#perfectly fine during the last two seasons | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

g1rld1ary · 3 months ago

Text

our names in the paper - footballer!james potter x fem!sports journalist!reader

wc: 11,151

cw: swearing, fade to black but suggestive moments?, smoking, slut-shaming, kissing

info: r and james are about 24, set in 2007ish solely for the romcom vibes. james is the equivalent of like David Beckham in his prime, all pics are for vibes only, not reflective of r's appearance etc

me: i've been working on this for soooo long i am so happy it's finally done!! if u couldn't tell it's very inspired by early 2000s romcoms and i am honestly so proud of it so praying it doesn't flop LOL

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

"James, James! Over here! What's the defence strategy this season?"

If you had to hear James' name one more time you might scream. Unfortunately, you were locked in a room with nothing but that. Worse, you were part of the problem.

"Mister Potter, what do you think about your striker's goal-to-game ratio falling rapidly this season?" You called, begrudgingly hoping for a moment of the soccer star's attention. Fortunately (or unfortunately), his glittering eyes settled on you, singling you out from the room of hungry journalists.

"I think that you miss one hundred per cent of the shots you don't take," He said, smirk turning to something challenging, "And as long as my team is training and working together, I'm not gonna cry over a bit of spilt milk or missed goals. And, as far as I'm concerned we're still winning games, aren't we?" You rolled your eyes, scribbling down his answer nonetheless.

You continued the catfight of trying to get answers for your newest article, keeping the balance of vying for James' attention and showing him you didn't care for him personally, unlike the other journalists you were pushing against. The conference room was full of men and women who wanted to be James or be with him. Aside from the professional questions, there were certainly several invitations to the pub thrown around, and you were sure you saw one woman try and give him her cellphone number. You rolled your eyes again at that, James was nothing to fawn over.

He might be a big shot now, but you'd known him almost all your life. The two of you had gone to school together and had bickered through every interaction since then. James had always wanted to be a football star, and you a journalist. You'd never believed in him and vice versa, both of you taking every opportunity to tease the other or cut each other down. Maybe it was just clashing personalities, two people too ambitious to be friends. The rivalry had lasted past school, and unfortunately, the two of you often crossed paths in your respective careers.

The press conference wrapped up soon after your question, and you ended up lingering in the room trying to finish your notes. James was still over at his podium next to his coach, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and arduously texting on his flip phone. Seeing you hovering by the door he called your last name, sauntering up behind you. You rolled your eyes and braced yourself for the encounter.

"Potter." You smiled curtly, moving to leave.

"You don't have to call me 'Mr Potter' during the conferences, you know. James is perfectly fine, everyone else calls me that."

"Just trying to stay professional," You said through gritted teeth, aware his coach and a few others were still around you. It could cost you your job to snap at him.

"Was it professional when I was your first kiss?" He stepped closer and you instinctively stepped back, feeling the plaster wall graze your back through your work blazer.

"It was spin the bottle and we were twelve, it's ancient history. And do you mind? I know you're some kind of god around here but I have a reputation to uphold," You whispered, glancing around anxiously. James laughed at your distress which only annoyed you further. Maybe he could get away with anything, but you had to fight for your place in your field as a female sports journalist, you couldn't afford to take it lightly.

You couldn't help the physical reaction to being trapped between James and the wall though, your breathing shallow and quick, face tilted up slightly to look at him. You felt a bit like prey, caught in the predator's territory and resigned to imminent death.

"Let her go, will you? She's just doing her job," Remus Lupin said, entering the conference room with his nose crinkled from the smell. You couldn't blame him, sweaty players and hungry journalists didn't make any kind of utopia together.

"I wasn't doing anything!" James cried, hands up in surrender, "Come on love, I was just giving you the scoop, right?"

"First of all, if you were giving me 'the scoop' right now I'd certainly be accused of sleeping to the top by all the blokes waiting out there," You gestured to the group of other reporters still lingering in the hall waiting for any scraps of information, "And secondly, I work for the bloody Sunday People, not the BBC. I honestly think they'd rather I just write about your 'dashing good looks' or a drug scandal than your games," You complained, falling back into the ease of conversation now that Remus was there. He'd been at school with the both of you, growing up to be a physiotherapist, but was always much more palatable than James.

Both men laughed at your plight.

"If you ever need a more detailed look at my dashing good looks just ask, sweetheart. I'd be glad to show you, you know, for your articles." You rolled your eyes at James' attempt to be charming, snapping your notebook shut.

"Alright, I think that's my cue to go," You said curtly, smoothing out your work trousers. "Remus, I'll return Dracula next time I see you; I'm almost finished." You remembered you'd had his novel for quite a while, sparing him a smile on the way out.

"You lend her books?" James asked incredulously, hazel eyes curiously following your figure down the hall. Remus just shrugged, patting James on the shoulder and attending to his actual job, checking up on the players after the match.

James was still hung up on the fact when he returned to the apartment he shared with Remus and Sirius, flabbergasted as he hung his coat on the rack.

"Since when are you two close enough to be sharing books?" He cried as he paced through the kitchen, "Have we not all been in agreement that she is stubborn and hard-headed and annoying and has been since school?"

"No," Remus shook his head, "You decided that, and I daresay she feels the same about you. I've always rather liked her."

James was unexpectedly dumbfounded at the realisation that you weren’t the common enemy he thought you were. Even Sirius didn’t seem to dislike you, always stopping for a chat when you were around the stadium and giving you extra comments with a flirty wink.

James didn’t need to think about you for another few weeks; his team hadn’t played one week and you’d been assigned other matches for the others — he read your very amusing pieces on lawn bowls and chess-boxing, partly because he knew you’d hate the assignment.

You were blissfully apart until one Saturday night. You were out with your friends and a few coworkers and James was out with his. He’d started in the local pub while you were at a fancy cocktail restaurant for Lily’s bachelorette party, however, your groups crossed paths in the depths of a nightclub.

Maybe you were getting too old for them, waking up with sore backs and knees after nights of dancing, but it didn’t mean you wouldn’t give it a red hot go. And with a few cocktails in your system, nobody could convince you it wasn’t a good idea.

You'd been shaking what your mother gave you for the better part of an hour before it was your turn to get another round, telling the girls you'd be back before stumbling through a sea of sweaty bodies.

Some gross man who was definitely too old for you obstructed your path, grabbing your arms to make you dance with him. Your face crinkled in disgust of its own accord, trying to wiggle yourself free. He continued to encroach on your space, forcing you around despite your persistence. Finally, a man's hands landed on his shoulders, yanking him away and subsequently freeing you from his grasp. The momentum sent you tumbling in your strappy heels, right into something warm and solid. You cringed, having been there before. You turned slowly to meet your unwitting saviour, huffing when you realised it was James.

"Oh, fuck off," You grumbled, mostly to yourself, producing a quick apology to not seem totally impolite.

"Alright?" Sirius asked, revealing himself as the one who'd gotten you away from the creep. You shrugged, fixing your hair.

"Been better," You told him, preparing to leave before seemingly their whole team had surrounded you, all greeting you loudly. You weakly waved at them, feeling dreadfully underdressed and professional. You were used to seeing them in the stadium and press conferences where you were much more modestly dressed. The strapless mini dress wasn't giving you the same layer of protection.

"Right," You said when there didn't seem to be any more productive conversation happening, "I'm off to the bar then."

"Let me buy you a drink, to make up for the freak," One of the players, Frank, said. You smiled but shook your head.

"I'm buying for several, it wouldn't be fair. It's Lily's bachelorette." You directed the last sentence to those who knew her, the football and journalism professions having considerable overlap due to events and the never-ending scandals and interviews. James covered his face in mock-devastation.

"Not Lily! Have I missed my chance forever?" He moaned, earning some shoves from the rest of the group. You and Lily had been friends since uni, and you'd introduced her to the boys at one of the terrible house parties you'd endured over your three years studying. James had developed a thing for her right away (no one knew how much of it was serious and how much was for comedic value) and had been loudly pining for her ever since, despite her long-term relationship with Dirk Cresswell, an economist who worked in the building down the block from your office.

"I think you missed your chance the first time," You retorted with a snort, a little drunk to have any ferocity in your tone. You both made a face at each other, ignoring the laughter of those around you. You dismissed the group and danced away, shaking your arse over to the bar.

A few rounds later and you were not in your best shape. The girls had been absolute menaces, feeding you shots and deceiving colourful cocktails that actually held like seven standards in them, and you were certainly feeling the effects. You excused yourself from the group to find a loo, bile rising in your throat as you pushed past dancers, not even sparing a comment for James as you saw him.

That confused both James and his friends, becoming used to your insistent teasing over the years. He exchanged a look with Sirius, following you through the crowd and to the bathrooms.

He figured something was wrong when you burst into the gender-neutral bathrooms, not bothering to lock the door behind you. James and Sirius silently fought about who was going to follow you in and check on you; James found you insufferable, Sirius had severe emetophobia and would probably throw up himself if he had to be close to you vomiting. James rolled his eyes, it was his responsibility. Sirius clapped him on the back gratefully, leaving him to return to the others. James sighed, reciting some affirmations before he cracked the door open, calling out to you.

When you responded with a disgusting wretch, James slipped inside, gagging a little as he saw you leant over the toilet bowl, bare knees on the grimy tile floor.

"Alright?" He asked for lack of anything better, unsurprised when you replied with another gag.

"I feel ill," You said pathetically, head hung low in the bowl which James knew you would resent tomorrow. He laughed quietly, getting closer to you.

"No shit, idiot," His tone was light as he began to rub your back softly, making sure your hair was away from your mouth. You vomited a few more times, your body reacting in violent hurls as James tried to be both soothing and as far away as possible.

When your stomach was finally empty you slumped against the toilet, cheek pressed against the cool porcelain.

"Woah," James pulled you up to a sitting position, "That cannot be good for your skin. Let's get you home, okay?" You nodded petulantly, letting yourself be led out through the club, James telling Lily he'd make sure you got home (and congratulated her on the upcoming wedding).

"Can we get some gum or something? My throat tastes like vom." James looked down at you from where you were lodged into his side, legs shaky as you wobbled down the street. He sighed and steered you in the direction of a convenience store, picking out strawberry gum for you since it tasted better than mint, your words. Good you thought when he paid for it, the football star can shell out 2 pounds, makes more than you anyhow.

You chewed happily, stumbling down the pavement as James held onto you, keeping you upright.

"You're so muscly," You said, somewhat in a drunken haze.

"Thank you?" James laughed, patting you softly on the forearm he was holding. To be fair, you weren't quite sure if it was a compliment either. Your words were admittedly oddly nice but your tone made it confusing, drunk thoughts not completely translating to sober dynamics.

You meandered for a few oddly peaceful minutes, neither of you starting an argument or picking a fight. It was a nice break from normal, the two of you even sharing some peaceful small talk -- discussing a movie you'd both seen recently.

Of course, nothing good lasts.

"James!" A voice yelled from the other side of the street, a short man with mousy mannerisms. James groaned beside you.

"Peter Pettigrew," He whispered to you, trying to pull you along faster, "We used to be mates but turns out he was just using me to get team secrets out into the papers." You whipped your head around to look at him. Oh! You knew Pettigrew, unsurprising given you both reported on essentially the same topics, but he had a bad name even in your circles. He was closer to a paparazzi than a journalist, going for the cheap stories and ad hominem approaches rather than searching for any meaningful insights. Simply put, in an already sleazy career, Peter Pettigrew was the bottom of the barrel.

"Later, mate. I'm in the middle of something right now." James put his arm around your shoulder, better shielding you as he tried to make a getaway. The telltale flash of a camera reflected off the grey pavement, making both you and James whip your heads around to face Peter, looking hardly ashamed of himself. After a moment of shock, you both covered your faces, stumbling down the street as fast as you could manage. The damage was already done.

Suddenly you didn't feel as drunk, navigating the cobblestone streets with unanticipated nimbleness. James might've had the athlete's advantage but you were on home turf, leading him through local shortcuts and to the front door of your apartment building.

On the journey over you'd attracted a few more photographers all fiending for a scandalous picture of James, a small mob forming as you tried to punch in the door code despite your shaking hands. James was right behind you, front pressed to your back, holding his Adidas windbreaker out in a position to shield your face from the prying eyes.

You slammed the door shut, the nosy questions and camera clicks immediately muffled. James let out a long sigh, running a hand through his already tousled hair. Neither of you spoke for a while, processing what had happened.

"Make yourself at home then." You cringed as you surveyed the state of your flat; clothes flung over chairs and dishes still in the sink. Your only option for living alone was cramming all your stuff into what was essentially a shoebox, so any amount of mess made the place look chaotic.

"Nice place," James said and you immediately rolled your eyes, snatching up a stray bra strewn across an armchair. "No, I mean it! It's cozy. Very you." He gestured up at the colourful, mismatched glassware in a kitchen cabinet and the beaded curtain separating your bedroom. You blushed slightly; you didn't often take men home, your flat staying a girly paradise just for you.

You put on the kettle, comforted by the familiar sounds of water beginning to boil. James sat awkwardly on an armchair near the window, anxiously peeking out from behind the curtain every few minutes. His reactions told you the paparazzi were still loitering outside.

James took his tea gratefully, surprisingly still agreeable despite all the terrible things that had happened in the course of a few hours.

