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astarionancuntnin · 5 months ago

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Die For You (Chapter 8)

summary: as the vampire ascendant's bride, you get powers only spawns could ever dream of. only one thing stands in the way of your happily ever after, and the time has come for you to get rid of him, no matter the consequences.

rating: E

word count: 5k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader, reader is tav)

cw: 18+. you know the drill: smut, angst, blood/vampire bites, hints of praise, fingering (f! receiving), p in v, possessive behaviour, but also! telepathic discussions, katoptronophilia (mirror stuff), blood play, graphic depiction of violence. full list on ao3

a/n: SURPRISE i had a sudden urge of inspo and there's now one more chapter before the epilogue. im sorry in advance for whats about to happen, but also an immense thank you to my loyal readers, yall are the realest

This fic update every Friday! (2 more updates remaining)

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You know I like you

And anyone who gets in my way, darling

Might get a handful of some shit

Or stay heavy-hearted

Because it's cut-throat

To anyone who comes close

Be mine

And everything will be fine

His… bride?

Your knowledge on vampirism was limited, given it was based on what Astarion had previously shared from his own experience, and rumours you had heard through the grapevines. Nothing ever mentioned brides, and unless you had lost a great deal of your memory, you don’t recall marrying Astarion, either, but if your reasoning was sound, being his bride would mean you were somewhat his equal.

“Does that make me… a real vampire?”

“You are even greater, as you are my creation.” He purrs, as his hand around your neck pulls you back further, exposing your neck to him, while his other hand wanders over your chest. “I’ve extended most of my blessings upon you, which is why you need not fear the sun, or any typical weakness that plagues our kind.” His eyes flicker back to your reflections in the mirror as he massages your breasts, all the while his tongue travels from your shoulder to your neck. “You are the only of your kind. With your strength and my influence combined, we are the most powerful couple in Baldur’s Gate. The most powerful beings in all the realms.”

His hand at your front travels down between your thighs to find the pool of warmth he had previously abandoned so carelessly, to dip one, then two fingers between your slick folds. The hand around your neck lessens – not that it played any part anymore, as your head was naturally falling backwards in reaction to his touch – to cradle your chin, with his thumb slipping inside your open mouth, as your breath picks back up the hectic rhythm it had when he was between your legs.

The taste of his crimson instantly invades your mouth, and you close your lips around his thumb, sucking fervently to get more of his liquid gold into you. You didn't experience hunger normally anymore – even earlier, the tiefling you drained was purely out of a power rush rather than actual hunger – but you think you would go insane if you never had the chance to drink from him. As you drink more, you feel yourself getting dizzy, almost drunk on his blood, the temptation to bite down getting harder to ignore.

“Uh uh, pet. You’ll bite on this one,” as he feels your fangs nibbling over his thumb, he removes himself from your mouth to bring his other hand back up, this one drenched in your nectar. “Drink, my consort. Taste how good we are, together.”

You hum at your sweetness, and following his command you bite down, mixing your juices with the richness of his blood. The more you drink, the more you feel connected to him, as if your bodies and minds fused as one. You are like a putty in his hands: not a drop of fighting left in you, willing to follow his every command.

While your mind wanders at the cocktail of flavours in your mouth, his other hand grabs a hold of your hips, as he guides the head of his cock against your entrance before plunging into you with one, deep thrust. Your mouth drops open as his dick fills every inch of your canal, making you whole with its presence. Before you can fall forward, Astarion's hand finds its way back around your neck, keeping you up and facing the mirror. His hand on your hips trails along your belly, and reaches the other side of your waist, keeping you still, with himself buried deep within you. He pulls your head forward, making you witness the mess he made of you.

“Focus, darling. I want your eyes on this mirror at all times.” His voice is deep with lust, almost primal as he growls. “You’re going to watch yourself come on my cock.”

His hips slap against your ass with each thrust he makes, and the pain from each one is nothing short of delicious. Between gasps, you cross his gaze in the reflection, his eyes darkened with want, with need, as he admires the sight of you, his vampiric bride, covered in his blood, impaled on his cock. There is a bloody mess that trails from your mouth, to your neck, down your chest, and finally around your waist; he made sure to spread himself all over you, marking you.

Your moans fill the room, along with the wet sounds from your fucking and his growls, which only get louder. You bite your lip in an attempt to muffle your screams, only for your mouth to fly open again, crying out, as you draw out your own blood from nicking yourself with your new set of fangs. It was going to take some time to get used to them, but it only made Astarion enjoy the sight even more.

“Just like that, pet. Don’t hold back now, I want everyone to know how good I fucked you.” Just as those words leave his mouth, you spy a wicked grin on his lips before his fangs dive right into the flesh of your shoulder. As he drinks you in – for the first time as his bride – he takes on a punishing pace, his cock ramming into you, hitting that sweet spot that made you see stars. His name slips from your mouth without thinking about it, each time louder than the last. He leaves the fresh bite wounds – another symbol of his ownership over you – his mouth fully covered in your blood, to look back at your reflection, as his hand leaves your waist to massage your clit, pushing you to your limit. “Go on, scream my name to the heavens, tell them who you belong to, mind, body, and soul.”

A few more rough thrusts hitting against your cervix along with the stimulation over your sensitive bud is all it takes for you to come, your walls tightening around his cock, and your voice screams his name out like he was the god you worshipped. Before you can come down from your high, he grabs a hold of the back of your head, pulling you back to angle your neck with his mouth before speaking up with a low growl.

“Come on, love, I know you can give me another one.”

He keeps fucking your through your climax, keeping up the stimulation over your clit as he bites down on your exposed neck. The overstimulation pushing your body to its limit makes you go deaf for a moment, as your body explodes yet another time, and he continues pushing you further until he feels you grow heavier as your body goes limp from exhaustion. Only then does he remove himself and let you land on the bed carefully. In your daze, you hardly notice him moving around, until he picks you up, very gently, to slip you under the covers where he rests with you. You think you can hear him say something along the lines of “Rest, little love”, but in the bliss of your aftermath, his words sound distant, almost like an afterthought. Too tired to even move anymore, you lay against his chest, with his arm surrounding you protectively, while the other caresses your hair. Just when you think you’re drifting to sleep, the fog obscuring your mind, he speaks up.

“I don't want you to think for a single moment that you're not deserving of the entire world and more, and I’ll make sure you get everything you deserve.” His tone is drastically different from how it was only minutes ago, suddenly warm and soft, like a gentle balm over your wounds. He sounds so distant in your mind, yet you’ve never felt so close. “I will be here when you wake up tomorrow.” He rests his lips over the top of your head, leaving the ghost of a kiss as he pauses, before he continues. “I will always be here, my love.”

After today’s rollercoaster of emotions, these last spoken words have you tearing up. This is what you wanted: comfort, acceptance, support; unconditional love. If you had the energy to answer, you think you would have said those three little words you hadn't dared to speak aloud yet, but in the state you were in, you only manage to sigh as a few tears roll down your cheek, before your world finally fades to black.

–

When you open your eyes the next morning, you’re greeted by Astarion’s arms wrapped tightly around you; his weight, his warmth, surrounding you – protecting you. You’re certain he’s gotten closer than how you recall falling asleep last night. You were now entirely cocooned between his arms, with his head resting atop of yours. It felt… nice. It’s only when you nuzzle against his chest, seeking more proximity and wanting to hear the appeasing sound of his heartbeat, that you feel him move, holding even tighter to you, as his hands lazily trails over your back. His grip on you is so strong, you don’t think you could free yourself – not that you wanted to. You would happily spend hours in his arms like this, enjoying the safety of his embrace.

Knowing his reveries were already on the short end compared to the ten hours you allowed yourself to sleep – on a good night, that is – and considering how last night had completely drained you of any energy you might’ve had prior, you were convinced he must’ve been awake for a few hours already, just waiting on you to wake up and enjoying your sleepy presence in the meantime. You smile at the thought of him allowing himself to be vulnerable behind closed doors, and you were the only soul lucky enough to witness it. You think it’s adorable how clingy he is of you now, as he cradles you in your sleep, and you hum happily in his embrace.

A faint thought passes by, and sleepily, you raise your head up, your chin resting against his chest.

“Are you scared that I might just up and vanish?” You try to crack a joke, your voice is still heavy with sleep.

He pushes back slightly to look back at you with a faint smile when he sees you’re finally awake.

“It’s hard not to when you made sure to remind me countless times how our time together would be short-lived.” His hand leaves your back to caress your cheek lovingly. “I’m only trying to make the best of it.”

Your brows furrow slightly until you remember your words from the previous days. You hadn’t told him about your encounter at the inn. “About that… I might stay longer than I previously envisioned.”

“Oh? Changed your mind about the cleric after all?”

“I actually ran into Shadowheart yesterday,” you confess.

“Have you? I’m sure that she must’ve been thrilled by your new look.”

You sigh at his sarcastic tone, “So much so that she turned her heels and bid me farewell without looking back.” You tilt your head forward, now resting your forehead against his chest. “It got me thinking… this whole thing might’ve been a mistake. I don’t think I was completely in my right mind when I made that decision.”

He tilts your chin up to look back at him, “It serves no purpose to linger on what could’ve been, darling. What’s done is done, now it’s up to you to do your best with the hand you were dealt.” His face lost its smile, but his eyes were shining with thoughtfulness. “I know you will have no issue doing so.”

He’s right, and it’s not like you could go back now. If you had to live the rest of your eternal life like this, you would try to make it as good as possible. You will spend the rest of your life begging forgiveness for that tiefling’s life you took; he couldn’t be older than twenty-five, he was probably really only looking to have a good time and you took his life for it. You try not to linger too long on the thought, ashamed of your actions, but you promise yourself that you will never take an innocent soul ever again. Good thing for you that Sir Virric Othros and his friends were far from it. Speaking of –

“The invitations. We need to send them out–”

As you try to lift yourself up, Astarion grabs your arm, stopping you. “That was taken care of.”

“What? When?”

“Yesterday evening. Remember? When you decided to go out for a little drink?”

You crash back on the bed, groaning. “Gods, I really let it get to my head. I’m sorry.”

He chuckles, “It’s all forgiven, my sweet. All things considered, I find it funny, really.”

You raise your brow, “Funny? Seriously? With the reaction you had yesterday I would’ve said anything but.”

He sighs, “My reaction was… extreme, I’ll admit. But when I noticed the blood on your hands, all my worries disappeared. I would even dare to say that I was proud of you. Now I know for certain that no one will get their hands on you, my little threat,” he says the pet name with a pause between each word, shaking your chin between his fingers.

“Won’t happen again, swear I’ll be on my best behaviour,” you answer, pushing his hand away like a teen getting scowled, but you still smile shyly at the new name.

“Oh no, on the contrary, I do hope you kill again, but let’s focus our energy on people who actually matter this time, hm?” He cocks his head to the side, with the hint of a smile, and your smile can’t help but widen.

You spend some more time in bed talking about the plan in detail – you think it was the skin to skin contact, but you were more comfortable talking about murder plans in bed with your lover rather than in his large office – you needed to make sure that the soiree would go down without a hitch. The next few days were spent planning that night. Astarion shared with you all the information he had on the guests he planned on inviting – after all, you couldn’t just invite the man you intended on killing – you had to make it seem like this was a real event that Astarion wanted to host, and plus, he could always use the extra influence he could gain as a bonus for the trouble.

The spawns are made aware of the target of the night and their goal is to assure that no other guests get in the way of your plan. A group is assigned to assure the service for the night, and the rest of them are to remain in the shadows and act as security.

No dress needed to be made for you, but your dearest Lord being the man he is, still insisted on having a few more made for you. It was only fair after ripping open one of them last night, and any additional one was just “a gift for my beloved consort and for the tremendous progress she has made”, really, any reason was good enough for him to shower you with gifts. You welcomed it happily by now, now that you knew he meant well.

The plan was simple: Astarion stays in the ballroom with the guest to assure his presence, and you lurk in the shadows until you can isolate Virric and take him out, away from the crowd. As prepared as you think you are, anxiety still fills your chest when the night of the soiree finally comes. However it would go tonight, you would finally take down the man who assaulted you, alongside any plan he had against Astarion, and you would make sure he would regret ever approaching you.

The night is lively, as you watch the many guests arrive and take place around the room. Most of them are harmless, from what you recall of Astarion’s reports over the course of the previous six months: merchants, Dukes, and Lords, all serving different purposes, but none posing a direct threat, for now anyway. Some other night, you might mingle, attached to Astarion’s arm and swaying people your way, but tonight, your role has to be assured in the shadows. You stay in a corner of the ballroom, hidden behind a large pillar away from anyone’s sight. You close your eyes to concentrate on your link with Astarion, looking for an opening into his mind, when you feel the comforting embrace of his own mind.

“Well well, hello there, my sweet. Miss me already?”

You open your eyes back up, answering via your connection, “It’ll take me a while to get used to this.”

“We do have the rest of our lives to experiment with it.”

You swear you could hear his smile in your mind, and you smile to yourself in return,

“I’ve told our guests that you were bedridden and wouldn’t be joining us tonight,” he continues. “They send their best regards.”

“How kind of them. Tell them I said thanks.”

You hear the echo of his inner laughter, “I’ll make sure to pass the word, dear.”

As the evening passes on, the ball room fills with countless guests, making it harder to find a specific someone, but with your new abilities, your vision is the sharpest it’s ever been, allowing you to do just that.

“He’s here," you say.

“Has he seen you?”

“No, I’m still hidden.”

“Good. I’m still welcoming guests, it shouldn’t be too long before I’m free now.”

