wrap it), oral (f receiving), cute couple moments

(i think that's it but pls tell me if i forgot anything:)

Part 1 of 12

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“There goes Stanford’s favourite couple!” Megan rolled her eyes playfully. Art had his arms draped around your shoulders as you walked around campus as the sun set. Art chuckled and flipped her off, smirking as you laughed. Megan had been your roommate in your first year and you’d been best friends ever since.

You and Art were Stanford’s favourite couple. You were tennis prodigies, both extremely talented and both of you were friends with basically everyone. Everyone was always rooting for the two of you, apparently there was a fan page dedicated to your relationship.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“How was practice with Tash?” He asked, his arms circling your waist as you leant against the wall, waiting in line in the canteen.

“Fine, she’s getting better,” You shrugged. Tashi had never been able to beat you, but she was getting better.

“She’s not going to beat you,” He smirked, pressing kisses against your cheeks.

“She’s really good!” You giggled, feeling his hands squeeze your waist harder. “I wouldn’t mind, maybe then she wouldn’t hate me.”

“Tashi doesn’t hate you,” he shook his head. He knew it was a semi-lie, Tashi didn't like loosing. You were the only person capable of making her loose.

“She doesn’t like me Art, it’s fine, I don’t mind,” you sighed. “Anyway, enough tennis, what are we doing tonight?”

Art smirked. “We have that party-”

You groaned. Art always wanted to go out, then leave early. In your opinion, why not just cut out the middleman and go straight to your dorm? “Art, what is the point?”

“You look hot in dresses,” He shrugged and chuckled as you playfully hit him on the arm. “Come on, it’ll be fun! We can dance and hang out with our friends.”

You rolled your eyes at the way he’s pretending it’s a choice. “It’s not like I have a choice, I picked date night last time.”

“Exactly, so we’re going,” he grinned and you cupped his cheek, kissing him heavily. He was so beautiful, what else were you supposed to do? You pulled away quickly and moved up in the line, beginning to order both your lunches. You drove Art insane sometimes. Your pretty tennis skirts, your sweet lips on his, you.

He did recognise that his brain was still stuck in the gutter like a teenage boy when it came to sex. He didn’t seem to mind much though.

He placed his hand on your ass as you ordered for the both of you and he saw how you gulped.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one who’s head was in the gutter.

You collected your food and sat at a table together, enjoying the canteen food.

“You’ll wear the red dress, right?” He asked. It was his favourite colour, and the colour of the college that the two of you would be representing.

“No, Nike sent over something for me to wear, I think it’s purple,” you shrugged. Your partnership with Nike meant at every event you went to, you were representing them. That meant they were often sending you new things.

“Purple?” He questioned.

“Yeah, like plum-y purple,” you shrugged.

“Can’t wait,” he winked at you and you kicked him under the table.

Tonight was going to be a long night.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You finished styling your hair as Art walked into your dorm, baby blue shirt and some black formal trousers on, his blonde curls looking particularly beautiful. The dress Nike had sent over was beautiful, Art’s jaw dropped when he saw you.

You were gorgeous.

“Hey baby,” You smiled at him, pressing a kiss to his stunned cheek.

“You’re so beautiful,” He stated. You chuckled at him as his hands gripped your waist, making you look at him. “You’re so, so beautiful.”

“You look handsome,” You smiled, smoothing out his collar. “Ready to go?”

“We’re not going anywhere,” he decided, lust-filled eyes staring into yours before he pressed his lips to yours in a searing kiss.

You kissed back immediately, your hands running through his curls. You probably had a ‘thing’ for his hair. His hands smoothed up the expanse of your back, pulling you impossibly closer. This is what he was, passionate, loving, and a little bit possessive. He radiated heat, his chest against your as he pushed you against the wall, his lips never leaving yours.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips as your hands dipped lower, going directly for his trousers zipper.

“So are you,” you smiled, kissing him again. His hands found the zipper at the back of your dress, letting it fall to the floor at your feet. You unzipped him then started working on his shirt buttons, both of you forgetting about the party.

His hands quickly pulled at your bra and underwear, leaving you bare as he stripped himself, thanking his past self for keeping a stock of condoms in your bedside table. He leaned over, quickly grabbing one and opening it with his teeth, sheathing his hard cock as you looked at him under you. He met your glazed eyes, lustfully looking at him, a soft smile on your face.

You were so beautiful.

You sank down on him, never quite used to the stretch he provided. “Fuck,” you moaned out.

His eyes rolled back as you buried him inside of you. His hands gripped your waist, the faint remnants of bruises left from earlier in the week, when he was in this exact position. He pulled your face down to his as you started moving and started kissing up and down your neck between moans. He changed the position slightly, thrusting up into you to reach the gummy spot inside of you that made you scream out for him.

“God,” he groaned. “Fuck… f-fuck.”

You felt so good around him, it was one of his favourite feelings, the absolute euphoria of having your wrapped around him, using him to get yourself off.

“You’re so good,” you whined breathlessly. “So good.”

Your voice and moans spurred him on, he loved your voice. He loved everything about you.

“You gonna cum?” He whined, thrusting up into you. You nodded, bouncing on him harder as you began reaching your climax. He felt you tighten around him and he gasped, trying to not cum so quickly.

“I’m c-cumming,” You groaned in his ear and he was a goner. He cupped your cheek, hap-harzardly kissing you to swallow the scream that was bound to leave his lips. You gripped his hips to still his uncoordinated and subscious thrusts as you both came down from your highs.

Art still wasn’t done, he needed to taste you. “Let me taste it, please?” He begged, pulling himself out of you. “Please?”

“Art, we’re already late,” you reminded him through your sex-fueled haze.

“Please, just let me kiss it,” he begged, kissing down your body, his fingers finding your sopping core. You moaned at the contact and nodded, a meek ‘please’ leaving your lips.

That was all the confirmation Art needed. He latched his lips onto your clit, drawing out moan after moan. His fingers pumped in and out of you slowly, paying special attention to your g-spot. His tongue sucked over your over-sensitive clit and brought you to another two orgasms, not being able to stop himself from humping the bed in his enchanted state. He loved how you tasted, he couldn’t get enough of it, he never wanted to. If he could spend his days between your legs he would.

After you came for the third time that night, he connected your lips again and smiled at you. “Thank you.”

Your fucked-out face was truly a sight to behold, and he had the pleasure of seeing it whenever he pleased.

“Come on, we have a party to go to,” He smirked and you whined as he cleaned you up by running three fingers through your soaking core and licking them clean.

He appreciated the new marks on your neck that he had created as you slowly got up. You dressed yourself in the beautiful dress once again, fixing your hair and makeup, then spraying yourself with some more perfume, attempting to cover the smell of sex.

As you sat in the passenger seat of his car, he thought about how perfect you were, his hand in yours as he drove you to the party.

Little did he know that this party would lead to the beginning of the end of your relationship.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

art donaldson masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

#art challengers #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #challengers #mike faist x reader #mike faist #josh oconnor #patrick zweig

1K notes · View notes

nathaslosthershit · 8 months ago

Text

Passenger Princess Piastri (OP81)

Summary: Oscar hates driving outside of F1, you are sick of driving him everywhere and have tried everything to curb his obsession with being a passenger princess, but you may have stumbled upon a new method of making him get behind the wheel. (Aka Oscar's wife finds a new upside to her pregnancy)

'Oh having a husband who races cars for a living must be so nice, you have a built in personnel driver!'

Unfortunately, you are dating Oscar Piastri, a man who has trained in the art of guilting you into driving.

It was always something new, 'I don't like driving on the streets in anywhere but Australia', 'i have been driving all weekend, can't you just take the reins this one time', 'I know it is summer break, but you look so hot behind the wheel, I just want to appreciate my pretty wife while I have her with me'.

And you gave in, every time. It got to the point where he didn't even ask, just happily hopped into the passenger seat while you'd sigh and get behind the wheel.

But it had to to end. Oscar's reign as passenger princess had turned into a passenger queen, and you were going to force him to abdicate.

It started with little things; not joining him on errands you didn't need to go on, putting so much stuff in the passenger seat he had to sit in the back, not unlocking the car until he moved.

It worked well, but unfortunately he eventually caught on to all of your ways and found loopholes. He'd beg, and beg, and beg for you to go on errands with him, he knew if he could produce a few tears and a line about how much he loves doing these little domestic tasks with you, you'd give in. He would just move your stuff, all of it, or if he thought ahead, stuff so many things into the back you 'couldn't possible expect him to go back there'. He would just wait, and wait, and wait until you unlocked the car, doesn't matter if you had time sensitive plans, he would happily arrive late in the passenger seat, he'd even blame it on you.

This back and forth lasted years, he didn't care, he wasn't going to give up, but neither were you.

When your first thought upon seeing the positive pregnancy test was that you were going to milk this for all its worth and make sure the next 9 months + were passenger seat filled for you, maybe you should have reevaluated the situation, clearly it had gone too far.

You felt better though when you saw the same realization hit Oscar soon after you told him the news.

"Yep! You are not getting a free ride for a very long time, honey." You said, giddy at the look of despair on your husband's face.

"Please, come on, don't you think thats dramatic? You are pregnant, not incapacitated."

"You are so hypocritical to call me dramatic! You drive for a living, Oscar, yet you force your beautiful and amazing wife to drive you around as your personal chauffeur! You did this to me, and now you have got to pay the piper my friend."

"Wouldn't I be the piper in this case?" He was trying to distract you with a dirty joke, and damn it almost worked.

"No, because I am playing you, lovie. Plus, I am holding precious cargo now, don't think I won't call your mom or sisters to yell at you if you try to make me drive."

You felt victorious as you saw all the fight leave his eyes. Maybe it was cruel to use your pregnancy against your husband to force him to do a task he hated doing. Maybe it was evil to feel giddy about how you now had a new method of getting him to drive you places. You weren't saying you'd get pregnant again in the future just to win this ridiculous stand-off you two had, but it was definitely an added bonus.

A/N: I don’t know what this is guys I just sat down and wrote something I had no preconceived plans I just knew my Oscar girlies were hungry and needed to be fed

#formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine

767 notes · View notes

barnesafterglow · 4 months ago

Text

the art of missing someone

summary: bucky barnes was a lot, but he would always be yours

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: brief college then modern au, little bit of angst, don't ask if this is based off personal experience i will cry, smut (MINORS DNI!) [unprotected sex, oral (f receiving)], confessions, idk man i'm just here

a/n: first fic of 2025!! this was a bitch and i still lowkey hate it but it is what it is

main masterlist - i no longer have a taglist but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary for updates!

The thing about Bucky Barnes was, well, he’s kind of an asshole.

In a funny way, really, but an asshole through and through and, for some reason, that did it for you.

It did it for you so much, in fact, that you had been going in circles with him for years now. You met him originally at a party in college; you didn’t know anyone except for your roommate, Natasha, and she introduced you. You immediately gravitated towards him, with his quick wit and sharp opinions, you felt like you could talk to him about anything. He kept close to you the entire night, getting more touchy as the evening dragged on, until the tipping point came.

You were finishing up a game of beer pong where you and Bucky absolutely dominated, and as you sank the last cup, he picked you up, swinging you around before setting you back on your feet. The thing is, he didn’t really let you go. You stood there, in the middle of a crowded party, with his arms around you and it was like everyone else disappeared.

Searching your eyes for permission, he bent his head down and his lips met yours and that was really the beginning of it all. It was unlike any kiss you had ever had, sweet but a little desperate and you craved more.

It became a thing, after that. You would see Bucky at a party, make nice for a few hours, then end up in a closet or empty bedroom making out until someone came to find you.

But more than that, Bucky became your friend. He was who you talked to in your darkest moments, who you sent stupid videos to, everything, and you liked it like that.

That is, until everything got turned on its head.

It happened right after graduation. You had just moved into your own apartment and were waiting for Bucky to come over for movie night. You hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks, the communication very much lacking, but you figured it was just a busy time for both of you and once you got settled, everything would be fine.

That is, until you got a phone call as you closed the microwave door and started the popcorn. Immediately seeing Bucky’s name, you wiped your hands and answered.

“Hey, you almost here?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a sigh.

“I- I don’t know how to say this,” Bucky started, and you found yourself growing nervous. There was nothing you and Bucky couldn’t talk about. Well, almost nothing. “Me and Dot, well, we’ve been talking and…”

His voice trailed off, the line going quiet again. But you were going to make him say it.

“We’re getting back together. She really wants to make it work this time.”

And there it was. Dot was Bucky’s on again-off again for the last several years, stretching back to before you even knew him, and it was a sore spot in your friendship. They had mostly been “off” in the time you’d known him, save for a few memorable occasions where she wormed her way back into his life for a couple weeks just to break his heart all over again. It was safe to say she was not your favorite person, and you certainly weren’t hers.

“Bucky…” you started, but he cut you off.

“No, I know what you’re thinking.” He actually probably had no clue how evil the thoughts you had were, but you weren’t going to enlighten him. “But it’s serious this time, we’ve been talking since graduation and we’re both ready to give this a real shot, without all the bullshit.”

He sounded so sincere, and he was your best friend, so you took a deep breath and sighed, accepting the fact that if you wanted Bucky in your life, this was just something you would have to deal with.

You could hear his relieved laugh on the other end, and you felt your stomach give an odd lurch, like someone had pulled a carpet out from under you.

“I knew you would understand, thank you.”

“Of course, Buck. Now, what about movie night?”

Another beat of silence, then, just like you knew it would happen:

“I can’t, Dot is coming over.”

You wanted to argue, to scream, to make him feel bad about choosing her over you, but hadn’t he already? So instead, you mumbled a quiet agreement and hung up, not wanting to talk to him any longer. Already, it felt like the beginning of the end.

And you weren’t sure you were ready for that.

It didn’t even happen slowly, is the worst part. You didn’t see Bucky that night, or any night for the weeks that followed. It wasn’t until you saw him at the coffee shop by your apartment that you were able to talk to him.

You sat down at his table, no longer interested in placid excuses and apologies, and asked him point blank what was going on.

“I’m just trying to keep Dot happy.”

“By staying away from me?” You were frustrated, sure, but under that really you were just hurt. “Listen, you know I don’t like her, but I would never ask you to choose between us. That’s not fair and if she cared about you like she said she does, then she wouldn’t either.”

“It’s not like that!” His voice was raising, just a little, so you knew he was just being defensive. He must have heard it too because he cleared his throat, voicing going back to normal. “I just don’t want to cause any problems.”

You nodded, grabbing your coffee as you stood up, and headed for the door. If he was willing to let your friendship go, then you weren’t going to fight him on it. So you left, face heated with embarrassment and tears threatening to spill over.

As you passed the threshold to the coffee shop back onto the sidewalk, you pulled your headphones on, ignoring the bustle of the city and Bucky still watching you leave through the window.

Adjusting to a life without Bucky was weird, you had to admit, but you did it anyway. The first few weeks were the hardest, when he was the first person you wanted to text during any occasion, but eventually that muscle memory faded until you were reaching out to the people who actually valued you in their life.

Almost a year passed, and you moved on in all the ways you could. You heard Bucky moved back across the river to Brooklyn and that was about all you knew; your friends avoided the mention of even his name if they could help it, even though you knew at the very least Steve and Natasha still talked to him.

You just hoped he was happy, no matter what he was doing.

It was a cold January night when the notification came through. Wanda had recently convinced you to get on a dating app, even though you were perfectly content being single, thank you, but you had to admit the attention didn’t hurt.

You weren’t expecting much when your phone chimed and you unlocked it without even looking at the notification. Which is how you came face to face with Bucky’s Hinge profile, and a message attached to a picture of you that you knew he had taken saying: hey, you look familiar.

Was that really how he was going to make amends, on a dating app?

You supposed it was kind of funny, in that asshole way of his, and you stared at the message for another moment before responding.

oh, i know you?

if you want to

And, well, that was the thing. You did want to. No matter what he did, no matter how much he hurt you, he was still your best friend. Your Bucky.

Instead of answering, you pulled up a contact you hadn’t opened in months and pressed call. It rang one time before a familiar voice flooded the other end.

“Hey, stranger.”

“Hey, Buck.”

It was a healthy conversation, if you were being honest. Bucky apologized, told you he and Dot were done for good this time and, against your better judgment, you accepted it. You talked for hours after that, catching up on life and reminiscing on old memories, until you checked the time.

“Shit, it’s late,” you said as you put the phone back to your ear. “Almost midnight.”

And then, the words you dreaded but wanted desperately.

“Come over.”

“To Brooklyn? Buck I can’t take the subway this late.”

“I’ll pay for your Uber. Just come over.” You could hear the words he wanted to say, the ones on the tip of his tongue that he just wouldn’t force out.

“Well, I did miss you.” You tried to press it, to make him say it, but he only hummed on the other end.

“So is that a yes?”

You looked down at yourself, cozied up in sweatpants and a hoodie that you were almost entirely sure was Bucky’s, and sighed.

“Yes.”

“Perfect, your Uber will be there in 8 minutes.”

You didn’t have time to wonder how he got your new address - probably one of your mutual friends, maybe he had been keeping more tabs on you than you had on him - and shot up from the couch. With no time to change, you headed to the bathroom and brushed your teeth before taming your hair in the best way you could. As you were stuffing some clothes in an overnight bag - just in case, you told yourself - your phone chimed with a text from Bucky that your Uber had arrived.

In a whirlwind, you rushed to the car where the driver seemed very put off at having to wait a whole 90 seconds for you to walk four flights of stairs, and slid in.

The whole ride there you were nervous. The thing with Bucky was, despite many drunken hookups, you’d never actually had sex. You weren’t really sure why, just that it had never happened and you had been grateful for it in the long run. You weren’t even sure if it would happen tonight, if he still wanted you like that. Even with all your talking and catching up, you hadn’t been brave enough to ask what this meant.

At nearly 1am, your Uber pulled up outside a beautiful Brooklyn brownstone and, there on the front porch, stood Bucky.

He wrapped you in his arms as he stood in front of you, and it all felt so heartbreakingly familiar you gave in immediately, all the tension leaking from your body at the feeling Bucky gave you.

“Hey,” he said softly into your hair. “Come on in.”

Bucky’s house was so far from his old college apartment it was frightening, yet it couldn’t have felt more like Bucky. More like home.

You took in your surroundings, shelves of books and vintage furniture and warm tones, it was almost like stepping back into your own place, the aesthetics were so similar. That was the funny feeling in your chest, you were sure.

Eventually, you ended up on Bucky’s couch with some superhero movie on, not really watching it but still grateful for its background noise to fill the room with each lull in the conversation. Not that there were many, one thing that came easy with Bucky had always been talking - although neither of you did much of that when it really mattered; you figured you could put that out of your mind for now.