"Do you have a back exit or something? Somewhere I can slip out and get home?" You shook your head with a grimace.

"Only the fire exit, but that still goes out near the front. Otherwise we're surrounded by other buildings."

"You must be exhausted after everything. Head off to bed, I'll wait until the gits outside fuck off then lock the door behind me. We don't have to ever mention this again if you don't want." The orange lamp light made James' eyes look unfairly soft, highlighting the golden flecks amongst the brown. You steeled your nerve and shook your head.

"I'm not that bad of a host," You tried to joke, "Besides, don't you have training tomorrow? You're already up later than I'm sure you intended to be. I couldn't live with myself if I ruined England's star player by making him stay up all night, you take my bed and go to sleep." You were both very carefully trying to keep things light, not wanting to spend any more of the night miserable and fighting.

"Well, I'm not taking your bed, that's just impolite. I'll take the couch, if you're being so generous as to let me stay." He had a cheeky smile on his lips as he said it, both of you dancing around the fact that in any other circumstance James wouldn't have been allowed within fifteen feet of your flat.

"That couch? No way." You pointed at the teensy vintage sofa sitting in front of the boxy television. It had space for maybe two and a half arses to sit on it, maybe horizontally extended legs if you were short-ish, but there was no way the goliath James Potter was getting any decent sleep on it. "You take the bed. I'll survive the couch tonight."

"Don't be stupid, I can't sleep in your bed. If not the couch I'll take the floor."

"Speaking from a purely medical standpoint, I haven't cleaned these floors recently enough for it to be safe to have your face in such close proximity. Take the bed, Potter."

You bickered for a few long minutes, both of you trying to outdo each other's respect as host and guest, respectively. You didn't miss the irony that even when you and James were getting along you were fighting.

"I'm not letting you go without, that's final." You turned away to go fetch a pillow for your night on the couch when James said something you never ever thought you'd hear from him.

"Then sleep with me."

"Excuse me?" You all but shrieked, immediately cringing as you thought about your poor neighbours.

"Look, it's basically morning, we're both shattered and I'm sure your bed is much comfier than whatever alternative you're planning. We can even go full pillow-wall if it'll make you feel better." You stared at him for several moments, lips actually agape. Never in your life did you think James Potter would be asking you to share a bed with him, and never in your life did you think you'd be considering it.

"Fine."

Twenty minutes later and you were both ready for bed. You'd found James an old pair of an ex-boyfriend's long abandoned pyjamas, stuffed in a bottom drawer. They were slightly too small to accommodate all his muscles, the t-shirt sitting a few inches above the pants' waistband, giving him a very '90s crop top and exposing his happy trail.

You were almost definitely more embarrassed than James. You were in a similarly aged pair of pyjamas, a cartoon of Spongebob over your chest. You couldn't tell if you'd prefer to be in the lame pair that you were wearing or a cute pair -- no, it would probably look like you were trying too hard. Which you weren't. You didn't care about looking cute in front of James Potter, why would you?

He was already in bed when you'd returned from your skincare routine, face fresh and moisturised, and though you knew he was going to be there, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of James Potter in your bed. Tucked up to the chin under your frilly floral grandma sheets, he looked the picture of cozy.

"Don't bloody touch me, I mean it. I want to feel alone in my own bed," You snapped, sliding under the covers, pulling the doona similarly high up to your chin. You turned over to the centre of the bed to find James already on his side looking at you. You let it be for a moment, surprisingly enjoying the sleepover vibes you'd created.

"Okay this is weird now, the pillow's going up." You slammed a long decorative cushion in between the both of you, secretly smiling at the sleepy giggle James let out.

The first time you awoke it was hazy, still early in the morning with golden sunbeams streaming through your curtains. Warmth enveloped you, keeping you cozy despite the winter morning outside. You shifted to burrow deeper into your blankets when a groan came from behind you, startling you more awake as you recognised the feeling of muscular arms wrapped around your middle. It suddenly all came back to you, James walking you home, the paparazzi, you making an absolute fool of yourself. However, James was a portable heat source and extremely comfortable so you let yourself ignore everything that had led up to it, allowing yourself another few hours of blissful sleep.

The second time you woke up James was gone. That wasn't surprising given he definitely had early morning training, but you would reluctantly admit that it was a little lonelier in your bed than it usually was.

You didn't leave the house for the rest of the day, finally cleaning your apartment after much too long. Turns out all you needed was to be embarrassed in front of a guest to get you motivated.

Monday morning you weren't hungover anymore, but you were mourning the weekend that had passed much too quickly. Still, things were running smoothly enough; you didn't miss the tube and had snagged a seat, and your makeup was looking absolutely grand. You were absolutely thriving.

That was, until you crossed the threshold of the Sunday People offices and the jerks from the politics columns started bothering you, as if a Monday morning wasn't punishment enough.

"Meet anyone nice over the weekend, sweetheart?" One crowed from his desk chair, looking positively dickhead-ish in his too-small button-up.

"Or still on the clock maybe? We know you're always hunting for a good story." The combination of both remarks confused you, but you strutted past them with a quick glare in their general direction, your clicking heels producing enough attitude that you didn't need to say anything.

As you approached your own desk area, you had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that everyone was looking at you. You couldn't think of why, but subtly wiped the edge of your lips in case it was foolishly smudged lipstick.

You even swore you heard one of the royal writers -- an awful woman maybe twenty years older than you -- say something about your 'promiscuity' and 'unprofessionalism'. You didn't know where it was coming from. You weren't friends by any means but you usually just stayed out of each other's way, you didn't throw around insults at your workplace. You glanced down at your outfit but nothing seemed especially revealing, the same button-up and pencil skirt you always wore if you weren't doing field work.

You were really starting to wonder why everyone was looking at you when even Lily was sending you pitiful glances. You had just made up your mind to say something about it when your boss came striding towards you, anger emanating in a way which only middle-aged men can do.

"What is this?" He slammed a Daily Mail tabloid down on your desk. The office was dead silent. You looked down at it, wholly confused as to what it could be -- your last article was approved without any troubles.

THE 'INSIDE' SCOOP? POTTER GETS COZY WITH REPORTER ON NIGHT OUT

And there, right under the brazen headline, was the stupid picture that Peter Pettigrew took. The two of you out on the street, you tucked into James' side with his arm around you. Your face wasn't totally visible, but anyone who already knew you would recognise the figure and fashion.

You could feel your face drop as you read the article, a barrage of slut-shamey insults and reports of how intimate you and James were out on the streets of London -- all entirely false, of course. When you'd finished reading the piece the whole office was staring at you, waiting to see how you'd react.

"It's a lie," You said quietly, trying to stop your hands from shaking as they rested on your lap. There was a pregnant pause as your boss processed what you were saying, clearly confused. None of your coworkers dared to speak.

"Bullshit," He replied, face blooming red as he decided you weren't being truthful. "That's you and that's James, there's no denying that. The whole bloody country will be able to see you two getting cozy on the street. How do you reckon this reflects on me, having your name and workplace published alongside your completely unprofessional affair?"

"I understand that it looks bad, but it's not what you think at all. J- uh, Potter was just helping me get home after a chance encounter because I wasn't feeling well, then he hid at my place because of all the paparazzi. Nothing happened." It was a weak explanation, even you could tell, even though it was completely true.

The arseholes over in Politics were already sniggering to themselves and you wished you could have ripped them a new one. Instead, you were cowering underneath your brutish boss.

"It's your word against Pettigrew's, and only one of you's been printed. You've been publicly humiliated and we're getting bad press for it."

Your boss had left you with the threatening promise that the issue would be brought up with your superiors and the whispered opinions of every single person you worked with. You choked out an excuse to get out of the office, taking the lift up to the rooftop to cry.

You had peace for a few minutes, getting the most embarrassing of the sobs out alone.

"Did you actually sleep with him?" If it was anyone else you probably would have snapped, yelling at them for being so insensitive. Marlene said it with such earnest curiosity and sympathy that you turned to face her instead. You were met with her and Lily, your very best friends who you were feeling especially lucky to work with at that moment.

"No!" You told them the full story, about getting sick at the club, James just being polite and walking you home, and Peter Pettigrew's terrible betrayal. Both women listened attentively, taking it all in.

"I thought you hated Potter," Lily said finally, "How'd it get that far in the first place? Usually you'd have ditched him in the first five minutes of being in his presence."

"I don't hate him." You studied your hands intently, observing the peeling red nail polish you should have reapplied yesterday. "I think he's annoying and obnoxious and I've always hated that he's never believed I could be a serious writer, but I don't hate him. He has his moments. Besides, why would I waste energy on hating Potter when I could hate Pettigrew with all my heart?"

"What a snake," Marlene spat, lighting a cigarette as she got comfy next to you. You and Lily both nodded. Peter was not only now a backstabber, but he'd been becoming increasingly insufferable over the years you'd all been writing.

He started out quite nice and was in your periphery of friends in the same way Remus and even James were, but as he'd gotten the job at his shitty tabloid magazine he'd become downright intolerable, always twisting what you'd said both in official articles and when gossiping with other friends. You had all had enough a few years ago and stopped inviting him places. Clearly, he'd held onto the grudge.

At his own work, James was facing the same rumours, though not nearly to the same peril. As he rocked up to his home pitch for the morning training session he was received with catcalls and high fives which made him nervous. No one was ever that happy to be working out on a Monday morning.

"Thought you hated her, mate."

"Maybe all she needed was a good shag to get the stick out of her arse."

"Woah! Can we take it back a few steps and not talk about women that way?" James sent a look over to one of his teammates.

"Sorry bud," He held his hands up in surrender, "Thought you wouldn't mind since you're always moaning about her." James' eyebrows knit together as he tried to piece together what the men were talking about, finally giving up and asking for a plain explanation.

He was met with a copy of Peter's article, outlining the flirty touches and 'electric chemistry' the two of you shared. Scanning it quickly James felt his face screwing up in disgust. Never mind that it obviously wasn't true, what a disgusting violation of privacy. He'd only recently launched into the spotlight, working his way up into the Premier League and then team captain in the last few years. He still didn't know how to handle the fame, especially invasive press like this.

His first priority was setting the ruth straight for his team, explaining exactly what happened and outlining strict instructions not to bring it up the next time they saw you.

"This is going to be a lot worse for her than me," He said, ending the conversation there.

He was correct. Rumours only spiralled from Peter's article. You'd stupidly created Google Alerts for your name; as a journalist, it made sense to keep track of where your writing was being shared. One day of this nonsense and you had all alerts silenced, not wanting to ever visit the internet ever again.

Apparently, this alleged affair was the most interesting thing young British people had ever experienced. The football star and the sports journalist. As you packed up to leave at the end of the day you were feeling sick to your stomach, already overwhelmed by the attention you never wanted on you.

Your face blanched as you approached the dizzying glass windows, a mass of reporters swarming the door. You didn't have to think hard to know they were waiting for you. You retreated to the restroom where they couldn't see you to rearrange your exit appearance. Pulling your coat tight against you and scarf up to cover the bottom half of your face, you plugged your iPod nano in to appear busy (and touched up your eye makeup for the inevitable photos that would make it back into the news cycle).

Physically and emotionally prepared you braved the crowd again, moving through with a polite but firm shove, making yourself a path down to the tube. You only snapped at one particularly rude paparazzi, giving him an instruction of where to 'stick it' as you hopped down the stairs to your station.

You ate a haphazard dinner by your computer, obsessively clicking through the various articles (and now personal blog posts) that had mentioned you. Every link made you feel worse about yourself.

The articles themselves were bad, most of them degrading you and congratulating James. Some had even produced old school photos of the both of you, even a few from your uni days when James was just starting out professionally and you were attending similar parties.

The articles were one thing, at least they usually had to be somewhat impartial. The blog posts by James' fangirls were downright cruel, calling you a slag based on a singular photograph and dragging your name through the mud.

You were drawn from your doom-scrolling by your cellphone ringing, Britney ringtone at least drawing a smile from you.

"Hello?"

"Get off the internet," Sirius Black said from the other end of the line.

"How'd you know?" You exited the webpage dutifully, already feeling the weight of the world's ugly words lifting from your shoulders.

"I figured. First time being written about isn't easy."

"It's certainly making me grateful I've never been so bitchy in my articles," You produced a hollow laugh, "I don't know how people can say these things about someone they've never met."

"That's why we like you," He said, "Mostly, at least. You stick to the sport and not our personal lives."

"Don't inflate my ego, Black, it's just because I don't like you guys," You joked, your mood already blooming back to somewhat more chipper.

"That's what I've been telling him!" You heard Remus call from further away, probably the other side of their living room. Sirius made an offended noise.

"Is Potter there?" You changed the topic, swirling your mouse around the window aimlessly, too afraid to check your work or personal notifications.

"He's out right now, calling someone official -- a publicist or lawyer friend. He's tearing his hair out about this, he feels awful for you." Both men explained, bickering about who exactly he was talking to.

"Yeah, I'm noticing only one of us is getting called a slut." You rolled your eyes even though they couldn't see you, balancing your cell between your shoulder and ear as you made a cup of tea. Sirius' barking laughter crackled through the speaker.

"Don't worry about it, love, everyone knows The Daily Mail is full of shite. Besides, I got that all the time."