“And you’ll stay there, just like we planned.” There’s no response from Astarion but you can imagine him frowning; it’s not because you agreed to it that he has to be happy about it. “He’s moving away from the room,” you continue.

“Remember to stay hidden.”

“Yes, my Lord,” you hope he picks up on your tone that borders on condescendance. “Wait… he’s going up.” You pause as you think about your next move. “Stay with the guests, this might go better than I anticipated after all.”

“Be careful.”

“I am–”

“I mean it. Keep in contact at all times.”

You pause, acknowledging his worry. “I will. I promise.”You sever the connection, stopping him from talking in your mind any further. You didn’t lie, you were going to keep in contact, but after Virric was taken care of. For this plan to work, Astarion couldn’t interfere, and this was only happening because of your actions. You had to take accountability for them.

You follow him upstairs – keeping your distance – where you find him lingering in the hallways; he seems to be searching for something, or someone. You let him advance further into the palace, just to let him believe that he’s as furtive as he thinks he is, all the while making sure he was far enough from the ballroom so that his screams wouldn’t be heard when you would have the satisfaction to kill him.

Finally, when you see him at the door of your room, you speak up from the shadows.

“Looking for something?”

He steps back from the door, but doesn’t seem to recognize your voice, “My apologies, I was simply worried about the Lady of the house–”

“She’s bed ridden,” you cut him off, stepping out of the dark.

When he finally sees you in the dim lighting, his facade drops immediately. His fake smile is replaced by a malicious smirk along with furrowed brows.

“So I’ve heard.”

“What were you looking to find here?” Your tone is grounded, much different than that time in the gardens. This time, you know what you’re up against, and you’re ready.

“I simply wanted to make amends, nothing more, I swear.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, threatening to send you back into that night in the garden, but you don’t let it break your composure.

“I’m sure this is something you could’ve brought up with Lord Ancunín, instead of sneaking around in his palace, into his private rooms.”

He laughs, but there’s nothing warm in his voice. It’s vile, malevolent, and it brings out the worst in you.

“I’m afraid not. You see, this was a rather personal affair. I couldn’t let him get in the way.”

“Let’s settle it then,” you move forward carefully, drawing out a blade from under your clothing. Finally, back in your element, and stronger than ever.

“You know, I’ve done some research on you following our little encounter. Given, you were presented as Lady Ancunín, I searched with that given name and nothing came up, which leads me to doubt you have officially taken on the name yet.”

“I don’t see how that’s of any importance,” as you approach him, he finally moves on his own, making you two turn in a circle as you keep the discussion going.

“After some digging, I finally found your real name, and – you won’t believe it – but I knew I recognized you from somewhere.”

You scoff, “Awfully sorry to break it to you, but I’ve never seen you in my life. You've got the wrong gal.”

“Of course, I can’t expect you to recognize me, as we never had the chance to be appropriately introduced.” His smirk doesn’t leave his lips as he draws out his knife from its sheath, the same one he used on you at the ball. You would recognize its intricate form anywhere; the handle was a poignant shade of red, so much so you believe it almost shone in the dark. “No, just when we were supposed to meet, you ran away.”

As those words leave his mouth, you notice the family crest on his blade, one that jumpstarts your memory, and your eyes widen in horror as you silently gasp.

Fuck. That’s the man your parents had betrothed you to five years ago. That’s the life you ran away from all those years ago, the man you refused. After everything that’s happened, it feels like centuries ago.

“Cat got your tongue?” He teases as you stay silent.

You try to conceal your shock with some false confidence, exaggerating your tone. “I simply can’t believe my gut feeling was right to run away that dreaded night. Looks like without even meeting you, I knew you would turn out to be a disgusting piece of shit.”

“Oh, such harsh words in the fine mouth of a Lady. We’ll have to work on that.”

The implications of his words make your skin crawl. “Enough. Tell me exactly why you’re here.”

“Why, isn’t obvious by now? I’m bringing you home, Princess.”

You lift your blade as a warning. “Over my cold, dead body,” the words leave your mouth before you can even process them, but the irony doesn't escape you.

“I would rather not. You’re way more valuable to me alive than dead.” He flips the blade around, almost taunting you with his moves. “But I can afford a few cuts and bruises.”

You’ve heard enough.

With a growl, you finally close the distance between you two, swinging for his head. A bold move, but you take the risk. He dives, making you miss your first blow, but you’re fast to come back around, protecting yourself. Your short sword provided you with the length necessary to provide blow from far enough to be safe from his knife, but you would still need to be careful – you didn’t know what else he could have up his sleeve.

“Little kitty has nails, I see. Your parents did warn me that you were a lot to handle.”

He’s trying to get under your skin and he’s not even trying to hide it. This man is a fucking joke.

You swing again, this time aiming for his side, but he parries your hit. You force against it, until he spins the blade around, pushing you backwards with the move.

He continues, “They didn’t mention you had training in the sword arts, I imagine you would’ve cost more otherwise. Not that you’re any good, but they would’ve had to pay the teachers, whether or not you passed their class.”

“I didn’t need training,” you growl with a ragged breath, before launching another set of attacks, rapid hits from the left and right, only to thrust forward at the last minute, managing to slash the side of his chest.

He steps back, panting, “As the titled Saviour of Baldur’s Gate, I would’ve expected better.”

“I didn’t come here to fight with words, Virric,” you spit the name like venom, “you either start swinging, or I’ll believe that you’re all bark and no bite.”

He laughs, “I love your fire, Princess. I’ll have fun taming it.”

Fucking asshole.

You swing with all the force you have and he barely manages to stop the sword from hitting him. As you push against him to get the blade to his throat, you miss him reaching for another knife that he uses to stab at your waist before ripping it out instantly.

You push yourself backwards, your free hand flying to your wound as you swear at the searing pain the blade left in your guts. You make space between Virric and you as you inspect your wound; it wasn't enough to kill you, and with another portion of blood you would heal fairly quickly, but for now, it wounded you badly enough to start bleeding profusely over your hand and tainting your dress. When you make eye contact again, he’s standing again, his dishevelled hair falling like curtains over his eyes. He smiles wickedly, almost laughing, as if he had already won the fight.

“Is it that easy to tame your inner fire?”

“Ugh, fuck you, Virric.”

“Oh, we’ll get there,” his chuckle has your stomach turning upside down.

As you straighten back up, two additional figures emerge from the shadows behind you, daggers in hand. Sensing them, you turn around to recognize the men you caught bad mouthing you and Astarion at the ball.

“I believe you’ve met my associates, Emreth and Alstaer Reyrie.”

Brothers, huh. I hope their death puts an end to their bloodline.

“Three against one, really? You think so lowly of yourself that you wouldn’t be able to take on me on your own?” In another life, you might’ve been a bard with the amount of vicious mockery you had out of pocket.

“Oh, I know I can easily bring you on your knees.” The brothers scoff when Virric speaks up. “No, these gentlemen are here for payback. They really didn’t appreciate your words at the ball, and I promised them they would have their chance with you.”

With your heightened senses, you’re able to pinpoint if they were to move a single hair, and you were extremely glad for it in this situation, as they circled you, like a pack of predators waiting to jump on their prey. Little did they know they were the prey in this scenario. There was no way in the Hells that either of them were going to land a single hand on you.

As you lift your blade in a defensive stance, you feel yourself wobble and your head heavier.

Huh?

All of a sudden, your vision blurs and you struggle to stay up, gathering all your force to keep your feet on the ground and your blade steady, attempting your best to hide your struggle. When Virric laughs, crossing his arms in his back, you quickly understand that the dagger in your gut was no ordinary blade. You don’t know what kind of poison he dipped it in, but you weren’t going to be conscious long enough to either figure it out, or to kill Virric yourself – unless you acted fast. When one of the brothers steps forwards carelessly, thinking you were already weak enough, you swing your blade in front of you, taking them by surprise as you slash his throat successfully. His blood splatter awakens something animalistic in you, and you grow to forget the blade in your possession.

In a fit of fury, the brother left alive rushes towards you, but you manage to evade his attack by a hair when you side step as he lunges forward. Baring your fangs as you let your new nature guide your next actions, you slash his face down with your sharp nails, creating new scars along his profile. He screams in pain as his hands fly to his face, rushing away from you to crash against the wall. One look at you in this state is all he needs to gape at the monstrosity before him.

“What in the nine Hells are you?!”

You already took one out, you just need to take care of the other two, this should be easy enough – if you weren’t incapacitated. As the poison settles in, you realise your consciousness is fading, slowly but surely. You try to stand defensively again, only to almost trip, managing to keep yourself up using your blade as support. You quickly come to the realisation that you’re past the point of fighting; you have no choice but to call for backup now.

Closing your eyes, you focus on your connection to Astarion.

“Astarion…”

No answer.

Shit, come on.

“Astarion!... Please… I need you…”

Silence.

You fall on your hands and knees, as your blade wobbles out of your grasp, and you try to reach out for it when you sense Virric walking around you, only for him to kick your blade away from you. It takes every ounce of resolve left in you to keep fighting your body to stay awake. You had to try, even if it was a lost cause. You try to connect to Astarion once more, trying your best to give him an idea of what had happened to you.

“Astarion… Virric… Poison… Help…”

You close your eyes, finally drifting to sleep, feeling a pair of unwanted hands already handling your unconscious body.

This might get a little messy, I'm sure

Heads rolling for the one I adore

This may become a little brutal if I'm honest

But it's anything for you my dear, I promise

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

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daughterofyore · 1 year ago

Text

Even Days.

wc;; 1.5k approx.

a/n:: I love dominant women

summary;; another even day and you are fuelled with anger, you take charge until hi

contents;; dom woman, very light bdsm, breeding kink, degradation, praising, switch man,

!!W!!;; MINORS DNI!! No real warnings, nothing too crazy

music inspo;;

You stripped off your gown, the maids rushing to try and prevent it from being wrinkled or breaking a jewel. You were in no mood for pleasantries. Today was an even day. A day in which you had zero time to be polite, you had a job to do. A job which was demanding, time consuming, utterly stupid and yet… you secretly loved it.

The warm amber ambience of the sconces on the walls held a dim light in the room. The handmaidens hurriedly took off your undergarments, but began to approach you with lotion. “It is not necessary, just get me a nightgown.” You raised a hand to stop them, they nodded and one lady grabbed a silky blue nightgown. She slips it over your head and let’s it fall over you. It covers you yet does not leave much to the imagination. Your nipples were hard against the cold air, they pressed against the sheer fabric. A different maid rushes to take your hair out of its elaborate do, pins and jewels clattered onto a gold plate on the armoire. They sparkled, a fortune sitting right before you. What a waste. You looked out the window and towards the sky, looking at Venus. You said a silent prayer, begging, pleading that she make it right between you and George. Sure, this hate-fucking scenario was fun and oddly enough you enjoyed it, but you wanted a connection. A genuine love. You wanted your attempts at love to be reciprocated and for him not to be so… closed off.

The moment the maids finished tying the nightgown around your waist you turned and stormed out of the room. You strode down the hallways, Brimsley struggling to keep up. You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, why did he refuse you? Why were you diminished to appointments to fulfil your ‘womanly’ duties? Why was this how your marriage was to be, how had this become your role in life. To serve and adulterate for a King, a man you barely knew.

The guards opened the doors to the kings room, you were overcome with emotion and truly, you just wanted to fuck the ever living shit out of him. “It is an even day.” You declared as you stormed towards him. He dropped his quill at his desk and immediately stood to meet you. Before the large doors could close his hands were on your hips. Exploring your body as he pulled you to be flush at his front. He pressed his lips to yours, desperate for their touch. Your tongues mingling as you kissed feverishly. He gasped out between kisses, as he undid the robe around you, “Are you alright?” His voice heavy with lust, speaking only when your lips were not on his. “I am fine.” You say breathlessly, your fingers making short work of his loose white shirt and britches. Immediately your hands were diving to his cock, fingers wrapping around it’s length and massaging it torturously. He managed to strip you of your robe, and as you watched his cheeks flush, he bit his lip as he looked down at you. Your ministrations never ceased as you used your left hand to pull down his pants. You were in charge tonight. You were the one who was going to fuck him mercilessly like he did to you each even day. The anger you felt towards this arrangement would surely fuel you to make sure the man wouldn’t walk by morn.

Eagerly you steer George back, pressing him against the wall beside the bed. Your hand still working on his cock, only now it was free and hard, pressing flush against your stomach. George didn’t know where to look, his eyes darted down to his dick and your hand then back to your face. Sheer determination and lust filled those eyes, he knew then what was in store for him tonight. Or at least he thought he did.

As if reading his mind you wrap your fingers around his dick, holding it a little tighter as George winced above you. “Lie down on the bed, my King.” He nodded hastily, eager for you to relinquish your grip on him. It was only when he was laying across the bed did you let go, only to manoeuvre between his legs and take him in your mouth. Expertly swirling your tongue around his tip, one hand working his length while another held and squeezed his balls. His eyes were wide as he watched you from above, panting heavily. It was clear he was in shock over your sudden twist in roles, but he was enjoying it.

You’d make sure of it.

You pressed down onto his dick, taking one deep breath through your nose before taking all of him. Your nose pressed against his navel as he squirmed beneath you. You repeatedly took him deep, each time growing the intensity while playing with his balls. He was begging now, “Please, oh fuck- please.. I’m gonna cum!” His fists were gripping the sheets, arms straining. You could feel the growing tenseness and with one last suck you took him out of your mouth and aimed his dick back at him. His cum shot across his chest, making a home on his chin. He gaped at you, shivering after such a vicious orgasm. “When did you- How did-“ He could barely speak, in awe of what you had just done. You simply waved a finger at him, grabbing the panties you had worn and stuffing them in his mouth.