Over the course of the movie, you and Bucky shifted closer together until your thighs were pressed flush and you could feel the air from each of his exaggerated hand movements. It wasn’t until a wayward wave nearly grazed your nose that you truly realized how close you had become, and the sight of Bucky’s eyes shifting subtly to your lips has your self restraint at an all time low.

Fuck it, you thought. You had wanted this for so long, but you also knew you could live without Bucky if everything went tits up. It was a sad thought, that, but you couldn’t let this opportunity go. With every bit of courage you had, you let your hand float up to cup Bucky’s cheek, eyes searching for any sort of hesitation. When you found none, you leaned forward to close the admittedly small gap between your lips.

It was electric. Never had a kiss from someone else ever lit a fire inside you the way one from Bucky did. It started off slow, searching, a chance to reacquaint yourselves. But the second Bucky’s hand reached to tangle in your hair, everything shifted.

Suddenly you were pulled in Bucky’s lap, legs straddling his, lips desperate for a taste of what you’d missed for so long. It was everything you hadn’t let yourself wish for, and you had a feeling you weren’t going to be missing it again anytime soon.

It wasn’t until your shirts were on the floor and Bucky was making quick work of your clasped bra that you thought maybe it would be smart to just slow down. Just for a second, just to get your bearings.

An honest to god whine fell from his lips as you pulled back, stopping his hands from undressing you any further.

“Buck,” you whispered, forehead pressed to his, hands cupping his face as if he was something precious. Though you supposed he was, to you at least. “What’s going on?”

“I just…” His voice trailed off, obviously unsure of himself even though this at least was familiar territory. What was to come next, however, was not. “I can’t go another day without making you mine.”

Your core tightened at the words, vivid memories of what Bucky’s hands and mouth could do; fantasies of what else he could do invaded as well as suddenly talking didn’t seem like a priority anymore.

“Take me to bed.” And that was all he needed.

Bucky scooped you up bridal style, carrying you across the threshold of his bedroom and laying you gently on his bed. Your eyes darted around, wanting more of snippets of the life Bucky had built here, but you were quickly distracted by his body covering yours, the weight of him pressed between your thighs was comforting and intoxicating.

Bucky’s touch proved even more distracting as he shed you of your bra, mouth immediately latching to one nipple, the little nips and sucks enough to drive you crazy on their own, while his hands pinched at the other. He continued his assault until you were dizzy with want, then he trailed down your body with his mouth, not leaving an inch of skin undiscovered until he reached the waistband of your sweatpants.

He pulled them down just an inch, then his eyes shot up to meet yours at the discovery.

“No underwear?” His voice was deep, husky, almost fucked out if you really thought about it. It was a thrill that your hold on him was so tight that just the thought of you without underwear was enough to leave him reeling just a little bit.

You batted your eyes innocently. “Someone didn’t give me much warning about my Uber, I apologize.”

The giggle in your voice suggested the insincerity of your apology, but it didn’t deter Bucky as he pulled your pants from your body, mouth and hands still exploring.

His fingers traced unknown patterns along your inner thighs, gently pushing them apart until you were fully exposed to him. You felt nervous all of a sudden, like you had never been in this position before. You had, of course, but never sober, and never with Bucky looking at you so attentively - like he was going to eat you alive.

It was intense, having Bucky’s eyes bore into you as he lowered his mouth to your core, starting with gentle kitten licks until your hips were bucking, searching for more friction. One of his hands pinned your hips to the bed, while the other slipped through your folds, spreading spit and slick, before he slipped one inside of you. Then two, then three, until you were begging for release.

All it took was a soft whisper of come on, baby and a crook of Bucky’s fingers and you were falling apart, the intensity of your orgasm whipping through you, and as you floated back down to your senses, Bucky was still going.

It was feverish, like he couldn’t get enough of your pleasure, and each twitch and moan encouraged him until your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him away from your spent body.

He let out a protest, but you silenced it by pressing your lips to his, moaning at the taste of yourself as his tongue pressed into your mouth. You were lost in the sensation, letting yourself be manhandled until you were once again in Bucky’s lap. Sometime while you had been transported to another planet, his pants had been shed and you were oh so close to getting everything you ever wanted.

With your mouth still pressed to his, you rolled your hips, feeling the weight of him sliding along you. You kept at it, teasing and grinding until he thrust his hips and there it was; one slight adjustment and the feeling of Bucky stretching you out to was more overwhelming than you could have imagined.

Your hips stilled, as did Bucky’s, letting you adjust to him until you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, your way of telling him that you were okay, that he could move.

His thrusts started slowly, letting you feel every inch of him until you were begging for more. When his hands stopped roaming to grip your hips tightly, you knew you were done for.

Bucky held you in place, his hips snapping up to fuck into you and all you could do was hold on for the ride.

You were so overwhelmed you almost missed Bucky’s words, mixed in with his moans, but once you caught them, they were as clear as day:

I missed you.

Over and over, Bucky was repeating the words, interspersed with groans and heavy panting, but your heart restricted regardless

He missed you. Bucky missed you.

With your thoughts such a jumbled mess, reveling in the fact that this was really happening, your orgasm snuck up on you. One second you were floating on the high of Bucky and the next you were crashing, falling, and he was right there to catch you as you came down.

His hips slowed, stuttering as he spilled into you with one final thrust.

For a moment, the world around you didn’t exist. All there was was this moment, with Bucky’s arms around you and your head buried in his shoulder. Everything came back at once: your harsh breaths, the noise of the TV far away in the living room, and Bucky’s hushed whispers as he held you.

“I missed you so much.” You didn’t respond for a moment, but you lifted your head to meet Bucky’s eyes. In them lay the sincerity of his words, vulnerable now that they weren’t being said in the heat of the moment.

“I missed you too, Buck.”

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #marvel #marvel fanfic #mcu #mcu fanfic #tiff writes #the art of missing someone

262 notes · View notes

folklvrsworld · 2 years ago

Text

between the books ♡

pairing: harry james potter x fem!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, kissing, swearing/cussing, slightly spying

summary: reader is doing assignments in the library when she feels a pair of eyes watching her, harry decided to distract her and get her mind off of school for a hot minute

song: collide - justin skye, tyga

-------------------------------------------------------

Being a sixth year doesn't mean you can relax. Yes, we do have a lot more free time, but those free times are mostly used for doing homework, which the professors gave a lot, or studying for N.E.W.T. exams that we will have to do in our seventh year.

I was in the library, scribbling down answers for my defence against the dark arts homework, while constantly switching books. The library wasn't empty that day, but it wasn't full either. As I was writing, I felt like someone was watching me. I looked around, but no one was looking at my direction.

I shrugged it off and continued on what I was doing. I finally finished my homework and I closed the books, before putting them back in the right shelves. As I was returning the last book, I felt a presence behind me and before I could turn around, I felt someone kiss my neck.

"Harry..." I giggled quitely while turning around to see the raven haired boy standing in front of me.

"Took you long enough to notice me." he grinned and pecked my lips slowly.

I kissed him back and pulled away with a raised eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

"I've been watching you for the past ten minutes, I thought you would notice me, but you were very focused on your homework." he chuckled, kissing me again.

"I knew I felt someone was watching me." I said in between kisses, "Now we really shouldn't make out here, I have homework to do."

He groaned, "Oh come on, it's time for you to have a little break. What d'you say?" he smiled while running his hands up and down my waist.

I gulped and stared at him in the eyes, he wasn't wrong, I do need a little break. I've been doing homework for the past three hours, my fingers were tired from writing, my brain was tired from thinking, I needed a distraction.

"Fine.." I finally said, earning a big grin from him before he pinned me to the bookshelf and kissed my neck, "W-Wait...Here?!"

He pulled away and shrugged, "Why not? If you're comfortable with it, of course."

I reminded myself that we were on the back of the library, the section where no one really comes to, so if we were to do it here, it would be somewhat safe. We just have to be quiet.

"Okay...We have to be quiet though."

He chuckled, "You mean you have to be quiet, princess." he smirked as his hand started to go under my skirt, "Let me take care of you, yeah? I know you're tired, you don't have to do anything."

His words gave me butterflies on my stomach. Sex with him was always either gentle and sweet, rough and kinky, or lusty and passionate. Him being cute and gentle was always my favorite one.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and stroked the back of his neck before leaning in to kiss him, as our lips collided and moved in sync, his hand made its way to my underwear. He stroked my clit through the fabric making me gasp and have goosebumps from head to toe.

"Shh, relax. I'll be gentle." he muttered through the kiss as he felt the wetness on the underwear, he fiddled with the fabric at first, before slowly taking it off of me.

When it was off, he kept it in his pocket and started to trail his thumb over my clit. I shuddered at his touch and he did it over and over again, "Can you tell me what you want, princess?"

I nearly come undone hearing his words, but I managed to look him in the eyes while saying, "Touch me...Please, Harry..."

He smiled and pecked my lips before slowly entering a finger in, while still caressing my clit with his thumb. I held back a moan as I closed my eyes and bit my bottom lip.

"Merlin, you're so wet." he groaned quitely as he went in and out with his finger, and not long after, he added a second finger.

I threw my head back to the bookshelf and couldn't help but let out a little gasp, he started moving faster and faster, it was getting really hard to hold back my moans. When he added a third finger, he knew I was about to moan, because he slammed his lips onto mine.

"F-Fuck..." I moaned quitely through the kiss, his fingers moving in and out frantically, I pulled away and gasped for air.

Suddenly, I felt the knot in my stomach forming, my body was starting to shake, I was close. Harry seemed to realize as he stopped for a second to rest his fingers before going in and out in a frantic pace, his thumb stroking my clit.

"Come for me, baby." he said while unbuttoning my shirt and squeezing my boobs gently.

Not wasting another moment, I bit back a moan as I felt my body completely let go. I let out little whimpers of pleasure as my body jerk and shake a little from the force of the orgasm. When I've relaxed, he gently pulled his fingers out and licked them clean.

"Good girl." he smiled at me and kissed me, letting me taste myself on his tongue, "Do you want more or was that enough for you, my love?"

I panted heavily, still recovering from the orgasm, and looked at him and his bulge. I knew I would have to really fight myself to not moan if we go further, but my body needed him. Badly.

"You deserve some too, Harry. Not just me." I smiled while fumbling with his pants, he raised an eyebrow before smirking lightly.

He understood what I wanted so he quickly took of his pants and underwear, while I completely took off my shirt, leaving me only in my skirt and bra. He picked me up and made me straddle him before taking one of my boobs into his mouth.

I moaned quitely as I tug his hair and let out a sigh of pleasure. He continued sucking on my breast while playing with the other one, before pulling away and looking at me in the eyes, "You're the most beautiful person I've ever met, Y/N."

My body instantly was filled with euphoria hearing that, my cheeks went red as I smiled at him and kissed him. He kissed me back with tongue as he gave his dick a few strokes before gently and slowly entering me.

"O-Oh, fuck...." I pulled away from the kiss and moaned, with our foreheads still touching.

He breathed heavily and continued to thrust himself deeper. When he's fully in me, he paused for a second to take a deep breath, before slowly moving in and out.

"H-Harry..." I rested my hand on his shoulder and clawed his back, we were only getting started and we were already such a moaning mess.

"Y-You feel so good, Merlin..." he moaned, squeezing my ass as he continued his rapid movement.

We were looking into each other's eyes as he moved in and out of me. Both of us sweating and breathing heavily, euphoria and pleasure feeling both our bodies. It wasn't until we heard someone talking that we knew someone was in the shelf next to ours.

"No, that's not the one I'm looking for. Maybe it's in the next shelf."

I widened my eyes and mouthed to Harry, "We're the next shelf!"

He was about to pull out of me but before he could do anything, another voice was heard, "Wait, here it is. Nevermind, we don't have to go to the other shelf, Celia. I got it."

We both took a deep breath of relief and waited for them to leave, when they did, he looked at me and smirked, "Now, where were we?" he started moving in and out of me again.

Not so long after, he thrusted deep inside me, hitting my g-spot. I had to bury my face on the crook of his neck to hold myself from screaming out of pleasure. I was in absolute bliss. His thrust became faster and harder by the second.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck baby..." I whimpered into his neck, my body jerking from the force of his thrust.

He stroked my back reassuringly and eagerly kissed my neck to calm me down, "Shh, I know, sweetheart. I know."

He started hitting my g-spot over and over again, my body was jerking and shaking from the amount of pleasure I was getting. Little gasps and moans coming out of my mouth, as I feel the knot on my stomach forming again.

"I-I'm close, Harry..." I gasped and my legs tightened the grip on his waist.

He nodded his head and groaned, while pulling away from my neck after successfully making a hickey there, "Me too. Oh fucking hell, love.."

His movement suddenly became fast and hard, he was trying to reach both of our orgasms. My mouth was hung open in a silent scream, he was gasping for air and watching me slowly come building up to my release.

"Beautiful. So fucking beautiful."

With his words, I come undone. I tried my best to moan quitely, as my body convulsed and my thighs shake. I saw stars and I couldn't feel anything else except for pleasure. I never wanted it to end. I was having uncontrollable spams. It was the hardest orgasm I've ever had.

A second after my release, he had his. He buried his face into my chest as he groaned and released inside me. I felt his hot liquid filling me up, making me shudder and jerk slightly. As we were both coming down from our high, he stroked my stomach gently to calm me down, and I stroked his hair.

When we both have relaxed, we looked at each other and couldn't help but smile. He pulled out of me slowly and set me down on my feet, I trembled but I quickly leaned against the shelf so I don't fall down.

"Did you enjoy it, my love?" he said out of breath, while moving a strand of hair from my face.

I nodded my head vigorously and chuckled, "Every second of it, darling." I smiled, "God, I really needed that. Homework has been stressing me out lately."

He smiled and kissed my forehead, "I noticed, princess." he took out my underwear from his pocket and gave it to me, "We should dress up before anyone sees us."

We quickly tidied ourselves up. We made ourselves look like we did not just fuck the shit out of each other as much as we could. I fixed him a bit and he did the same for me, before we both walk away from the shelf hand in hand.

I quickly gathered my stuff that was still on the table before walking out of the library with him, "That was one of the craziest things I've ever done."

He chuckled and shrugged, "Hey, everyone does crazy things from time to time. But you didn't regret it, did you?" he said as he put a bit of my hair at the front, to hide my hickey.

I smiled up at him and shook my head, "Not one bit, Harry."

#harry james potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry james potter smut #harry potter #harry james potter x fem!reader

2K notes · View notes

sweetbans29 · 1 year ago

Text

Teach Me: The Art of Touching (v) - PB

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Previous Part & Next Part

Summary: You and Paige have been best friends for the last 6 years. You trust her completely. And it is because of that trust that you ask her a rather forward question. AKA - You ask Paige to teach you.

Warnings: mature, tiny pains, did I mention mature?

Word Count: 3.6k

Sweetbans Masterlist & Teach Me Masterlist

AN: Another one.

Paige enters your shared apartment to the kitchen light on. You always left it on when Paige was out later than you so she wouldn't have to walk into a dark apartment. The light wasn't the first thing she noticed - it was the fact that your bedroom door was closed. You would never close your bedroom door all the way.

Paige walks up to your door and gives it a light knock then places her ear up to it waiting for a response. When she doesn't hear anything she cracks open the door to find you already asleep.

She walks up to you and crouches down next to you. The sight of you causes her heart to break.

Yes, you are asleep but your eyes are puffy and your eyebrows are scrunched. You are wearing one of your own sweatshirts when you would typically wear one of hers. Paige moves her leg and notices a pile of tissues on the ground.

She doesn't know the whole reason for you ending up in this state but she had an idea that she was the cause. Her hand comes up to graze your face and your expression immediately releases its tension.

Paige moves to lay with you in bed, her arm comes around you which causes you to stir. You turn around to face her and her arm retreats from around you. Paige brings her hand up to touch your face but you flinch away.

"Please don't," you say almost inaudible. You look down at her shirt and feel the knot in your stomach tighten. She is still in the clothes she wore to the club.

Paige has felt low before but never as low as now when you ask her not to touch you. She doesn't know what to do to make the situation any better.

"It might be better if you slept in your room tonight." You say not making eye contact with her.

Her heart breaks when you say you don't want to sleep next to you but she doesn't move.

"No," Paige says.

You now make eye contact with her for the first time and she can see how puffy your eyes are. They are bloodshot and drained of life. They close.

"B, please," you say not wanting to fight with her but also not wanting to spend the night next to her after she just got off with someone else.

Paige wants to scream and fight your ask but already seeing the pain in your eyes fights against it. She wants you to explain everything that is going on inside your head. She wants to get to the bottom of the frustration and then fall asleep with you in her arms.

Paige looks at you once more and slowly makes her way out of your bed. She makes her way out of your room. As she is closing the door, she barely hears your final words - part of her believes she made it up in her head.

"Love you," you whispered as the door closed.

Paige wakes up the next morning to the wonderful smell of breakfast. She lazily walks out of her room to find you dancing around the kitchen. She yawns and makes her way to see what you are making. Sleep was not her friend last night.

"Morning B!" You say when you see her. "I made you breakfast."

Paige is trying to hide her confusion as you are a completely different person than you were last night.

Paige comes and stands at the counter as you pass her a plate.

"I thought we could run some errands this morning then have the girls come over later to hang. I'm thinking about trying a new recipe that I found on Pinterest." You say as you pick up your phone to try and find it.

Paige nods, trying not to be skeptical about how normal things feel. She replays the events from the night after she came home and still feels a pain in her heart when she remembers you didn't want her to touch you.

"I'm going to get ready - you should do the same when you are done eating and we can go." You say and head into your room.

The two of you have a very normal morning - you dragged Paige to Target and then the grocery store. You stopped at your favorite coffee shop and then headed home. By the time you got home, you had to start cooking. While you did Paige went to get room to game for a little while until the girls showed up.

"It smells amazing in here!" Nika yells as she runs to see what you are making in the kitchen. Paige makes her way out and immediately locks eyes with Azzi.

Paige just shrugs and makes her way to the group.

"Okay, it should be ready - I can't promise anything so if you don't like it, it's not my fault." You say and start passing out paper plates.

"I am sure it is amazing, thanks for having us," Azzi says and serves herself.

Everyone eats and then finds themselves in your living room. You and Paige are on the couch while some of the girls are on a live. You can tell Paige is struggling to stay up but doesn't like to miss out when the girls are over. She is scrolling through her phone but her eyes are having a hard time staying open.

The girls are doing random things on the live and having a good time. You are seen in the back but are mostly covered by the girls.

You poke at Paige's arm and she looks over at you. You pat your lap and Paige immediately shifts to put her head in your lap. You hear her phone lock as you begin playing with her hair. Her hand comes up to hold your thigh and you smile. Nothing else in the world matters - it is just you and her.