"Yeah, in school! Not when you have a grown-up job to save face at!" Sirius conceded, apologising lightly. You shrugged him off; he was not the target of your anger at all.

"James'll be back soon, do you want to stay on the phone?" Remus asked and you answered without hesitation.

"No. I don't want to talk to him right now. We'll just find something to fight about, it's not worth it."

"He wants to make things better," Sirius offered, "He feels terrible."

"Maybe when I'm not so angry at the world." You left them with the offered compromise, hanging up to pity yourself for a few more hours before bed.

You didn't end up being fired over the incident, your bosses couldn't find a good reason to cite, but everyone in the office knew you were on thin ice. Most weren't afraid to highlight that fact. You were really starting to hate the Politics guys.

You just tried to keep your head down, diving into your articles and trying to keep in the higher-ups good graces. Amidst the drama though you'd been taken off all football coverage for the time being, banished to the irrelevant 'sports' you never even knew existed.

The week had taken you out of London to cover bizarre rural events like cheese rolling and bog snorkelling; not uninteresting but a big change of pace to the Premier League drama you were used to.

It did take your mind off of James and the media shitstorm for a day or two though. Being in a small town was much preferable to London, at least for the moment. The paparazzi weren't going to make the drive to find you for a single day when there were plenty more interesting figures to find in the city.

Plus, you were meeting the most interesting people. Though it was no Premier League final, everyone around was so wholly invested and excited by the competition that you couldn't help feeling the same, despite your initial hesitation.

Throughout the day it was just you, your notepad, your camera and the few thousand people who came to participate and observe. You'd already met and interviewed the woman who made the cheese, the previous year's winner and you were waiting impatiently to see who'd prevail now.

The paper was paying for you to stay overnight so you could chronicle the post-event celebrations, and you'd never been so glad to be working late. The key players in the day, organisers and competitors had all convened in the town's old pub, basically heaving under the weight of you all.

You held up your beer with the others despite hating the taste, grateful to be included in their toast to the day. You laughed as you tried to down it quickly, wanting the taste out of your mouth as soon as possible without refusing such a kind gift. Holding the pint up in the air victoriously you accepted the cheers of those around you, including the lovely middle-aged lady who made the ceremonial cheese and the man only a year or two older than you who'd won earlier.

"Finally letting your hair down!" He laughed and you smiled back, trying to remember his name. A glance down at your notepad said Drew. "Can I get you another?" You hoped he didn't notice your eyes widen, not expecting attention like that, not when you were allegedly working no less. You opened your mouth to agree when someone else answered for you.

"She doesn't like beer, thinks it tastes like piss." You whipped your neck around at the familiar voice, mouth dropping open at the sight of James Potter.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, jovial politeness abandoned.

"You didn't remember that my family comes to watch every year?"

"Respectfully, why the fuck would I remember something like that?" You snapped, moving to leave and follow the much nicer Drew to the bar. James grabbed your hand lightly, stopping you from leaving.

"Wait, can we talk please?" You just looked at him for a long time, considering how much patience you had after a full day of work, then shrugged half-heartedly.

He led you outside and away from the crowd, both of you letting out a huff as you noticed the change in temperature.

"I liked your story on the bog snorkelling -- interesting stuff," James broke the awkward silence and you rolled your eyes aggressively.

"As if you read my pieces."

"I do!" He insisted, silently refusing the cigarette you offered. "I've read all your pieces, honest."

"But... huh? You're the one who always said I'd be a shit writer, I've spent years trying to get the negative internal James out of my head! You absolute dickhead!" You shoved his chest, turning back towards the door to return inside.

"Are you thick? I only said that because I fancied you!"

James' words rang heavy in the air, the street otherwise silent. You stared straight ahead of you for a moment, his words settling on top of you as you focused on the orange street lamp.

This whole time, this whole time, you'd been fighting the image you believed James had of you, striving to be better, never being satisfied, for nothing. This whole time you and James had been bickering and trading insults for nothing? And all his flirting... James' annoying charm and ironic compliments and innuendo-filled teasing were all genuine, after all this time? Suddenly your whole world had turned on its axis.

"What do you mean you said it because you fancied me? That is not normal!" You whirled around, accusatory finger pointed his way.

"I don't know! I thought I was supposed to! It wasn't cool to be a sap!" James argued back, running a hand through his already tousled curls.

"Jesus Christ," You muttered, "So what, you thought all my arguing back was just flirting?" James' silence told you all you needed to know.

"Come on, don't act like you didn't like it a little bit! As I recall you were always up for the fight, weren't you? You never avoided me or ignored me. Let's face it, you enjoyed it as much as I did." He stepped closer to you, breath visible in the cool air.

"I didn't enjoy it, what the hell are you talking about? Why would I enjoy trading schoolyard insults with some arrogant, idiotic football player who discredited the one thing I wanted most in my life?" Suddenly you were inches apart, heat emanating from both of you as you fought.

"Like you never said I was stupid for wanting to be a footballer? Face it, love, you're just as bad as me."

And suddenly, despite all your better judgement and every bit of sense in your head, you were kissing him. You didn't know exactly how it had happened, and if anyone were to ever ask you you would absolutely pin the blame on James but there you were, out in the middle of the street without a care in the world.

Every one of your senses was on fire, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his soft curls under your fingers. Everything about James felt like he was made for you, like all the years of you revolving around each other, playing off the other's insult was just a lead-up, preparation for the very moment you kissed for the first time.

James' arms around you were warm, strong from years of working out and protective like a weighted blanket. One hand wrapped around your midsection and the other firmly on your neck you felt wholly surrounded by him, isolated in your own bubble of James.

It was probably a bad idea, but you weren't overly concerned with addressing that fact in any rush. It didn't come as you tilted your head to bring him even closer, it didn't come as you said hurried goodbyes in the pub and collected your coat, it didn't even come as you closed the door to your hotel room, undoing the buttons to James' shirt like they had a personal vendetta against you.

The admittance only came as you lay entangled with him, faces millimetres apart.

"Was that a bad idea?" You asked, genuine self-consciousness mixing with pragmatic anxiety.

"I mean, I quite enjoyed myself, love. Did you not?" James' cheeky smile made you snort out a giggle but you sobered up quickly, hitting him lightly on his toned chest.

"Don't turn this into a joke!" You ordered, "Have we just fucked everything up?" James just looked at you for a minute, taking in the sincerity in your voice and the depth of your eyes.

"Of course we haven't," He assured you. "Do you like me?"

"But--"

"Ah! Do you like me?" He reiterated and you paused, nodding shyly. "See? You like me and I like you. We'll figure everything else out. Start slow; baby steps."

"Baby steps," You agreed, sharing his smile. It really only hit you how much you actually liked James once you'd said it, finally noticing how he might've been looking at you the whole time.

You sent James off early in the morning, both of you needing to make it back to London quickly. You had to get your article written up and James had training. Thankfully there was no awkwardness in your goodbye; James had to rush to meet his parents to drive back by car and you had a train to catch. The only moment of hesitance came as you said goodbye, waving at each other with a giggle as James hopped down the steps. He hesitated halfway, turning to look at you with the glint of mischief in his eye that you'd become very well acquainted with.

In a moment he was at the top of the steps again, swooping in to steal another kiss. You rolled your eyes to hide an embarrassing smile, pushing him back in the direction he came.

"Haven't you got somewhere to be?" You asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. James mimed twisting a knife in his chest but continued down the stairs nonetheless, giving you one last smile before he turned a corner and disappeared from your sight. You sighed like a schoolgirl then laughed at yourself, packing the last of your things to get home.

As you sat on the train, green landscapes passed you through the window and you felt your cell phone buzz from the minuscule pocket of your work trousers.

thinking of u :P <3

You grinned, looking out at the scenery so the people around you wouldn't be able to figure out your embarrassing secret. You felt like a teenage girl again, blushing over a text from the guy you had a crush on.

Everything turned to shit in a matter of hours after returning to London.

First, James' publicist made his statement. It wasn't necessarily terrible, but it really had no regard for you. No statement declaring you both on good terms, no coming to your defence or asking for the press to respect you. James looked like the hero saving a stupid drunk girl, and you still looked desperate for the most popular footballer in the country. You were decently sure it wasn't James' fault, but it did significantly dampen your lovesick giddiness.

The office was half-empty when you arrived, kitten heels clicking against the ground. You said a quick hello to Lily, still dutifully typing away at her computer. You followed her lead, exporting your notes to your desktop computer, formatting the piece and going through edits to have it ready for the next paper.

The sun was setting, sending orange and pink streaks through the sky when the door to your boss' office slammed open, echoing above the cubicles.

"You kissed him?" He yelled and you paled, knowing exactly what he was talking about but not how he knew. That problem was solved when he slammed the magazine down in front of you, no doubt just delivered by the skittery young receptionist running back to the elevator.

FACT OR FICTION? POTTER AND REPORTER CAUGHT SNOGGING AMIDST PUBLIC DENIAL

Fuck. That could not be worse.

The whole piece was essentially dragging your name through the absolute mud now that they had the confirmation there was something going on between you and James. The whole world thought you were sleeping to the top, or for the best scoop, and everyone hated you for it.

You looked up at your boss, words dying on your tongue.

"Please tell me that's not you," He said, grasping at the thinning hair on his head. You couldn't deny it.

"I..." You trailed off, searching for anything you could say to make it better. "I didn't mean to. And I'm being completely honest when I say that the first article was all bullshit. Things have... happened since then." You were already on the verge of tears. Even on an optimistic day, you couldn't have denied that this was utterly shit.

"Jesus." Your boss muttered, beginning to pace. "Look, I like you, you know? You do good work and you're never outta line, but I reckon the higher-ups are gonna be done with you. They wanted you out over the first article but I convinced them it was all speculation. This is proof and makes us all look bad that you're sleeping with someone you interview every other bloody week. Look, I'll do what I can in damage control, but I'd be bringing your stuff home tonight. I'm sorry."

How could he have just left you with that absolute bombshell? Effectively firing you, just like that? The tears had made their way up to your waterline, sitting there mocking you as you refused to let them fall. You submitted your piece and shut off your laptop, angrily stuffing your sparse personal decorations into your shoulder bag to get the fuck out of the building as fast as possible.

The paparazzi were waiting again, of course, like that was what you really needed. You pushed past them, making sure to land an extra hard stomp on Peter's foot, lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile as you heard him curse.

You sat on the tube, staring intently at your feet and trying desperately to think of anything but your current situation. You'd already been approached by someone who'd coughed out "Skank," which really hadn't done anything for your sour mood. All you wanted was to crawl into your bed and never emerge.

You wandered down the street between the metro station and your flat, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets.

"Hey!" Someone called and you glanced over on instinct, senses drawn by the interruption of an otherwise quiet evening. "You're the girl who kissed James Potter, yeah?" It was a girl still in her school uniform, probably sixteen or seventeen. You thought through your options quickly and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wicked. How was it?" She asked, chewing on pink gum. There was an aura about her that you liked, not judgemental like everyone else you'd met. If you were still in school you thought you might've been friends with her.

"Pretty good, I'd do it again." A cheeky almost-joke between the two of you, ironic given the shit that it had caused for you.

"We were talking about it at school. Pretty shit how they've treated you. Like they all wouldn't jump at a chance to get close to 'im." You liked the way that she didn't get any closer. Just the two of you standing face to face, divided by the empty road.

"Exactly what I've been saying," You agreed, tucking your hair behind your ears.

"If it was the other way around, if you were the famous one, James would be getting congratulated for getting with you, not ridiculed by the mindless gossip columns. All my friends think it's utter bullshit, stopped buyin' 'em and everything." You could have kissed her if that wasn't tremendously creepy. In five minutes, this schoolgirl had vindicated everything you'd been saying for the past week in a way no one else had.

"Thank you," You said, with more sincerity than you probably should have had for a complete stranger. The girl just shrugged with a smile, nodding before continuing down the street, the sound of her leather school shoes growing quieter with every step.

You felt it in your whole body every time you thought of the interaction for the next few hours, warmth spreading through your chest as you were reminded there were still good people around.

Your other reminder of that fact came with the sound of your buzzer, the laughing of Lily and Marlene echoing off the stone of your building. As you let them in curiously they presented armfuls of takeout, the smell of Chinese food immediately floating through your flat.

Lily took the responsibility of setting out the food while Marlene took control of your little television, flipping between channels until she found a suitable romcom starting.

You didn't speak about what had happened, no one mentioned James Potter or the bloody Sunday People. Yet, there was an air of tenderness that let you know the girls knew exactly what was happening and how you were feeling about it.

Still, there was something bothering you. You couldn't give it a name immediately, only a tugging in your stomach while the girls were entertaining you, but persistent nonetheless.

It wasn't until you were all crammed into your bed, the other two peacefully asleep, that you could identify the sensation. It was an overwhelming desire, a need to write that you hadn't felt in ages. It was the same feeling that had pushed you to be a journalist in the first place, an inspiration you typically only felt watching a magical soccer final.

You crept out of your bedroom, switching on your computer at the kitchen table, squinting at the aggressive blue light. And when a blank Word document appeared before you, you started writing. Obsessively, feverishly, words poured out of you at a rate that hadn't happened since you'd started at Sunday People.