“You will do what I say tonight George.”

He seemed to melt at your words, nodding, albeit reluctantly. You moved back, straddling his lap as you lined him up with your entrance. The moment you felt his tip slip in you, you let yourself fall onto his cock. He let out a muffled moan, his eyes watering while he watched you ride him with expert precision. Your hips rolled back and forth, up and down, he was a moaning mess. Saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth, mixing with the cum that still rested on his chin. Your hands came to rest on his chest, balancing yourself as you rode him. His hands reached for your hips, bucking up into you and creating a titillating rhythm. “George…” you gasped, never truly adjusting to his size and girth as it plunged into you. He took it as a sign to fuck you even harder, skin clapping throughout his chambers, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. Your breath mingled as the pair of you neared release. His muffled moans and your cries for him to fuck you harder echoed around the room.

The wetness formulating from between your legs doused his lower stomach and your inner thighs. The wet slap every time your skin met only fuelled your desire for each other. George grabbed your ass as you continued to roll your hips on him, his fingers kneading your flesh before landing a light slap. A moan escapes you and fuck, you want him so badly. Each time he puts his full length into you, his dick perfectly pushes against your g-spot. Your legs and knees are weak, you swore only he could fuck you like this.

You couldn’t hold it anymore, the pressure in your core building, George gripping at you, still with your underwear in between his teeth, he was feral. Without warning, he grabs your hips and literally spins you on his dick to be on all fours. He starts ramming into you from behind, pushing down on your back to make you arch. “Oh fuck yes… you beautiful woman-“ He is gasping as he pistons into you repeatedly, you can’t even think. All that comes out of your mouth is saliva and moans. He’s so fucking delicious.

“I’m going to fill you up so much my beauty… you’ll look so sweet pregnant with our heir.” That was it, you came in one shuddering gasp and Alamo’s simultaneously George fucked you one last time before a warmth filled your belly. The pair of you gasped, tired and exhausted.

George picked you up gently, staying inside you as he rested you on top of his chest, brushing your hair out of your face. He placed a tender kiss on your forehead, as you get comfy on him. “I love you, my queen.” His face sweet, a glowing, tired smile evident now that he had spit out your panties.

You chuckled, kissing his chin. “I love you too, King George.”

#bridgerton #bridgerton series #bridgerton smut #bridgerton spoilers #king george bridgerton #king george iii #king george x f!reader #king george x reader #queen charlotte #bridgerton fanfiction #Spotify

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trulybetty · 1 year ago

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Joel Miller | pre TLOU vibes part deux.

+ bonus two

this makes me want to write some pre-tlou fic

#gold rush vibes #gold rush inspo #joel miller #pedro pascal #the last of us #tlou

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cuffmeinblack · 11 months ago

Text

Between the Lines

Andrew Larson x reader

Tags: Ravenclaw reader | fluff | tension | slice of life | very mild spice

5.1k words

Summary: Something on the noticeboard catches your eye; a book club run by your fellow Ravenclaw. Joining might be the best decision you ever make.

A/n: Yes, I wrote 5k words of pure fluff, sue me. Credit to @ellivenollivander for book club nerd Andrew inspo. Credit to myself for giving him glasses because I'm a self-indulgent pos.

⤍ Andrew Larson masterlist ⤎

By the time you’d found your way back to the Ravenclaw common room, your eyes—now permanently imprinted with light from distant stars—no longer bore the tiredness the late hour invited. In fact, you were wide awake, mind buzzing with maps of constellations and mentally writing your homework assignment not due for another week. It appeared your classmates felt the same annoying spark of energy that would delay sleep until the wee hours. Amit appeared to already be working on his essay, parchment and quill pulled out of his bag and lain across one of the coffee tables. With a sigh, you stalked through the room, bathing in the soft glow of ever burning candles and starlight, coming to a stop near a bookcase filled with mostly educational textbooks. The lone book of Muggle literature seemed to have been borrowed, only a gaping hole left behind.

Another late night atop the Astronomy tower concluded with an assignment that promised yet more of the same. The howling wind almost blew you down the stairs in the rush below, students clamouring into the relative warmth of the castle. The deeper you descended, the more your muscles relaxed—despite the warming charm you'd cocooned yourself in at the beginning of your lesson, it was clearly no match for the harsh Scottish Winters. In front of you, you spotted others shivering still, rubbing their arms, teeth chattering, including the ash blond hair you recognised as Andrew Larson's. He was perhaps the only other student who enjoyed the subject as much as Amit, who's enthusiastic smile appeared frozen in place.

Instead of grumbling your annoyance, you let your eyes drift over the adjacent noticeboard, chuckling softly at the personal notes that littered the display. Love letters sat side by side with passive aggressive scrawls, replies inked haphazardly in the margins of the papers. Your gaze finally fell onto the more serious announcements, ignoring the notice from Headmaster Black that was sure to be a load of old tosh. A new piece of parchment caught your eye, pinned to the very top, the stiff paper curling upwards. With a delicate finger, you peeled it down to reveal the neat and somewhat familiar penmanship detailing a new club—a book club. Well, if that wasn't right up your street…

“Interested?”

The softly melodic voice interrupted your reading, and you turned to face Andrew, a hopeful glint in his eyes—or perhaps that was the lingering starlight still etched into your own retinas.

“Is this your book club?” you asked, surprised that the quiet boy would be interested in running such a thing.

“Yes, though I only put the notice up yesterday. Are you interested, then? I've seen you reading in the common room a lot…”

He flushed slightly, perhaps realising he'd said too much. The thought of Andrew Larson noticing you doing anything made the corners of your lips quirk upward.

“What kind of books are we talking? Not schoolwork I presume.”

“No, nothing of the sort. A little bit of everything I suppose,” he mumbled, suddenly unsure as your scrutinising gaze bore into him. Only then did you notice him clutching a book under his arm, which now appeared in front of your face—a fine green leather bound edition with gold text.

“Dickens?” you asked, tilting your head to read the cover.

He nodded. “For starters. Conan Doyle, Stevenson, Warbeck…”

You snorted a little at the last, the famous witch being an author you’d not expected him to enjoy. “Warbeck? Read a lot of romance novels, Andrew?”

“Well…maybe…,” he blushed, then took a deep breath to rally his confidence. “There's nothing wrong with branching out into other genres.”

“No, you're right,” you replied, quietly watching him. There were clearly things you didn't know about your classmate. Though you'd not admitted to it, you'd noticed him reading in the common room, too, head dipped and perfectly coiffed hair falling over his eyes as it loosened after a long day. He tended to idly bite his nails as he did so—a terrible habit, yet oddly endearing to see him so engrossed in the pages, nibbling away. At no point had you caught him with a romance novel in hand, though, and given the content of some of Warbeck’s novels you had the sneaking suspicion he kept them for bedtime.

Your mind was made up. Plunging a hand into the bag still slung over one shoulder, you pulled out a self-inking quill and returned to the parchment notice. A quick scribble and your name was the first to join the sign-up sheet.

“Welcome to the Hogwarts book club,” Andrew said, beaming. The amber flecks in his eyes glittered as he turned to face you, tucking the book back under his arm. No doubt the club would be fun, the avid reader that you were, but it might have been worth signing up just to see his smile.

Days passed with giddy anticipation, until Andrew had passed you a note during Arithmancy the following week. It had surprised you, jolting you out of a near-slumber as the neatly folded parchment fluttered onto your desk. All it contained was a date, a location, and a little doodle of a book that coaxed forth a sleepy smile, earning you a public admonishment from your professor. You'd tucked it into your robes where it stayed for the remainder of the day, fingers fumbling the edges as you walked the halls. You'd never before been so excited about an extracurricular activity that didn't involve flying spherical deathtraps, and you suspected that part of it was due to the quiet and devastatingly handsome boy running it. The first meeting of the so-far-unnamed book club would take place that evening in the Charms classroom, no doubt with Professor Ronen’s blessing yet you hoped that the man himself wouldn't be attending—it was ever so hard to relax when teachers were around.

After dinner, you took the opportunity to shower and dress more comfortably, styling your hair and paying far too much attention to your appearance. You supposed the first meeting would be a way to meet your fellow club members and vote on the first book, but you tucked a couple of your favourites in a satchel anyway, eager for any opportunity to gush about the intricately crafted worlds you'd come to love just as much as Hogwarts. You had a skip in your step as you travelled the quiet corridors towards the classroom, stopping briefly along the way to stroke a few cats, eager for attention. The landing was clear, door ajar with nothing but silence within. The eeriness had you checking the time and rereading the note that now had hundreds of creases along its length. One minute early. You pushed the door open to reveal an empty room, bathed in gold from the setting sun.

“Welcome.”

The voice made you startle, and you turned to see Andrew perched on Professor Ronen's desk, once again clutching a book under his arm.

“Hi,” you said with a smile, glancing around the room to avoid staring at him. He'd dressed in cotton breeches and a smart navy jumper, and you hadn't failed to notice the gold rimmed spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. “I'm the first to arrive?”

Andrew shuffled his boots on the floor, eyes cast downwards. “You're actually the only one who signed up.”

Now you looked at him, almost falling sideways from the weight of your bag and the way he peered over his glasses at you. “I'm surprised our fellow Ravenclaws didn't want to be involved,” you said with a quiet chuckle.

“Me too. Since it's just us, you don't have to stay.” He shrugged, though you could tell that it bothered him, the disappointment in his tight smile.

“I'd still like to carry on, if it's okay with you. Maybe more will join over the next few weeks…”

You stepped a little closer to him, debating whether to squeeze his arm in a show of solidarity and sympathy. Instead, you faltered, awkwardly swinging your arms by your sides. He didn't notice, tucking his book back into his bag as if to leave—the rejection of your company stung painfully.

“Shall we go back to the common room, then? It's more comfortable there, and…”

“Yes, good idea,” you interrupted with an audible sigh of relief.

The walk back was filled with friendly chatter, never delving too deep—questions about your classes, his plans for the weekend, the weather—and never straying to the reason you'd ventured out here in the first place. Official book talk would only commence once settled into the common room, it seemed. Andrew, taking his position as club leader, picked out two armchairs by one of the towering arched windows, the backdrop now one of inky black as night well and truly settled. Tucking your feet underneath you, you tried to get comfortable as he called the meeting to order.

“I thought we could start by discussing some books we've read recently, then agree on a title to finish before the next meeting,” he said, suddenly adopting an air of confident formality.

You tried to suppress a smile, though you weren't entirely successful. “If that's what you'd like to do. Maybe you can tell me about the last Warbeck novel you read. Please tell me it was ‘Call of the Harpy’.”

Andrew huffed, a slight blush creeping up his neck. “Actually it was ‘Dragon Fire’,” he muttered. “I'm not going to discuss that.”

Teasing out of the way, you talked about recent reads and went back and forth with suggestions. It somewhat surprised you how easy it was, falling into conversation with him until the room emptied and candles dimmed. You'd found yourself subconsciously edging closer towards him, caught up in his radiating passion. His shyness seemed to melt the longer he spoke, and you along with it. It was almost midnight by the time you agreed to delve into ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ for next time.

“Shall we meet again in a fortnight?” he asked.

You wanted to say no, demand something sooner, but instead you nodded. “Sounds good. Let's hope some more people join us,” you replied, not meaning a word of it. These few hours had been far too enjoyable in just his company, the last thing you wanted was another voice to pull his attention, as selfish as the thought was.

You finished the book in four days. The fifth was spent making notes, annotating every margin with points you thought worth discussing. The sixth had you climbing the walls, biting back the urge to storm up to the blond whenever you saw him, eager to know when your next meeting would be. You noticed him still reading almost every evening, nibbling his nails and deep in thought, and during the day you exchanged pleasantries, or passed each other like ships in the night as you mingled with your separate friendship groups. You swore you felt his eyes on you during Arithmancy. On the eighth day, you were walking back to the common room with Samantha when you noticed a fresh slip of parchment pinned to the noticeboard—how could you not, when your eyes diverted there every morning and every evening? The original notice for the Hogwarts Book Club remained in place, still bare and devoid of any signature but your own, yet on top there lay a curling piece that you knew was written by Andrew the closer you approached.

“What is it?” Samantha asked, following beside you. “I forgot you joined the book club. Maybe I should, too, but I'm so busy with chess and summoner's court…”

“You don't want to take on too much,” you replied with just the slightest pang of guilt. Your attention diverted to read the paper, happily noting that the next meeting would be only three days away. Samantha was mumbling something beside you, trying to talk herself into signing up. Part of you felt annoyance towards your classmates, and bafflement; yet another, larger part was pleased that the club was just you and Andrew. Still, the thought of his downcast eyes and obvious disappointment when he realised nobody else would be attending flared in your mind, prompting an uncomfortable twist of your stomach.

“I’m sure Andrew would be happy for another member.”

“I’ll think about it,” she hummed.

Once she'd departed for bed, you settled on a sofa facing the fire with a new book, having now exhausted everything ‘Dorian Gray’ had to offer. That night, you had company.

“Not reading your assigned text?”

You looked up to the familiar, soft voice to find big brown eyes creased from a smile. You smiled back, rolling your eyes. “I finished days ago. You're slacking."

Andrew motioned at the space next to you, a silent question you responded to with a nod. He didn't say anything else, just looked a little bashful as he turned to his book, now on the final few chapters by your estimations. Lapsing into silence, you fell back into your own story whilst the common room melted away around you, the chatter dulling to an unnoticeable hum. Only occasionally did you reach a natural pause, peering over at Andrew to check his progress, admire his profile, his slender form draped over the arm of the sofa.

“I'm finished,” he said sometime later, stretching his arms above his head to reveal a slight tuft of ash blond hair that smattered his taught abdomen. There was absolutely no way you could concentrate on your book now.