Paige's breathing begins to slow down and you know she is out. Your hands continue to run through her hair.

You are watching the live from your phone when you see a crap ton of comments coming through on how cute Paige and you are in the back.

"Ya, ya, ya - we get it, they are adorable," Nika says as she reads through the comments.

The girls eventually wrap up the live and begin to head out. You don't bother waking up Paige. Once the girls are gone you debate waking her up or letting her sleep - after a few minutes of thinking you decide to wake her up.

"B," you say and begin to shake her shoulder. You hear her groan.

"Let me put you to bed, ya?" You ask, knowing it is not really a question.

She groans again.

Your hand comes down to her waist and gives it a little squeeze.

"Come on B, you will be much more comfortable in bed," you say and begin to move your legs.

Her sleepy eyes begin to open and she sits up. Her shoulder leans into yours as her head finds your neck.

"Will you please sleep with me? Don't sleep well without you," she says.

"Of course I will," you say as you help her up. You don't think she is fully awake when you hear what she says next.

"You're the only one I want in my bed ever," she says as you help her into her room. You laugh and mutter a response along the lines of 'sure, whatever you say'.

"Serious. No other girl is like you. Hurt when you sent me away," she mutters. You know she is referring to last night. But in your defense, she hurt you when she took that girl to the bathroom at the bar.

"Okay sleepy girl, let's just get you to bed," you lay her down and tuck her in. You walk out to the kitchen to turn the lights off and grab a glass of water. When you walk back into Paige's room you see her sitting up.

"B, why are you sitting up, lay down love," you say knowing she is using every ounce of her energy to fight off sleep.

"Wanted to make sure you came back to me," she says and begins to lay back down. You make your way to your side of her bed and find your way under her covers. She scoots her way over to you and nestles into your side. She doesn't need to be held but just likes to be close to you.

"Go to sleep, B."

She sighs and hums.

Both of you sleep 10x better than you did the night before.

The next few days are back to normal between you and Paige. Neither of you brought up the night in the bar. That may or may not bite you in the butt later but since things are going smoothly you didn't want to backtrack.

The team's practices have been going extremely well - they were preparing for March Madness. The bracket had just been announced and UConn had a pretty easy route to the final.

At the end of practice, you and Paige make your way back to your apartment. The two of you shower (individually) and then find yourselves working on a Lego set in the living room.

"Hey B?" You ask the girl sitting across from you.

She lets out a low 'hmmm' signaling she is listening but doesn't look up from the instruction manual.

"I kind of want to do another lesson," you say shyly as a light pink tint graces your cheeks.

Paige's head whips up and she looks at you. Her eyes darkened as she put down the Legos she was holding.

"You kind of want, ma? Or you know you want?" Paige says in a teasing tone. "Because we aren't going to kind of move on."

"I want," you say - your voice coming out as a whisper. If you were being honest - you had been ready for a lesson the past few days but didn't want the normalcy that had just been restored to waiver.

"Okay baby, we can do a lesson," Paige says, not moving an inch.

You feel your body react - you find it extremely hard to sit still under her stare. You squeeze your legs together under the table in hopes of relieving any of the fast-building pressure you feel.

"You know how to kiss," she says. "Very well, I might add."

This causes you to blush even more now.

"All thanks to you," you reply.

"Me...and those videos you watched,' Paige says with a smile. You groan and roll your eyes.

"I am never going to live that down, am I?" You say as your hand comes up to cover your face.

"Nope!' Paige says. She continues.

"You know how to get a girl going so I think now is the time to show you how to make a girl feel good."

You look at her with a confused look. "I thought both of the first lessons were already making you feel good."

"Oh they are babe, but I am talking about the best feeling," Paige says as her hand finds your leg under the table, moving it painfully slowly toward your center.

You gulp and let out a moan. You then nod.

"Show me what you have learned so far ma," Paige says as she removes her hand from you and leans back from the table. She waits for you to make a move.

It takes you a second to compose yourself but slowly get up from your side of the table and make your way to her. She is leaning back against the couch and pushes the table away from her to give the two of you more space.

You stand above her as you bring one foot to each side of her. She is looking up at you, watching your every move - anticipating your touch.

You lower yourself to sit on her lap, making sure you both are comfortable. Her hands come up to your waist, lifting your shirt just enough for her fingers to brush your skin. Your hands come up and wrap themselves around her neck.

"Are you ready?" You ask, brushing a little of her hair out of her face.

"Oh babe, I am always ready for you," she says and that fuels the fire in you.

You lean in to kiss her but don't meet her lips. Instead, you kiss the corner of her lips and a trail down to her neck. You give her neck the proper attention it deserves as little breathy moans escape her lips. Once you begin to feel her fingers grip and knead at your waist you finally let your lips meet hers. One of your hands comes down to meet her breast and you begin massaging it causing her to moan - this allows access to establish your dominance in the kiss.

Her hands come and begin rubbing up and down your thighs causing you to moan this time. Paige can't help herself and begins to kiss down your neck. Your head falls back as you let her take control.

"Always so good for me," she says between kisses.

"Making me want you," she breathes out.

In one swift movement she lifts you up and is walking to her room. You let out a squeal, forgetting how strong she is. Your legs wrap around her torso. When she gets in her room, she lays you on the bed and looks down at you.

There she goes again - making you squirm under her gaze.

She removes her shirt slowly and you do the same - leaving both of you in shorts and sports bras. You slowly hook your fingers around the waistband of your shorts and move them down your hips.

Paige licks her lips as she watches you undress.

The two of you practically have seen each other naked so the removal of your shorts was nothing she hasn't seen. But how you took off your shorts - your eyes locked with hers, moving almost too slow has her wanting to do the most ungodly things to you.

"Have you touched yourself before?" Paige asks. Her voice has developed a low raspiness that you know you will grow to crave.

"Yes," you say softly as you nod your head.

"Show me," she says. Not a question, but a demand. "Show me how you make yourself feel good."

Before you can contest, Paige continues.

"How you please yourself is the start of how you are able to please others. Let's see how you do," she says.

You nod again, muttering an 'ok'.

Your hands come up to your breasts, squeezing them together and massaging them. It wasn't that you needed more stimulation, but it was where you would start when you were alone.

"Take off your bra," she says. Another demand.

You lift and take off your sports bra to reveal your breasts to your best friend. Her eyes scan them and notice how perfect your nipples are, all perked up and ready to be devoured.

Your hands find them and begin to play with them. You release a little moan as one of your hands makes its way down your stomach to your center. You keep your hand outside your undies as your fingers begin to circle the most delicate part of your body.

You let out a full-on moan and squeeze your eyes shut. You are the most turned-on you have ever been and all in front of your best friend.

You continue to work on yourself as you feel the bed dip beside you. Paige comes and attaches her lips to one of your nipples.

"Oh - fuck," you yell as your free hand comes up to hold Paige's head. Her tongue swirls around and has you close to your climax. Right as your breathe begins to pick up, Paige reaches down and slows the hand working on yourself.

"Alright baby, good job," Paige says and you whine. You were so close to your finish and she just stopped you in your tracks.

"Why'd you stop me?" You ask, head spinning from the loss of contact.

"Because I want to finish the job," she says as she lowers herself to your core.

She spreads your legs apart and rests herself in between them. She doesn't make a move to lower your undies but trails her fingers up your thighs and places them where she removed yours from.

Her fingers begin to work on you. Your moans fill her room.

She begins to kiss your thighs, sucking on them.

"Paige, I am close," you say as you bite your hand.

"Let go for me baby," she says as she drives you through your high.

You say her name more than she has ever heard you say it before, tangled in with a string of cusses. She slows down and gives one last kiss on your thigh before coming up to kiss you.

"You were amazing," Paige says as she lays next to you.

Your head is still spinning and you squeeze your legs together.

"I think that was the best orgasm I have ever had," you say with a laugh.

Paige lays back and puts her hands behind her head.

"Your turn ma," she says as she looks at you with hooded eyes. You squeeze your legs together trying to dissipate the pressure building in you yet again.

You turn over and kiss her neck, your hands coming to tug at her sports bra.

"Off please," you say in between kisses. She complies and removes it, throwing it somewhere across the room.

You kiss down her chest and take one of her nipples into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it as you knead the other with your hand. She lets out tiny strings of moans as you do work on her skin. You continue to kiss down her stomach and across her hip, stopping once you kiss the inside of her thigh.

Your fingers come to hook the waistband of her shorts.

"Can I take these off?" You ask looking up at her.

"Of course babe," Paige says.

She lifts her hips as you bring the shorts down her legs and discard them on the floor.

You attach your lips to her inner thigh again.

"And you thought I was wet," you say in a teasing tone. "You are soaked, B." You don't know where the newfound confidence came from but use it to your advantage.

"Ya ya ya," she says then lets out a moan as your fingers come up to circle her center.

You do everything that she did to you, changing up the speed and applying different pressures. You continue kissing her inner thighs but take the opportunity to really suck on them. While she peppered light kisses to your thighs, you plan on sucking the life out of them so that any girl she has in this position in the next few days knows you've been there.

"You are doing great ma, keep going," She says as her hands come to grip the sheets.

"Say my name," you say as you ease your pressure. "I want to hear you say my name."

She cusses and then moans your name. You are proud of the confidence that has presented itself in this situation.

"I'm close ma, don't stop," Paige moans as her back arches off the bed. One of her hands comes to intertwine her fingers with yours - something she usually has other girls doing when she is in your position. It is intimate but Paige doesn't care, she feels too good to care.

You pick up your speed and give one last good suck to her thigh as she rides out her high.

Her moans fill the air as she pants and comes down from one of the best orgasms she has ever had.

You kiss back up her hip to her stomach. You are lying on top of her as her breathing comes back to a normal pace.

"How did I do?" You ask bringing your arms up to your chest for you to rest your head on. One of her arms comes around to hold you in place - never wanting to let you go.

"Fucking amazing," she says as she looks down at you. Paige could get used to this. Kissing you and claiming you as her own. She wants to tell you how much she loves you and how she wants this to be the norm. How she wants to hold your hand in public and kiss you freely. To be the only person to hold you but the fear inside her overpowers all of those thoughts.

You smile up at her and as you do her arms release you. You begin to get up and grab your shirt, putting it on.

"Wanna go finish the Lego set?" You ask as you toss her shirt to her and put your shorts on. She nods and sits up, putting the shirt on and watching you head out to the living room.

You are unbelievable to her. Not five minutes ago did you have her back arching and orgasm and now you want to go on with life as it was before.

As Paige makes her way out to you, her heart and her head are in conflict. Her heart is screaming at her to tell you that she's completely in love with you while her head is sitting back telling her a soft 'I told you so'. Her head was and is right. The fear that grew in her when this all first started with The Ask was more present than it had ever been.

The fear that you would be her best but never hers...

At least that is what she told herself.

AN: I feel this did what it was meant to do but if you have thoughts let me know them! And as always, thank you for your love and support 💙

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers imagine #paige bueckers masterlist #paige bueckers fic #paige x reader #teach me series

579 notes · View notes

un-unavoidableanxiousball · 3 months ago

Text

I'll Play With You

Masterlist²

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: Squid Game

Pairing: platonic: Salesman x Reader,

Characters: Salesman, Reader, Frontman (briefly), Oh Il-nam (briefly),

Tags: gn!child!Reader, slightly anxious Reader, hurt/comfort, fluffy feelings, fatherly!Salesman, psychopatic Salesman(it's mostly implied), overall references to Salesman's job, some worldbuilding...?, ambiguous timeline, sus pacing,

Warnings: slight violence (slapping ;) ), slight manipulation (blink and you miss it), not so vague obssession, although Salesman should be his own warning

Summary: Once again when meeting Reader, Salesman finds them upset. But this time it's a diffrent reason than usual. He tries his best to lighten up their day. How fortunate he's well versed with games.

Word count: 5233

Acronyms: (y/n) - your name,

This is A CONTINUATION of my other fic >> "Excuse me, Mr. Loaf Man?"

A/N: how tf am i supposed to know how 1. school system works in korea; 2. how mature/childish a 10 year old is; 3. must I project that much ? T^T 4. ...how good are the security measures in korea??

2nd A/N: I got distracted at some point to see for myself how hard gonggi is... Holy shit, it's hard. I couldn't even progress to picking 2 at the same time. Tho I did play with paper stars... But still how?! I am hooked on perfecting it tho. shush-

A/N the 3rd: I did some ✨worldbuilding✨. Why? I couldn't possibly tell you. I don't know, it was just an itch I needed to scratch. =]

He has found peace with the constant obssession and protectiveness towards (y/n). Which might have factored on his job…

He doesn't neglect it. No. It's the opposite. He's better since meeting (y/n). Now, with their safety in mind, he completes his part swiftly and far more players are recruited by him. Mainly, to make sure he has time to spare for (y/n). Moreover, equally as important, to unload his negativity on those far more deserving of it. He doesn't know what he'd do if (y/n) was on the wrong side of his violence.

Even the entire mess with Seong Gi-hun doesn't matter at this point. The Salesman has found the perfect ground. No longer recruiting in subway stations, there's no chance at getting caught.

When his status report made it to Frontman, he was questioned as to the change of his recruitment results (read: improvement).

"Your effectiveness has raised spontaneously and spectacularly in the last 2 weeks. May I ask what inspired that?"

"No." Plastic smile unmoving. "Besides… I just pick up the necessary slack, sir."

Frontman stills. "…What slack?"

Pleased at successfully rufling his feathers, he answers: "Recent."

If he thinks that mask is doing anything to hide his expressions; he's solely mistaken. Emotions are far more a whole bodily reaction. "My reasons, had I any, wouldn't endanger the games any more than sir's latest intrests, sir."

Salesman has impecable control over himself, he can say anything with any expression he wants to get a desired effect. He learned early on that he needed to blend in, to act normal. Control was essential for restraining his impulses. Whole life to learn and master the art of persuasion.

While Frontman might be his boss, he's still a player he once recruited. They tolerate their faux dynamic. Salesman fakes respect toward him and Frontman deludes himself he isn't feeling inferior in his presence.

"…Excuse me?"

Salesman needs him to back off. As he indulges in player 456, he should leave Salesman's life and what happens in it alone. Salesman doesn't disrespect him more for it. Well… doesn't show disrespect. Even if he should. Frontman's position is far more important and demanding for Hwang In-ho to lose focus. Sloppy. Il-nam would be disappointed.

"Nothing, sir." An innocent smile on his face, meant to give off 'I-mean-no-disrespect' and disarm anyone. Although both know Frontman doesn't fall for it. "..I simply couldn't help but wonder why you, sir, entrusted me with observing officer Hwang Jun-ho. Nor do I understand the point of the social experiment with the homeless… Sir never took interest in that before." Because that's all you're interested in, right, sir? There's absolutely nothing at work that's pushing you to behave this way. It's not like I know anything about anything after all.

Seeing him tense with indignation was rewarding.

"It's not your place to question my orders or decisions. You'll do well to remember that."

He grinned internally. "Of course, apologies, sir. Won't happen again."

"As long as you're dedicated to your duties, I suppose. Dismissed." With that Salesman leaves, triumphant.

It's been a month since that fateful day in the park. The number of times you met can be counted on two hands. And he doesn't see either of you pulling away.

He has fallen into a routine, and this time, constructed around his meetings with (y/n). Ensuring he's a solid, reliable factor in their life.

In fact your trust in him has solidified. You don't shy away from him as much. You volunteered some little details he wouldn't learn otherwise. And you aren't afraid to share how your time was in school.

He knows you enjoy math, but the teacher is too frustrating. You feel lost when she explains something new in a way you don't understand; having to ask a classmate for help and not even receive it most of the times. You feel jealous and excluded seeing everyone being friends with everyone, but you don't know how they do that because making friends is hard.

You like to draw. Flowers and leaves are your favorite and they end up better than other things you make. But that's only because you're of the belief that girls should get flowers. So you draw them for your mother to cheer her up. You draw the tulip the best, but your favorite flower of all time is a sunflower.

These are the little things that make you you and he cherishes that knowledge.

Among those days you met on, 6 of them were when you were upset beforehand. To try and cheer you up, he resorts to ice-cream or eating in that one family diner you're so fond of, for whatever reason.

Mostly it's the fault of your parents the day before, one of your teachers or just a hard lesson.

So it didn't really surprise him when he saw you sitting on the bench with slumped shoulders. Your gaze locked down at your swinging legs. Seeing you like this will always twist his heart with unease.

He sits down next to you. "My little sunflower, you shouldn't waste such a sunny day glooming about." His thumb traces small circles on your shoulder. "Look at me?" You only slightly lean to his side, but don't loook up. "Please? I'll be very happy if you do."

That works. You slowly raise your eyes at his face.

"There they are;" he boops your nose, "My beautiful sunflower." He says with amplified excitement. You let out a quiet giggle at his antics.

His own smile widens at the sound. "See? Here's my favorite thing in the world; my flower beaming at me."

"You're silly. I'm not a flower."

He exaggerates his pout, "No?" then furrows his brows in concentration, "Are you a bird then? A dove?" he gasps and whispers, "…a canary?!"

"No!" You shake your head, but the grin on your face betrays you're having fun. "Not that!"

He widens his eyes in dramatic curiosity, "What else can you be?"

You burst out laughing, "You're so silly! Silly, silly, silly! I'm a human child. Human!"

"Is that so? It was really silly of me not to think of that." He shakes his head in mock disbelief.

Inside he rejoices, he made the smile come back on your pretty face. He refuses to consider himself soft. Prefers not to think about it in fact. He's just as dangerous as he's always been.

"So what do you want to do today (y/n), hm?"

You shrug your shoulders, "Don't know.."

He hums thoughtful. He looks at you in closer detail. There's still a slump about you, although not as pronounced as before. The smile from minute ago is a little faint but still wide enough not to disappear for your face. "Did you do your homework?" You nod with a quiet "yeah".

He purses his lips, "So are we heading somewhere to eat or do you want to just walk around?"

"Eat?"

"Okay, come on. Anything in particular?" You shake your head, "Your favorite then?" You nod in agreement.

He stands up, not without taking your backpack beforehand. "Do you feel like carrying it or do you want me to?" He asks to gauge how you're feeling.

On one of the earlier meetings, overeager and still drunk in his obssessive mood, he offered to carry the backpack for you.

Although by the time he spoke he already had a grip on your backpack. Why it felt like something of a need or instinct he had to fulfill, he didn't know.

But you were quick to tell him no. When he asked why, you just stated you like having the weight. That there are times when you were restless without your hands occupied.

Who is he to take a chance of comfort away from you?