The words of the school girl fresh in your mind, you started an article vastly different from your usual kind. Instead of strategies and highlights you dissected your own experience of the past week, saying everything you hadn't let yourself unload to the paparazzi outside your office (though with fewer curse words than they would have received). It could have been minutes or hours that you were writing and you wouldn't have noticed, eyes glued on the screen in front of you.

You didn't realise you'd fallen asleep until Lily woke you gently with a hand on your shoulder, offering a steaming mug of tea. It was light outside, the world already up and awake. You were glad it was a weekend as the girls didn't need to rush off to work, cooking a simple breakfast for you all to share.

"What've you written?" Marlene asked, the second part of her sentence unnecessary: since you don't have a job to write for. You shrugged, taking a bite of some eggs.

"Just something I had to get off my chest. Might see if I can sell it to someone to tide me over 'til I figure out what I'm doing with my life."

"Can we read?" You made a 'go ahead' gesture, the computer already open to the screen.

A WOMAN'S UNWILLING WEEK IN THE PUBLIC EYE:

How a woman always loses.

You sat in mild discomfort as Lily and Marlene read your piece in silence, anxiously awaiting their reactions. They weren't what you were expecting.

When they turned back to face you, Lily had tears in her eyes, red tones brought out in her skin. Even Marlene looked uncharacteristically moved, not at all the reaction you were expecting. Firstly, it was completely unedited so you suspected it was somewhat of a mess from your midnight haze. Secondly, it was more of a vent than anything, getting your hatred for invasive paparazzi off your chest. You thought you'd all laugh about it then move on with your days.

"Lils, what's wrong?" You didn't mean to laugh, it was more out of surprise than anything else.

"It's just, it's so raw and real. It's so unfair," She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater.

"Jesus, you don't have to cry," You said lightly, "I'm fine! I hated that bloody place anyway."

"That's not the point," Marlene pointed out, "And Lily's right, this is really confronting stuff. It's great."

"Thanks," You mumbled, studying a lamp for something to do.

"Can we talk about James?" Your head snapped back to look at her.

"What about him?"

"Clearly there's been some... developments in your relationship, which we don't have to talk about--"

"Yet," Marlene interrupted.

"The point is that it looks like there's feelings involved now. What are you doing about them? Because if you publish that, it's putting everything out there, and even I can't tell how you feel about James right now," Lily finished.

"I don't want to talk to him," You said quickly, "I know it's not his fault but I can't think about him without getting mad. It's like I wrote; he ends up fine while I lose my job over one kiss."

"Understandable," Marlene nodded, "But if I know James at all, he'll be going crazy every minute that you ignore him."

You had much to consider when the girls left. The state of your career, your feelings for James, everything felt too big and overwhelming to make any decisions about. So, you took a nap.

The rest of your weekend was spent sending your then-edited article to as many newspapers and blogs as you could and hiding out in your flat, dodging James' calls.

Unfortunately, you liked him. You'd figured out that much. More unfortunately, he hadn't done anything to help you out in all this mess, benefiting from the press in a way that only England's favourite footballer could.

On Monday morning your piece was published. Not the biggest or most reputable newspaper, if your name hadn't still been trending it probably would have gone largely noticed. Instead, it blew up.

It had mixed reviews, of course, a tell-all so blatantly feminist would always attract its haters, but you were floored by the support it was receiving. Women were validating your experiences in a way you hadn't expected even a few days ago. It made you not so scared to leave the house anymore.

On Tuesday morning, Remus called you. You had the thought that it might have been James calling to grovel on Remus' phone, but you thought it was a smart enough idea you'd indulge anyway. If it was Sirius you wouldn't have picked up.

Instead, it was actually Remus.

"Come to the media room this afternoon," He said, evidently not wasting time with pleasantries.

"What?" You asked, caught off-guard.

"Just do it. Two o'clock."

"Remus, you know I don't have a job anymore, right?"

"Come off it, you know anyone on the team would let you in. You've got quite a name for yourself," He chanced a joke and you rolled your eyes.

"What, whore?" You retorted, only a little worried it would be true.

"I'm hanging up," Was all he said before the line went dead. You huffed, snapping your phone closed with all the attitude of a spoiled private schoolgirl.

Yet, at two o'clock you were standing in front of the media room at James' team's stadium, questioning all of your life choices.

The room seemingly went silent when you entered, dozens of pairs of eyes staring you down as you nervously stuck to the wall. You felt the derogatory, leering stares from all the sleazy men who'd been accusing you of sleeping with players since you first started in the field. It made you want to drop dead.

James made his way to the lectern up the front of the room with a cough, quieting down the chaos.

"Afternoon, everyone. I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here, I've got some things I'd like to address.

"As you all well know, I've been a frequent face in the papers lately, and not for my brilliant playing as it usually is. I recently got followed down a street after a night out looking after an old friend who happened to be a colleague of yours. Now I know that my godly good looks lead you to believe that I don't feel the same as all of you, but I do. And I'd like you all to consider how you'd feel if a man with a camera followed you all the way home after you'd been out for a night with your friends and a few cheeky drinks. It's pretty invasive if you can't imagine.

"Now, all this press hasn't really affected me. However, my dear friend has been subject to misogynistic articles, slut-shaming and harassment all because we were seen out together and a few hateful words from someone I used to consider a mate." You had no idea where this was going, but you were absolutely fascinated. James was more well-spoken, more mature and solemn than you'd ever seen him, though he still had his audience in the palm of his hand with his casual jokes. It was a masterclass in public speaking.

"If you haven't read any of my friend's pieces I would highly recommend them; she's got a brilliant voice and I personally read everything she publishes. However, I'm not here to talk about her work; I'd actually like to talk about her if you all don't mind."

What the hell was happening?

"In the midst of all these articles over the last week, I know you've all seen various pictures of us, including from secondary school. A few come to my mind, our graduation picture is a highlight, but I'd really like to talk about this one." James brandished a printed-out photo you recognised instantly.

"This photo was taken when we were twelve or thirteen years old at someone's party. That night, as you tend to do when you're young and bored, we played spin the bottle and ended up being each other's first kiss. I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm telling this story now, and it's because ever since that night as I have recently realised, almost a decade later, I have been embarrassingly, stupidly in love with her."

Your life wasn't real, it absolutely could not be.

"And though I've done some incredibly dumb things over the years, somehow she's managed to like me back -- at least a little. So I'm setting the record straight right now, she is not 'sleeping to the top' or trying to get a secret scoop out of me because I'm the one who's been chasing after her for twelve years.

"I know I've been rambling on for far too long so I'll wrap it up here, but I just wanted to end this little conference with a warning that if I see any more disgusting, hateful articles about her, you won't be getting another comment from me again. So nice to see you all!"

The room started to trickle out but you were stuck to your spot against the wall, frozen in absolute shock. You hardly even noticed the dirty looks you got from some of the people you'd been working alongside for years.

You spotted James in another corner, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and messing with his hair. A nervous tell.

The room was almost completely empty when you approached him, heels muffled by the carpeted floor.

"Hey stranger," You said softly, feeling way out of your depth. He turned in an instant, smile lighting up his face then melting away as it was replaced with an insecure frown.

"Was that okay? I didn't want to embarrass you but I wanted to step up and do something and protect you and--"

"Have you really loved me since we were twelve?" You cut him off bluntly.

"Every day since, as I've figured out," He agreed with a slight nod, glasses slipping down his nose slightly.

"What about all the flirting with Lily? The other girls over the years?"

"So obviously fake. Distractions. It's never been anyone but you, love."

You could only stare at him for a moment, your whole world shifting beneath your feet. James' face became increasingly worried, brow furrowing more the longer you remained unresponsive.

"If you don't feel the same that's totally alright, I still stand by what I did and I don't want you being harassed for--"

You'd always thought that cutting someone off with a kiss was ridiculously cheesy, reserved for shitty Hallmark movies with grown-up child actors who never got their big break. Turns out though, when you realise that your girlish crush on the star footballer has actually been a complicated love of twelve years, you don't really want to waste any more time.

When you woke up on Wednesday morning with James next to you, body heat keeping you cozy, you were convinced you had to be dreaming. When you eventually got up to check your emails and start your day the hypothesis was only solidified by the impossible email waiting in your inbox.

The fucking BBC wanted to hire you as a football commentator and sports writer. Your dream job at your dream company. If you let out an embarrassing squeal then that was none of your business.

You were still convinced you were hallucinating the whole thing until James came in with his biggest smile and that look in his eyes that told you he probably had a hand in getting your name on the BBC desks.

Even a few weeks ago you would have been mad at him, assuming it was mocking or he had ulterior motives. But it wasn't a few weeks ago anymore, and James Potter's whole, endless heart belonged to you. You weren't letting that go anytime soon.

891 notes · View notes

myokk · 4 months ago

Text

clumsy

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 9,1k

summary: sebastian is clumsy

cw: fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, two really stubborn idiots in love to be exact, sir cadogan guest appearance, anne and imelda are the gremlin best friends every girl needs, smut (18+ ONLY), oral (f. recieving)

a/n: or: two stubborn brats make things more difficult than they have to be. I've been working on this for a MONTH more or less, ever since I drew the sketch that inspired it🫶 (I'm the world's slowest writer)

The first time Sebastian Sallow interacted with her after the fateful events of their fifth year, he fell for her.

Quite literally.

Maybe fell on her is more aptly put - Sebastian Sallow is not one to mince his words or say what he doesn't mean, after all. But, in the years to come, he always insists that he fell in love in that moment.

It was inexplicable. One moment, he was walking around, perfectly content with his loveless, boring life, and the next, his every waking moment was painful. Nobody had ever told Sebastian that being in love would physically pain or consume him so.

It all started like this: one moment, he's walking (well, striding) to Crossed Wands. Fine, he's running. Running late already, for the first meet-up of his last year. But - he isn't to blame for being late. He needed to check on something in the library - during his Transfiguration lesson, he had a hunch about something Professor Weasley had said in passing, and of course he had to go and check to see if he was right before he could even think about besting Leander in the inaugural duel of the Crossed Wands season but now, with how late he is - how many minutes ago had it started? - oh, Merlin, it's already been ten whole minutes and what if they've started without him (not that he can blame them) and -

Sebastian is abruptly pulled out of his thoughts when he collides with a strange obstruction in his way. He was just checking his father's old pocket watch, had only looked away for a split second and he could have sworn that, unless he was mistaken (which he never is), there wasn't a statue in the middle of the suspension bridge. And yet, he has run headfirst into something or someone, and now they are both flying through the air, books whirling around them in a flurry of pages and Sebastian unconsciously puts his arms out to grab her before they hit the ground and now he's holding her tight against him and they land with a loud, ungraceful thud, but at least she's not hurt.

Sebastian shakes his head to clear it after the impact that - miraculously - doesn't seem to have been as bad as it could have been, all things considered, and -

He freezes.

What has he done?

He's pressed up against the most impossibly lovely person he has ever seen quite possibly in his life, holding her tightly in his arms as she glares up at him in indignation, a faint flush spreading across her cheeks, making her face glow. Is this what the muggles mean when they say that they were struck by Cupid's arrow? Her hands scrabble uselessly at his chest as she tries to extricate herself from his grip. It's useless. Sebastian is completely frozen in place as he stares down at her, and he can feel his own face heating up at his inability to get off her. What's wrong with him?

"Sebastian," she repeats, and this time her voice registers in his brain. He realizes she has been talking to him this whole time, and as he stares at her face without comprehending - he couldn't have a coherent thought right now even if he wanted to - he sees her eyes dart quickly down, looking at where their bodies meet before she brings them back to his face, a deeper blush coming over her. "You -"

Oh, Merlin. It's her. He blinks and it's like the fog has cleared from his mind - almost, but-not-quite - and he realizes who he has unceremoniously crashed to the ground with him. The spines of the textbooks they are lying on top of dig into the arm that's pinned under her body and his other hand...he realizes (to his almost-horror) that to any students or professors walking by, it would seem as if they were caught up in quite the scandalous extra-curricular activity because his other hand is actively caressing her breast. Well, that's how it would look to any passerby, anyways.

Because there is no way he would be caught dead in such a compromising position with her.

The two of them haven't spoken since the events of their fifth year - the Year-That-Shall-Not-Be-Remembered-or-Acknowledged - and he had been perfectly content with his plan to continue this strange sort of ignoring that they had played all last year. Both of them pretending that they hadn't become impossibly close after only knowing each other for a few months - a closeness that he had gone and ruined by not knowing when to quit. All he had known to do back then was push push push because why couldn't she see things the way he had? The betrayal he had felt when she had gone behind his back to find her own way to cure his sister, and that one stupid word uttered in the heat of the moment, had caused an irreparable rift in their relationship and he would not allow himself to think about how much he missed her. Still misses her.

Just like he will not think about the fact that she is pressed beneath him in a compromising position, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she glares up at him in indignation. He continues to stare at her. Maybe his mouth is agape. She's stopped trying to get out of his grip and is resting her hands on his chest, seemingly waiting for an opportunity to push him off of her.

"Sebastian. Your hand," she repeats. "You're -"

Finally his idiot brain decides to wake up and Sebastian realizes with horror just how aroused he is at the moment and how did he never see her like this before? He gets up in a flash, pushing her back against the pile of books they're lying on top of, wondering if he can subtly adjust his robes without her realizing and then he makes the very grave mistake of looking down at her and she's still very much red-faced, propping herself up by her elbows and she looks so disheveled and lovely lying on top of the pile of books.