“At long last. What did you think?”

“That's a question for our next meeting.”

So instead, you talked about everything else.

A month passed and meetings came once a week or so, the time between them growing shorter and shorter. Reading together in the dimly lit common room seemed to have become routine, neither of you feeling the need to make awkward small talk to while away the hours, simply happy to sit comfortably in each other’s presence whilst immersed in other worlds. You'd not expected the friendship—grown so late in your time at Hogwarts—and somewhat missed the years that could have been. Laying in bed at night, you'd wondered if it wasn't too late for something more. His earthen eyes behind the gold frames haunted your dreams, whilst conscious hours dwelled on how soft his hair might be, or how pliant his lips against yours. He must have caught you staring, as you'd done him.

“We need a club name.”

Perched in the usual spot on your sofa, now several inches closer to the middle, you voiced the idea you'd thought of whilst Andrew had been busy updating a list of prospective books for the following week. You were so close your legs touched, bodies drawn together like magnets that seemed to ignite your skin upon contact. Neither of you flinched away, nor commented on it.

“Do we? I'm not even sure we count as a club.”

“Maybe if it was more official, people would come?”

Andrew looked at you with a curious expression, perhaps wondering why now you'd suggested recruiting more members when it had been just you two for so many weeks. His knee withdrew just an inch, and you regretted suggesting it, craving the slight pressure, the warmth. The truth was, you were nervous of where this was headed. The tension between you rippled and sparked every time you were alone, and it was just a matter of time before you cracked and did something disastrous, or potentially embarrassing.

“Hm, it can't help to try,” he chuckled. “What did you have in mind?”

“I hadn't thought that far. Erm, ‘Book Buddies’? ‘Rabid Readers’?”

He hummed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “‘Page Turners?’ ‘Once Upon a Tome?’”

Your face cracked into a smile as you grabbed the parchment and quill from Andrew's hands, fingers brushing. Your heart pounded at just the smallest touch of skin, so distracting you almost forgot what you were doing. With a quick and messy scrawl, you inked ‘Once Upon a Tome’ across the top of the paper and held it up.

“You couldn't have written that a bit neater?” Andrew said.

“I’ll let you continue to do the official notices, don't worry.”

“That's probably for the best.” He held out his hand and for one moment of insanity, you thought he was asking for yours. Of course, he was simply waiting for you to return the parchment. Embarrassingly, you couldn't help the disappointment as you rolled it up and slid it into his palm, your body reacting to the gentle brush of fingertips with a swell of warmth and affection. The exchange lasted for agonising moments, yet was over altogether too soon. Andrew tucked it into his bag on the floor but remained planted on the sofa.

“Well, that's all for this week,” he said hesitantly. “Have anything planned this evening?”

“No, nothing. Do you?”

He shook his head and bit his lip before looking at you with hope in his eyes. “Do you want to…I don't know, take a walk?” He almost flinched as if the suggestion were a terrible one.

“That sounds nice,” you replied with a warm smile. An excuse to spend even more time together wasn't to be passed up. “If we're going outside, I'll need a cloak.”

“I'll meet you here in a few minutes then?”

Donning your heaviest Winter cloak, a navy blue woolen affair, you jogged down to the common room to find him already waiting, holding a pair of black gloves. Whilst the hour was late and light was all but gone, it was still before curfew. You followed him down the tower, turning to the nearest exit that brought you into the refreshing night air. You hadn't noticed just how stuffy the common room had been with the roaring fire and mingling scents—the gentle breeze was most welcome. You talked and talked until you came to a stop on the parapet, leaning against the low wall that surrounded Hogwarts and looked out over the lake. The ripples on the surface looked too tumultuous to be caused by the wind, and you glared down at the glittering surface.

“Do you think a storm's brewing?” you asked, pointing below.

“I don't think so. Perhaps it's the mer down below.”

“You really think there's mermaids in the Black Lake?”

“I like to think so, even if it's nonsense. It can't all be grindylows and vicious fish with too many teeth down there.”

“Not a fan of the fish, Andrew?”

“I prefer my feet on dry land and fish on my dinner plate, thank you.”

You chuckled and turned your head back towards the lake, the ripples now stilling, yet you noticed something more alarming further out. The water had only stilled as the waters receeded in preparation for a wave. As if sucked into a giant plug hole, it rushed inward, bubbled, then burst outward. Andrew jolted and shouted in surprise beside you, your own mouth agape as you watched tentacles flailing and a huge, slimey head rear from the lake. You'd never seen the giant squid in all your years at Hogwarts, only heard of its size and the rumours of disappearing students who lingered too close to the water's edge. From the wall high above, you knew he couldn't reach you, but something had gotten it in a tizzy and you instinctively took a miniscule step backwards. You weren't high enough to completely avoid its spray, though, as a fine, salty mist now coated your face.

“It's amazing,” Andrew gasped.

“One word for it…monstrous is another.”

“Come on, look at it! I've never seen it before…or anything like it.” His excitement was palpable, and you almost clutched a fistful of his cloak to stop him from leaning too far over the edge.

The squid flailed again, more of a belly flop, sending a huge wave to the beach as it plunged back underwater and out of sight. Soon the only sound was the crash of water against the pebbles and your own heavy breathing. Only then did you realise you'd been clutching his arm, and his hand had found its way to the small of your back. You looked at him and he tore his eyes away from the lake, both standing in silence as the gravity of your instinctive pull to one another settled. As on the sofa, you'd found yourself growing subconsciously closer. It appeared there was no stopping it.

“You're wet,” he remarked. His eyes widened after he'd said it, his burning cheeks evaporating the water right off his skin.

“A little. So are you. It was worth it though, right?”

“Yes, it was worth it,” he said.

You weren't sure if you were talking about the squid or the fact that his hand still held firm against your back. Judging by the slightly furrowed brow, neither did he.

The new addition to the noticeboard almost blended into the myriad other notices—if it weren't for Andrew's recognisable handwriting, neat and elegant like the man himself—you’d have missed it. Of course the tiny book doodle in the corner was a giveaway for whom it was for. You read the contents, and your cheeks burned involuntarily. You had to read the note three times, inspecting every letter for forgery. It contained a date and time, and curiously, a new location. A flick of paper confirmed that no names had been added to the signup sheet for your newly titled club. Perhaps Andrew was bored of the common room, but the astronomy tower seemed an odd place for discussing literature, with not a comfortable chair in sight and no lights to speak of except the ones dotting the sky. A flicker of hope ignited, that perhaps he had other ideas for that evening.

Neither of you mentioned the curious change in venue as you chatted during classes or smiled across the laden breakfast table. You'd told Samantha everything you knew and suspected, and her dark eyes flitted between you both with a smirk on her face. By the time you were due to leave for the astronomy tower on a Tuesday evening, your friend had become insufferable in her teasing.

“Make sure you wear that perfume…”

“Sam, it's just a book club.”

“Of course it is. In the Astronomy tower. Alone.”

That final word made your stomach squirm. Still, you packed your book into your satchel and ignored the perfume sitting on the dressing table, passing Samantha with a wave met only by an eye roll. The tower was quiet, no classes scheduled and the bitter wind warding off all but the most dedicated students. Even Amit had decided to do his stargazing from the comfort of the common room that night. Andrew was already waiting, leaning against the railing and peering out at the clear night sky. Dressed in a black winter cloak, he almost blended in with the landscape were it not for his hair, almost silver in the soft moonlight.

“Strange place to meet,” you remarked, causing his head to whip around.

He shrugged, smiling shyly as you approached. “I thought it would be quiet. And…” He looked out at the sky again, as if the view was answer enough. It was.

“What would you have done if someone else had decided to join our club?” you asked.

“Apologise profusely and ask them to make themselves scarce.”

Smiling at him, you waited for him to carry on, but he seemed to be too nervous to say anymore. His gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips, throat bobbing as he swallowed deeply.

“So, why are we up here?” you prompted.

Andrew let out a deep exhale, his breath producing a cloud of mist between your faces. Mint. He'd brushed his teeth. The fact that you were now close enough to have noticed such a thing almost startled you. “I wanted to tell you something,” he said whilst shuffling his feet. He looked nervous, ready to bolt back down the stairs given the way he avoided your stare. Perhaps that's why you decided to be bold, and put him out of his misery.

“I like you, too.”

The seconds after blurting those four words out seemed to stretch into minutes, maybe even hours. Whilst you tried hard to keep your face neutral, inwardly your thoughts were in turmoil, desperately awaiting his response. Anything. Your chest hurt with the aggressive thumping of your heart, your palms felt sweaty despite the cold…

“You knew?” he asked.

“I guessed, or hoped.”

“I had a whole speech planned.”

“You can still say…” The rest of your sentence was cut off by his lips pressing against yours. The initial shock dissipated quickly, your body heating and blood rushing as it responded to his kiss. Only a tempting press of lips and it was over too soon—Andrew pulled back, the tip of his nose still brushing your skin as he took another deep, shuddering, minty breath. He seemed to be allowing you a chance to pull away, as if that were ever an option. Your hand snaked around his neck, another fisting the heavy fabric of his cloak, pulling him so eagerly he almost stumbled and fell straight into another, deeper kiss. This time he didn't hold back, gripping your waist with slender fingers, firm and sure.

You could have kicked yourself for how long you'd waited for this to happen. All those weeks spent agonisingly close on that sofa, you could have been doing this. And it was everything you'd dreamed of; his lips just as soft; tongue just as warm and offering such a gentle caress. His hands remained respectfully at your waist, yet the way he kneaded at your flesh suggested he wanted more. You shivered in response to a quiet moan as his tongue delved deeper, your bodies pressing tighter. When you finally broke for air, his fingers curled in your hair and he held you close, foreheads touching as you gathered your breath. Never before had you experienced a kiss quite like it, an outpouring of a deep well of tension. There'd be no going back now, not when you'd had a taste of him.

“Andrew...” Your voice was breathier than usual, and you felt an unmistakable twitch in his breeches. He almost pulled away, but you held him firm, lips barely brushing as you felt your own arousal simmering dangerously close to the surface. The temptation was overwhelming, yet you knew he was a gentleman. His expression was almost pained with desire.

“I won't do anything you don't want me to,” he finally said.

“I don't want you to think I go about doing this with every boy.”

He chuckled and brushed a finger under your chin, tilting your head enough to meet his gaze. Gods, he had beautiful eyes. “I don't think that. I really only wanted to tell you that I like you as more than a friend and to…well, to ask you if you'd like to accompany me to Hogsmeade at the weekend.”

A date, of course. Your mind had been in the gutter from the moment his lips met yours. Perhaps a faint flicker of disappointment had appeared on your face as Andrew smiled wider, his cheeks now a rosy pink.

“Give me three dates,” he mumbled.

You let out a nervous giggle before kissing him again. “Two, and I promise to keep my hands to myself until then.”

It was a while before you were defeated by the cold, lured back to the castle. You held hands on the walk back to the common room and Andrew cast warming charms on you both to dispel the chill. As beautiful as the view was on top of the Astronomy tower, you preferred the one right next to you. He was a little quieter than usual, perhaps nervous for what was about to come. It was only a promise of a date, yet the way your hands entwined so surely and perfectly, you had the impression that it was a mere formality, that your hearts were perhaps already promised to one another.

The end of the school year brought tears for the loss of classmates, promises to friends and a palpable excitement that rippled through the seventh years as they embarked upon new adventures. Andrew had travelled home a week earlier than most, leaving you feeling empty, despite the revelry taking place around you. Countless parties had been thrown to mark the occasion, yet you most of all missed the quiet hours spent curled up in his arms reading, talking, or much more physical pursuits. It had been worth the wait.

Along with much of the common room’s occupants you had a hangover, and inwardly cursed the Hufflepuffs for their home-brewed mead. Samantha recoiled from the soft morning light beside you, collapsing into an armchair with her trunk beside her and muttering about needing a pepperup potion. The train would be leaving in an hour, and all around you people were saying their goodbyes, perhaps for the final time. You'd be sad to see the castle go, and all the memories it held. The people you'd met would still be only an owl or floo away, though, and you looked down at Samantha's crumpled form with a fond smile. A final sweep of the room, and you were ready to go, rallying your friend with promise of hot cocoa on the train. She grumbled but traipsed behind you, until you were stopped in your tracks by something you'd missed that made your heart leap almost clean out of your chest.

You'd spotted a note on the noticeboard with the familiar little book doodle in the bottom right corner. Without Andrew, you'd not bothered to check for any notices, yet here it was—one final note for the book club that had started it all.

“Sam, I'll meet you outside…”

“Is that from Andrew?” she asked, peering over your shoulder. “Ooh, let me see!”

“I'd rather read it alone, if it's all the same to you.”

She tilted her head in disappointment but had no energy to argue, muttering about getting the information out of you later on the train as she slinked off to wait. Your gaze dropped to his beautiful handwriting, the care he'd taken to make this particular parchment worth keeping was evident. Removing it carefully from the pin, you began to read.

‘It started with Once Upon a Tome,

Now Princess, let's have our Happily Ever After,

I shall see you again in the Summer,

The beginning of our adventure.

Yours,

Prince Charming’

You held it close, warmth spreading through your tired body as the sounds of the common room evaporated around you. You recalled every minute spent with him, every date you'd squeezed into the remaining months of the school year. You owed it all to that one fateful day when you'd taken a chance to join a book club. A fairytale ending, indeed.