"Today's a 'Me' day."

So he just holds it up at your height and helps you put it on. With you settled, you head out of the park. Him holding your smaller hand in his.

A couple of minutes pass.

Salesman finds the unusual silence from your side unnerving. Before, you weren't unwilling to share if it was parents or school. So he tries to gently ask you for explanation to your sadness.

"…what happened this time, hmm?" He gives a little swing to your occupied hands. He feels your hold tighten.

He has to strain to hear your answer. "It's stupid…"

"(y/n), it's not stupid if it's upsetting you. I won't laugh. Promise." He squeezes his hand, reassuring.

He glances at you to see you fidgeting with the straps, a subtle thinking frown. But you don't speak up the rest of the way.

What kind of thing could be so upsetting? He thought he already shown he can be trusted. What did he fail to provide then that you're hesitant?

You come inside the small diner, he tells you to choose a seat. Meanwhile he goes to order Dak Galbi for you and Tteokbokki for himself.

He smiles politely at the counter server who, at this point, recognizes him. "Let me guess… Dak Galbi?" He hums. "…and what do you feel like today?"

"Tteokbokki."

"Alright," she inputs the total cost to the register, "you know, you two… are such a heartwarming sight. We don't get many families in here."

His smile never wavers and he just pays with his card, "Thank you." But inwardly, a dizzying delight twists in his chest. To be perceived as (y/n)'s family already… It's addicting.

He knows how he behaves. He's possessively protective, he looks forward to the day you'll be his alone. He's been helping you with anything and everything that caused you some problems. How quickly he, against all odds, took to a fatherly role. To imagine seeing you grow up and mature…

He sighs.

Soon he'll become your only parent, he'll make sure of it. But not yet. You're not ready. It'll taste far sweeter when you'll be seeing him like that.

He takes in a deep breath and walks to the table you chose today. Which is to say, the booth in the far back but next to the window. Your backpack rests next to you on your right, that way you're closer to the window.

If the booth was touching the glass, you'd definitely be resting your head against it. As it is, you're looking out onto the street. The same thinking expression evident on your small face but less intense.

Did you decide to tell him? Is that why you chose this table?

If so, then you don't want to be overheard but don't care if you're seen. It's embarrassing but not as shameful. You won't get any judgement nor pity nor anything bad from him. Never.

He joins opposite of you. His eyes never leaving your face, but ears are alert to your order being called out.

You quietly speak, "You're not gonna laugh at me?" and shortly glance at him to watch for truthfulness behind his reply.

Never at you. You will learn and trust it by heart. "No."

You nod and breathe in deeply, "There's this… event thing… at school." your voice slow, soft and quiet.

"I don't get why they're doing it, also it's mostly mandatory anyway… But my parents expect me take part in it." You take a short pause, "…actively…" You look away from the window and down at your lap. You nibble at your lips for a moment.

"And I don't—"

"Teokbokki! Dak Galbi!" You flinch at the interruption. It wasn't particularly loud but you didn't expect it. Lost as you were in your mind and worries.

Hopefully you won't close up… Salesman stands up to collect their meals.

He comes back with the tray as swiftly as he can. He puts your respective dishes on the table then the tray aside.

He has to try and pick up where you left off. "Is that what your worried about? Active participation?"

You shrug, "Kinda..? It's not like mom and dad will see if I do or not. Even if family has permission to join in with us. I heard a teacher even encourage others to bring them along." If it's not the possibility of your dad's attention that upsets you about participating, what is?

"You're not telling me something." He raises a brow seeing you shift in place, "What's the event about?"

"Something about appreciation for tradition, but like I said, I don't really get it…"

"Go on.."

"We're supposed to play games, like Gonu or Gonggi… but I didn't really play games much. Especially those team ones…" A blush spread across your cheeks. "I didn't know some of them even existed until the teacher explained."

How sweet of you. To be so embarrassed of inexperience. You not having opportunity to play simple games, lays if not on your parents then on other kids. Fortunately for you, he's very familiar with them.

He'll be the one to teach you how to play each and every game. It delights him.

"…I tried gonggi before but.. I always failed to pick up three." You fiddle with your chopsticks for a moment and then take a bite to keep your mouth occupied.

He tilts his head slightly in curiosity, "Besides gonggi, do you know how to play other games?" You shake your head.

He inhales sharply. Of course, you don't. Better for him then.

"Gonggi looked the easiest and I can't even reach the end." Your voice trembles.

"And when is this school event happening?" How long does he have?

"I think two weeks? I'm not sure…" Good enough.

"Then I'll play with you. I'll teach you. Every game there is." You look at him in clear surprise.

"What? Now?" Your gaping mouth stirs as much bemusement as endearment.

"We can start today. But perhaps we should finish eating, no?"

The cute blush comes back to adorn your face. You look down at your plate, "Are you sure you want to play with me?" then at him, searching, "Aren't games for kids?"

He can feel and see the slight frown that flashes on his face hearing that. It's wrong. A falsehood that grew to diminish that childish spark, to teach, far more early in life, that the world judges and does so harshly. He'll begin teaching you from this point. You must know, will know, the most important fact. "Listen to me, I want you to remember this and take it to heart." he leans forward as far as he can, "Are you listening?"

You mimic him and also lean forward slightly, boping your head in answer.

"Games aren't sentient. They don't discriminate. Everyone can play, young, old, girls and boys, teachers, students… Anyone." His eyes scan your reaction, the parted lips, the sheer wonder and astonishment swirling in your eyes. Although a second later a sliver of confusion or doubt slips in them.

"But then why does nobody really play after growing up?" True marvel… Asking great questions.

"People choose not to. They try to blame the lack of time. Though most adults use said time… unwisely. At some point society decided playing games is immature or unbecoming. So adults conformed to that opinion. And as kids grow they follow, and imitate, their own parents. And circle begins anew." He straightens up, "Besides… These days, you don't really see younger kids playing outside either. Do you?"

You purse your lips, brows furrowed, thinking, maybe deciding for yourself if you trust his judgment. Whatever it was, you've come to a conclusion.

"…and anyway. Why wouldn't I want to play with you? I play ddakji regularly enough anyway… Playing with my darling sunflower won't be a chore. I will play with you and you can't change my mind. And anyway, didn't you call me silly earlier? Maybe the rules don't apply to me, hm?" He smiles in amusement. "Now let's finally eat."

Both of you made the way to his house.

He has a little over an hour and a half until you have to get home. He'd have to choose a simple game for today.

Two of you take off your shoes, him first and you following his example. He leads you to the main area then tells you to sit and wait for him to come back. Although he wouldn't care if you, in curiosity, got more closely aquientenced with the the space.

After all, he lead you through a path that's easy to navigate and remember. If he gets his way, you will be fully familiarised with his house; and soon.

Next meetings will focus on teaching you how to play games and let you improve, perhaps even perfect them. But his goal is to make sure you're comfortable near him and in his house. To signal to you that belong here and will always be welcomed by him. You memorising the path leading to his house will be a sweet, sweet bonus.

He plans on dedicating a guest room as your bedroom. He'd let you decorate it however you want. And he'd make sure the quality of everything you'll wish for is the best.

But he can't let himself get carried away.

First he has to choose which game to start with. He enters the study room. He approaches the closet, one which he doesn't use all that often anymore and where he stores things needed for multiple games.

As the recruiter for the Game, he has a certain type of freedom. He can choose with which game he wants to recruit the trash. The only requirement is that the punishment for failing has to be humiliating. Slapping them wasn't really the go-to choice before, he caused it to be so.

After he's been promoted to a recruiter, he has mastered many, if not most, of the games. It was simple training for the role.

His first recruits might've been successful, but hadn't been as satisfying. However the day he chose to play ddakji with the potential player - an annoying and distasteful boy - he struck him. A solid slap across the cheek. Seeing that shock, disbelief in his eyes, that delightful splash of pain on his face; it calmed and lit up excitement in his psychopathic brain and body. From there on he stuck to that method only.

Apparently, since then, he had far better results of recruitment than any other coworker of his. He gained the attention of the Host. In fact, he received summons to Host's quarters. He heeded it. They held a conversation which impacted Salesman to a degree.

The elevator opens with a delicate ding.

Recruiter #27 steps forward toward the Host's quarters. He wonders what's this about.

Apparently it's abnormal to be invited- no, summoned by Him, and moreover, meet in His quarters nonetheless. When the Host has a duty to uphold, an order to give or simply supervises, He comes out.

Nobody goes to Him.

Why is he here?

The Host had His back turned toward him. His eyes catch the top of the mask Host wears, barely registering His grey hair. But he feels a brief spark of intrigue at Host's suit choice, a shade of crimson pops out in the room. His spine is straight. Posture unbothered and relaxed.

Clearly, He's very confident.

No matter his thoughts, his own outer image is undisturbed, calm and confident. He steps out from the corridor and halts.

"You've summoned me, Host, and so I'm here, Sir."

The Host turns around.

His breath faltered. It might've been for a second but it felt longer.

An Owl. Symbol of wisdom and fortune. The Mask is made of gold, by far the most obvious attribute about the wealth part of owl symbolism. An ageing rich man… Do You consider Yourself 'old and wise'? Is that why You've chosen an owl?

Masked head beckons to the seat on His left. And Recruiter #27 swiflty listens to the quiet command. He sits down. And stays there for minutes in silence, patient and unmoving. All the while the Host keeps standing. He doesn't feel bothered by this. Such a simple and delightful way for a little power play — he doesn't mind.

The Host is openly staring at him so he returns the favor. Perhaps He's even analyzing? Are You looking for something specific Sir? What is it, I wonder?

Then He spoke, breaking the silence, "Do you wish to know why you're here?"

Recruiter didn't really have to think about this one. "If You wish to share Your reasons, Sir, I'd gladly accept the knowledge."

Silence falls between them again. Both of them scrutenizing each other unabashedly. The stand off comes to an end when Host speaks again.

"You've impressed me." He takes a few steps toward him. "This year we got more calls from possible participants than for any of the past Games. Most of which had your identifying number."

Recruiter has to slightly tilt his head upwards to look through Host's owl mask and into His dark eyes. "Thank you, Sir. I'm glad to be of service."

"So you are." He takes a step back, "You've been assigned to recruit because your potential was evident. Now, you'll get to be on a higher position. Your type of dedication will be of use to me."

The thought of having more power around here should've spark some kind of desire, delight and satisfaction within him; however he only felt a dull pang of passivity. "Higher, Sir?" He doesn't strive for power, or powerful positions, he's quite satisfied where he is. Actually — correction, it's not the kind of power he wants nor needs.

"You'll gain access to things and places only I have access to. Don't worry, you're a recruiter and that won't change; your number and rank will. Think of it as a discreet promotion."

Recruiter tilts his head at that, "May I ask why discreet, Sir?"

"It will be discreet because no one will be informed of your higher status. Not anytime soon, anyway. Moreover — you won't receive it until next year. See…

My fellow sponsors have been voicing complains. 'It's repetetive' and 'Not as exciting as it was in the beggining', 'Bit too short, don't you think?' or my personal favourite: 'Time might fly or crawl by but they die off just like flies. Where's the fun? The excitement? You're growing lazy, my friend'." Every complain was voiced in impeccable english. Host's voice did a weird inflection at 'flies', He sounded mocking the entire time. "Then you came in, and to my amazement, managed to attract more potential players." Recruiter hears smugness and satisfaction drip from Host's words. "So, I decided to increase the amount of players in the next year's Game, consequently I plan to extend the duration to six days.

Expressing my… gratitude for you creating this opportunity, seemed in order." The Host finally sits down facing Recruiter #27, "I'm not blind though. I can see you're not jumping with joy at getting a chance to climb higher among the ranks. So to make this a little more engaging for you, I propose a wager. If the amount of calls we receive — curtesy of your coworkers, yours won't count — reaches over 80% of the number I decided on; you win. If they don't manage to, you lose. I think it's rather simple, no?"

Recruiter #27 is intrigued, this surely would make things more interesting. "Can Host explain what number Sir is reffering to? Overall amount of players or just the added amount?"

Host nods, "I had the final amount in mind, It's higher and harder to reach. If the raised value was 132, overall being 404, your coworkers would have to reach 323 calls."

"May I ask what's the number Sir chose?"

"No, you may not. That's what will make it exciting for you. Wheather you get your promotion or not depends on the results of our little wager. Of course, you can't influence other recruiters nor interfere in any other way. Do you accept, Recruiter #27?"

"Yes."

And that was that. That year passed by and Salesman got more access and became Recruiter #10 (which did imply an advancement of rank since every recruiter had a number from 20 to 29). The Host wasn't surprised when he won. Were you truly clairvoyant, Owlish Host?

After that they exchanged words on occasion, Salesman usually kept to himself. Every conversation of theirs was enlightning. The Host was one of the only people Salesman truly respects — even to this day. But there was a mutual understanding, if you will, between them.

Then He was diagnosed with cancer and asked Salesman for a favor. To recruit Him. He wished to experience the Game as a player before he died. He wished for the whole experience — therefore, he had to be recruited. So the Host chose him, Recruiter #10 and Salesman agreed.

He was handed a file, unassuming, looking identical to any other file on potential players. But he knew what it was. He opened it and for the first time, since being summoned to Host's quarters that day, saw His whole face.

Unobstructed by the mask.

He did his job as promised, approached Him in a train station; offered a round of ddakji. Everything was the same, money for winning and slaps for losing. It felt… fulfilling of sorts. There wasn't that sadistic satisfaction at other's pain, but he didn't feel pity or apologetic either. It was simply a task, but it didn't feel as simple.

Perhaps he should've asked, maybe, just maybe, Il-nam would've stirred him in the right direction again…

An Owl truly reflected His personality. A Creator of a Game where the unfortunate get a fair chance at prosperity, gaining life-changing amount of money. A guiding Owl trapped in a human body, trying to point out society's obvious self-deceptions to said society.

Seems rather pointless. Did You feel cursed, I wonder?

Salesman catches himself from reminiscing further and realises he was standing before this open closet the entire time he was lost in thought.

Something simple...

He reaches for a jegi and a vase with chopsticks — Jegichagi and Tuho.

It's something, they can play by themself if they wanted…

He returns to the main area and isn't surprised to see you standing by the counter looking enticed by the fruit bowl. "Sorry for making you wait, (y/n)." You visibly startle and quickly turn to face him, "Help yourself, if you want one." He gestures toward the fruit. He sees you hesitantly pick some grapes.

He goes to put down the vase on the floor near the couch, that way, when playing, you won't have the sun blind you.

"I settled on jegichagi and tuho. Both are pretty easy to understand and play. Which do you want to try first?"

"What's tuho about?"

He leaves the jegi on the arm chair and approaches the vase again. "A game of tuho needs arrows or sticks, in our case chopsticks," He shakes the hand holding said chopsticks to emphasize, "and a vase. The height of the vase is relative to the length of what you're throwing. And it can't be too wide or it wouldn't be as fun. You take a few paces," he demonstrates by taking four steps back, "maybe ten, away from the vase; and you throw chopsticks." He makes a gesture as if he's about to throw but doesn't. "The objective is to not miss. The person that has the most chopsticks in that vase, wins."

"I want to try it then!" You excitedly jog over to stand next to him.

"Be my guest, you'll go first." He hands you half of the chopsticks (eight), and steps aside to give you some room.

You take a stand, feet hip-width apart, your right leg more to the front. So far so good. You make your throw. But it lands slightly to the right of the vase.

Your next throws also miss but each time they are less and less off. Over all not bad for a first timer.

"Not bad (y/n). But now's my turn." Salesman takes his own stance with some idea how to scew his throws to not score. But you pull on his jacket, "No. You go farther."

He's not going to complain, extra distance does nothing to his accuracy but it'll be helpful in not advertising his skills. "Why?"

"You're taller than me. From here you'll score easier. Back away." You speak with confidence, assured.

Keen on the idea he nods his head in agreement and backs away until he basically touches the TV with his right shoulder. He makes his throws, which one of them went in. You were equally entralled by him playing, you didn't seem upset at him scoring. You happily collect the chopsticks and come back to the same spot after giving him back his share of chopsticks.

The process was repeated. You improved, each time coming close to scoring, your chopsticks bouncing off every time. There was a point where one of your chopsticks went in but bounced back out; much to your frustration. However you get a hang of it after that, scoring one in eight at a time.

But soon your arms grew a little tired so tuho came to an end. Since Salesman kept track of the score, he shares it with you. At the end it was 17:21 for him. Apparently you're not a competetive type as you didn't look upset. You had fun and that's all that counts for you.

There's still some time left so you move to jegichagi. If before your arms were essential then now it's your legs turn.

He also shows you how it's done, this time, doesn't downplay his skill as much. He stops at 12 kicks. After that you kept looking at him with awe, as if what he did was something miraculous. You try to kick the jegi. You take rather well to it. In no time you managed to keep it in air by kicking it three times before it fell to the ground.

Time seems to fly by around you. So while Salesman was aware of the passage of time, it still surprised him how short it seems.

When the clock struck a little too close to 4:30PM, he had to put a stop to your fun. His heart clenched at your shattered expression. Disappointment clear in your eyes.

You have to return home. He dislikes the idea far more than you. He'd rather keep you in his house, his space, comfortable and happy than there where he knows you're mistreated.

He assures you that next time you can go straight to his house to play. That would give more time to play and he'll introduce you to other games; Ddakji or Gonu perhaps?

He walks you back the same way you arrived. And leaves you mere minutes before your mother arrives.

He watches the car drive off. He wonders what the mother thinks (y/n) does when they have to wait around for her arrival.

If she thinks at all…

The lack of interest in (y/n)'s time at school certainly opens a door for him. He doesn't ignore such deliciously laid out opportunities. The key is to prepare as well as he can in those 2 weeks.

Let's hope you'll like the surprise…

GOD, it's finally done, I'm really sorry if this felt rushed TwT or weird

(who cares?!)

#fanfic #squid game #salesman x reader #the recruiter x reader #the salesman x reader #child reader #teen and up audiences #platonic reader #platonic #salesman x you

118 notes · View notes

runabout-river · 2 months ago

Text

So, I have an old Fanfiction.net account where I posted my german fanfics ages ago, before I stopped writing fic for years. I picked it up again two years ago, this time in English and on Ao3.

About once a year though, I will get a message from FFN about a comment on an old fic or about a German Beta reading request. (I also got update notifications for the fics I followed for the longest time but those have stopped for 3 years or so.)

The latest beta request I got and accepted is this massive undertaking a German speaker took on translating english fics, and I'm helping out with that. The beta reading happens on googledocs but the communication happens on FFN and that made me feel nostalgic.