His idiot brain has now woken up completely, and how is it possible for one hormonal, eighteen-year-old wizard to be so embarrassed? He knocked her to the ground, pushed her further back in the books in his desperate attempt to get away from her, and now all he can think about is how to hide his arousal. Shameful, really. Sebastian quickly crouches down to help her pick up all of the books but she shoves him away and glares at him with an annoyance that he's never seen before.

"I can do it myself, thank you very much," she says with a huff, gathering everything they spilled up into her arms. She grabs the book Sebastian is holding out of his hands and he inhales sharply at the touch of her fingers grazing his.

Did someone - Garreth, maybe - spike his pumpkin juice with Amortentia during lunch? It's the only explanation he can think of as he stares blankly down at her. How else would he find her so beautiful, so breathtaking, when the last time they had interacted, Ominis and Anne had had to act as intermediaries for the two of them?

"Well," she says finally, slinging her school bag over her shoulder once all of her books have been unceremoniously shoved inside of it, "it's been...nice seeing you again, Sallow. I hope you had a good summer holiday."

And with that, she quickly turns and walks away in the direction she had been coming from, leaving a very confused Sebastian behind. He watches her as she walks away and her long, swishing braid is the last thing he sees before the door closes behind her at the far end of the bridge.

Eventually, he gathers his wits and wanders away.

He does not go to the first Crossed Wands meeting that afternoon after all.

She has not had a full-night's sleep since he somehow cursed her mind and her thoughts a week ago, and she can feel herself slowly slipping into insanity. A curse is the only answer that makes sense, the only thing that gives a conceivable answer to all the wicked dreams she has been having since that moment, dreams that cause her to wake up sweaty and breathless and needing him in the middle of the night in a way she has never felt before. She has been an absolute mess, a disastrous version of her normally quite put-together self, and she is not happy about it.

He's sitting next to her now - they were partnered up by the evil Professor Onai in their first NEWT Divination class of the year - and she's holding herself rigidly, arms tight across her chest, in an attempt to not accidentally touch him. Lately, every single time they make fleeting eye contact across the table during breakfast, or when they pass each other in the hallways, a shiver runs down her spine at the unfamiliar look in his eyes and she has to avert her eyes before it's too much.

Divination has never been a favorite subject of hers - too impermeable for her tastes. She is only taking it at the NEWT level because, during her career counseling with Professor Ronen at the end of her fifth year, he had said that if she wanted to be an Unspeakable she couldn't just work with logic (a preposterous thought, but as a sixteen-year-old she hadn't seen any recourse in arguing with the Ministry's requirements). She supposedly needs to get comfortable with the intangible as well. It doesn't mean she has to enjoy it, though: she doesn't, and never will. The Divination classroom is dark and stuffy, tucked away in one of the highest towers of the castle, and the nauseating smell of incense always coats her nasal cavities long after the class has finished. She finds her thoughts getting muddled in the haze of candle smoke and swirling orbs on the shelves around her - magic somehow always feels thicker up here - and the presence of a certain someone whose knees keep brushing hers under the tiny table they're sharing, a certain someone who has - improbably, inconceivably, impossibly - hit a growth spurt that summer and now towers over her and had encompassed her completely when he knocked her to the ground, isn't helping her concentration at -

"This week, we are going to review everything we learned together last year," Professor Onai says, after the class had rearranged itself based on her instructions. Sebastian shoots a look at her as she shakes her head in an attempt to clear it and sits up straighter. She hopes that Onai's lecture will help her concentrate and clear her mind a bit. If she has something to focus on, to try and think of and remember, it will be better than him. Anything would be better than Sebastian. Onai gives an appraising look to each table before continuing her speech. "As your NEWTs are at the end of the year, we need to make sure you are as prepared as possible. Open your books to page two-hundred and thirty. Today we're going to review the art of palmistry. I should hope that you do not need the aid of your textbook to help interpret the lines in your partner's palm but in the case that you do -"

She chances a glance at Sebastian before getting out her copy of Divining the Undivinable from her bag and wishes she hadn't. He looks uncomfortably big sitting on the tiny tea chair across from her, barely any hints of the boy who had completely swept her away two years ago visible on the sharper planes of his face. When had he - had they - grown up?

Sebastian Sallow was - is - charming, and that had been her downfall. She had successfully avoided his charms the year before, and she wasn't going to let that happen this year, no matter how much her body rebelled against her mind and resolve. Because, as she reminds herself, Sebastian Sallow is also manipulative, and cold-hearted, and selfish.

"Well," she says archly, opening her book. She will not look at him. "I suppose I am still quite ignorant of the practice of Divination, so do forgive me if I have to double-check my readings in the textbook."

He says her name as she opens the book, and she ignores him. He says her name again. She continues to ignore him. He grabs the book from her hands and puts it the correct way for her. She was looking at it upside-down. Her cheeks heat up and she continues flipping through the pages, as if nothing has happened. She finds page two-hundred and thirty. She pretends to be interested in what she sees.

(Divination is unfortunately not interesting.)

Oh, fine.

"Do you want to start, or should I?"

These are the first words she has voluntarily spoken to him - not including the events of last week, which do not count as they were most decidedly not voluntary - since he called her ignorant a year and a half ago. He somehow looks surprised to see that she has addressed him, and for some reason this fills her with rage and a strange sort of confidence. Why shouldn't she be able to talk to him?

"Here," she says, putting her hand out towards him, palm up, ignoring the strange fluttering feeling in her chest when he gently grabs it with one of his. Sebastian looks up at her, waiting for her to continue speaking, and were she not looking at him so intently she would have easily missed the bob of his throat as he swallows nervously. "Show me how it's done."

Her breath catches in her throat at the small, mischievous smirk he shoots to her before he bends over her hand and gently starts tracing the lines on her palm with the fingers of the hand that's not holding hers in place. His touch is feather-light and somehow soft, despite the roughness of his fingers as they drag over her palm. Every nerve in her body seems to have moved to wherever he touches and all of the bravado and anger she had just felt is quickly melting away. When she finally finds her voice, she hates how soft and breathy it sounds. She can't look away from the sight of his larger hands caressing hers.

"Well? What do you see? Do you remember the different lines? Because I -"

She falters. The murmurs of their classmates blend together in the background and the dim lights of the candles...the hazy, thick atmosphere and his proximity and the barely there touches of his rough fingertips on her sensitive palm are altogether too overwhelming and she needs to get out of there. She's supposed to be angry with him. Furious, even. Holding this grudge has been the only way she has been able to have any sort of power over him this past year, and yet...all she can think about at the moment are the sinful dreams she's been having lately where he presses her against a wall, desperately kissing her lips, her neck - even she knows that there has to be more to it - but what?

Sebastian blinks as she snatches her hand away like it's been burned and - oh, Merlin - she shoves the textbook back into her schoolbag and almost knocks the candle on the table over and wouldn't it be awful if she had started a fire? But she can't think about any of that now in her haste to just get out of the claustrophobic Divination tower.

Vaguely, she can hear Professor Onai asking her if everything is fine and she's not sure but she thinks she mumbles something about needing to go to the Hospital Wing - that's a good enough excuse to leave, isn't it? - but then she hears his voice, deep and cutting through the fog in her mind -

"Don't worry, I'll take her and make sure she gets there fine." A muffled response from their professor and then his voice, just as clear as before. "No, I don't know what happened..."

She hears him calling her name as she flees down the spiral staircase, almost tripping over her feet in her rush to get away from him, but he catches up quickly, reaching out to grab her arm in an attempt to slow her down. She stops running immediately - she supposes her traitorous body wants to see what he has to say, or maybe it just wants to bask in his intoxicating proximity. He crowds her space, and she sees that unfamiliar look in his eyes again. So very different from the cold disdain she had seen the last time she had been this close to him, during the argument that had ended their friendship.

"Let go of me," she whispers, but there's no conviction in her voice as she gazes into his deep, brown eyes. He can tell she doesn't mean it and doesn't make any move to listen to her. Why can't she hold on to the rage? A muggle quote about anger floats through her mind: Holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. What a sweet poison her anger at Sebastian had been, while it lasted. She tries telling herself that he must still feel the same as the evening he had called her ignorant (ignoring the small voice in her head that reminded her of the letters of apology he had sent (that she had burned without reading), the times he had tried to get Anne or Ominis involved and apologize for him) - because why couldn't he just tell her himself? Maybe she had shut down any and all attempts he had made to repair the rift that he had caused in the first place, but she had been right to be so angry with him.

But oh, Merlin, he's getting closer to her, and she can now clearly see the freckles dusting his cheeks and nose and forehead and then before she knows it, his hand is sliding up her arm, leaving goosebumps everywhere he touches and then he's caressing her jaw with his rough thumb and he pauses. Her eyelids flutter closed as her head tilts towards him - she couldn't stop herself even if she wanted to (what does she want?). She can feel his warm breath ghosting over her lips and she has the improbable, ridiculous thought - how is he remembering to breathe? - before he speaks. His lips brush against hers with every soft word and a deep shiver runs through her body.

"I," she hears him say, his voice so, so low, "haven't been able to think since last week."

That's all she needs to hear, the brush of his bottom lip against hers all she needs to feel, to push her into closing what minuscule distance there is between them and then his lips are on hers and it's better than anything she's been imagining. His mouth is soft against hers, insistent, and her hands go up to grip the collar of his plaid jacket to make sure he doesn't go away or disappear on her.

She knows she's behaving wantonly, snogging Sebastian Sallow in the middle of the hallway where anyone could come across them, but third period has only just started and besides, she has had a week of restless nights being tortured by thoughts of him. A week of a few hours of sleep found here and there. Just one kiss should be enough to help her get over these strange feelings, right? She only feels like this because having him lie on top of her after he crashed into her - that satisfying weight of him - the friction of his thumb brushing against her nipple - had made her realize just how stupid she had been, holding this grudge against him for -

She whimpers in protest but it quickly turns into a moan as his mouth moves away from hers and down to her neck. He pulls at her tight collar desperately - she hears some seams ripping - to give him better access to it, and she finds herself arching her back and pushing her body closer to his as he nuzzles her neck with his nose before giving it open, sloppy kisses. When he hears her, he moves back to kissing her, greedily capturing every breathy moan that comes out of her mouth, but the noises coming from him are matching hers, and at the sound she feels an unfamiliar clenching deep in her stomach. Her fingers come up to his hair, going through the silky curls over and over - how are they as soft as his lips? - and he slowly pushes her back until she's sandwiched between his warm body and the cold stone of the wall behind her.

He lets out a low, frantic growl as a hand goes to grip the back of her head, holding her in place as he slants his mouth over hers. He tastes like cinnamon and...like something forbidden. What has gotten into her? She hates him, and yet...

They have abandoned any pretense of propriety - had they ever even been trying? - by this point. His tongue swipes across her lips and then she is completely lost to him, to every sensation of his mouth, and tongue, on hers. His large hands - the wicked hands that had been caressing her palm and had caused this whole mess in the first place - have moved to her waist and are pulling her even closer to him. When he pulls away briefly, she whines in protest, opening her eyes to glare at him. The sight of him, flushed and breathless, his eyes wide and pupils dilated - must match her own appearance because she sees the same hunger she feels in his eyes. She has never seen Sebastian Sallow so disheveled, but she finds she quite likes it and tugs on his curls with a whine. He obliges eagerly, bringing his mouth back to hers.

She's pressed as tightly against him as she can possibly be, and yet it still isn't enough. Her back arches once again, trying to find something, and then he slots one of his knees between her legs. She moans at the friction caused by his movements, can feel an unfamiliar slickness forming at the juncture between her legs, and this seems to spur him on further as his kisses get more desperate and sloppy. She moves against his leg, trying to relieve some of her discomfort, gasping into his mouth, when -

They freeze. Even if they are fully, completely, absorbed by...whatever this is, they can't ignore the strange, metallic clanking sound coming from their left. Sebastian pulls his head back from her slowly, reluctantly, breathing heavily, and looks over to see what the noise is. She wants to, but all of a sudden the horrifying reality of what they've been doing sinks in and oh god what if the noise is a person? Someone who has now seen her in what might possibly be the most mortifying moment of her life - desperately snogging Sebastian Sallow - and she finds she can't look over. She tucks her head into his neck to hide her face as she listens.

"I demand that you get away from her at once, you knave! Cease your attack!"

The voice sounds vaguely familiar, but she's certain that it doesn't belong to any of her classmates. He almost sounds...medieval, but -

"I made haste when I heard sounds of distress coming from down the hallway," the voice continues, "and it appears I have arrived not a moment too soon!"

She brings her head away from Sebastian's shoulder but still refuses to look over at whoever is speaking, instead choosing to stare at Sebastian's face. He's still deliciously flushed from their snogging, still breathing heavily, but now he looks terribly confused. His brows are furrowed, mouth opening and closing as he tries to come up with a response to the outrage currently being directed at him.

The unknown man is continuing his diatribe, almost not even stopping to breathe as he gets more and more worked up, and she hears some more clanking as he reaches a particularly exciting moment in his rant. Sebastian looks increasingly confused, but still shields her with his body, not moving away from her at all despite the accusations.

Her curiosity gets the better of her and she peeks over to see who it is.