#andrew larson #andrew larson fanfiction #hogwarts legacy

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heartofwritiing · 1 year ago

Text

Is it New Years Yet?

paring: muscianbur x fem!reader

summary: in which wilburs flight gets delayed due to a snow storm and you’re left alone for christmas.

authors note: Happy chirstmas to those who celebrate! might be the only christmas centric fic i do, because I needed some comfort because the holidays are hard for me. been listening to sabrina carpenter's chirstmas ep and it gave me some inspo. I do have a cute ice skating date fic idea with wilbur i might do but no promises! :) sorry this is rushed and short.

warnings: a little angsty, established relationship, mentions of past trauma, alcohol consumption, hurt-comfort, separation anxiety, unedited!

Laying across the sofa in your living room, the blue light from your phone lights up your face as you scroll through your text messages with Wilbur. Reexamining his words sent from miles away brings comfort to you.

I wrote a song about you, do you wanna hear the demo?

Saw this at a stop and thought of you. *insert pic of something silly*

I thought about you all day again.

Miss you.

Love you so much.

The soft gold glow of the Christmas lights on the tree nestled in the corner is the only other light source. You had gone last week to pick out a tree alone, you could only be bothered to partially decorate it. You read over the messages You pull the comforter from your shared bed over your shoulders for warmth as a shiver runs up your body from your feet to your arms. The heater broke last week, and since it was only two days before Christmas, you couldn't get someone out to the house to fix it until after the twenty-fifth.

You tried everything to keep warm, wearing Wilbur sweaters, and buying more blankets than deemed necessary. It still wasn’t enough. You needed him. Inhaling the scent of the fabric you sigh sadly, It still smells like him.

Since Wilbur left, you hadn't been sleeping in your bed either, instead opting to sleep on the couch. It felt too lonely to sleep in that big bed all alone. Not that it mattered anymore, you were going to be alone for Christmas this year.

Wilbur had called you a few hours ago while you were baking cookies in preparation for his return from his small festival tour with his band. He had only been gone for two weeks, but it still felt like a month in your mind.

You were swaying along to the Christmas coffeeshop Spotify playlist playing softly in the kitchen while licking vanilla frosting off your finger when your phone started ringing. You wipe the remaining frosting off on your apron and pick up your phone to see who's calling.

A smile immediately grazes your lips seeing your boyfriend's contact photo appear on your screen. You answer with zero hesitation.

"Hii honey, Happy Christmas eve, eve!" you speak sweetly.

You're blessed with hearing his sweet chuckle that makes your stomach swirl with delight. God how you’ve missed hearing it.

"Happy Christmas eve, eve, darling,"

His voice sounds almost melancholic, but at the same time relieved to finally hear your voice. It causes you to frown in confusion. Shouldn't he be on a plane right now?

"Are you okay? I thought you were supposed to be on a flight heading here?"

You can hear a sigh escape his lips.

"I was, but, I had a layover in New York for an hour then there is an unexpected snowstorm heading towards here, and our flight is now delayed until Thursday..."

Your heart dropped. Thursday? Then that would mean... three days from now. he wouldn't be here for Christmas. You can hear him give a quick-lipped response of 'yea' to someone before his attention is back on you, questioning if you're still there. Gripping the phone tighter in your hand, your knuckles are turning white as you take a step back from the counter. You sink to the floor as you try to ground yourself into not panicking.

"You promised..."

Your breathing picks up.

"what? darling I can't hear you,” his voice is gentle through the staticky phone speaker due to the weather.

"You promised me, I wouldn't be alone..." Your voice squeaks as the tears finally flow freely down your cheeks as you break out into full-on sobs. Memories of being alone for the holidays in the past coming all back to you. You never really liked Christmas due to your childhood, but Wilbur changed that when you met. So to say you were looking forward to spending time with the only person you enjoyed it with made you panic with the thought of him not being here.

"I know, I know darling, I'm so sorry,” he says.

He guides you through your panicked state as you've helped him several times over the phone after big shows he's done the past year.

“Wilbur, I-I can’t-” you stutter, trying to get your breaths even. You felt pathetic for having a panic attack over the phone with your boyfriend over this, but it felt like your world was crashing down.

After you finally calmed down, Wilbur promised he would give you the best belated Christmas ever once he got home. He vowed to cuddle with you, bake with you, and watch cheesy movies until your heart was content. This made you feel less upset and more excited about his return. You stayed on the phone with him until he said his phone was at one percent, and then said goodbye before the call disconnected.

You are currently lying on the sofa and going through your text messages repeatedly. It has already been an hour since Wilbur last messaged you, and you are starting to feel uneasy about whether everything is fine with him. You are left wondering if he might have taken a flight, or his phone battery might have died, and he is unable to find a charger. Alternatively, you are worried that he has realized how clingy you can become and has decided to ignore you.

As tears threatened to well up in your eyes again, you realized that you had no one but yourself to comfort you. The separation from him hadn't been easy this last time since it was only for two weeks, but you couldn't help but doubt whether he honestly cared about spending Christmas separated. Deep down, you knew that wasn't the truth.

You fell asleep at sunrise on Christmas Eve. You slept through the entire day and woke up around 5 pm when your stomach started growling. Since you didn't feel like cooking anything, you made yourself a bowl of ramen. However, you still haven't received any messages from Wilbur. Which left you discouraged. You ended up falling back asleep on the couch.

You suddenly woke up to the sound of the front door opening with a loud creak. You quickly got up and grabbed the nearest heavy object, which happened to be a half-burned-out candle, preparing to throw it at whoever was trying to enter. The door swung open to reveal a struggling Wilbur, who was carrying his suitcase and guitar in each hand. You dropped the candle on the couch and ran towards him.

Engulfing him in a bone crushing hug, he gasped in surprise and dropped his suit case to wrap his arm around you.

“You’re here!” you cried.

You felt like you were dreaming. He was here, you weren’t alone anymore.

“Surprise darling,” he kisses your temple.

“H-how?” you ask in disbelief.

“The storm had cleared enough for me to catch a flight home to you,”

“It’s a Christmas miracle!” you say half joking.

Pulling away to allow him to close the door, you prop his guitar against the wall so he can grab everything else.

“So, what do you wanna do first?” you hop on your toes with excitement. Now that he is here, you are buzzing with energy again, as if life was breathed back into you.

Wilbur gives you a defeated yet apologetic look. He feels as though he is going to let you down once more.

“Sleep, I'm really tired darling, I figured we could do everything on your list tomorrow for actual Christmas.”

“oh right, sorry yeah, we should get to bed.” you laughed. Understandable completely, he had a long journey and was looking forward to crawling into bed and cuddling for as long as possible.

The time you saw it was almost midnight, almost Christmas day. You lead him to the bedroom as he settles back into his familiar space of comfort. Everything was still the same as he left it. Some dirty shirts on the floor, two half-empty glasses of water on his bedside, and his PC untouched in the corner of the room made him do a mental check to possibly stream sometime soon, but no rush.

One thing that was off was the comforter not on the bed in a messy heap. Instead, the pillow on your side was missing, and the thin sheet was left untucked on the bed.

You ran out of the the room and returned with the comforter, happy to finally have someone to share it with again. Wilbur frowned as he watched you carry the large blanket in your arms.

“What was that doing out there?” he questioned.

“Oh, I slept on the couch while you were gone,” you say nonchalantly.

“why…?” he drags out, like he’s waiting for you to elaborate further.

You froze, realizing he didn't know you were in the living room instead of the shared bed.

“I couldn’t sleep in our bed…” you responded, sadness in your tone.

The realization breaks his heart. How you've been face-timing him from the living room every night, complaining about your back and neck being sore. You reassured him every time he asked how you were doing and you would say you were fine.

"Love, why didn't you tell me you were having sleep problems?"

In all honesty, you didn't want to burden him with the knowledge that you weren't sleeping well without him. Wilbur was already overloaded with responsibilities, you didn't want to add to any of his stress.

"I didn't want you to worry or want you to think you had to take care of me and rush away from your responsibilities that are more important." you look down, ashamed of admitting it.

He steps over to you and takes your face in his hands, you stare deeply into his chocolate eyes that hold so much sincerity.

"Listen to me when I say no responsibility is more important to me than you. You're my whole world, and nothing will ever change that. I know it's hard, but I need you to be more honest with me, especially with things like this." he declared. "You're everything to me, and I couldn't bear letting you suffer in silence. Never feel like you are a burden. Because you never will be.”

Wilbur wishes he would've been here for you when you needed him most, but now he wants to make it up to you. By the time he’s finished with his speech, you’re left with tears streaming down your cheeks and a sense of relief. Wilbur kisses your forehead, nose, and finally captures your lips in a sweet kiss. Once you both pull away theres nothing but bright smiles on both your faces.

You both climb into bed and hold each other like either one of you could turn to dust at any moment, eventually falling into deep slumber together peacefully.

The next afternoon is spent dragging Wil out of bed and back into the living room so you can make him brunch and start your marathon of Christmas movies. Mostly just him talking through the whole thing, making little quips about the story or what the characters do. You wouldn't want it any other way.

The time had finally come to open the presents. You decided to gift him a new sweater along with some guitar picks, as he had a habit of losing them. In return, he gave you souvenirs from his travels, including stickers from all the new states he visited and a sweater of your own so you would stop taking his. That was never not gonna happen.

The rest of the day was spent in the best way possible, simply enjoying each other's company.

Later when the sun had gone down once again you were snuggled up on the couch together, sipping on wine as another movie played as background noise. You looked up at Wilbur with tired eyes and he notices.

“what?” he asks brushing a strand of hair out of your face, it makes your cheeks flush.

“Im so happy you’re here.” you confess.

“I am too darling,” he smiles.

Wilbur leans down to capture your lips. They fit together like perfect puzzle pieces. You can taste the bitterness of wine on his tongue when it slips past your lips. You gripe his sweater between your fingers and pull him incredibly close.

You break apart before it gets to heavy, your head swirls from the slight tipsy feeling from the alcohol, but also from your boyfriends sweet kiss.

“Merry Christmas Will,” you whisper.

“Merry Christmas my love.” he hums back.

You nuzzle into his neck as he wraps you into an embrace. You both fall asleep on that couch you had spent so many nights alone on. Snow falls outside, and for once, everything is peaceful in your mind knowing your love was safe at home holding you.

End

taglist: @trashcanduck @merakiwi @ax-y10 @mysticalsoot @idontreallyexistyet @loonalvjy

#wilbur soot x reader #cc!wilbur x reader #musicanbur x reader #wilbur soot x fem!reader #x reader #mcyt #christmas fic #seperation anxiety #hurt comfort #fanfiction #fluff

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whatstruthgottodowithit · 4 months ago

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Angels Like You

Fandom: Harry Potter [Marauders Era]

Pairing: James Potter x Regulus Black

Characters: James Potter, Regulus Black, Sirius Black, Walburga Black, Kreacher, Orion Black

Word Count: 1414

Rating: Teen

Summary: Baby, angels like you can't fly down here with me.

Tags/ Warnings: Hogwarts, Summer Challenge, Writing Challenge, Song Fic, Angst, Flirting, Implied suicide/death

Notes: One day I’ll write a happy jegulus fic alas today is not that fic

Summer Challenge 2024 // Song Inspo

Regulus sat there, staring at the page as if the words would magically appear on the blank parchment in the order that he would want them. He’d already written a note to the Dark Lord, an acknowledgement of his incoming defeat but also Regulus’. At that thought, the thought of this being one of the final deeds he might ever do on this earth, his stomach churned again. He knew it was the right thing to do. He’d been raised as a soldier and had fought as a soldier. He’d die like one too.

But to do so without having the chance to say what you wanted to say was one thing. Having the opportunity and not being able to get the words out was another. Hence why he was staring at the parchment.

It was getting lighter and no doubt his mother would be up soon which meant he needed to get a move on but he couldn’t make the quill move.

Because what could he say?

He’d thought about writing to his mother or his father. His friends, though of course none of them would understand his decision to do this. If he did it and survived the Dark Lord would see to it he stopped breathing shortly after. He’d even considered writing to Sirius, to let him know that he had tried. That in the end he had wanted to be good.

But he had wanted to be good before. He had made him want to be good.

In the same way that his stomach churned at the thought of leaving the house his heart clenched at the thought of him. At the memory of messy black hair and sparkling hazel eyes.

‘Come on Black,’ James said, flying towards Regulus until he was in front of him, moving backwards though looking as though it was of no significance to do so, something that only infuriated Regulus further, forcing him to speed up on his broom as he reached for the snitch bobbing around the front of James’ broom. As it zipped up James laughed, ‘you’re not even trying!’

Regulus ignored him, pulling up to follow the hint of gold as it whizzed towards the stands. He was behind it but gaining distance when there was a thud against his side, swaying him off course until he pulled himself back to find James flying alongside him.

‘Get off,’ he grunted, ramming back into him.

‘I’m just offering words of encouragement,’ James taunted, a glint in his eye, ‘c’mon Reggie, stretch those fingers and you’ll just about reach.’

Regulus looked away, trying to one, ignore the fizzy feeling his use of his detested nickname gave him, and two, decide whether catching the snitch would be worth it as either way Potter would be able to cite his influence on the boy’s actions and therefore the outcome of the match. His thinking however didn’t give him much time to realise the snitch was now gone and as he flew towards a crowd of onlookers, gasps and shrieks filling the air as he only just managed to pull up and not fly straight into them, James followed it, clasping a gloved hand around it moments later.

By the time he got to the ground spectators were rushing onto the field to celebrate with an exuberant James was celebrating. Regulus leapt from his broom and in two strides had the boy by the fabric of his quidditch robes as he snarled, ‘you did that on purpose!’

‘And?’ James smiled smugly as he moved the ball of gold into view, ‘got us a win didn’t it?’

‘That’s cheating!’ Regulus spat.