And I know FFN's quality had gone down and I know I had my reasons for going over to Ao3 but I thought 'Why Not' and decided to just make a new account on FFN and post my current fic there as well :D

To make this short and readable, the rest of the story is in list form:

exploring FFN's interface again was pretty nostalgic, especially when I uploaded my word document onto the site instead of having to copy/paste my fic onto it

The terms of service were just as I remembered them but only now did I fully realize how restrictive they are, especially the part about the publsihed authors who don't want fanfic of their work. Badly spelt or badly written fics in the grammar sense aren't allowed either and I think that aspect of FFN is following me until today

There was a waiting period for posting fic and other stuff, which is fine, every site has their own way to deal with spam

THEY DO NOT DEAL WITH THEIR SPAM

so I uploaded one of my oneshots just to see what would happen. It's for a newish anime (JJK) and while it is pretty far down their list in terms of works, it still has nearly 2k so I thought 'fine, could be worse'.

The next morning I wake up to 5 reviews and 6 PMs, ALL of it of the "I'll make art for your fic" spam variety except for one that looked like an AI summary of my fic.

I wasn't bothered by it because I deal with spam sometimes on Ao3 and I didn't have high expectations for that fandom on FFN anyway so I go to work deleting the comments and blocking the people who sent them to me

The blocking works even though its cumbersome

But I'll tell you how I nearly ripped my hair out trying to find the delete button for the spam reviews. I found the "mark as abuse/spam" button but I looked everywhere for the delete one. Just. To. Find. Out... they don't have one D:

so maybe I never realized (and/or forgot) that FFN doesn't allow you to delete reviews because I was writing in a niche language years ago, but that's... that's punitive. That goes so hard against my current fanfic sensibilities and climate of a hobby you engage in with fun and a relaxed attitude, but FFN already said at the beginning, they want to make a good writer out of you so you will check your grammar and spelling and you will listen to criticism you'll better hope is constructive.

Illuminating times these last few days

I'm not waiting for FFN staff to delete those spam "reviews", I'm waiting on more spam people to write to me so I can block them before I delete the fic and repost it. I'll put a few more oneshots there later, too, and see how it goes. I might give up on this new account alltogether as well.

And that was my adventure in venturing out to old places again. As a side note: if you get into old media you should visit FFN and look around there for fic, too. You won't find most of their collections anywhere else.

This looks like it would interest @olderthannetfic and @ao3commentoftheday

#ao3 #ffn #fanfic #jjk #my fic #writing

109 notes · View notes

edenspoem · 2 years ago

Text

𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬.

summary: you and ellie have been living on this farm for at least a year now, tucked in the towering mountains of wyoming and just a quaint trek from jackson. just you and her. you, her, the sun, and the moon. what could today entail? what makes this midsummer's day so special?

reader discretion advised: nsfw, mdni, proposal, picnic, somewhat proofread, sexual jokes, takes place before santa barbara, sucking on fingers(almost choking on them), fingering (receiving), almost-oral (receiving), dirty talk, doing the deed in nature. footnotes: word count (4.2k), masterlist, palestine masterpost, read this, written circa 2023. (hence the writing style change)

it's another day on the farm, yet like no other. it's harvest season, and your crops have got you cut out of your day and preoccupied. plucking fruit and tugging vegetables from the lavish soil in your garden with a certain ellie onlooking from your dusty oak porch. she's observing you in your most natural nature, tending to your art, the garden, and supplying you with a bountiful reaping of food for the inbound month.

there lay a tract of terrain beyond your fences, this beautiful pasture gilded in a magnificent solar ray every afternoon, and ellie's got an itching to bring you there today. with your knees sewn in the dirt surrounding a planter bed, wicker basket beside you and snapping blueberries off their stems, it's got you in a pretty tranquil state that doesn't include the awareness of ellie watching. so when dual warm hands plant on your biceps, it jolts you by instinct.

"how's the harvest babe?" ellie's silhouette looms over you and the berry bush, eyeing the pile of blueberries cradled in the basket, "looks good, when will you be done though, d'you think?" a smirk adorns her lips.

"umm.." your fingers pinch a lone berry, "I haven't gotten to the vegetables yet.." you remind her and yourself, rolling the navy berry between your fingertips.

ellie crouches behind you, "do you haaave to harvest everything now?" she whines, wrapping her lithe arms around your shoulders akin to a sloth and rocking you along with her see-saw motion.

"yes els, if you want food." a quaint giggle erupts from your chest.

"but we have food, babe. our pantry is full of it." ellie attempts to coax you, voice pitching at the brink of her sentence. her lips brush the hairs on your nape and leave damp marks of adoration.

"did you come out here just to distract me?" your mouth creeps into a sheepish smirk, extending your hand out to pluck the last cluster of berries.

"you can tell me to stop." her pecks don't falter, dotting the length of your placid shoulders, "should I stop?" the question phases through you like a tantalizing breeze.

a melody thrums from your hum, eyes drifting closed in the blissfulness that is her velvety lips, puckering against your jawline and tickling your skin slightly with her hair.

"els! that tickles.." you shrug your shoulder against your ear, nudging ellie's face off.

"so.. stop?" she reiterates and streams her steady palms down upon your hips.

you plant two cupped hands over her legs that now settle on both sides of you, whirling slowly to face her and furrowing your brows, "you're a menace. what happened to your little art project you started this morning?"

"well, I saw my wife working outside and just had to join." she draws out an emphasis.

"wife? wife? we aren't married."

"not like we can have a wedding, so I just declare it." her lips resume to your neck, chafing that earthy auburn hair against your cheek.

"you didn't even propose or anything."

"'chn ch-nge th-t." ellie's speech muffles in your collar, tender grips hugging the crests of your hips.

you don't catch her inaudible words, "huh?" you question, grasping the woven handle of your basket and returning it to your line of sight beside ellie's splayed leg.

"nothin'." her raspy voice clarifies as her head peeks up, melting foreheads and poking nose tips together.

you connect constellations dotting her cinnamon freckles with your eyes, trickling down and charting her coral lips. a smile tints yours, whispering, "what'd you wanna do today?"

"hmm?" her visage turns bumbled, "I never mentioned any-"

"you always bother me when y'want to do something.." you interrupt her, earning a hung-open-jaw look from her as she withdraws from your space.

she heaves, yet a cheeky nasal-lined smile summons on her midface, "you.. know that clearing in the woods, back there?" she juts her head in a vague direction, thumb swiping over her bottom lip.

you glimpse at the distant fence ellie points her head to and nod in understanding.

her hand lands on her thigh, "why don't we have a picnic there?" she offers, prodding your elbow with her raised knee.

"you trynna woo me, els?" you tease, easing your hand on her swaying knee.

"baabbee.." she whines, pleading for an answer that sounds a lot like 'yes'.

her whining casts a reminisce to this morning, you clawing your way out of bed, sorry, out of her locked embrace as you tried to prepare for the day. her tousled auburn hair buried in your chest, fingers drawing shapes on your back, pressing her bare torso against your side and begging for you to stay in bed.

"baabbbee.." her soft wail echoed.

"ellie, I gotta get up." her ardent skin was caressing yours and legs intertwined in a knot.

"nuh-uh, no you're not." ellie snorted and further tightened her bear hug to your demise.

"baby, we needa get out of bed, it's harvest day." you coaxed with a cherished kiss to her crown, weaseled only an inch from her before you got lulled back in.

her lengthy limbs, damn those things, can trap you well and remain unmoving. she only wore her nude toned underwear to bed last night, and you a lace panty. not a moment of your memory is blurred, in fact, what took place last night was well etched in your brain. ellie reeks of sex and so do you, she has traces of jasper red scratches on her back to prove it.

"need you babe.." she reaches for your furled hand, sowing soft and needy kisses on your knuckles.

you sighed and just gave up, curled your body with her and combed solace rows into her jumbled mullet.

"so, what do you say?" her voice in reality reels you in, breaking your chain of rememberance.

you take a gander at her features momentarily before deciding, "yes- sure, picnic sounds good." without hesitation.

"good, cause I'm fuckin' famished." ellie's face slants towards yours, her devious fingers slithering beside her, snatching up a blueberry and popping it in her mouth.

you spot this in your peripherals, "ey! don't eat my berries!" you chuckled.

"your berries? there's only one- two berries of yours that I know of, I'm actually quite acquainted-"

you lightly smack the silly smirk off her lips, fraudly disgusted by her immaturity, "you're so inappropriate!"

"not like anyone's gonna hear.." she ovalizes her lips and gusts the linear bang from her cheek.

"you're weird." you roll your eyes prior to standing up with the scratchy basket handle tucked in your elbow.

ellie follows suit, her hand wrapping and clutching yours loosely, "c'mon, I'll help you make the food." her stature stands a few inches above you, wriggling her bottom lip to the side in a crooked peculiar smile that invites those signature dimples to play.

you shun your pupils to the back of your head, giving her the once-over before pacing through the backdoor with her all giddy in hand.

the iridescent glade comes into view as you're strolling towards it, ellie adjacent to you equipped with a basket in hand and worn out bookbag on her back. you haven't ventured into the woods much after moving here, but with no signs of infected in months you simply deem it safe. she hasn't taken you out like this anyways, not for a while. the last time was her birthday, since it only occurs on special occasions, so why today?

ellie fashions a proud smile shrouded by you being slightly ahead of her, definitely holding hands but you're too thrilled to explore this parcel of forest to take notice. she wore joel's buckskin leather jacket over a plaid shirt, usual jeans with slits in them and sturdy brown boots.

"hurry up babe! I can see it already.." you exclaim with a bounce to your step, swinging her arm around to usher her feet swifter.

a laugh enchants her, "i'm right behind you.. the spots' not goin' anywhere." she assures you calmly trailing a chuckle, but inside, her heart is blooming with beats and sending shrills of tension through her nerves. her mind was up to something.

"it's right there!" you steam off a squeal of elation just seeing the open pasture. the grass is of a radiant jade shade, smothered in a divine ray of sun casting down on it, it looks like it came straight from elysian fields itself. you tear from ellie's hold and dash towards the glade with eagerness.

"babe!" ellie shouts but not without a following chuckle, adoring the pure felicity you expressed brought by this mere sight of nature. she trots after you with a bit of struggle from all the baggage she carried.

you halt just as you reach the center of the glade, staring at the trees surrounding and the canopy provided by their outstretching branches creating crown shyness, all with a bright beam spread across your lips.

ellie catches up with you and sets the basket on the ground, observing the space in detail, "y'want it right here?" she peels the bookbag from her shoulders and tosses it to the grass.

"mhm.." you pump your head in agreement and swivel away from her, admiring the spires of bark and fauna that look like they came from a painting.

she unzips the bag in one swoosh, yanking out a slightly frayed, faded and old beige cotton blanket with little embroidered florals along the hem. ellie dusts it off and thrashes out all the crinkles, laying it flat against the earth and smoothing out all the ripples.

you tilt your head over to witness her squatting down, pulling various objects from the bag and hesitating before she places them down. she appeared to be deep in thought, decorating the empty canvas of a blanket like it was important to her.

ellie's forehead tauts, an arrangement of fine china at her feet, "does this plate look better here.. or here?" her voice chromatically turns gravelly.

"it looks good anywhere.."

"yeah- but I want it to look perfect for you."

"..." you stare with an amused grin.

"hmm, what's so funny?" she coos and hones her focus on you while carefully tossing the plate to one corner of the blanket.

"just you.. you're goofy." you comment with a dim-witted smile.

her gaze narrows and bares her teeth in a matching dumb smirk, tutting her head, "you wanna see goofy?" she challenges you and crawls closer.

"no, I wanna see a set-up picnic. don't get distracted." you tease and parry her with a nudge from your foot resting on her collarbone.

"tch, okay- okay." she leans back on her heel, hastily creating the idyllic picnic with your help.

soon, you're cuddling between some small pillows, bowl of dark rosewood cherries to your right and a knitted blanket draped over your bodies.

ellie lies beneath you, her legs cradling yours and advancing her fingers to the bowl of delectable cherries. she picks one up and hovers it above your lips, beckoning you to bite it.

"what d'you mean we can't get more sheep?" she wheezes a whimsical laugh, chest jittering underneath your back.

"we already have a dozen, babe." you sink your teeth into the cherry and yank it from the stem, juices oozing over the hill of your chin.

"i have more names for them in mind!"

"you can't even get the names of our current sheep right."

she flicks the leftover stem into the patch of grass, "uh- yes I can!" she scoffs and jossles her woody auburn locks up a bit.

"sure babe." you goggle.

you allow the conversation to diminish in peaceful serenity, before raising the interrogation, "why'd you bring me here today?" you shuffle atop her, jabbing her palm to keep feeding you. you're spoiled.

ellie snickers and leverages her hand towards the bowl once again, dangling a cherry from between her fingertips. her throat gritts harshly as she clears it, "i.. have something to show you.." her tone lingers on the vowels.

"oh?" a hint of subtle enthusiasm curls in your voice, "got me a present?"

"you'll see, just- get up." she heaves you upwards and hops onto her feet alongside you.

you clasp hands behind your back, a bit of a bumbled facade shadowing your expression when she just stands still like a statue. "umm.. is it not a present?"

"turn around." her lips curve into a mischievous glint across those pretty rosy lips.

"what the fuck are you gonna pull-"

"turn around!" ellie's grin broadens as she gestures to you to spin 'round on your heel, eliciting a dorky giggle from you.

you cave in and twirl on the tip of your shoe, mindlessly gazing heavenward to the scattered wisping clouds.

"you remember the day we started dating?" her voice flows past you, seeming to erupt from a lower stance like she was crouched.

"uh, vaguely."

this bestows a throaty chuckle from ellie, "and you remember what I gave you when I.. confessed?"

"yeah, you gave me bent daisies that you tore from the poor ground." you bash her, one brow inclining up your head.

"i'm not a botanist." she nicks the rear of your ankle, shambling against the fabric-veiled grass.

a tingle sprints up your leg at this contact, making you shy away from it slightly. a specter of stillness corrodes the air, so you perk, "can I turn now?"

"yes." ellie's speech trembles yet is laced with certainty, planting a seed of curiosity in your noggin.

you teeter over slowly like a creaking wheel, pupils hastening down to materialize ellie in your mind, propped by a knee, the other raised, pinching a tiny flock of daisies with their honey pistils staring back at you. her face bruising of an apple hue to her skin behind those sun specks, her verdant rings peering from those lashes and a brazen half-moon to her strawberry lips. they part as the realization begins to plague you,

"will you be my wife?"

your body goes hollow and nerves wrack up in shock, an elusive beam of emotions vibrate in your heart and collide your shaken knees to the blanket. a hand quivers against your mouth, the words stolen from you. the love just boils over.

"els- i.. i.." the boulder in your throat clogs, managing to swallow it up and brim you with warm tears, "yes.. yes!"

she practically springs up and coalesces with you, arms wrapped around you and elevating you off the ground with blazing elation. you feel her wide smile plastered against your lips as they make merry, smoothing out to drag her lips over yours in a fervid kiss.

she parts, "no ring but.. we don't need that, right?"

"mhm, don't need it.." you sever your weight from your feet to her, sticking close, "I love you.. so much."

"love' you too baby.." she hankers down and sits criss-cross in front of you, easing you into her splayed lap. "now i can call you my wife."

"should we have our own little wedding? just us, like, as if it's some ritual or.. stating our vows or.. handfasting and declaring our love before empty seats.." you ramble nonsensically, assuming it just whooshes right over ellie's head.

"we have our picnic here," she opens her arms to signify the space around you, "we can tie that all up here, including the honeymoon!"

"hmm, 'weird that you mention the honeymoon. I think you said that so it happens now."

"no! I'm just.. throwing stuff to see what sticks.." she diffuses a dumb visage, knitting her brows together.

"i think you wanna get a fuck on in the forest." you leer in your suspicions and creep over her body till' she meets back to ground.

"and if you guess right? would you?" her demeanor shifts to boot a seductive one.

ellie still had some drive in her, even to last night's depictions. the way her lean vein lined arms are still pumping with detectable lust, yearning for your body in ways that should be bound to the bedroom only, but she doesn't give a fuck. she needs to fuck. a fucking given to her.

"fuck yes I will." you grind your pelvis longingly on her thigh, kneading your confined bud in one long swipe, a good start-up.

not an inhale later and ellie already has her jacket reeled off by the sleeves, a series of stripping set in motion when her shirt's buttons get popped one by one.

you follow through with one sweep of your top over your crown, tethering the bare skin surrounding your bra to the midsummer breeze, giving you a hare of raised bumps that are quickly cured by ellie's ardent skin adjoining yours.

her lips suture themselves to your plender gap, lapping at the groove of your collarbone delicately while her keen hands roam your legs, squeezing the soft plush padding of your inner and outer thigh with her fingers.

"I'm gonna make you feel.. s'fuckin' good.." she whispers in hushed mists of heat, sanguineous nibbles forging up your chin and gluing your lips together in a lustful frenzy.

"I need you ellie.. now.." you intone against her captivating lips and take hold of her wrist, guiding it to cusp your bra-clad breast.

"so bold of you.." she rewards a praise, tucking her nimble fingers behind the clasp of your bra and pinching it free. her hands tug the straps from your arms and whisk them away to some unknown plot of grass.

the course of wind grazes past your nipples, making you shiver. you watch her pupils dilate at the sight of your two perky buds reacting to the breeze.

"mm- fuck.. love these." ellie's mouth latches to one of your breasts, suckling the nipple lavishly with a damp suction and playing the other one like a flip-switch lightly with her thumb.

the barely-there feeling of her thumb summons a flurry of carnal want in your core, preluding to your now lubricious panties sopping for physical attention. this seeps through and forms a miniscule spotting on your inseam.

the hand that still had a gripe on your thigh fleets to your crotch, distinguishing this faint blot of wetness, welcoming a proud smirk to dent her midface, "fuckin' wet already.." her voice rasps hauntingly, "gonna get my fingers all pruney.."

you chafe in desire against her stationary digits, making her snatch them away and repel your pelvis with a push.

"nuh-uh, pants off first."

her face displaces from your hanging breasts, creasing the blanket back up and crunching the grass to gaze back at you. she peruses your zipper and deftly unfastens it to pull your pants down with a might. once they're off, her hands zip into the underside of your knees, flipping you over and mountaineering over you with an undeniable hunger in her manner.

"ellie!" an entranced giggle beams from your throttle, low-key turned on by the daring action.

"god, really soaked these huh?" her voice flows in a higher pitch, referring to your ocean-drowned underwear.

"yeah.. you did that.."