The man who has been reprimanding Sebastian so boldly is none other than Sir Cadogan. Although she's never interacted with him directly, she often hears him yelling at his pony as she passes his portrait on her way to Divination. The knight is standing between two witches having tea, who are glaring at him quite angrily as he gesticulates wildly - every movement of his sword comes dangerously close to their display of cakes and sandwiches and it looks like he has already broken some plates. His armor is ill-fitting and loose on him, which explains the terrible noise.

"You rascally knave! I assure you that you do not want to find out what will happen to you if you do not unhand the fair maiden."

He brandishes his sword again, and the woman closest to him quickly snatches her tea cup away to save it from being broken as well. "Come now, Sir Cadogan," she says, exasperated. "Can't you see that these two are in love?"

The other woman joins her protests, nodding vigorously. "Yes, exactly that. Leave them be!"

"Nonsense," he exclaims. "I too have succumbed to my baser instincts on occasion and I can assure you that this is decidedly not what is occurring."

As Sir Cadogan continues to alternate between lecturing her and Sebastian, and directing his two attention to the ladies who are defending them, she looks back to the boy in question. Sebastian is looking down at her, a bemused smile on his lips and she feels a twinge in her chest. His face is still so close to hers that if she wants to, they could be snogging again with barely any effort and her eyes briefly flicker down to his tempting mouth before going back to his eyes, but...

What had gotten into her? What is she doing?

He had somehow managed to manipulate her again, because there is no way that this situation could have happened otherwise. All of a sudden, the anger she's been feeling for the past year and a half - that had left for a brief, blissful moment - surges again, and she pushes Sebastian away from her with as much force as she can muster. She almost feels bad as the happiness in his face turns to confusion, then frustration as he realizes she's getting away from him.

"Stay away from me," she hisses, picking up her discarded schoolbag from its spot on the ground. As she stalks down the hall, she can hear Sir Cadogan cheering on her bravery over the ringing in her ears.

She has a lot of thinking to do.

Sebastian Sallow's List of Priorities (in no particular order):

Figure out what the hell I'm going to do when I graduate;

Figure out how the hell I'm going to finish this bloody Charms essay before tomorrow; and

Figure out what the hell is going on between us

Sebastian sits in an undisturbed corner of the library - nobody ever comes to this table because it's tucked away between shelves of incredibly dense magical theory books - and is twirling his quill in his fingers, watching the ink splatter on the list he spent his precious time writing instead of the Charms essay he should be working on. He's far away from the first-years who like to congregate by the windows and watch the leaves fall softly to the ground rather than study for their classes. He's made especially sure that he is far, far away from her.

It's not his choice, mind you, but he needs to be a gentleman about these things. If she needs some time and space to figure out that she's as crazy for him as he is her, fine. But even Sebastian Sallow's patience runs thin, and he's not sure how much longer he can give her to come to her senses before he snaps and takes matters into his own hands. If things were up to him, the two of them would be sitting far too close together now in this secluded corner, and maybe he would need to put a hand over her mouth to ensure her complete silence as he runs a hand up her thigh.

Now that he knows what delicious sounds can come out of her mouth - sounds that he caused - he's been having a hard time concentrating on, well, anything. Sebastian surreptitiously glances across the library to where she's sitting and studying with his sister and Imelda. Ever since the events after their Divination class, Sir Cadogan has taken it upon himself to follow Sebastian around the halls of the castle, tripping through frames and disrupting their inhabitants as he lectures Sebastian on love. The tea party women had managed to convince the knight that he had disrupted an amorous exchange, and Sebastian fervently wishes they hadn't.

The whole school is abuzz with rumors about who it could be. Nobody has even come close so far with their guesses, but Anne and Imelda are having too much fun teasing him about it. Somehow, she has managed to avoid suspicion - he wonders how this is even possible, since she's never been able to hide what she's thinking. He makes eye contact with her - has she been staring at him this whole time? - and she flushes before looking over to Imelda, who's laughing too loudly at something Anne's just said. Sebastian can't tear his eyes away from her profile, his eyes following the curve of her eyebrow, the slight upturn of her lips as she smiles at her friends, her eyes as they dart back to him, her cheeks as she turns an even darker shade of red as she realizes he's still watching her. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and rests her chin on her hand as she tries to look absorbed in what Anne is saying to her.

Sebastian wonders if she's thought about him as much as he's thought about her. Judging by how she had snogged him back, he's positive that she feels the same way, but then he remembers how she had looked at him before she fled, and he's not so sure. He sighs as he looks back to his list, bringing his quill back to the third item and ripping the paper as he crosses it out again. His mind has been going in circles since that moment and he doesn't know what to think. He slowly puts everything into his schoolbag before heading out of the library for yet another freezing cold shower that hopefully tempers his now-permanent state of arousal whenever she's around.

He doesn't notice her eyes following him as he walks out of the library.

He doesn't hear her hurried excuse to Anne and Imelda as she shoves her things into her bag and rushes to follow him.

He doesn't hear her light footsteps as she gets closer to him.

When she puts a hand out to touch his arm as he waits for the moving staircase to stop, with a soft, "Sebastian" accompanying it, he nearly jumps out of his skin. He was so absorbed with thoughts of her, that to see her standing at his side, closer than she had been since they kissed was almost his snapping point.

"Can we talk?" she asks, looking almost embarrassed as she avoids his eyes. She instead looks determinedly at his collar. He thinks she probably notices that he swallows nervously before acquiescing, but she says nothing as she turns and starts hurrying away from him without waiting to see if he follows her.

She must know that he would follow her anywhere at this point.

They weave through hallways - Sebastian vaguely wonders where exactly they're going - before reaching a little alcove, hidden by a suit of armor. She looks around before pulling him into it. It's almost curfew and the halls are never that busy when the weather is as beautiful as it has been these days - the end of September seems to be clinging on to the summer for as long as possible.

Her lips are on his before he can even ask her what she needed to talk with him about, hungry and desperate. Sebastian is too stunned to pull away - not that he would actually want to. Her arms wrap around his neck, keeping Sebastian close, slender fingers sliding through his hair.

"What," she says breathlessly between kisses - almost not even moving her mouth away from his enough to be able to enunciate properly, "are you doing to me? I haven't been able to think for the last month."

Sebastian smiles into her mouth, wondering if she knows that she's repeating the very thing he told her two weeks ago. Maybe she has been thinking of him all this time - he almost hopes that she's been suffering as much as he has. Instead of responding, he moves a hand to cup her jaw, deepening the kiss. His other hand moves to her waist, gripping it tightly, pulling her flush against his body and she gasps into his mouth. He slowly moves her closer to the window alcove behind them, snogging her senseless the whole time. She moans into his mouth which just spurs him on further - her skirt rides up to her hips as Sebastian trails a hand up her stockinged thigh and they both gasp when his hand reaches skin. Her skin is so, so soft and her breathing gets faster as he continues to caress her inner thigh, closer to the bend between her thigh and her center. Sebastian wonders if she's ever been touched there before by someone else and jealousy flares up inside of him at the thought.

In one swift move, he scoops her up and places her so that she's sitting on the window-ledge, the dusky light of the sunset illuminating her from behind and making her wispy flyaway hairs a golden halo around her. Sebastian's breath catches in his throat - has he ever seen anything so beautiful as her in that moment? - she's staring up at him, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, her breathing shallow and anticipation in her eyes. "You're," he starts saying and his throat goes dry. He brings a hand up to tuck the errant lock of hair - the one she had tucked earlier in the library - behind her ear and she leans her head into his touch, closing her eyes briefly before looking up at him again with wide eyes. "You're perfect."

She smiles faintly and pulls his head back down towards hers and now she's brushing her lips against his, teasing him, before it's too much and he grips the back of her head, holding her in place as he crushes his mouth against hers in a bruising kiss. Her knees are on either side of his waist, and she desperately grinds her core against his throbbing erection and they both groan at the friction. Sebastian moves his hands down to her thighs again as he kisses her, slowly caressing his way up and pushing her skirt up further until it's completely bunched around her waist. She gasps into his mouth at his first tentative touch after he pushes aside her undergarments. Sebastian swipes a finger up her slit, through the slick that coats it, and then he starts circling her clit with slow, even strokes. She shivers against him - at his touch - clinging tightly to his shoulders and gasping into his mouth as he continues.

Every little noise coming out of her mouth, feeling how wet she is, how the slickness keeps growing growing growing makes Sebastian hungry for more - it isn't enough -

Slowly - so slowly - he wants to savor this moment - he lowers himself until he's kneeling between her legs and he looks up at her. Her face is deliciously flushed, all swollen lips and hair in a wild cloud around her face and all she can do is stare down at him. Her chest is heaving and she tries to close her legs - hide what is exposed to him - but he holds her thighs firmly in place on either side of his head. He turns his head and kisses her inner thigh, maintaining eye contact as he swipes his tongue across where he's just kissed, moving closer towards her slick center.

"Oh," she breathes, not-quite-a-word, not-quite-a-gasp, when his mouth reaches her center and hovers over it, lips slowly teasing her the way she had just teased him. Sebastian tentatively runs his tongue up her slit; the loud moan she lets out when he reaches her clit makes him stay there, applying light and not-so-light pressure in equal measure.

Her hands are scrabbling at his hair, digging into his scalp, ruining his earlier attempts to make it look presentable, hopefully attractive, for her these days. She's pushing his head deeper into the space between her legs, starting to rock herself slightly on his mouth, and Sebastian is happy to oblige. He eagerly laps up her slit, and the obscene wet noises as he continues combined with her whimpers and barely-spoken profanities "oh-yes-fuck-yes-there-please-" are making him hard beyond belief. He's straining against his trousers, begging to be let free. Without moving his face from her, he unbuttons his trousers and starts palming himself, using the slickness weeping out of the tip as lubrication.

She's abandoned all control at this point, grinding herself into his face as he laps her up, and it's driving him wild - knowing that he's doing this to her - causing her to be so undone. Normally she's so poised and aloof, never letting any real emotion flicker across her face, so to see her so desperate and needy and wanting him so -

Sebastian's gasping into her, tongue deep inside of her, "ohmygod" he hears her whisper, her hips driving into his face when she shudders and goes still, pulsing around the tongue that's deep inside of it. He slows down, smiling as he continues to run his tongue up her slit until she's responsive again. He kisses her inner thigh and hears her moan before getting up, caressing a finger down her love-struck face and leaning his head down to kiss her deeply. With his other hand he's still touching himself - the thought that she can taste herself on his tongue driving him crazy - and he starts rubbing its blunt head against her swollen clit. She takes it out of his hand- he groans at the feeling of her soft hands (the hands he had held a week ago in Divination and pictured doing this exact thing) tentatively caressing his length before she begins to slide it up and down her slit, coating it in her wetness.

Sebastian has surrendered all control to her - resting his hands on either side of her hips on the windowsill, tucking his head into the crook of her neck and thrusting with her movements as he loses himself in the sensation of sliding through her slick folds. He can feel his release building building building, and when he finally comes, all over her perfect, pink center, it feels like a finally.

Sebastian feels so, so heavy as he pulls his head away from her shoulder, as if he could fall into a blissful sleep right there, in the little window alcove where they've hidden themselves away. The sun has now set completely and they're in shadow as they stare at each other, the sound of their ragged breathing filling the tiny space.

"Sebastian, I..."

She's staring at him with an unfathomable expression on her face, still holding him in her hand, her other hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. They look down and he feels his face heat up even more at the mess he's made - he quickly pulls out his wand and cleans her up, before looking back at her, giving her a wry smile as he buttons up his pants and helps her off the ledge. "What did you want to talk to me about, again?"

She gives a slight shake of her head and looks away, but she can't hide the small smile that's growing on her face just like she can't help her eyes that keep wandering over to his. He knows the growing smile on his face matches hers - did that really just happen? She reaches over to lace her fingers through his as they walk around the suit of armor. "I - it's not important."

"Come on," he says, not being able to resist the opportunity to tease her - he's somehow managed to break through the barriers she's set up around her, and he's not about to let the opportunity slide. "Surely that's not what you had in mind when you..."

Sebastian trails off as he sees the expression in her face turn to one of horror - he didn't think his teasing was that bad, was it? - but she's also pulling her hand out of his like she's been burned and -

He follows her gaze, to where it's fixed at the end of the hallway and he knows that once again his face mimics hers. He will never live this down.

Standing at the end of the hallway and looking like two cats who've just found a huge dish of milk, are his sister and Imelda.

Misery.

Complete and utter misery are what she's feeling, if she has to put it into words, which she does. Writing things down always helps her out, helps her organize her thoughts into some sort of order. Except...this time around, it's not really helping. She can't seem to make any sense of her feelings for Sebastian.

She looks over the muddled mess of words she's written down - stream of consciousness, incomprehensible babble - and sighs. She's been dreaming of falling in love since she was a young girl - Jane Austen will do that to you - and can't believe that now that she's had her opportunity, it has to go and be with Sebastian Sallow. Because it has to be love, hasn't it?

There can be no other explanation for the painful way her stomach twists itself up whenever she catches a glimpse of him these days, the way he's consuming her every thought - even when she's dreaming she can't escape him. She can't get the sight of his tousled curls between her legs, his mischievous, warm brown eyes looking up at her as she had the most mind-numbing, toe-curling orgasm of her life - none of the times she's touched herself have ever come close to the sensations he managed to evoke.