‘All's fair in love and war Reggie,’ James reasoned, ‘even a bit of flirting.’

Regulus dropped the fabric immediately, his words making him flush as crimson as James’ robes which only made James beam further before he was swept up in the sea of red supporters, their regard for whatever crossed word they were having very little as he got jostled out of the way until he was stood on his own, his heart hammering and that fizzy feeling very much inside him.

He’d be lying if he said that was his favourite memory of him. No, he had too many to count. His teasing turned to relentless pursuing; one James feigned was for irritation rather than intrigue. And because he had the alibi of just doing it to taunt Regulus it meant that he could do it in the open and had become careless because of it. That was how he’d caught him in the astronomy tower.

‘Haven’t you got anything better to do?’ Regulus asked as he appeared from the shadows to a startled James. He was standing in the middle of the tower and he had been wondering how Regulus’ had slipped past him before he turned to find him watching him, wand raised. James’ was in his back pocket and there was no way of getting it before he was hexed. So he played it cool and shrugged.

‘Not particularly,’ he said.

‘What’s your problem?’ Regulus asked, moving until his wand tip was pressing into the soft flesh of James’ neck. James smiled.

‘Haven't got one,’ he replied.

‘So why do you keep following me? Harassing me? I can’t go five minutes without your face popping up somewhere,’ he grunted.

‘Been thinking about me too huh?’ James teased, coughing as Regulus pressed his wand deeper into soft skin, ‘oh come on don’t be like that.’

‘Like what?’ Regulus said.

‘So against this, us,’ he said.

‘Us?’ Regulus snorted, trying to ignore the way his heart thudded a tad harder in his chest.

‘Yeah, us,’ James said, taking a risk at moving the wand away as he got closer, looking down at Regulus with a smile as he whispered, ‘I like you Regulus.’

‘Me?’ Regulus said though it sounded more like disbelief than rebuttal.

‘Yeah, you,’ James whispered.

From there James had tried his best. To show him what it meant to be loved. Flowers handpicked from the grounds because ‘I dunno they just reminded me of you’. Kisses full of want and need but sometimes reassurance or adoration. Holding him when he needed it. Telling him it would be okay, that they wouldn’t have to hide one day. That his parents wouldn’t care and Sirius wouldn’t care. That he didn't have to go home if he didn’t want to.

He had tried his best, an angel sent to pull Regulus from where he resided in hell. Where he was forced to be a soldier, a son, second. Because he wasn’t Sirius. James couldn't see that, how leaving for him wasn’t the same. Sirius had always been strong willed and rebellious and he had been punished for it. That had made Regulus sensible. He kept his head down, he towed the line, he made the noble house of Black proud because what alternative was there? He didn’t have friends with understanding parents. He didn’t have somewhere to go. Even with James pulling at him he couldn’t. Did he think his parents would be so stupid as to let two sons get away? Did he think that if anyone had known about their relationship they'd still be together. It was being at Hogwarts that had kept them protected. It was no one knowing that kept had him in school and not locked in this house. But James had not understood that. He hadn’t seen that Regulus wasn't living in misery for misery's sake. That he hadn’t intentionally ruined whatever they’d shared.

It was just that angels like James Potter couldn't fly down in hell with him.

It's why no one would ever know bar them, and of course Kreacher who was under strict instructions to deliver this letter straight after he got back. If he could just think of the words.

As he heard movement from floors below him he looked to the door and made sure it was still firmly closed, waiting for the noise to stop so he could write. Because he needed James to understand. To know that in the end he had succeeded a little. Regulus wasn’t what he was supposed to be but something better because of James.

Once the house returned to deathly silence he put his quill back on the parchment and wrote.

My dearest James,

I know I will be dead long before you read this…

#my writing #james potter #james potter fic #regulus black #regulus black fic #james potter x regulus black #jegulus #jegulus fic #angels like you #starchaser #summer challenge

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ofthecaravel · 11 months ago

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Gold Satin Dreamer

Summary: Danny follows a trail of little white lies right to the door of the object of his affections, Harvard hotshot Sam Kiszka, who invites him in with open arms and an incessant need to blur boundaries.

Tags: Danny being very/a little creepily obsessed with Sam (but like in a hot way), unrequited (??) feelings, NSFW!!! (masturbation, dirty talk, cum), homoerotically toeing the line of friendship

Words: 5.7k

A/N: This is inspired by Saltburn (which I recommend you watch, btw) but not as intense as it gets in the movie. Mostly references and borrowed themes of obsession and devotion. So, you know, this might not be for everyone! You've been warned >:)