"mhmmm~” she vocalizes behind shut lips, “don't think I even need to remove 'em to taste you.."

you witness her descending into the depths between your legs, biting down her cushiony lips and nearly salivating at the front-row seat view to your sobbing cunt. her own arousal starts to stain her own panties and even little riffs of repressed whimpers vibrate from her lips. she graces you with one pour-over before smashing her mouth against your clothed slit, puffing a humid cloud over your entrance and licking up the seeped puddle of slick.

you jerk in sudden sensation, "babe! oh~ fuck!"

"yup, tastes so fucking good." she's like a beast to your crotch, slathering the soiled fabric with even more wetness likes she's fucking starving. her forehead is taut and eyebrows flit in concentration, you can already hear the eulogy ringing for your soon destroyed pussy.

your fingers nest in her hair, massaging and stamping into her scalp at the pure feeling of her tongue, you need her in indescribable ways, "need your fingers ellie.. need u're.. need.." you chant in fleeing breaths.

she grumbles in swelling arousal and unlatches from your puffy slit, brazen giggle chilling her throat at the sight of your avidness.

she huffs, "kay, gonna take these off.." ellie anticipates the moment she gets to stuff your pretty pussy to the brim, drowsy eyes never drifting from the lace concave between the valley of your lips. she slews those panties off instantly and brings them down to your ankles, making sure they'd never be found among the meadow around you.

you spread your legs for her sights to soak in, burgeoning a redness to her face like time and time again, a satisfied grin tugging the corners of her lips.

she sticks two ready fingers in her mouth, moistened them up, "gonna make you see stars, hmm babygirl?"

you gnaw your lips inwards at her affirmation, eyeing the route her hand takes from mouth to lower regions, forking your slit open and running them clit to hole, hole to clit, repetitively. this coats her digits in a glistening film of your arousal, visibly pleasing her.

"mm- that fucking sound.." the parting of your drenched folds entices her ears like a melody, "hear that baby?" ellie's voice chimes in a honeyed whisper.

"yes.. yes.." your essence shudders in her thrall, vulnerability afflicted by your neediness.

ellie beholds your figure in one final glance before aiming on your center and jamming duo digits in your aching pussy that vacuums her up with the help of your dripping nectar overflowing at the base of her knuckles. you wallow in the gratifying gauge she has brought you to, a fluxing whine tinting your tongue.

"good girl.. taking my fingers in so nicely.."

you contract around her, letting her know how much those words truly thrill you and she rebounds by thrusting her fingers in and out of you at a sluggish pace.

your jaw quivers open in the whirling ecstasy that begins to dribble into your void brain strictly honed on the pumping motion of her willowy fingers.

"hmm.." a visualization prompt in her noggin convinces a plan to unravel by her hand snailing to your mouth, luring it ajar, "open babe."

you obey with moving lips, flattening the plateau of your tongue beneath her fingers.

"like this don't you? mm- fuck." ellie grunts seeing you engulf her paired index and middle in your warm mouth without a gloom of delay splitting your will. her other fingers meddle with the crux of your delight, sloshing with every insert of her lengthy fingers piping you.

"oh my heaven on eart- auck.." a spastic cough tickles your throat around her digits.

"just suck baby.. just suck."

you resolve your words and pucker your lips down, swirling your tongue around her still fingers. muffled vibrations of moans string out around them, rattling your teeth.

each flick of her skilled wrist occurs in short breaks, meanwhile pumps hasten inside of you, thumb unfurling to patten down your clit in rigid circles. she coos, "gonna cum on my fingers?" in reply to your writhing contentment.

"fast- fhster.." you shear your chords forcing a plead on fingers narrowly itching the back of your gullet.

"awhh, u're such a mess." her hand forceps your jaw, locking her fingers wedged between your front teeth.

"guh- mmmm!" your body shrivels in unfathomable bliss and an inbound phantom orgasm overwhelming your senses.

ellie starts snapping her hand at an aggressive velocity that slaps against your swollen folds with wet smacks striding the open air, scrunching her nose up at the sheer speed she’s going.

"cum baby- cum.."

"I- ahh.."

"soak my fuckin' fingers, soak them in that pretty fucking pussy." she encourages in husky mewls, finger pads jostling your g-spot in a rhythm that drugs your mind with numbness, repeating, "cum for ellie.. cum for me.."

you swear your walls convulse prior to tightening up like a wringed towel and releasing a stinging orgasm upon you, growling on her fingers still present on your tongue.

"ghnnnn.. fck!" you curl up in pleasure and screw your eyes shut. this orgasm hits you like a bullet train and it shows in practice, clawing and digging your mark on ellie's available wrist with clamoring wails from the sanctum of your chest.

"yeah? so fucking hot.." she notes to herself in a low navelly tone, slipping her sticky fingers out trickling in your juices.

you chase your breath stranded in another galaxy, "can't feel my.. legs.. fuck, ellie, where'd you come from?" you quip in emphasis, face still beating red like a volcano.

"from boston, precisely." she sneaks in a dorky response.

"shut up.." you knock on her head with your foot, gasping when she grabs it and plants it on her shoulder.

she bucks her hips into your ass, squeezing her torso between the basin of your legs, levitating overhead. there's a solace moment of a love-staring-contest casting those green circlets infused with devotion and appreciation. staring back up into those eyes assures you, she's home, she's heaven and she's never leaving you. although, ellie, like the freak she is, breaks the innocent moment, "think this'll continue in the bedroom?." she peppers a solemn kiss to your forehead hazed in underlying intention.

"probably, knowing you."

"knowing me what?"

"you know."

"I don't."

"ellie!"

"we'll find out, hmm?"

1K notes · View notes

drmaddict · 9 months ago

Text

My best friends brother is... a cliche thing to do (modern!AU)

Summary: (Y/n) is Aegons best friend. Yet she has a thing for his brother Aemond. Somehow the three of them make it work.

Wordcount: 2.687

"AEMOND?", shouted Aegon in shock.

"I was really drunk, okay?", sighed (Y/n). She would like to forget everything. By the gods, it had only been a kiss. A drunken kiss. But she didn't want to forget that kiss. She didn't want to forget the hands, that had felt so warm on her back. But Aemond was out of her reach. He was... She wasn't good enough. Absolutely mediocre at everything. Aemond was stubborn. So stubborn that he had made something of himself. Law student. Top of his class. Black belt in some martial art she couldn't pronounce.

Aegon nudged her. "Why are you looking so sad?", he asked with a slight pout on his lips.

She wiped her face. "I don't know either. Hormones?"

"You like him.", he said sulkily and plopped down next to her on the steps of the entrance hall.

She sighed. "I think, I just like the version of me, I imagine at his side.", she mused aloud.

Aegon sighed in annoyance. "No, you fancy him. Don't make everything more complicated than it is."

He picked at one of the cigarette butts lying around from last night.

(Y/n) reached for it and through it away. Aegon looked after it.

"Even if I did. He's got a girlfriend anyway.", she muttered.

"They broke up two months ago.", Aegon clarified. "I mean... You could have someone far better.", he stated. "FAR better... But... Argh! By the gods, just ask him."

She looked at him, dazed. "Would that be... okay for you. You're my best friend and I don't want anything like that-"

"I'll be fine.", he interrupted her immediately. "But you have to promise me that Blaspheme Gosip Friday will still be our day.", he sulked.

"With mocktails and everything.", she mumbled and put an arm round his back.

"And Barbie films.", he nodded.

She nodded with a grin and rested her head on his shoulder.

"He'll probably just laugh at me anyway and everything will stay the same."

Aegon let out a loud snort. "He sighed your name, when he jerked off. Don't worry about it."

(Y/n) furrowed her eyebrows. "And how would you know that?"

Aegon was still chuckling. "There's another old air vent here. I hear everything from his room." He turned to her with a grin. "He listens to Dolly Parton." You'd think his cheek muscles were about to tear, the grin on his face was so big.

(Y/n) grinned. "All metalheads listen to Dolly. She's an icon."

"You listen to Dolly Parton?"

"It's Dolly.", she stated, as if she couldn't believe the question was really being asked.

Aegon just shook his head. "All right... How long have you fancied him?"

She pressed her lips together.

"(Y/n)?"

"Since we were like... You remember when he came back from that martial arts camp?"

"That... That... Since you were THIRTEEN? Why didn't you ever say anything?"

She wrapped her arms around her legs and hugged her knees to her chest. "Because we were such good friends and I didn't have many friends. Besides... I liked him more or less. When he was... He was pretty mean for a while. I thought he was arrogant then and tried to block it all out, but later... The last two or three years... well, it just came back. And last year... You went to rehab and... I didn't know, who to call when my ex just left me in the middle of nowhere and Aemond picked me up... I don't know. He was so nice and somehow the new short hair looked so good on him and... Never mind. A week later he introduced everyone to his new girlfriend... I don't know. I'm going to get another coffee."

She stood up, turned round towards the entrance and stopped abruptly. She wanted to drop dead. A bewildered-looking Aemond stood in the doorway.

"What is it?", Aegon asked, turning round as well. "Ohhhh..." He cleared his throat. "Have fun."

He stood up quickly. He briefly stroked (Y/n)'s back and punched Aemond in the shoulder as he passed.

Both of them, now alone, just stared at each other.

"Morning.", (Y/n) began far too quickly.

Aemond nodded. "Morning.", he replied curtly. He straightened up.

"How... How long have you been standing there?", she asked uncertainly.

"Since... Dolly.", he admitted, looking past her with flushed cheeks.

She nodded. "She's a cool woman."

"Does a lot of charity work.", nodded Aemond.

"Built a library.", (Y/n) agreed.

Aemond breathed a sigh of relief. "I was with Alys for quite a while back then.", he said curtly. "We were both freaks. It was a good fit."

"And now you're not?"

He shook his head. "She was... I was distracted and she found someone else."

"I'm sorry about that."

"It was only a matter of time."

They lapsed into silence again. Aemond was about to hint at going back into the house, when Aegon stepped out again, annoyed.

"For Fucks sake.", he groaned. "You've both more than clearly heard, that you want each other. You made out so much yesterday, that (Y/n)'s lips are almost falling off today and you still can't get it right? Are you fucking kidding-" He interrupted himself and took a dramatic breath. "You guys go upstairs now and fuck like hell." With that, he turned round and went back into the house. "And gods be good if don't I hear anything! Make an effort, little brother."

They both looked after him in bewilderment.

"How about breakfast first?", she asked cautiously.

Aemond nodded. "I'll get changed and get the car keys.", he said quickly and disappeared.

6 months later

The door to Aemond's room was pushed open. "It's Friday. I got her to...day... Wow."

(Y/n) immediately threw a blanket over them both, but it didn't help to hide the leather band around Aemond's neck, on whose ring she was currently holding him.

"Aegon!" she shouted angrily.

He just grinned. He looked at the two of them with as much joy, as if he were a child in a toy shop with a black american express.

(Y/n) stood up, albeit naked, and pushed Aegon out of the room. "I'll come in a moment."

"Oho. One of you two is definitely coming-"

She slammed the door shut. Aemond was lying on the bed, resigned but with his head held high.

His eye was closed and he breathed in and out in a controlled manner.

(Y/n) sat down carefully next to him and ran her fingers through his hair. He buried his face against the side of her thigh and breathed in her scent.

"Shit.", he mumbled choked.

"Everythings good. He-"

Aemond wrapped his arms around her stomach and pulled himself closer to her. She understood immediately. "Shhh." She brushed the tears from his face.

Normally, they had time to bring him slowly out of their world. He had never been ripped out of it as quickly and abruptly as today. "I'm here.", she whispered. Her hands ran soothingly over his back. And his head.

They heard a knock at the door. "We need a little longer. I'll be come, when we're done.", she called through the door.

Surprisingly, there was really no more interruption.

She stayed with him, until he had fallen asleep. She gently kissed his forehead and tucked the blanket around him.

She got dressed and quietly slipped out of the room.

Aegon found her in the kitchen. "I had two more hours.", she grumbled.

"Sorry.", he smirked, but immediately became surprisingly serious. "He dropped because of me, didn't he?", he asked quietly.

(Y/n) nodded. "Please leave him alone about it.", she begged him.

"Hey, you know I've already been whipped black and blue."

"And you hated it. You should check out the doms, before you let them get to you."

Aegon nodded. "Speaking of which. I met someone.", he muttered sheepishly.

"Really?", she asked, surprised. He hadn't said anything.

Aegon nodded. "His name's Cregan. Takes me seriously and all." He bit into a biscuit. "And he... He doesn't whip me, he rewards me. Remembers how I drink my coffee and shit... And bends me into a pretzel. The man is like a bear. I'm telling you.", he grinned.

"Your first soft-dom.", she smirked.

Aegon sighed. "And hopefully my last. He's great... I hope it stays that way."

"I'll keep my fingers crossed."

"Thanks."

He pushed a coffee towards her. "Do you want to be with him, until he wakes up."

"Honestly, I do.", she confessed.

"Good. I always hate it, when I wake up alone.", he mumbled.

She rubbed his shoulder.

"But we'll go out for brunch tomorrow.", he decided.

"Where they have those cheese bagles?"

"Where else?", he grinned.

She nodded with a smile. "Okay."

She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and a snack bar and made her way back to Aemond. She just smirked when she heard Aegon's "You guys and your stupid water."

Back in the room, she snuggled up next to Aemond and ran her fingers through his hair again. His eyes fluttered open.

"Hey.", she smiled at him.

He just grumbled and buried his face against her stomach again. "How long?", he mumbled under his breath.

"As long as you need and want.", she explained.

"Is he laughing?"

"No. He understands."

"Sure.", he replied sarcastically.

She just held him as she continued speaking. "Aegon's approached a number of doms in the past. Had more bad experiences than good. He gets it." She kissed the top of his head. "A joke or two and he should he done."

Aemond hummed, but continued to bury himself against her belly. She hummed softly a song she'd heard in the morning.

"Love you." Aemond murmured at one point, so softly that she almost couldn't hear him.

She looked at him in surprise. He had literally squeezed his eye shut. His shoulders were tense. They hadn't said it often yet.

"Love you, too", she whispered back.

His body relaxed immediately. His breath left his lungs almost in relief. It was as if he expected her to laugh at him every time and explain that it had all been a cruel joke.

She stroked his collar. He trembled slightly under her touch. "Do you want to take it off?", she asked cautiously.

He shook his head. "Not yet.", he sighed.

When it came to his collar, he was like a cat that needed to go to the vet. First he made a show of putting it on and then it was almost impossible to get him out. It grounded him. It calmed him down. But some days he almost tore it off himself with the thought that he wasn't a real man, if he liked such things.

"You let me know.", she whispered.

Their relationship had grown insanely fast. She didn't know if it was because they had known each other for most of their lives or if it was just a good fit between them.

Both Aemond and Aegon had to get used to the new situation. It hadn't exactly been easy to convince Aegon that she wouldn't just throw him away like the old toy, while she tried to show Aemond that she really wanted to spend time with him and have this relationship.

It got to the point where Aegon just threw himself on the couch with her on one of their first little dates and commented on the film that was playing.

They had a very long and, for Aegon, very emotional conversation that evening that she really wouldn't forget him. They were still in the middle of the conversation when Aemond had plonked a weekly schedule on the table and started writing in their appointments and allocating Aemond-time and Aegon-time.

"Here.", he had simply hummed and sent Aegon a photo of the plan. "Can we please be alone now?"

Their routine levelled out and the two became calmer.

Aemond opened up to her more and she showed him the sides, some of which not even Aegon knew.

For example, her preference for having competent men whimpering beneath her.

They lay in bed until late in the evening. They dozed, cuddled and talked about all sorts of things until Aemond was completely grounded again.

(Y/n) was already sitting in the café when Aegon joined her. He grimaced as he sat down. "Holy-", he hissed softly, then put on a bright smile again.

"Hi." he said cheerfully.

She grinned. "Cregan?" she asked, amused.

Aegon looked dreamily at the cup of coffee she had already ordered for him. "I think I'm in love."

She grinned. "Shall I book something for the wedding?"

"You're going to be my maid of honour."

"Not Aemond?"

He shook his head. "How did it go with him?", he asked the counter question.

"Quiet evening." she simply shrugged her shoulders.

"Good... I'm sorry, by the way."

"Just knock next time, okay?"

"Okay.", he smiled. Suddenly his gaze settled on something behind her. "Holy-" He reached for her hand. "Margret Waters!", he whispered.

(Y/n) immediately turned round. Margret had tormented both (Y/n) and Aegon when they were still in middle school, and not just once.

"That's... A lot of lip filler.", she realised.

"That's a lot of filler everywhere.", Aegon clarified. "Her face is twice as wide as it used to be."

"And yet you can still recognise her. That's strange."

"It's the aura of absolute evil.", he stated. "And that comes from me."

She grinned. "Is that?"

"Aaron the arse cramp. Yes.", Aegon grumbled. Aaron had involuntarily outed him in front of everyone.

"Get your impotent arse over here.", they heard Margret say.

"For fucks sake!", Aaron hissed at her. "With your facial goulash, don't be surprised that no one can get it up with you."

Aegon beamed. "I think I'm very happy right now."

(Y/n) shook her head with a grin, as a pale hand placed something next to her.

They both looked up and saw Aemond.

"Forgot your wallet.", he muttered. He looked at Aegon. "You want to get it out now?"

Aegon just shook his head. "My arse is too sore for that." Aemond grimaced, but Aegon went straight on. "Besides, I've just found something much better, than your little, spicy necklace.", he explained, nodding in the direction of the couple, who were still arguing

Aemond looked at the two. "Is that Margret Waters?"

"Yup."

"What's she done to her face?"

The two squabblers realised they were being watched.

"What?", Margret nagged.

Aemond didn't even flinch. He simply raised his hand. "Margret... Aaron. How did it go after the LSD trial? Still having problems?", he asked impassively, glancing briefly at his crotch.

Aaron's look could have killed.

"I hope your delicate flower here was worth the compensation."

Aemond approached him menacingly. "Do you really think you can mess with my family, without paying for it?" he whispered. Aaron looked at him in amazement.

"Get out of here.", Aemond hissed.

"Come on. Get away from this madman." Aaron tugged on Margret's hand, who allowed herself to be pulled along in annoyance.

Aemond turned back to the two of them. "I'm off already.", he nodded.

"Wait!", Aegon said, pointing to the seat next to (Y/n).

"What exactly did you do with Aaron?", Aegon asked uncertainly.

Aemond just shrugged his shoulders. "I helped supervise the study he took part in for a little cash. I remembered him and what he said about you. That you're only good for getting your arse fucked. I might have added some subliminal messages to the music file that was playing in the background... They really tak a hold with LSD." He pursed his lips in amusement. "It seems to me he hasn't figured out what he needs to do to get his favourite toy working again.", he explained impassively.

"Sometimes you really scare me, brother."

He waved him off, but looked cautiously out of the corner of his eye at (Y/n), not knowing what she would think.