Every time she's walking through the hallways between classes and hears his loud voice as he jokes with Garreth, or Ominis, about quidditch or Merlin-knows-what her eyes snap to his face as if he were the sun, and she a sunflower searching for its warmth. And he is most decidedly not the sun. He has the tendency to snort when he laughs, and he laughs too much, especially at his own jokes. Sometimes he talks while he eats. He always twirls his quill between his long fingers in the most annoying way, splattering ink onto any parchment unfortunate to be caught underneath. But he also...

He also always goes out of his way to prepare Ominis's Potions ingredients (why Ominis decided to take and was accepted into NEWT level is a mystery to everyone), occasionally stops to play a round of gobstones with Zenobia when he has the time. Sebastian can often be found in his favorite armchair in the Slytherin common room, resting his face on his hand as he idly flips through the pages of some book, looking altogether too handsome as he does so. And when he stretches and yawns at the end of every Arithmancy lesson - like he is now - his shirt lifts up a bit and she can see a tan sliver of his stomach and -

Snapping in front of her: she blinks and looks over: when she sees it's Imelda her face immediately turns beet red and she grabs the paper she's been doodling on and rips it to shreds as fast as she can.

"Are you fantasizing about a certain annoying someone?" Imelda asks with a wicked grin, dramatically looking over her shoulder at the certain someone in question. He's still stretching, blinking sleepily; when he notices the two girls watching him he flushes deeply. Her stomach twinges again at the sight of him noticing her - has he thought about her since that moment as much as she has? What would she do if he had? Or...if he hadn't? - and she focuses instead on the paper she is currently destroying.

"Imelda," she hisses, glaring at her best friend, "stop."

Imelda does not stop.

Imelda doesn't stop during their walk to Herbology, and she does not stop as they set up their planting stations, and she most certainly does not stop as they mutter charms over their plants.

Ever since she experienced the most wonderful moment in her whole life, followed by the most mortifying, Anne and Imelda have not stopped pestering her about it. They've finally solved the 'Sir Cadogan Puzzle' - I knew it was you all along, claims Anne - but if they truly knew what had happened between her and Sebastian, she's afraid the two of them would simply combust. She loves them dearly, but they never know when to stop, and they've been pushing and poking and prodding her for more information the whole week. She has managed to remain tight-lipped and, she hopes, mysterious about the whole thing, but she's getting tired of the teasing.

"Really," Anne says, wiping her forehead and leaving a trail of dirt behind, "if you would only talk to him, I would stop bothering you. Promise."

"Yes," chimes in Imelda, on her other side, wrestling the leaves of her own plant into submission. "You know, after we saw the two of you holding hands and looking at each other with stars in your eyes, I'm really starting to doubt that you hate him as much as you claim."

"Were the two of you snogging in secret all of last year too? Because, I'm starting to get annoyed thinking of all the times I had to talk to my brother for you because of your stubborn pride."

Does she still hate him? She certainly thinks she should, but then her thoughts get terribly confusing as she continues to think about him, and she realizes all of her old hatred has long since faded. Anne has forgiven her brother, Ominis has forgiven him, and all that remains is her.

They should talk, but she doesn't know what to say.

She's afraid that maybe the man she's been inventing in her mind this past month is simply a figment of her imagination - a fictitious being created by an accumulation of stolen glances when he doesn't know she's watching, someone who all of their classmates seem to like, someone who is very different from the fifteen-year-old boy she had that terrible argument with all that time ago. Maybe he doesn't actually exist.

She would be crushed if he's hiding the fact that he still holds on to that desperate darkness that had driven him to save Anne by any means necessary.

And so she keeps her space. She watches him from afar, feeling the hatred slowly melt off of her, falling more in love every day, but too cowardly to make the next move.

Anne and Imelda continue bantering on either side of her, not noticing - or, more likely, not caring - that she isn't participating.

Sebastian's hands are sweating. He wipes them on the inside of his robes as he glances at the girl next to him. She's holding herself rigidly, but she did this to herself, sitting next to him at dinner as she had.

Well, sitting next to him hadn't been completely her idea if he's being honest. He'd been having dinner with Anne, and the two of them were dying of laughter as she recounted seeing Duncan Hobhouse get tormented by Peeves earlier that day. One moment, Anne had been demonstrating what she had seen using her potatoes and green beans as props, and the next, a particularly evil grin had lit up her face as she pushed her plate away with gusto and jumped to her feet, calling her over.

"It would be such a shame for these potatoes to go to waste, seeing as I have a very important meeting to attend," Anne had said, after pushing her friend into the very tight space at Sebastian's side. "Never mind the mess, I can assure you I didn't actually eat the food..."

And with that, Anne had flounced away, Imelda on her arm, the two girls cackling to each other as they snuck wicked glances over their shoulders at the couple.

A couple who is now steadfastly avoiding each other and trying their hardest not to even brush elbows. Sebastian is altogether too aware of her presence, has been for the better part of a month, and his patience is dangerously close to snapping. He keeps getting maddeningly close to finally getting her to open up to him - had actually achieved it for a few blissful moments - just to have it be taken away again. It's almost embarrassing how many times he's thought about their encounter. She had been everything he'd been dreaming about and more - soft, responsive, just as desperate as him - so why has she been avoiding him so thoroughly?

Yes, he's caught her staring at him more times than he can count, with that same unfathomable expression she had before, almost dreamy - wistful - could it be love? But he knows that it's preposterous, wishful thinking on his part. If it were love - if she felt the same crazy, tumultuous emotions that he was feeling constantly - she wouldn't be so cold towards him. Even if she was staring at him more than ever before.

He doesn't notice as she slips a folded paper into the book sitting next to his plate, but he does notice that she sits next to him for barely five minutes, not even touching the food that Anne has so graciously left her, before she gets up and slips away without so much as speaking a single word to him, or even looking in his direction at all.

Sebastian's sitting in a nearly empty common room after curfew, flipping through his book as he normally does this time of day, when she sees him pause.

Although she's been waiting for this moment, watching him from the corner she's tucked herself away in, she feels ready to pass out from nerves. Her heart's ready to burst out of her chest as she watches him curiously pick up the letter she slipped in his book earlier, brow furrowed. She wrings her hands nervously as she watches him read the letter and flip over the page to see if there's more, and then he goes back to read it again from the beginning.

She wasn't expecting him to read it a second time, let alone a third time, still with an inscrutable expression on his face. Maybe she should have positioned herself closer so she could see every emotion flickering through his face as he reads - she's too far away to see anything and she curses her lack of foresight. If she moves now, he'll see her, and she doesn't even know what she was thinking when she wrote the letter, when she managed to convince Anne to help her get close to Sebastian earlier that night during supper, when she moved herself to sit in this corner just so she could watch him find and read the -

"Hello."

She nearly jumps out of her skin with a muffled shriek at the sound of his voice so close to her. Why does she feel almost guilty when she looks up at him? She's so, so afraid.

Emotions have never come easily to her. Showing them is something she's not sure will ever come naturally - Anne and Imelda can laugh and shout without a care in the world, but she always holds herself back. Hides a small part of herself away, that only she knows about. Baring herself completely to Sebastian in the letter she feverishly wrote the day before was like ripping out a part of her soul and giving it to him to keep. Once the words were written down, there was no way to take them back, not that she wants to.

But what if he rejects her?

Her eyes get hot and tears cloud her vision as she stares up at him, still wringing her hands together over and over, feeling like she's positively going to burst with the force of the emotions roiling around inside of her. Why did she think this would be a good idea?

Now he's kneeling in front of her, holding her hands in his bigger, rougher ones - reminiscent of that fateful day so long ago in Divination when he had flustered her so - and a thumb is gently wiping away the big, fat tears she didn't even realize were rolling down her cheeks and she lifts her face from watching their intertwined hands and gazes tremulously into his eyes.

They are so, so gentle and warm and full of love, but the emotions are still too much for her and she can't stop crying for some unfathomable reason, so the kiss they share is wet and lovely and full of incredulous laughter.

"I love you too," he whispers between kisses, over and over again, until the words almost lose meaning - but these words could never lose their meaning when they come from him.

In the years to come, they always bicker about who was the first to say it. Sebastian says that writing doesn't count - that his words are the ones that decide who is the victor in this small argument - but she always just smiles at his insistence, knowing that he's kept her letter tucked inside whatever book he's reading since it first fell onto his lap.

848 notes · View notes

inkedbydesire · 2 months ago

Text

Layover (18+)

Jalen Hurts x Black Fem Reader

Warning: 18+ Content, detailed storyline with SMUT, MINORS DO NOT ENTER

Summary: As a flight attendant on a layover in Philadelphia, you decide to reach out to an old fling, Jalen Hurts. It's nearly been a year since you last saw him and about four months since your last conversation due to you cutting him off for a relationship that ultimately fell apart. Now reunited you and Jalen effortlessly slip back into familiar ways and spend all night rehashing old feelings and catching up.

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: I don't know shit about football but I was reminded of how fine Jalen Hurts is and this came about. I literally cannot write smut without going into detail about why these people are humping on each other so my bad for the yapping 😂. Anyways I'm sorry for any grammatical errors or typos that I may have missed during my proofreading.

*************************************************

"Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen. This is your captain speaking."

Your ears perked up at the pilot's deep voice filling the aircraft. You became immediately alert, not expecting to hear an update so soon. Turning your head slightly to the right, you eyed your co-worker Ronnie, who shrugged at you, equally clueless about what was happening.

"I've just received news from air traffic control, and unfortunately, there's a severe storm moving into our destination airport. This will cause significant delays. As a result, we've been rerouted to Philadelphia, where we'll be staying overnight to wait out the weather. We should arrive within the next 45 minutes."

Your body relaxed again as a chorus of complaints rose from passengers upset about their canceled plans to arrive in New York tonight.

"Bitch, I thought we were going down," Ronnie whispered jokingly, causing you to bite back a laugh. You and Ronnie had been working together for over a year, and his commentary never failed to leave your stomach hurting from laughter. When you first joined Delta Airlines, Ronnie was your lead and showed you the ropes. After traveling to various parts of the world together, you two had built a sibling-like bond. He made your time on the clock so much more bearable.

Approximately 45 minutes later, the plane landed safely in Philadelphia. The airport clock read 9:10 PM. You had planned to be in New York, but with this unexpected layover, you now found yourself in Philly with a whole lot of free time and no clear idea of what to do with it. You and Ronnie decided to part from the rest of the crew and caught a cab to the nearest hotel, the Four Seasons downtown.

"Thank you, Delta," Ronnie giggled as he handed the woman at the front desk the company card. You did the same as you booked your room for the night.

"What are you about to get into Y/N? I know a few people out here in Philly, and I think I'm gonna hit the town before we gotta be out of here in the morning. You're more than welcome to join me," Ronnie told you as you took the elevator up to your rooms.

"Uhh, no thank you. I know somebody out here. I think I'm going to see what they're up to," you replied, your mind wandering briefly to the man you knew lived in Philadelphia.

"Oh... are you sure that she... or he is free tonight?" Ronnie asked, obviously fishing for information as he raised his perfectly arched brows at you.

"I think he might be free, but if not, I'm cool with just chilling in the room for the night," you told him.

"Oooh, okay. Well, bitch, if you do link up with this mystery man, tell me all about it later," Ronnie said as you stepped out of the elevator together.

"I will," you promised with a smile. You two shared a quick hug before parting ways to your separate rooms, which were directly across the hall from each other.

Entering your room, you dropped your duffel bag on the floor and kicked off your shoes. Pulling your phone out of your jacket pocket, you walked to the bed and sat down. A small tinge of nervousness crept in as you thumbed through your messages, scrolling down a few times to locate an old thread that hadn't been updated in months.

You stared at the contact name that read "Jalen" for a beat before sending a quick message that you gave yourself no time to second guess.

You: Hey big head... guess what?

You locked your phone and tossed it on the bed, unsure of when or if Jalen would respond. It had been months since you last spoke and you didn't know how he felt about your abrupt silence.

You and Jalen had been what some would call friends with benefits on and off since your freshman year of college. Back then, neither of you wanted anything serious, so your relationship never extended beyond physical intimacy. Then when you graduated, Jalen got drafted to the NFL and started playing for the Philadelphia Eagles, while you returned home to Atlanta to work towards opening your boutique. Admittedly you and Jalen had developed romantic feelings for each other but the distance and some personal beliefs of your own made even thinking about a serious relationship impossible. But whenever you two reunited, your arrangement remained the same.

The only time you stopped fooling around was when one of you entered a relationship, which never seemed to last long, so you always ended up back in each other's lives. That was until a year ago when you entered a relationship with a guy you grew up with. Everything was going well until he went through your phone and discovered your interactions with Jalen. After grilling you about the nature of the relationship he became extremely uncomfortable with you staying in contact with him and wanted it to stop. It started causing problems in your relationship and you and him argued about it constantly. You thought you were in love so you eventually gave in. You told yourself that if the shoe were on the other foot, you wouldn't be comfortable with your boyfriend being buddy-buddy with someone he used to be intimate with either. So out of respect for him, you slowly stopped communicating with Jalen until there was nothing between you two anymore. Although you missed and cared about Jalen you had convinced yourself that you were doing what you needed to do to have a healthy relationship.