also thank you @holdingup-fallingsky for the inspo during A Scene, you da best

~~~

Danny had gotten everything he’d wanted. Everything he worked so hard towards had been handed right to him, but now that he was sitting pretty in the middle of the glamour he’d been so hungry for, he couldn’t help but find it all particularly excruciating.

First, there were the meals. Breakfast and lunch could slide by without any troubles for Danny, but the formal wear reserved for the quiet, fanciful dinners tended to dig against his skin and pique his anxiety. And the only thing worse than dinner was the time after dinner, when he’d be left alone in his room that was way too big with very little to do but read or wander the halls if he was feeling brave. During the days, Danny would kindly ward off the endless parade of questions from Sam’s deceptively sweet mom about his life back at home. The days also held a myriad of startling encounters with Sam’s older brothers, Josh and Jake, glittering and grinning twins who couldn’t be more different and more invested in the most personal details of Danny’s life. Danny had met Jake back on Harvard’s campus after he’d gotten under Sam’s thumb enough to be introduced to his brooding, supposed genius of a brother, but Danny was met with nothing more than a lukewarm reception. Jake tacked on jabs and quips to the ends of Josh’s elaborate attempts at conversation and never seemed satisfied with Danny’s answers, no matter how cool or lighthearted or perfectly catered they were. Even after a few weeks staying with them, Danny couldn’t figure out if either of them liked him at all.

Yet the real issue at the heart of it all wasn’t his social anxiety or boredom or even the upkeep of his slew of little white lies.

It was Sam.

Always Sam.

Stiff collars and warm blazers didn’t seem to matter when the heaviest presence was Sam’s flitting feline stares from across the table. His face would be lit up golden in the candlelight as he came to Danny’s rescue in conversation when his words faltered even for a moment. Danny’s room never felt as wide and as empty when he pressed his ear to the door of the bathroom separating their rooms and heard Sam and his brothers laughter through the walls and across the tile. Or, on the worst occasions, he’d hear Sam’s obscenely uncensored sighs over the slosh of water in the bathtub. Danny would sit there with his ear rubbed red on the wood until the water stilled and Sam’s whimpers turned to light humming, signaling it was time for Danny to quickly take care of himself before rushing to brush his teeth at the same time as Sam.

It was obvious from the start that Danny was The Guest in the Saltburn estate that Sam called home for winter and summer break. Sam had been so eager to invite poor, lonely Danny to spend the summer with him. Danny, whose poor loneliness had been decisively orchestrated, was more than happy to humbly accept that invitation into his world. He’d gotten his first ticket during a “chance meeting” when Danny had lended Sam a helping hand during a “freak accident” bike tire blowout, and since then he’d strategized his growing proximity to Sam through offhand sob stories and persistent company when Sam’s other lackeys grew tired of his boisterous personality. Well placed whispers of a home life that was far from the reality of Danny’s adoring close knit community and occasional sad little sighs were the nail in the coffin. Danny remembered often and fondly how Sam had spirited him away one blue evening to sit and shoot the breeze on a secluded bridge walkway to celebrate finishing their finals. He remembered the hysterical flurry of butterflies in his stomach when Sam had paused conversation and watched his long legs swinging over the water before he turned his smile on Danny and asked. Except he hadn’t asked, had he?

“Come home with me,” Sam had demanded, really. “Come to Saltburn.”

And Danny had. How could he not? A summer alone with Sam had seemed too good to be true. And now he knew it was. The reality was all the time he got alone with Sam was far more overwhelming than he could’ve imagined.

Danny had a horrible feeling from the time he’d met Sam that Sam was going to pick up on Danny’s shy, yes man behavior in his presence and put two and two together. Lately, Sam seemed to not only know that, but play into it every chance that he could. At school, Sam was happy to have Danny around, but was also completely comfortable in waving him away for days at a time in favor of his fellow medical student buddies and the girls that flew to him like moths. This Saltburn invitation apparently carried more weight than Danny had realized. And it was driving Danny up the wall.

Sam would chase off his brothers and beg Danny to spend all day at the pool with him, only to avoid the water all together and lay out on a lounge chair to work his way through an entire box of popsicles and stare at clouds. Danny swore Sam would sneak glances at him when the sugar would melt and roll down his chin with his cheeks hollowed to catch what he could and making no further effort to clean up what he couldn’t. Danny would stare up at the sun and blink the image of Sam’s bare, sun warmed, sticky sweet skin into white blurs that hurt his eyes, but the memory of it would linger in his head throughout the day and render him flushed and embarrassed.

Sam had also steadily picked up a habit of touching Danny at all times. Sam had been touchy since Danny had befriended him at the start of the semester and often patted his knee or dragged him into quick, one armed side hugs that made them both stumble. However, since coming to Saltburn, he had graduated to grazing Danny’s leg with his shoe under the dinner table after his brothers would say something snarky, as well as perching on his lap to show him books and photos that Danny cared about far less than the sensation of Sam sitting on him.

But Sam’s worst development was that he couldn’t seem to stay out of Danny’s bed. Danny had gotten a look at the tall ceiling and resplendent treasures that Sam had somehow turned to clutter and wondered how Sam ever found the strength to venture outside of the comfort of it. And yet, with each night that passed, Danny found himself waiting for Sam’s inevitable knock on the bathroom door leading into Danny’s much less extravagant guest room. He’d smile with faux sheepishness, clutching a pillow and blanket as if Danny’s bed wasn’t regularly replenished with more pillows than could accommodate the number of bodies that could fit in the bed.

“What’s the point of having you stay the whole summer if we’re not gonna hang out the whole time?” Sam had questioned with a wicked grin the third time he’d been let into Danny’s room. He landed hard on Danny’s bed with a bounce and a sigh, falling backwards and covering the expanse of the quilt with his wingspan and long splay of hair. Danny watched and cringed when the dainty roll of his wrist landed squarely on the spot where he had shamefully finished earlier after enduring the glorious torture of Sam spending the evening curled into his side on the living room couch.

“And what’s the point of having a bed all to myself if you’re going to take up two thirds of it every night?” Danny countered, sitting on the plush mattress and laughing when Sam scoffed.

“You just go ahead and tell me when you’re sick of me and I’ll be sure to write it down and not give a shit,” Sam smiled, rolling his head to look Danny straight in the eye. “I mean, this is the point in the summer when I really can’t stand Jake or Josh. I need you to keep me sane.”

“Summer’s not even halfway over yet,” Danny pointed out with an enamored little laugh. “And didn’t you all live here together for, I don’t know, the first 18 years of your life?”

“Nope,” Sam said with a subtle pop on the p. “It was boarding school for the lot of us. A private, no girls allowed sort of affair from, I don’t know, 6th grade to senior year. How do you think me and Jake managed to swing Harvard? All that rigorous private school education.”

“Jake and I,” Danny corrected teasingly. “Must not have been that rigorous.”

“Come on, I would’ve totally let that slide if it were you,” Sam complained. “And not just because you’re a scholarship student.”

“Ooh, harsh,” Danny whispered with the cadence of a fake blow to his ego. Danny had also been a private school kid, matter of fact, but as long as Sam believed he had gotten into Harvard with nothing but a golf scholarship, he figured they’d both be happier.

“I’m only joking,” Sam immediately relented, sitting up and curling his legs under him. “You’re a boy genius or whatever.”

“I’m also terrifically humble,” Danny hummed, faking a little stretch and letting his knee knock against Sam’s. “What were you saying about boarding school?”

“Ugh, nothing really,” Sam said with a dramatic curl of his lip. “Just that my brothers drove me crazy there and they drive me crazy here just the same. They’ve spent their whole stupid lives forcing me to do whatever they want to do. You’ve seen that they’re still convinced they can dress me up like they did when I was 4. And I always end up having to run for stupid tennis balls when they wanna play on the courts. But I’m 21 now, like, maybe I want to call the shots this year.”

“You’re doing a pretty good job at bossing me around,” Danny shrugged casually, trying to play himself off by scooting backwards and leaning back against the pillows he had propped up while waiting for Sam to knock. “If that helps at all.”

Sam looked at him for a long couple of seconds with a completely unreadable expression. It settled into an amused smile with his dark eyebrows arched in surprise, abandoning his seated position to lie on his front and look up at Danny.

“You are so odd,” Sam noted with an air of awe, laughing as he said it. “It does help a little, actually. I mean, fuck you, but, yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

“Were you under the impression that you were entirely passive?” Danny asked, half sincere and half joking. “Were you unaware you’ve got at least 20 people at your disposal at all times when we’re at school?”

Sam laughed a little uncomfortably, caught in a lie that Danny knew he was entirely unaware of. Sam was never quite the damsel and never quite the hero, but he was always pretending he was either one or the other as if it were proven truth. When they’d met, Sam had been a knight in shining armor ready with confidence to shake the world, but after a few months of friendship, he began to intermittently present as a poor, pathetic thing that Danny needed to build back up. It was ridiculous and Danny lapped it up every time. He dreamed about the days when Sam had cornered him at parties only to release him into a throng of his other friends, parading him around to show them all the boy he’d managed to save from poverty and irrelevance.

“Yeah, well,” Sam started, stuttering slightly as he flushed under Danny’s honesty. “Those ‘20 people’ don’t get to come home with me like you do.”

“Was I hand selected for your little summer camp because I’m so easily bossed around?” Danny questioned, another insecure laugh coloring the end of his query.

“No!” Sam blurted defensively. Danny laughed, his nose scrunching with a fit of giggles as Sam stammered and tried to save face.

“I’m just saying I like you better than the people at school,” Sam professed genuinely, reaching up and across to clamp a hand on Danny’s thigh. “I didn’t bring you here to boss you around, sheesh. I brought you with me because, like I said, you bad listener, you keep me sane. And I trust you not to tattle about the whole Jake and Josh outfits thing.”

“I like their fashion shows,” Danny smiled, violently aware of Sam’s hand still on his thigh, heavy and unmoving. “And the stuff they so evilly force you to put on isn’t bad at all.”

“Liar,” Sam grumbled, childishly muffling the bottom half of his face in his palm as he huffed. Danny watched his silent tantrum with affection.

For once, Danny wasn’t really lying. The outfits they trapped Sam into trying on were actually very easy on the eyes for Danny. Twice then the twins had sat Danny down in Josh’s white and tidy room to walk him through the entire inventory of his closet, forcing him to sit and wait patiently when Jake would mad dash to his room next door to pull out identical or similar pieces for them to lecture about and compare. They insisted it was a much needed education for Danny, who frequented polos and straight leg pants instead of the silken dress shirts and embroidered slacks that were apparently much more suited to him. Sam’s recommendations always fell more on the more “daring” side of the fashion spectrum, usually involving glimmering thread, dainty jewelry and, on more than one occasion, a skirt. Josh and Sam would loudly fight over Sam’s consistent refusal of Josh’s “fashion counsel” while Jake stared at Danny like a hawk over his Saint Laurent sunglasses, somehow hearing the dirty thoughts in Danny’s head at the sight of Sam pacing in a sparkling red skirt and trying to expel them with his mind.

“I mean, you wouldn’t tell,” Sam piped up again, suddenly genuinely shy. “About all that. It’s not a big deal here but, I don’t know, people at school might not be as cool about the whole necklaces and…and skirts and shit. It’s whatever but-”

“I promise I won’t,” Danny assured Sam. “I would never.”

“Are you even gonna tell anyone that you came here?”

A split second decision. It changed things.

“I haven’t come at all since I’ve been here, actually, so you have nothing to worry about there,” Danny joked, his cheeks lighting up with warmth at his lie and the crudity of his words. Sam’s face went similarly pink as he let out a single shocked laugh, his hand finally retreating from Danny’s thigh like a slap to the face.

“I see what you did there,” Sam stammered through another nervous laugh. “Very clever. You’re an asshole.”

“You’re an asshole,” Danny echoed meekly, turning his eyes down to a piece of dry skin on his nailbed that he picked at as a horrible minute of quiet passed between them.

He’d gone too far, he was sure of it. Sam would give him another tinny giggle reserved for his friends he didn’t even like, scoop up his blanket and bid Danny a polite goodnight so they could restart in the morning. He was sure of it. Danny wanted to crawl inside of himself and turn off the lights.

Instead.

“Have you really not?” Sam asked, his voice barely audible and muffled slightly by his lips barely moving. He didn’t even look at Danny when he asked it.

“Feels wrong,” Danny answered simply, giving an unassuming little shrug as he finally looked up from his fingers and studied Sam’s face. Sam’s brow was crinkled in thought as he picked at the loose yarn on the top quilt of Danny’s bed, his eyes hidden by his thick fan of lashes.

“So, what, you’re just not gonna do it the whole time you’re here?” Sam teased, still treading very lightly. “You leave in August. That’s a long time.”

“It’s too nice here,” Danny argued, not even pausing to think about what the hell kind of conversation this was. “I’d feel totally weird doing it in this bed. It’s probably a million years old and has a rich history that I’d be disrespecting.”

He hadn’t felt weird about it, actually. In his eyes, he had no choice but to exorcise whatever little demons Sam afflicted him with. In the bed, on the floor by the door, in the bath. On occasion, wiped clean with a handkerchief that Sam had given him as a birthday gift.

“Obviously you don’t have to,” Sam said coolly, his legs now kicked up and absentmindedly moving as he talked. “I don’t want you to freak out on me is all. But, like, I don’t really care either way. Just saying.”

“It kinda sounds like you care,” Danny challenged, his eyes still dragging over Sam and his easy body language. He enjoyed watching the moment it changed. A muscle tensed in his jaw and his shoulders that only Danny ever cared to notice and he watched with quiet thrill as Sam’s expressions shuffled.

“I care about you being comfortable,” Sam replied in a strange, soft tone.

“I’ll just get it out of the way tonight, then,” Danny said calmly, fighting the nervous tremor in his voice. “You can come back for a sleepover tomorrow night. Okay?”

Sam sighed for a long moment and stretched his arms out in front of him on the bed, dramatically face planting and muffling his groan. His legs were still kicking petulantly as Danny stared him down and tried to think of what he was going to do. He rarely did anything Danny suggested he did, and Danny usually had a pretty good grasp on how Sam would act in situations after months of studying his every little move. But this exchange was foreign from the very beginning and Danny felt an anxious, blind itch in his throat as time ticked on between them.

“But I’m so comfortable,” Sam complained into the blanket. “You’re really gonna make me move? In my own home?”

“I’ll do it tomorrow then,” Danny laughed nervously. It seemed like the only thing he remembered how to do now that he was riding entirely on his reflexes.

“Well, I’m gonna wanna sleepover tomorrow, too,” Sam murmured, his head turning so he was facing Danny’s pajamaed leg. “I said I wanna hang out.”

“Sam,” Danny rasped, the last ghost of his laugh settling into a rattling exhale that sent them into another silent spell. His heart was buzzing like a hummingbird inside his chest, which felt porcelain thin and ready to crumble.

“It’s only weird if you make it weird,” Sam whispered, his lips starting to spread into a muted, impish smile as he finally looked up at Danny. “I’m just, I don’t know, curious now that I’m thinking about it.”

“How do you know this won’t be the thing I tell people when we go back to school?” Danny challenged.

He wanted to bite his tongue in half after he’d said it. This was exactly what he wanted, wasn’t it? From the moment he’d spotted Sam through the car window on freshman year move in day, Danny had wanted little else but to bend to his every whim. Now here he was, perfectly in the palm of Sam’s hand, and he was aching to stop it for some reason beyond his understanding.

He’d figure it out later on. Deep down, Danny knew that once he had Sam like this, he would never really be able to stop whatever kind of obsession he’d been diving in over the duration of the school year. He would drop like a stone and touch the bottom and never feel the warmth of moderation and sanity ever again.

“You like me, Danny. You know I know that.”

Goodbye to the world up above. Hello to the refreshing darkness of nothing but Sam, Sam, Sam.

Danny froze, then remembered to breathe, and then he was hard. Sam’s words slammed into him while Sam lay there like nothing had been revealed but the smile on his face.

“I’m not dumb,” Sam flirted. “And you’re not dumb. I haven’t been easy on you since you’ve been here but, come on, not just anyone gets an invitation to Saltburn with me. You have to know at this point that maybe, I also, I don’t know…you know what I’m trying to say.”

“Sam-”

“We don’t have to talk about anything,” Sam interjected quickly. “And you’re not going to tell anyone, I know that much. Just…I wanna see you. And it’ll give you a little taste of my boarding school experience, actually. Circle jerks were totally a bonding thing. It’ll make us closer. I wanna be closer.”

“You’re a little desperate, aren’t you?” Danny asked quietly and very hypocritically. “You’re not even pent up enough to be nagging me like this.”

“And how would you know that?”

“You took a bath last night. You’re not exactly quiet. Honestly, dude, after this conversation, I’m starting to think that you want me to hear you.”

Sam’s mouth snapped shut and a flush bloomed high on his cheeks as he and Danny stared each other down. The thick tension in the air stretched and groaned. Danny was visibly straining in his thin summertime pajama pants as he adjusted slightly and waited for Sam to say something. Anything.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sam admitted casually, sniffing and shrugging awkwardly while balanced on his elbows. “Only ‘cause I know you’ll be listening.”

“Fuck,” Danny breathed with his voice cracking, his hand unconsciously going to grasp at his clothed dick for any kind of relief from the weight of Sam’s words. Sam watched it happen and blinked patiently, lazily resting his chin in the palm of his hand like he was settling in to watch a movie. His dark eyes flicked up to Danny expectantly, a silent “Well? Go on.” that Danny received loud and clear.

If the rest of the world was already putting on a performance for Sam, Danny decided that he might as well be his favorite actor.

“I really do like you,” Danny admitted nervously, forcing the words out as he awkwardly shimmied his pants down and freed his dick into his palm. Sam’s eyes widened ever so slightly as they wandered over Danny’s lower stomach and the dark trail of hair that led to his cock, which Danny had begun to very slowly stroke with his hand shaking slightly.

“Jesus,” Sam muttered, exhaling a silent laugh through his nose. “Didn’t expect you to be so well endowed.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah. I already told you I know.”

“I thought you might have more to say.”

“Man, can’t we just leave that alone for a second?” Sam asked snippily, his hips rolling against the mattress as he let out a frustrated breath. “Fuck’s sake. Just keep going.”

Danny complied with a slight sting to his feelings, his pace increasing and his lips pressing together obediently to keep himself from prying further. A few minutes of silent touching and hip rocking passed before a barely contained noise escaped Sam’s lips and he let out yet another annoyed sigh.

“Talk to me,” Sam whined, reaching out again and digging his fingers into Danny’s thigh where it was still covered by fabric. Danny’s hips bucked slightly in response and he desperately tried to unclog his thoughts from the steady, blurry stream of Sam memories he’d gotten lost in like he usually did. Then he realized that might be exactly what Sam wanted to hear about.

“Sorry,” Danny apologized. “I, I was thinking about you.”

“What about me?” Sam asked with a thin, reedy voice as a hand disappeared under his groin, soon followed by the sight of his pants being pushed down around his ankles. Curiously enough, he didn’t remove his briefs.

“Everything,” Danny replied truthfully, his eyes rolling slightly as he slowed his pace and enjoyed the infuriating simmer of pleasure rolling on his skin. “I like everything about you. How you cut your hair, how you look in the sun…I, uh, I like your body.”

Danny felt a palpable strain from the muscles in his stomach as he fought the urge to tell Sam the actual extent of what “everything” was.

Danny did like Sam’s hair; he liked it so much that he’d slowly begun to use his shampoo so he could smell its sweetness on his pillow and pretend it was left there by Sam himself.

Danny did like Sam in the sun; he specifically liked the sweat that rolled down his skin so he could picture licking it up with a dutiful curl of his tongue.

Danny did like Sam’s body; he liked the tension and repose of it through his first story dorm window, which was perfectly placed and never curtained so Danny could kneel and observe without obstruction.

“More,” Sam begged, his hand still holding fast to Danny as they both began to pant and shudder.

“You’re a brat,” Danny complained right back. Sam shivered appropriately at the title, muffling his mouth with his hand and his head falling forward right after. His hair fell in a chestnut curtain and hid his expression from Danny, which he immediately missed. His hips continued to grind into the mattress and his rhythm was growing erratic and sore. Danny grinned wide at his response, allowing himself the luxury of quickening his pace on himself now that he’d given Sam something. He’d known it would land. He knew what kind of porn Sam watched.

It’s why Danny felt confident in reaching out and running his fingers along the silky crown of Sam’s hair before lightly tugging to yank Sam’s head back up, where he was met with the satisfying sight of Sam gawking at him with round eyes and his (what appeared to be freshly bitten) lips ajar.

“Thought you wanted to watch?” Danny taunted weakly, struggling to evoke any semblance of dominance while he felt his orgasm begin to creep up on him after struggling to stave it off for as long as possible. When it came to Sam, he was used to finishing fast.

“Fuck off,” Sam whimpered, his brow crinkling in concentration as he let himself be held up by Danny’s gentle grip on him. His rutting into the mattress quickened before suddenly petering out as Sam’s chin tipped upwards and his nose gently brushed against Danny’s inner forearm. His eyes fluttered close and splayed his dark lashes as he drew in a shivering breath and then let out a choked little laugh.

“You’re wearing my cologne,” Sam rasped tonelessly.

A small thread of panic wound around Danny, but his body alchemized it into lustful adrenaline and he took Sam’s revelation with a groan. He was seconds away now, and he knew where he wanted it to end.

“You love it,” Danny growled, his arm burning with overexertion as he welcomed the familiar, buzzing warmth that was taking over his senses. He fuzzily pondered the etiquette of this situation when it came to telling Sam he was close, but his impulses quickly won over verbal communication. Danny felt himself gripping Sam’s hair a little tighter and pulling him slightly forward, losing himself in the white hot ecstasy of his high as he spilled over onto his hand and, as he’d find when he finally opened his eyes, Sam’s cheek and chin. Sam gasped at the contact and Danny let go of him, his own head falling backwards against the oak headboard as he attempted to catch his breath. He stared up at the ornate ceiling as his cheeks burned with uncomfortable heat.

Moments like these were the rare ones where Sam faded to the edges of Danny’s thoughts along with everything else, and Sam took the silence from Danny as an opportunity to jostle the bed for a few more thrusts before giving a simpering, keening whine that signaled his own end. Danny’s ears perked at the familiar noise and snapped his head back down to look at Sam, who was looking right back at him wearing a mask of bleary afterglow. He was panting ever so slightly with watery eyes that stuck his lashes together and turned them cartoonishly starry. Danny quickly noted the glossy cum painting the lower half of Sam’s face and felt the air get punched out of his lungs, drawing in a choked breath as his hand drifted up on instinct. His thumb made keen contact with Sam’s lower lip and brushed it gently, pressing into the smooth pink flesh and collecting his release as his thumb swiped across. As he did so, Sam’s mouth slowly fell agape while his brows knit slightly, allowing access for Danny to wipe his thumb against Sam's tongue. Sam let out a small, barely audible gag before closing his mouth and continuing a stubborn eye contact with Danny as he swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing while Danny let a fulfilled smile tint his face.

Allowing himself to indulge in this spell of arrogance, Danny’s hand balled the collar of Sam’s sleep shirt and tugged so that Sam stumbled forward and crawled reflexively over Danny. When they were face to face, Danny eagerly leaned in and dragged his tongue up Sam’s chin and cheek, trying not to groan at the combined sensation of Sam’s skin pressing against his tongue and the taste of it mixing with the cum. One of Sam’s hands came up and clenched Danny’s shoulder for stability as he shuddered in Danny’s grip, letting out a hurried exhale as Danny’s lips remained on him. His tongue retreated and instead he pressed a kiss to Sam’s sweaty, now spit slick cheek. His eyes closed contemplatively while the both of them did nothing but breathe erratically and cling to each other.

Sam soon turned his head so that his mouth came to rest against Danny’s lips, hesitating slightly before fully driving them into a proper kiss. It was slick and clumsy despite Sam’s professions of frequent sexual conquests, but Danny was convinced that he’d never felt a sensation more euphoric and deliciously numbing. Danny cupped Sam’s face in his hands as they fumbled their way through a couple of inept yet long lasting kisses.

It was Sam who pulled away first, leaning back on Danny’s thighs and wiping his mouth and face with the back of his hand while Danny blearily watched him. He could see the wet patch on Sam’s otherwise clean white briefs and focused his energy on remembering it for later when he’d reflect on this exchange with his dick in his hand again. Sam blinked dumbly as the aftershock settled over them before he finally cleared his throat and looked everywhere but Danny’s eyes.

“Well,” Sam exhaled with a short, hoarse laugh. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Danny replied, his voice still airy with awe at his luck. “Fuck.”

“I…um, I’ll let you go for the night,” Sam announced, lingering a second longer before moving off of Danny and sheepishly collecting his pants and pillow. He stood with slightly shaky legs and smiled down at Danny, who stared back with a questioning look.

“No sleepover?” Danny asked pathetically, pulling his pants back up and pulling his knees to his chest to try and hide the second wind of his erection at the realization that Sam was clearly about to forget his blanket.

“Nah,” Sam said, staring at his socks before offering another unstable smile. “This was fun, though. Seriously. Didn’t peg you as such a kinky motherfucker.”

“That’s me,” Danny joked weakly. “Hey, uh, are we cool?”

“Very cool,” Sam promised, winking at Danny before flouncing off towards the bathroom door. “Night!”

“Night,” Danny called after him. The door shut with a click of the lock behind Sam, and Danny didn’t hesitate to instantly melt back into his seat of pillows with his hands over his face. His dick was already aching for attention again already as he tried to steady his breathing and process the last hour.

Danny’s mind immediately began to wage war against him.

He had him. He had Sam. Finally.

Sam had been here with him in a way he had only ever fantasized about, but at the same time, he had just merrily walked away from the huge thing they’d wound up that would have to be untangled by the both of them, preferably as soon as possible.

Why didn’t Sam want to stay the night with him anymore?

Now that they had gotten the experimenting out of the way, would that be the last time anything like that ever happened?

Did Sam even like it?

Did Sam even like him?

Danny slid down the pillows and pulled Sam’s blanket over his head, gripping it tightly and breathing in the spiced scent of him to try and clear his head while also attempting to hide himself from Sam, the room, and, if he was lucky, the world. Things suddenly felt very lonely at the bottom of his mind.

Then, there came a sound to the right of Danny. It pushed through the wall, familiar and relieving. Pressurized water rushing out of the faucet and spilling loudly, warbling and muffling itself as the minutes passed and the porcelain tub began to fill. After a memorized amount of time, the faucet fell silent and Danny lay there trying to quell the sound of his own breathing so his ears could properly strain to hear what he knew was coming next.

There came an unexpected second sound that didn’t require any strain at all to hear.

The sound of a lock unclicking.

Danny removed the blanket from his eyes and sat up to see that the bathroom door was now scarcely ajar, allowing for a golden slice of light to cut across the dark hardwood flooring and the maroon persian rug.

Danny felt the smile return to his face as he saw the light bob in and out of shadow with movement from within the bathroom, tossing the blanket off him and swinging his legs over the side of the bed so he could quietly pad towards the light. Danny now properly understood the value of Sam’s invitations, and he felt no hesitation walking right in with a newfound air of confidence.

Especially now that he had so much to prove.