But she only reached for his hand. "You're a softy after all.", she smiled.

"Don't tell anyone.", he grumbled and let her give him a quick kiss.

#aemond targaryen x reader #fluff #aemond targaryen x you #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aegon fluff #aegon ii targaryen #aemond x reader

281 notes · View notes

everythingisromant1c · 10 months ago

Text

It's Always Been You - Chapter 6

james potter x fem!reader

summary - Maybe it was an attempt to get over him, or maybe it was just from embarrassment, but you'd decided to avoid James. The only problem was, your best friend was making that very, very difficult to do.

wc [4.6k]

all chapters | <- Chapter 5 - Chapter 7 ->

The weekend had ended without excitement, if you don't count kissing your best friend and practically getting rejected by said best friend the next day to be excitement.

As much as you willed it not to, the events of the past two days played in your mind well into Monday, perhaps being the reason why you skipped out on breakfast in the Great Hall and showed up to Defense Against the Dark Arts with hardly a minute to spare before class started.

Your professor this year, Professor Higglebottom, silly as her name was, was the adventurous type and always started class with some hands-on interaction. That's why you all crowded against the walls instead of taking a seat at one of the desks in the front of the room.

You were sandwiched between Marlene and Sirius, the latter you knew was trying to get you to respond to his whispers. You weren't much in the mood for whatever kind of conversation he was trying to spark up, especially not after the one you'd had with him last night that you most definitely did not lose sleep over.

"Alright class," your professor announced. Her bob haircut bounced lightly as she took quick circling steps before your class's waiting eyes. "Let's begin with a quick review of last week's shielding charm. Pair up with a classmate and practice, and no harmful hexes this time, yes?"

With a snicker from across the room, Higglebottom waved her wand and the desks all gracefully swept into organized rows against the far wall, leaving the center of the room open for spell practice.

Within the blink of an eye half the room had begun to shuffle around in search of a partner, and it hit you with a surge in your chest that you and James always paired up in this class. You stayed rooted in your spot against the wall for a second, looking around amongst the chaos. Sure enough, that head of curls and those eyes like honey were on the other side of the room, searching the crowd for someone—for you.

Maybe you weren't exactly thinking in that moment, but you acted before you had time to consider much of anything.

"Hey Alice!" your voice was raised to almost a shout that alarmed even you, and Alice turned to you in surprise.

"Hey," she said, and before she could get another word out you were practically running to her.

"Could we be partners?"

You figured that it might've been the desperate look in your eyes that had her nodding yes, but it didn't matter because at least you didn't have to pair up with James. Facing that awkwardness and ignoring the twinge in your chest whenever you saw him seemed impossible right then.

You walked over to the front left corner of the room with Alice, catching James in your peripheral. He was watching you, you knew he was. It only made avoiding him even more difficult in your heart.

You began practicing with Alice as Higglebottom instructed, though you put up your shielding charm with just a fraction of a second left before Alice's stunning spell would've sent you flying.

"Woah," she said, and you took a second to shake out your arm before preparing for the next round. "You alright?"

"What?" you asked, half listening. "Yeah. Just slow reflexes, I guess. Sorry." She sent another shining blue stream at you from her wand. "Protego!"

This time you blocked it properly, but it didn't leave Alice feeling satisfied.

"It's just," she began, flicking her wand again wordlessly. "Don't you usually partner up with Potter?"

You tried your best to contain any reaction, focusing on saying the spells as instructed. You shrugged. "I don't know, I wouldn't say always."

Alice laughed. "Okay, so ninety-nine out of a hundred times, then." You gave her a look that was half joking half annoyed, and she smiled with a tilt of her and a gesture that said it was your turn to aim some spells her way. You flicked your wand with a wordless spell, and she put up her shield in no time, continuing. "I was just wondering if everything was okay, is all."

"No, yeah, everything's fine." Your shoulders felt tense as you sent out another spell. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, for one thing, he keeps looking over here." As much as you tried not to let her words affect you, the thought of them made your heart race and your forehead crinkle anxiously.

You shook your head busily, lips tight. "Don't know why he would be." That was a lie of course, and you knew it deep in your bones as you said it. You fought the urge to ask her exactly how he was looking at you as you sent another spell her way. "Rictusempra!"

Alice deflected the spell with yet another shield from her wand, and you could feel your focus slipping from you with every exchange between the two of you on the topic. "Maybe he wants to talk to you?" she reasoned, and you chewed on the inside of your cheek.

"I'd rather not." With that, you prepared another spell.

Alice glanced at something somewhere behind you. "Well he's coming this way."

"What?"

You panicked, and your spell shot completely in the wrong direction, aiming diagonally at Higglebottom's desk instead. You cringed as your gust of wind had a stack of papers go flying, falling through the air without any grace.

Everyone in the room stopped their dueling at the commotion, and Higglebottom let out a tiny gasp from her position across the room. You stood there, stunned. But somehow, the most mortifying part of it to you was the sight of James watching it all unfold a few feet away from you, looking like he both wanted to laugh and ask you a thousand questions that you didn't know the answer to.

"Well, that's alright," rang Higglebottom, and you could've ran up and hugged her when she clapped her hands and made everyone go back to practicing spells. That included James, who wandered back over to a smug looking Sirius. She daintily pointed her wand towards the mess and it was cleaned up in a matter of seconds, though your embarrassment lingered deep in the pit of your stomach and refused to leave you.

Your professor had spent the rest of the class going over proper spell-casting stances and dueling strategies, and you'd found that the more you focused on your classes, the less your head seemed to run amuck with thoughts of a certain someone.

You'd spent the rest of rest of the day doing just that, paying attention to your professors' lessons for every class like your life depended on it, and speeding off in between each one.

By the time you made it to Potions you felt like your mind was finally calming down, though the world loved to test your patience. You had to walk straight past James on your way to your seat—the seat that was right in front of his—and he didn't give you the grace of pretending not to see you. His eyes followed you the whole way to your seat, and somehow it felt like you could still feel them lingering on the back of your head as you sat down. You sighed; if he could do you the favor of picking up on your attempt to get over him and just go along with it, your life would be a whole lot easier.

"You alright?"

You turned to see Sebastian sitting in his seat next to you, looking as dashing as ever with his tie undone from the uncharacteristically warm weather that day. The fact hadn't left you that Sebastian was apparently a top prospect for girls in your year looking to find a date.

He looked at you with concern, though his expression was still warm. He was the second person to ask you that that day.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you said back, though the way he looked at you made you feel suddenly insecure. You patted at the back of your hair. "Do I not look it?"

"No, no," came Sebastian quickly, laughing slightly. "You look great. Trust me."

From the way his eyes hovered over you, you felt like both hiding from embarrassment and blushing. You were about to thank him until Slughorn stood up from his desk, tone somewhat more bubbly than usual as he spoke.

"Say, my eager students," he began, and you felt the class collectively sigh from around you. "The air does feel fitting for some friendly competition today, does it not?"

With his statement, the room seemed to perk up from their afternoon drag, though you felt a sense of dread settle into your stomach. The word "competition" said in a room full of Gryffindors and Slytherins was practically a death sentence. Slughorn didn't pay it any mind.

"Each brewing station should prepare a Wound-Cleaning Potion within the hour, and I'll determine the most well-brewed potion by the end of class. The winning group gets five points extra credit."

If the prospect of competition didn't scare you already, the fact that you were never any good at Potions definitely did the job. Sebastian turned to you with an optimistic grin on his face, something casual and confident, all while you felt the exact opposite.

"Don't be so worried," he said, like he could read from your face how you felt already. "We're gonna do great. Half the others can't even talk to each other without ... that happening."

He nodded over to where Sirius and Slytherin Quidditch Captain Marcus Craggy were already arguing, practically shoving each other as they both stood up to get ingredients.

You snorted into your hand. "Maybe you're right."

Between the two of you, you sorted out a plan of action and went to get the ingredients while Sebastian tended to warming the cauldron. If your staying-hyper-focused strategy went according to plan, you had confidence that with Sebastian's Potions skills you could actually do well.

You measured out the proper amount of the necessary ingredients, taking what you needed from the stacks of shelves aligning the classroom wall. You handed off the jar of dandelion root to a girl next to you before turning around, but that was when you turned right into a body.

You looked up. It was James—of course it was. You knew for a fact you did a horrible job at hiding your alarm, but were still in your ignore-your-feelings-and-focus-on-school mood so you didn't think twice before awkwardly avoiding looking into his eyes.

"Sorry," you said quickly. You briefly smiled at him, though you were sure you looked anything but casual.

"It's okay-" he began, his voice fading away as you rushed past him within a second.

You felt horrible.

Focus, focus, focus. When you returned back to your table and a waiting Sebastian, you did just that.

He naturally took the lead, since you didn't know the first thing about brewing a Wound-Cleaning Potion, but he was surprisingly understanding and explained each step in a way that made more sense than anything Slughorn had ever said. There weren't even any of the usual slip-ups that happen when you brew a potion yourself, though you couldn't say the same for the groups around you.

About halfway through class you peaked over to where Sirius and Marcus Craggy were working and saw the monstrosity that was their cauldron bubbling over the surface, a swampy green that most certainly was not the right color.

You heard a mousy laugh come from behind them, Peter giggling at the sight of his friend's failure. Within a second his own partner yelled his name, and with a terrified look he focused back on his own potion. It was safe to say your group was working better than any of your friends'.

In no time you were all finishing up your potions and Slughorn had begun coming around to review them, hands tucked behind his back like a true judge.

The first cauldron he'd surveyed belonged to Frank Longbottom and a red-haired Slytherin girl who you knew Alice was uneasy over. And, now that you got a good look at her, you could see she was the same girl you heard whispering about you and James's supposed broom closet snogging. So maybe the slight amusement you felt when Slughorn looked at her and Frank's cauldron and immediately grimaced wasn't completely impersonal.

He did the same to a few other groups, granting some an impressed nod until he finally reached your table. He gave Sebastian an enthusiastic and familiar smile, and nodded at you without any particular warmth, which you ignored.

The two of you stepped back and watched as Slughorn leaned over the side of the cauldron, peering it into it wordlessly. Sebastian glanced at you from the corner of his eye with a curious look and you fought a smile.

When you turned back to your potion, Slughorn's face was lit up satisfactorily. He clapped his hands together. "Splendid! Absolutely splendid."

You felt like you were hearing wrong, like words as positive as those could've never come from Slughorn in regards to you, but sure enough, he was talking directly to you. You were definitely sure you were dreaming then.

"Say, I believe we may have found our winners!"

Your jaw was hanging then, and Sebastian was beaming proudly. You were about to turn to him and celebrate, when a Gryffindor boy at a table in the corner of the room shouted out in protest.

"You didn't even look at the last three groups!"

Slughorn turned to him at first in alarm, but then his expression then morphed into a tightlipped smile you could tell was meant to be sympathetic. "I'm sorry dear boy, but I can see from here they're all the wrong color." He scanned the row of cauldrons behind you. "I can also smell them."

The room chuckled at that, and Slughorn turned back to you and Sebastian unbothered and cheerful.

"I expected nothing less from one of my star students, yes?" He shook Sebastian's hand firmly like he was an old family friend, and then, to your surprise, held out his hand to you too. You took it, feeling suspicious of how well this was going. "Very impressive work today." He smiled at you more authentically then you'd ever seen him smile at you, and you felt like bursting from happiness, though you watered it down to a prompt "Thank you."

"You two pat yourselves on the back," said Slughorn, regarding you both one last time before taking his leave.

You turned slowly to Sebastian, sporting the biggest smile you'd worn in days. The groups that weren't as upset over the loss clapped lightly from around the room, and you were so happy you could've literally jumped for joy.

"We did it!" You looked at Sebastian, and he was grinning down at you with a smile that met his eyes, looking half like he wanted to laugh at your overexcitement. You were so happy you even ran up and hugged him, not exactly thinking before you did it but it didn't matter because he hugged you back, chuckling.

Right before you went to pull away, you heard a bubbling noise coming from next to you. It grew, rumbling and groaning, and not a second more went by before the potion behind yours splattered all over.

You both stepped only slightly back before the mess reached you. You were lucky you were standing where you were, because most of the potion got on Sebastian instead. That didn't change the fact that it made an absolute mess.

"Goodness!" Slughorn shouted, and you stepped away from Sebastian right away, scanning over the mess the cauldron had made. A blue-gray goo covered the left half of his shirt, not an insane mess but still a concerning amount of slimy potion to be covered in.

You turned to the table who'd been sitting behind you, and realized with a sense of both dread and annoyance that it had been James's cauldron to explode.

You looked at him in dismay as he stood there, backed away from the table like the explosion had come completely as a surprise to him. But, judging from the way he took in Sebastian's appearance without so much as a grimace, it very well could've been just the opposite.

James's table partner, the Slytherin boy on the smaller side, looked beyond mortified. "Oh Merlin," he began, arms outstretched towards Sebastian. "We're so sorry, I don't know what happened, I-"

"Now, now," Slughorn interrupted, moving swiftly over to where the mess was. With a face that showed he was trying very hard not to react, he pulled out his wand and muttered a spell that cleaned up the mess from the desks and floor, and another one for Sebastian's shirt.

"That should take care of the mess, though I do recommend you pay Madam Pomfrey a visit, Sebastian. The possible side effects of an improperly-brewed potion are quite impossible to determine externally." He patted Sebastian on the back, who looked not angry but dazed, if anything, and turned to James and his partner. "And as for you two, pay better mind for what ingredients you're using. Next time, I won't be so kind about cleaning up for you."

They both nodded obediently, James wearing the placating face he always did when confronted by a teacher, and staring down at his feet. Was he ashamed? Hiding laughter? You couldn't tell, but certainly had suspicions, knowing his dislike of Sebastian for some unidentifiable reason.

Slughorn dismissed the class, and Sebastian gathered his things to go to what you assumed would be the nurse's office.

"Let me go with you," you said.

He turned to you in surprise, shrugging his bag over his shoulder. "Oh, don't worry about it."

"It's no problem, really." You smiled at him assuredly and he let in, waiting for you to get your things and walk with him out of the classroom. "Are you okay?" you asked once you turned the corner. "The color of that potion was definitely concerning."

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. Or at least, I feel okay."

"Good."

The two of you walked in silence for a moment, and you let your thoughts drift to the class you'd just finished, and how amazing and odd it felt to get a handshake from Slughorn. Soon you found a smile creeping into your cheeks.

"Are you laughing at me?"

You escaped your daydreaming, whipping your head to Sebastian who was looking at you with a disbelieving smile of his own. "What? No! Of course not," you assured him, shaking your head rapidly. "I'm just really happy our potion did so well."

"Yeah, me too."

"I mean seriously, I don't think I've ever smiled so much in a Potions class. Or that Slughorn's ever said anything that nice to me." And you meant it. Visions of nights spent practically crying over a bad potions grade flashed through your mind.

"Well," Sebastian began, eyes looking down at yours with fondness. "You deserve it."

You looked back at him, feeling like he really meant those words. A kind of odd feeling simmered in your chest, but it was warm and you invited it as you kept walking beside him.

"Hey," he began again after a beat, shifting his attention fully to you. "I've been meaning to ask you something-"

"Can we talk?"

Both of you stopped as you reached the staircase at the end of the hall and, somehow, there stood James. He was looking at you with an intention behind his eyes that flickered over you like he hadn't noticed Sebastian was with you at all.

You frowned at him, eyes glancing between both he and Sebastian in both shyness and irritation. "You know, I'm kind of in the middle of something-"

"It's an emergency." James leaned closer, eyes wide. "About the you know what."

You did not 'know what,' but James didn't seem to pick up on that. Your confusion only extended the interaction and had Sebastian stepping away.

"It's okay," he said to you with a neutral tug of his lips. "I'll talk to you later." Before you could tell him it was fine, that you wanted to hear what he had to ask you, he'd smiled and turned to climbed up the steps, leaving you alone with James.

You turned fully to face him, your irritation masking whatever nervousness you felt at finally looking him in the eyes. "What kind of 'emergency' was so important that you had to interrupt my conversation with-"

"Sebastian Vance. I know." He said his name like it was a chore, and it only had your forehead creasing even more. "There's, um, a problem with the prank."

"Really?" you deadpanned, staring at him blankly. "That was the emergency that couldn't wait?"

"You haven't let me finish," argued James defensively.

"Okay," you added, tone impatient as you motioned for him to continue.

"Wormtail lost the list of passcodes to the Slytherin common room." He ended his sentence as if there was more that he wanted to say, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"And?"

"And ... we were wondering if you could find a way to get them from Vance."

"What?!" you shouted, lowering your voice when you realized how loud you were being. "No, have you gone mad?"

"Oh, come on," James said, tone much too lax for your liking.

"You really expect me to trick my friend into letting us prank him?"

James let out a huff that sounded like a scoff, raising his brows at you. "Oh really? He's your friend now?"

"Yeah, he is." You crossed your arms, staring at him disbelievingly. "Is there a problem?"

"No, no problem." James shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, peering somewhere down below and not at you. "Just didn't know you guys were so close, is all."

Something about the way he spoke was infuriating you, tone casual but clearly masking judgement, as if he had any kind of control over who you could and couldn't speak to.

You scoffed. "Why are you being so weird about this?"

"I'm not."

"Really?" you deadpanned. "You interrupted my conversation with him when I was trying to walk him to the nurse after your potion exploded all over him, right after we won-"

"You don't really think I did that on purpose, do you?"

"I don't know!" you shouted. "With your house rivalry, and the way you lot are so obsessed with pranking people-"

"'You lot'?"

You stopped, realizing how much this was escalating when you really didn't want it to be. You pressed a hand to your forehead. "Sorry that's... that's not fair." You shook your head, as if doing that would rid you of the mess that was your mind right then. You hated arguing with James. "I'm just annoyed right now, is all."

"Yeah," James said with a nod, voice quieted. "Look," he breathed. "I'm sorry I interrupted you. And I really didn't mean for my potion to go exploding all over the place. I don't know what happened. I guess I was just ... distracted, or something, when we were brewing it. I'm sorry."

You let your eyes scan over his face, noting that he truly did look sorry. Something churned in your gut, something that you filed away as uninportant in that moment. "It's alright," you sighed. "Although, it's not really me you should be apologizing to."

It took him a second before he caught what you were referring to, him realizing with a look to the side and a half-laugh. "Yeah right."

"James." You gave him a warning look, and he raised his hands in surrender.

"Alright. I'll apologize to him."

You uncrossed your arms, feeling a bit better. "Thank you."

He tipped his head in acknowledgment, and you stood there for a moment debating if there was anything more to be said, knowing in the back of your mind that there certainly was, but you took a step up the stairs anyway.