~~~

#yes i did have my saltburn playlist blaring while i typed this up in a blind haze #yes it helped a lot #yes im obsessed with this #yes i dont expect a lot of people to be fully down with it but WHATEVS i like it and its not real yknow #its just a little random fiction world i dont actually think danny is lowkey a weirdo #i mean i hope he is but #gvf #greta van fleet #danny wagner #sam kiszka #myart #karoufiction

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halfrican-heat · 2 years ago

Text

Freakum (A. Levinson) (1/2)

SUMMARY: The reader has been seeing Ari Levinson-- her dad's best friend and her ex-boyfriend's uncle-- in secret. Lately, he hasn't been giving her the attention she needs. So, what happens when she cuts ties with her toxic ex and his mysterious uncle entirely? (Part 1/2)

Pairing: Curvy!Reader x DBF!Ari Levinson; Black!Reader x Ari Levinson

Warnings: Mild angst; Cursing; Age-gap (Reader is of legal age); Convoluted relationship; Toxic ex; Allusions to minor character death; AFAB body descriptors; Secret relationship

A/N: Hey, how y'all doing? Y'all good? Enjoy part one to this request I got for DBF!Ari. It's not exactly what I was asked for, but I do hope this suffices. Stay tuned for part two! Also, the time stamps on the phone are WRONG AF, I forgot to fix them. I'll remember for next time lmao. Beta'd by my bestie <3 -Lyv

Song Inspo: Freakum Dress - Beyoncé

Masterlist

With a soft laugh, you set aside your phone. You were sure to get an earful from Tamisha in the car, but until then you were going to finish getting ready. Taking in your appearance, you swiped a pinky-nude across your lips before painting on a pink tinted gloss. Your deep brown liner blended with the softer tones and created a chocolatey contrast to the pink colors on your lips. Smirking, you started to pull your locs into an updo.

You had done a soft beat to your face, accentuating your eyes with deep browns and glittery gold accents. The liner you did was sharp enough to draw blood and you were living for it. Your lashes were sitting almost as well as your tits in the salacious little dress you had chosen for the evening.

You hadn’t worn this particular dress since your freshman year of college. In the four years since then, you had gained a little more weight. When you pulled the dress out, you weren’t even sure it would suit your new body let alone fit. Somehow, though, the little garment surprised you in more ways than one.

Short and backless, the cheetah print dress clung to your curves in the most sinful way possible. Cleavage spilled from the ruched, cowled neckline and the hem curved just below your bottom, accentuating the bounty you carried behind you. The heels you had chosen to compliment the dress did wonders for your legs, making them look as if they went on for miles.

Needless to say, you sex on wheels and ready to wreak havoc.

Your phone vibrated on the counter, probably Tamisha alerting you that she was waiting outside. Ignoring it, you finished tying up your hair and packed a small purse. Moments later, the phone vibrated again in rapid succession. Scoffing quietly, you shook your head at your friend’s persistence and snatched the phone up.

“This bitch,” You mumbled to yourself. “Not her tryna be on time for once.”

Another vibration rang out. You smacked your teeth.

“And then tryna rush me. No, ma’am!”

You prepared to shoot off a text telling your friend to “hold her damn horses” only to freeze at the name floating across your screen. Opening the messages, you bit your lip. A hot flush ran through your body as you weighed your options, uncertain of what to do. Annoyance as well as arousal coursed through you at his sudden interest after he ghosted you for three weeks.

See, Ari Levinson wasn’t exactly a man that could be ignored.

Levinson was a powerhouse in architecture. At the age of twenty-three, he started working for Milton Family Construction in Macon, Georgia. What was once just a family business soon became a fierce competitor in the world of construction. The addition of Levinson to the company’s team not only won them lucrative contracts with big name corporations but ushered in a new era of innovative thinking. Levinson’s ability to conceptualize near impossible blueprints and turn them into reality created various opportunities for the company to grow and expand their reach. It only made sense that when George Milton retired, he placed his company in Levinson’s care-- the first non-family member to inherit Milton Family Construction.

Eventually, Levinson set his sights on expanding the company to other parts of Georgia and surrounding Southern areas. Of course, however, Levinson’s constructional genius had people from all over the world seeking him out to spearhead various projects-- from commercial construction to abstract residential floor plans. By his late twenties, Levinson had become one of the richest men in the country and, now in his early forties, has finally decided to settle into partial retirement.

Yes, Ari Levinson was not a man that could be ignored. But your reasoning for such a thought was drastically different from those of the “construction” kind.

Simply put, Ari Levinson was a fox. A silver one at that, with grays in his hair and beard that made you weak in the knees. He had a megawatt smile that dazzled the socks off you and a sexy, rumbling voice that scratched an itch you never knew you had. He spoke with you, took an interest in the things you liked. He lit you up inside in ways you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

And he was your father’s best friend.

The two went way back, to a time before corporate architecture and multi-million dollar constructions companies. Childhood friends who grew up down the street from one another and happened to be in the same classes up until college. It was a tale as old as time. So, as a result, when your father settled down in Savannah to raise his little family, it only made sense for Ari to find himself a permanent home there as well. After all, your father was the only family Ari had left.

Aside from his pain-in-the-ass nephew, Darius. Who was also your ex.

Talk about convoluted, right?

But none of that mattered anyway because, as far as you were concerned, Ari Levinson and his dumbass nephew could burn in hell. One was a narcissistic serial cheater and the other…well. That was entirely too much for you to unpack in one sitting.

So, you decided to put all that shit behind you. All you wanted was to get stupid drunk and post a few thirst traps. No more, no less.

With a sigh, you put your phone in your purse and took one last look in the mirror. Ignoring your vibrating purse, you headed downstairs and paused at the bottom. You took a moment to observe your father. He was resting in his easy chair, watching a football game on the television. Well, more like sleeping through a football game. You smiled fondly, walking over to cover him with the afghan your mama knitted years ago. Your heart clenched painfully at the thought.

He startled a little before relaxing at your presence, humming quietly in acknowledgement.

“Don’t wait up, papa. I’m going out with Tam,” you said softly, kissing his head. “I’ma spend the night at her place.”

“Alright, shug,” He drawled, shifting slightly. “Be careful.”

“You know I will, pa.”

Patting his shoulder gently, you crossed over to the hall closet and grab a stylish jacket to match your outfit and defend against the cool, fall evening. Your father’s voice called out moments later and you felt your back to go ramrod straight at his words.

“By the way, Levinson asked ‘bout you a little while ago.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Your cheeks burned and you prayed your father couldn’t hear the nerves in your voice.

“Yeah. Just checkin’ in. Said he ain’t heard nothin’ ‘bout you in a while. Wondered if you and that boy was still seein’ each other. I tol’ him that sonofabitch nephew o’ his could kick rocks.”

“Bet he got a hoot out of that,” You said awkwardly, shrugging your jacket on.

“Sure did. Laughed his lilly-white ass off.” Your papa replied. “He was just seein’ how we were doing with everything. Ever since, well, anyway. He was just checking in.”

You watched him for a moment as he fiddled with the afghan, his fingers delicately tracing the designs woven into the blanket. Another pang ran through your chest.

“Yeah...that was…that was nice of him,” You replied slowly. “Didn’t have to do that.”

"Yeah, well he was fond of your mother. She always made him feel like part of the family."

Silence hung awkwardly in the air. You shifted uncomfortably, feeling like your skin was being pricked by a thousand needles. Your father stroked the afghan, almost in a daze. You pulled the hem of your dress down self-consciously. He looked over at you, his eyes heavy and seemed to want to speak. Uncertainty flashed in his eyes. He went back to quietly stroking the afghan muttering, “Yep. Good ol’, Levinson.”

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Well, I gotta go! I see Tam’s headlights out the window. Love you, bye!”

Without waiting for a response, you dashed out the front door and into the cold air of the night. Of course, you hadn’t actually seen Tam’s lights through the window. So, you were standing outside waiting for her frequently late ass to show up. You huffed, taking a seat on the porch. That girl couldn’t get nowhere on time-- even if her damn life depended on it.

You pulled out your phone, checking to see if she had texted. Instead, you were greeted to several missed calls from Ari and two from Darius. At that moment, a new message from Ari popped up on your screen. Hesitating briefly, you opened the text.

You smirked at the message. You were riling him up, and when Ari was riled up...well, it always ended up rather interesting for you. Deciding to push your luck, you quickly responded before you could second guess yourself.

There was a brief lull in the conversation. A full minute passed, making you anxious. Then, he finally answered. Scoffing at his reply, you shot back your response.

Then, you turned your phone without a second thought. Pocketing it, you allowed a smug grin to overtake your face. The headlights of Tamisha’s car served as the spotlight for the devious plan taking center stage in your mind. If Ari wanted to ghost you, and come back three weeks later like he owned the place, then two could play that game. The next time you saw Ari, you were going to have him begging on his knees for you.

Little did you know that “next time” would be in a matter of hours.

A/N: It took forever to get these pictures formatted properly. I hope y'all enjoyed. Stay tuned!

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