"Wait." James took a light hold on your wrist that seemed to burn right through the skin, the contact making you feel unstable on the steps. "That's ... that's not all I wanted to talk to you about."

You stilled, glancing over his unsure expression. "Oh, okay." You waited for him to say something, but he stayed silent, out of character for him. He didn't meet your eyes as he thought, throat bobbing. "James?"

"Are we okay?"

He looked up and into your eyes then, the motion striking you as you were more level with him now from your stance on the step.

You felt your heart rate pick up. "What?"

He drew his hand away finally to run it uneasily through his curls. "I just feel like you're ..." He trailed off, voice going soft.

"Like I'm what?"Slightly heartbroken? Avoiding you? You knew exactly what he meant, of course, and it was eating away at you to lie straight to him.

"It's nothing." He waved a hand, though you could sense his seriousness in the tenseness of his stance and the darting of his eyes. "I just wanna make sure everything's alright between us."

You nodded because you felt the same way, though you knew the answer. "Yeah, I get that."

He looked expectantly at you, eyes intent but not prying. "So, is it?"

A beat went by before you could answer, your throat going dry with the effort of your lie. "Yeah," you assured him. "Of course."

He seemed to visibly relax, and the way his features softened made your shoulders sink. "Good. Great."

Were you a bad person for this? Maybe. Probably. But avoiding him had felt like best coarse of action and the only way to get by, at least for the time being. You knew, or hoped, that eventually things would go back to normal. Or rather, the 'normal' that existed before you ever had feelings for James, if that even really existed.

He offered you a smile of his pink lips that eased your thoughts even if only for a moment. Then, he leaned in and hugged you, and you felt like melting for too many reasons. You were at a height that let one of his curls brush against your cheek just like it did the night you kissed him—ignore, ignore, ignore—only, you weren't sure how much longer you could keep doing that.

If you weren't going to avoid James all together anymore, than you'd have to just avoid certain situations; situations like this, where you could feel the rise and fall of his chest against your own, something dizzying yet comforting in a way that made you want to hide in your dorm.

You pulled away, reminding yourself that hugging him was the last thing you should be doing, and turned towards the steps again. "Let's go find the guys, figure out all this prank business."

"Good idea," James said, who followed you up the stairs without missing a beat. You hadn't reached the top step before he froze, ending up a few steps behind you.

"Crap," he cursed.

You frowned down at him. "What's the matter?"

"I just remembered that I booked the Quidditch pitch for this time."

Your jaw dropped for a second, lips curling up at the stupefied look on his face. You waved your hand towards the top of the steps. "Well then, go! Hurry!"

James's face set in with a hilariously determined expression and he set off up the steps in a jumble of robes mixed with his bag hanging limply off his shoulder. He passed you with ease, zooming off down the hallway.

"See you!" he called. He turned over his shoulder with a grin before disappearing around the corner, and your heart hurt at how easily laughter came to you around him. Because he's your best friend.

You reminded yourself of that fact with a small but stern nod, probably looking like you'd lost your mind standing alone in that hallway. It didn't matter, because you were going to keep those thoughts out of your mind from then on, and that was the end of that. Or, at least that was what you told yourself all the way back to the common room.

taglist!!

@hisparentsgallerryy @msmk11

237 notes · View notes

bluebellhairpin · 9 months ago

Text

Harwin Strong X Fem!Reader

Summary: Two years have passed since you were last in King's Landing, and now you return for a wedding - one that's your own.

Warnings: Westerosi marriage. Brief mention of Reader's deceased mother. Reader's father is named + takes out today's Best Dad award. We don't like Otto Hightower.

Listening to: 'A Gift of a Thistle' from Braveheart

Series Masterlist || AO3 Link || Masterlist || Ko-Fi

(ART inspired by this chapter)

Rhaenyra was crown Princess, heir to the Iron Throne, and you hadn’t seen her in two years. You’d returned home after the festivities ended - too soon in your opinion, and while letters via raven were frequent, you still missed her dearly.

You knew you were in no position to say so, but you felt a sort of obligation to be her friend. To honor Aemma. Sure, you were closer with Aemma by circumstances, but she and Rhaenyra spent far more time together than people realized. You knew the Princess like you would a younger sister, and you were determined to not let distance change that.

In fact you’d added communications with Rhaenyra into your daily routine quite easily. Between what could be seen as regular menial tasks of a lady, and the training your father made you return to (much to your joy, even if it did leave you quite sore some days), writing letters was what you looked forward to the most.

But just like those few years ago, your life was uprooted by a summons to King’s Landing. Unlike then though, this had nothing to do with the King, rather his Hand.

“I know you agreed before we left, but if you meet this man and decide you don’t want him we don’t have to go through with it.” your father said as you rose side by side on the Kingsroad. You’d be in the city by nightfall, and he must’ve been sensing your nerves heightening as you got closer.

“Yes father.”

“Hey,” he said, and you turned your head to face him to find his eyes soft, “I mean it. If you don’t want to get married I’ll do everything in my power to make it so.”

“I know.” you replied. “If my mind is changed I’ll tell you. For now, I’m to be wed.” You knew such a day was coming - one where you could be married off to strengthen political ties. After all, what else was a lord’s daughter meant for? So when told you were to marry this stranger, it didn’t come as a surprise to you. You’d prepared for it a long time ago.

Many would lick their lips in want at the prospect of what marrying you could bring them - a closer voice to your father’s ear and his armies top of that list. Knowing now that the King’s Hand himself had written to your father to request your marriage made you worry. Who knew what kind of man your husband-to-be was - but you thought it was safe to assume it would probably be someone close to the King. In your thoughts you didn’t doubt that there could be older widowers on his small council who wanted another wife.

You only hoped at the very least that he would treat you kindly. But with how lacking in suitors you’d been, and lack of luck in general, you weren’t even crossing your fingers about that.

For a long time you imagined being paired off with the most ugly, old, cruel man in the whole seven kingdoms. When all you had to go off of was a name and reputation, you couldn’t be blamed for thinking so. What kind of husband would a man called ‘Breakbones’ turn out to be?

You hadn’t seen Otto Hightower in a long time, and frankly when you first heard of your proposal, you thought he was going to offer himself. With his attention turned on you now, greeting you as you arrived in the Keep, you were glad he hadn’t.

“We’re honoured to have you here.” he said to you with a bow of his head.

“The honor is mine, Lord Hand.” Your reply came out much more rehearsed than you’d hoped - call it nerves, call it sensing awkwardness approaching, you wanted to get out of there more than you thought you did. Your father interrupted before you could prove to be more of a fool than you already had.

“We’ve travelled a long way,” your father said, taking your hand and placing it on his arm, “We’d both love to rest. Clear our minds before dinner tonight.” You almost collapsed in relief at his words.

“Oh I’ve had Ser Harwin come down to escort your daughter to her room, if he’s decided to show up -” Otto said, turning to look around the courtyard before waving a man over, ��- It will be good for the betrothed to spend some time together before they’re stuck next to each other at dinner. Don't you think Cyrus?”

You watched your fathers eyes flick toward you before he nodded, stepping away as Ser Harwin finally approached.

When you finally looked upon your betrothed, you believed your eyes to be playing a cruel trick. His dark hair curled around the edges, and his shoulders looked so broad in his gold cloak armor that you were left without a breath - best of all, he seemed to only be a few years older than you, a far cry from the old man you were expecting.

Ser Harwin Strong was, by far, the most handsome man you’d ever seen. Not that you’d seen a lot, but the handful you had (mostly from a few years ago when you’d shadow Aemma at tournaments, and banquets) paled in comparison - especially since they were never to be yours. Harwin, if agreeable, would marry you.

That thought only made your heart beat even faster when he looked at you with his strikingly blue eyes. You felt it was going so fast you would have fainted when he reached for your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles, and place it in the crook of his elbow.

“My Lady,” he said - seven heavens, his voice was deep and smoother than a marble floor - “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

The walk to your room was about to be the longest, or shortest walk of your entire life.

Much later that evening, you sat by your dresser attempting to somewhat detangle your hair and thought about what happened in the last few hours. More like you thought about how you could tell Harwin knew the effect he was having on you.

You thought you’d go into this marriage as someone would venture into a business deal. Promised yourself to remain steadfast and passive, business-like, to do your duty and marry into House Strong so that the king would have a tighter hold on armies already loyal to him. You weren’t going to get flustered.

Yet you were more of a blushing bride than you’d promised yourself to be.

Call it an instant connection, or call it Harwin having a handsome face, but you’d been reduced to the equivalent of a giggling maid in waiting waving a handkerchief at a knight in a tournament within an hour. That wasn’t something anyone could’ve said about you in years. It felt embarrassing - that your resolve had crumbled so quickly.

Dinner went by smoothly. Rhaenyra had run to greet you in the halls, lamenting over the fact she couldn’t join you on your first night back, but promised she would join you for breakfast tomorrow. Despite her not being there to gift you with a mutual icebreaker over your first meal together, yourself and your father seemed to get along fine with the Strong’s.

‘Getting along fine’ being your father and Lyonel bonding over histories of battles past - and you attempting to be more outgoing than you were comfortable with in an attempt to actually get comfortable talking with Harwin and his brother Larys. It took a while for you to warm up to them both.

Harwin proved difficult to read, but Larys was soft-spoken and seemed to know just what to ask to pull you from your shell. Because of his brother, then Harwin was able to draw you out even more. It almost made you think that he was struggling with you as you were with him - albeit with more amusement than you, and he had his brother to fall back on, you had no one.

You almost couldn’t wait to see Rhaenyra tomorrow, if only for the relief of a familiar and friendly face.

A knock had you looking up to your door. A visitor so late was unusual, and you were nowhere near prepared for it.

“Who is it?” you asked, standing and reaching for a covering as you listened for an answer.

“It’s me,” a voice said, “Suni. I came with a gift from Ser Harwin.” You opened the door, seeing your borrowed handmaid. Sumi was about your age, with hair as dark as night and a face pretty enough to be worthy of a home in Dorne. She had arrived with a piece of cloth in her upturned palms.

“What is it?” you asked, letting her step though the door.

“Why don’t you find out?” she said with a smirk and held the cloth out to you. You eyed her before carefully unfolding the fabric. There laid a necklace of gold with eight blue gems. You took it in your hands and held it up to the candlelight, watching as the sapphires shined right before your eyes.

You felt Suni come up behind you, likewise admiring the necklace.

“A wedding present,” she said, “Ser Harwin told me to say to you that it was his mother’s, and that he can already tell she’d want you to have it.”

“I’ve heard his brother is meant to be the one with a silver tongue. I’m marrying a brute, not a charmer.” You said scoffing, but you couldn’t hide the giddy smile that was making its way to your face.

“A woman’s beauty can change a man’s ways,” Suni said, taking the chain from your hands and holding it to your neck so you both could see what it might look like if you wore it, and your eyes fixed to the reflection in your mirror, “So can love at first sight.” You went silent at that, her words plunging you back into your thoughts. She placed the necklace back in your palms, and then said goodnight - deeming her errand over, and returning to her previous command from you to go to bed.

The door shut, and you looked down at the necklace as you sunk to the edge of your bed. Even for a wedding gift it was a lot. Sapphires and gold had high worth - and sentimental too, not only did Harwin have to part with it but his father did too.

The token made you smile, thinking that perhaps like Rhaenyra, Harwin was becoming a friendly face too.

You took breakfast in the gardens, and spent a lot of time memorizing how Rhaenyra’s hair looked as it swayed in the wind.

In the past your time spent in the Red Keep was in servitude. You’d watch from a distance most days, but today you were a guest - a real one. For the next week your importance was near the Princesses, all thanks to her father’s generosity. Sumi said whispers in the halls spoke of how your wedding was to be the best since Viserys married Alicent Hightower, and will remain so until Rhaneyra herself was to be wed. You felt it was an honor too good for your status, but Rhaenyra would not hear you argue, and you would not argue with her.

“I’m glad you’ll be here from now on,” Rhaenyra said. She had lounged back in her seat, nursing a cup and looking out over Blackwater Bay. “I feel a lack of friends, having you around will ease it.”

“Princess, you’re hardly lacking in company -”

“- True friends. Ones I can trust.” she said. Your eyes narrowed, taking her in, thinking. You took a moment to scour through your memories, and when you found the right one you almost kicked yourself.

“Alicent.” you said. She turned to you, face impassive but eyes hard. “You both do not speak anymore, do you?”

“How could I, she’s my step-mother now.” Her words were sour, and as she took a sip from her drink her nose scrunched.

“You ought to understand she probably had no say in the matter. Duty isn’t something a woman can say no to, you should know that by now.” Rhaenyra turned back toward the bay, taking no time at all to conjure a smart reply to your words.

“Oh and you’d know. Suffering like you are with your husband-to-be. Strongest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, and one of the handsomest too. How horrible duty is.”

“My ‘husband-to-be’ could just as easily have been Lord Lyonel, and yet I’d be still sitting here with you today.” you said. You looked away from her for the first time that morning, the both of you staring out at the blue waters as you took a deep breath. “Besides that’s not the point. You’re miserable. If I might even be so bold, you’re a fool too.”

For a moment Rhaenyra looked like she’d let it go, until you called her a fool. She frowned, but from the smile on your face she didn’t let it go to her eyes. Like she knew you were trying to offer advice rather than insult her. A needed distinction. You took her soft turn as permission to finish speaking.

“Alicent is probably as miserable as you are. She’s lost a friend too. A good friend, if my experience is anything to go by.”

On the morning of your wedding, you woke up and it was raining. A mist really, enough to send a haze over the bay around the Red Keep, but not enough to have people running for cover. The day would go on exactly as planned.

Suni arrived not long after you got out of bed, ready to help you bathe and dress, and to do your hair for the day. She was halfway through scrubbing your other arm when there was a knock at your door. You both shared a look before she left to poke her head out the door.

“Pacey.” Suni said, opening the door to let your visitor in, “What are you doing here, you should be helping the Princess.”

“Princess Rhaenyra sent me to help my sister-to-be get ready.” Pacey said, “And I wanted to get to know my brother’s bride a little more before she becomes his wife.”

Looking at her, you nodded. Both Pacey and Sumi got to work helping you. You almost didn’t know what to do with yourself - for a long time the only person to help you get ready for the day's events was yourself, and you were much more used to being the person helping rather than being helped. The two young women quietly chatted a little between themselves, but the longer you spent not talking, the more awkward you felt.

“Pacey,” you said, and she looked up at you, watching expectantly, “You’re Harwin’s sister?”

“I am.” she replied, smirking. From the look in her eyes, it was almost like she knew what you were going to say.

“You don’t look like him. Or Larys.” From what you’d learnt, and who you’d met so far, the Strong’s all boasted dark hair and - dare you say it - strong builds. Even Larys with his clubbed foot was not a small man, and the resemblance between the two was undeniable. Pacey however had hair almost like a woven burnt-gold-colored dress - definitely a difference. No less beautiful.

“We all have different mothers. My sister and I are the only two who share a mother.” Pacey said, and like a candle blowing out, it all made sense.

“Where is your mother now?” you asked softly, moving as Suni urged you to stand from your bath and dry off.

“The Stranger took her, just like he took the rest of my father’s wives.” Pacey said.

“My mother is gone too.” Was all you could say in reply. She looked across at you with a sad smile.

“We have each other now. That's what matters.”

The rain cleared by the time noon came. The haze but a thought on the horizon. You wondered why you thought of it now, as you stood outside the doors to the Iron Throne with your hand around your father’s arm.

“My daughter,” he said, voice soft as he turned your attention to him with his words. He looked at you, smiling, and adjusted the gems of the necklace Harwin gifted you. “Soon you will no longer have my name, but you’ll always have my blood. Our house never forgets blood. Remember that.”

You nodded, teary eyed as you watched him blink away the water in his own. Kissing his cheek, you told him you loved him, and then the doors opened.

As you walked down the stairs and past the crowd, you couldn’t help but think of the day your family swore to Rhaenyra. It all felt so similar. The people, the place, Viserys on the Iron Throne. It felt like a judgement call rather than a wedding ceremony.

Then you saw Harwin. Half his hair was tied back, he wore a tunic of dark blue and white covered in a cloak of the same blue, lined with white silk. He still looked handsome, but he also looked so very kind. His eyes flicked to your neck, spotting the necklace, and his smile widened.

Your father took a step back, giving your hand to Harwin, the both of them sharing a nod before taking their places so you could start. Viserys likewise stood from the throne, made an announcement to formally give his blessing (a very grandeur gesture, if anyone asked you), before descending to a spot beside Alicent to watch. The Septon then moved into place.

This was it. Now there was no going back. You were getting married, this was really happening. Harwin squeezed your fingers, the action managing to ground you. You looked at him to find him eying you - what a shame he could already read your nerves like a book.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” Said the Septon.

Harwin reached up, and took the cloak of his shoulders. You turned as he stepped forward, and felt the cloak fall upon your shoulders. It was heavier than it looked, and a little too big, but it was warm, and came with a slight smell of lavender. You were about to turn back around when you felt Harwin’s fingers brush near your neck. He was pulling your hair out from where it was caught under the cloak - the gentle, thoughtful gesture made something warm swell in your chest as you caught his eyes again.

He then took your hand, intertwining your fingers and raising them so the Septon could begin wrapping them in ribbon.

“In the sight of the Seven I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” The Septon was old, kindly, and nodded in encouragement. “Look upon each other and say the words.”

You turned to find Harwin already looking at you, and you were close enough that if you swayed just a little too far your noses might touch. Together your voices rang out through the hall. “Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger.”

“I am his, and he is mine, from this day, till the end of my days.” you said.

“I am hers, and she is mine, from this day, till the end of my days.” he said.

Once he was done, he let out a shaky breath - the first sign since you first met him that he was nervous at all. That he was doing this because he had the same sense of duty as you. You’d always thought it was easier for a man to agree to marriage. It was never as hard for them. In a way you were right - but Harwin still was marrying a stranger, just like you were.

“Let it be known that this daughter of House Lonn, and this son of House Strong, are now one heart, one flesh, and one soul. Cursed be he who seeks to tear them apart.”

You’d begun to turn to the crowd by the time the Septon spoke again, smiling at the guests and your family - blood, and now by law. After he finished speaking you felt a hand caress your cheek. You looked at Harwin, and his hand moved to cradle the back of your neck in his palm.

“With this kiss I pledge my love.” he said, voice so soft that only you could hear it, and then he kissed you. Soft, slow, and all too short. It made a flash of hot run right through you, and before you knew it you were parting ways to the sound of applause.

#harwin strong x fem reader #harwin strong x reader #harwin x reader #ser harwin x reader #hotd x reader

153 notes · View notes