Well, the relationship didn't last and things ended months ago. But you felt terrible for cutting Jalen off causing you to be hesitant about reaching out. But now, finding yourself in Philadelphia for the first time you saw it as a sign to throw an olive branch out to him and hoped that he would accept it.

The buzzing of your phone brought your mind back to the present. You quickly picked it up and breathed out a sigh of relief as you saw that Jalen had surprisingly responded.

Jalen: What? 👀

A smile crept on your lips as you thumbed your response.

You: We had a layover on the way to New York and now I'm stuck in your city for the night.... 🫣

Jalen: Word?? Where you at now?

You: Downtown at the Four Seasons.

5 minutes that felt more like 5 hours went by before his reply.

Jalen: Give me an hour. I'm coming to get you.

You: Okay bet.

You damn near twisted your ankle as you sprung up from the bed.

The thought of seeing Jalen sent a wave of excitement through your body. You missed him deeply and regretted letting someone else dictate your friendship with him. His quick response gave you hope that he wasn't harboring any ill feelings about the situation though.

You only had an hour to make yourself presentable so you rushed over to your duffel bag. You didn't know how Jalen would react to you in person so you decided that you had to look good enough for him to forget about any wrong you may have done.

You rummaged through your bag, pulling out your sexiest matching lingerie set, a barely-there skirt, and a top with a daring neckline. You placed your outfit on the bed before heading to the bathroom to take a brisk shower.

Once you were out of the shower you wrapped yourself in a towel and walked back into the room humming. You grabbed your vanilla and coconut-scented lotion and sat on the edge of the bed to apply it. Once your body was perfectly moisturized you slid into your entire outfit piece by piece. Then you rushed back to the bathroom with about 20 minutes to spare. For your makeup, you decided to stick with a less time-consuming natural beat before quickly shifting to your hair. You were happy that the silk press you got over a week ago was practically still intact as you used your flat iron to smooth out any frizziness.

Then for finishing touches, you sprayed on some perfume before sauntering back into the room.

Just as you were slipping on your heels you heard your phone buzz.

You grabbed it and grinned down at Jalen's "I'm outside" text. Then you picked up your purse before exiting your room. You considered knocking on Ronnie's door to tell him you were heading out but decided to just send him a quick text later on.

The elevator couldn't move fast enough as the anticipation of seeing Jalen had you jittery. Once inside of the lobby you hurriedly stalked out into the night air.

It didn't take long for you to spot the man of the hour casually leaning against his Ford Mustang. And boy was he a sight to behold. Gold hoop earring glinting, chain catching the streetlights, and a dimpled smile that made you want to kick yourself in the ass for not reaching out to him sooner. You couldn't help but take him in as you walked over, noticing that he was doing the same to you.

Butterflies swarmed your stomach as he licked his lips and closed the distance between you.

"Hey stranger," he said, pulling you into a bear hug that momentarily lifted you off your feet, the familiar scent of his favorite cologne enveloping you.

"Happy to see me?" He asked as his hands rested on your hips.

"Yes.....I am" you admitted, stupidly mesmerized by him. It had been so long since you'd seen him in the flesh, and it seemed like every little detail about him was hitting differently tonight. Right now he looked better than he ever did.

"Good. I'm happy to see yo big-headed ass too." he teased with a laugh before opening the car door for you. After climbing in you then watched as he walked around and slid into the driver's seat.

"You had anything to eat out here yet?" he asked before he started the car and pulled onto the road.

"No ... I basically just got here. I texted you a little bit after we landed so I haven't had the chance to do or see much," you explained

"Okay bet. I got you." He said with a grin.

********************************************

"So, what happened?" Jalen shot off the question as you both leaned against the island in the kitchen of his stunning penthouse, which he had excitedly shown you around about 30 minutes earlier. Perched atop a skyscraper in the heart of Philadelphia, a breathtaking view of the city flooded through the floor-to-ceiling windows, captivating you and making it nearly impossible not to glance out at the scenery.

You'd only been in Jalen's presence for a little over an hour now, but time felt like it was moving too fast. The night would be over before you knew it, and you'd be back on a plane tomorrow, traveling away from him, a thought that saddened you since it felt like you just got him back in your life.

"What do you mean?" you asked, picking up the last piece of your Popeyes biscuit and squeezing a bit of honey onto it.

Despite all the good restaurants Jalen raved about as he drove you through the streets of Philly, you two still ended up grabbing food from Popeyes just like you would do back in college. Jalen explained that being with you was special enough for him to slip up on his strict NFL diet. You went along with it, not caring about what or where you ate. You were just thrilled to be around him.

"Well, I know you probably wouldn't be here right now if you were still with ole boy... so what happened? You going M.I.A. on me wasn't enough?"

A pang of guilt washed over you at his words. You had been secretly dreading this moment, which was why you hadn't planned to bring it up yourself. You had hoped Jalen would be so happy to be around you again that he wouldn't feel the need to address it.

Of course, Jalen assumed you stopped talking to him because of your ex and he was absolutely correct. There was no other reason to ghost him.

"Uhhh, he was just very insecure about our relationship. No matter what I did, he didn't believe my heart was fully invested in him," you explained, recalling how it felt as he finished off his chicken and started gathering the trash.

"After a while, it got tiring. I felt like I constantly had to prove myself to him." As you moved over to the sink to wash your hands, Jalen did the same. You then trailed behind him out of the kitchen until you reached the living room.

"So that's what went down... He wanted you to prove yourself by leaving me alone, and you just did it?" Jalen questioned as he sat on the couch and watched you walk over to his eye-catching vinyl collection. Jalen had been collecting vinyl records long before you met him. You were astonished to see how large his collection had grown; it vividly showcased how long it had been since you and he were last physically together.

"It wasn't like that," you said softly, scrutinizing the records and choosing to avoid his gaze because you knew you were lying. It was exactly like that.

"Then what was it like?" Jalen pressed, his voice calm yet laced with genuine curiosity.

"Umm," you began, contemplating how to explain it to him so he would understand your position.

The room fell silent as you located the vinyl you were searching for: Kut Klose's Surrender album, one of your favorites. You put it on the record player and adjusted the volume before walking over to Jalen, who was still watching you intently.

You sat beside him on the couch and turned to face him.

"I was in love or at least I tried to convince myself that I was. At that time, I thought I was doing what I needed to make the relationship work. But it wasn't easy, Jalen. I missed the hell out of you," you expressed to him.

"But think about it, Jalen. If you were in a relationship and she wanted you to leave me alone based on our history... wouldn't you?" you asked hoping he would understand.

"No," he answered without hesitation.

"But relax I'm not tripping, though, Y/N, because I knew no matter what, you would end up exactly where you are right now," he continued before you could respond.

"And where's that?" you asked.

"With me."

"Oh, you think you just got it like that?" you responded jokingly.

"I know I do when it comes to you. And you know you got it like that with me, because you can text me four months after ignoring me, and I would still come running to you."

"We got it like that when it comes to each other," Jalen said, reaching over to gently place his hand on your thigh, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.

What you and Jalen had was so selfish and would only leave anyone romantically involved with either of you with their feelings hurt. Two people with deeper feelings for each other had turned into years of sexual conquests, all to stay in each other's lives. Deep down, you both knew that to genuinely find love somewhere else, you had to let each other go.

The only reason you and Jalen weren't together was because of your personal issues. You watched your mom sacrifice her dreams to stand behind your father, who threw it back in her face every chance he got. That caused you to vow to yourself to never be in that position and you refused to sacrifice your goals for love.

So when you met Jalen in college, knowing he was destined for the NFL, you made up your mind that being with him would never work unless you sacrificed part of yourself. You liked living in Atlanta and wanted to remain there while working toward opening your boutique. You almost had the down payment for the building you wanted, and when you discussed being together with Jalen before your last relationship, he had promised to take care of whatever you needed for your boutique if you would just move to Philadelphia. Most women would jump at such an opportunity, especially if they were in love, but you didn't want to put yourself in that position.

Jalen Hurts was the type of man that people assumed a woman should be ready and willing to uproot her life for. After all, he was a famous football player; logically, you should want to be by his side, right? Even your own mother constantly questioned why you weren't with him.

But you just didn't desire that, which is why you and Jalen would most likely never be together. Still, you both ruined opportunities with other chances at love to stay in each other's lives. Your ex wasn't crazy for wanting to keep you from communicating with Jalen. He could sense that something was there, even if he didn't know its true extent. But the truth was you were in love with Jalen, yet hoped that somehow you could learn to love your ex in the same way.

But no one was Jalen and that was the problem you kept running into.

"I missed the hell out of you too, Y/N," Jalen said bringing you from your restless thoughts as he moved closer to you on the couch if that was even possible. As his hand moved from your thigh to snake around your waist you could already tell the direction of where things were heading.

One day you would be strong enough to tell Jalen that it probably would be better for you both if your arrangement ended. That maybe you could maintain some sort of friendship but the sexual intimacy had to stop.

But unfortunately, that would not happen tonight.

Something in you stirred as Jalen's eyes darkened with passion as he leaned in and you fervently welcomed his cotton soft lips against yours. Your whole body completely melted into the kiss knowing that there was no way in the world that you could resist Jalen.

You had never been capable of it.

You pushed aside all of your worries about you and him and instead decided to completely give in to the moment. Your lips parted and your tongue met Jalen's as the kiss grew frantic and sloppy. Jalen's hands were all over your body and yours were tossed around his neck pulling him closer to you. Somehow without breaking the kiss, Jalen managed to stand to his feet pulling you along with him. He then removed his attention from your lips to move over to his record player. He turned the volume up to the max before moving back to you.

"Come on," he told you as he guided you towards the direction of his bedroom as Kut Klose's "Get up on It" blasted in the background.

Somewhere on the stairs, the kissing resumed as you helped each other out of your attires leaving a trail of clothes behind you. By the time you got to Jalen's room, you both were fully naked with nothing but intentions to show the other how much they were truly missed.

Falling onto Jalen's bed you could still hear Kut Klose faintly as you scooted up to rest your head on his pillows as he mounted you. You and Jalen stared into each other's eyes for a spell. The way looked down at you caused your heartbeat to quicken as if you hadn't been in this position tons of times before. But for some reason, every single time with Jalen felt like the very first time.

Jalen broke the eye contact by placing a peck on your lips before moving down to your neck and trailing kisses down until he reached your chest. He gently bit down your left nipple before circling it with his tongue causing a shiver to shoot down your spine. As he moved to show some attention to your right nipple you felt his hand on your thigh as he slowly moved it down until he reached your bottom.

"Ummmm" you moaned as he slowly moved his fingers over your clit coating them in your wetness.

"Fuck, why you this wet for me Y/N? Huh?" Jalen asked you as he ran his fingers down to your entrance and back over your clit again. You responded in a moan to his rhetorical question not having the capacity to form coherent sentences as he eased two fingers into you. You watched as he pulled those fingers out brought them to his mouth and licked his fingers clean.

"Jalen wait," you told him as he dropped his head back down and you knew what he had intentions of doing. You could no longer fight off the desperate urge to do the same thing. You pulled him back up to you and told him to lay on his back and then moved on top of him in the 69 position.

Jalen didn't waste anything locating your clit with his tongue as you turned your attention to what was the most addictive part of his body.

His dick.

You took it into your hand and stroked it up and down as your mouth watered at just the thought of having it down your throat. You felt Jalen moan against you as you started at the base of his dick and ran your tongue up to the tip. You took the tip into your mouth and tranced it with your tongue as you dripped saliva down his length.

Then you took his full length into your mouth just like he taught you back in college. You tried to focus on maneuvering him in and out of your mouth as you felt your own climax nearing rapidly. Jalen was showing special deliberate attention to your clit trying to get you to break before he did. Anytime you two got in this position it always turned into a competition of who could make the other cum first. Jalen had a 70 percent winning record to your 30 because most of the time he always got you to break before he did.

Jalen started sucking on your clit with just the right amount of pressure as you fought hard against the urge to grind against his mouth. As you bobbed your head up and down on his dick you felt your peak in your toes then darting up your legs. As you begin to shake from trying to fight it off so hard you knew that you were up against a losing battle.

Jalen's dick flopped out of your mouth and you went back to stroking it as your climax reached the pit of your stomach.

"J-Jalen ..... fuck" you muttered as you uncontrollably came into his mouth. Your body twitched as Jalen continued to slurp on your juices until he sucked you clean. Then you weakly moved until your lips were on Jalen's again and you could taste yourself on his tongue. After sloppily making out for a minute Jalen stood up and pulled you to the edge of the bed.

"You know what to do," he told you and the tone of his voice damn near made you cum again. Jalen leaned down and gave you one last kiss before you moved onto your stomach and pulled your knees up. You positioned yourself into the perfect arch as you felt Jalen's hands move to your hips.

He grabbed you tightly and you both moaned simultaneously as he eased into your welcoming entrance. He fit inside of you like a glove almost like you were perfectly designed to be wrapped around his dick.

Jalen started with slow deep strokes that you could feel in the pit of your stomach. The type of strokes that had you gasping for air with the white of your knuckles showing as you gripped his comforter. Not messing up the rhythm Jalen caused you to whimper as he placed one foot on the edge of the bed to angle himself even deeper into you.

"Who you know fuck you like me Y/N?" Jalen asked as he effortlessly switched to a faster pace.

"Who you know have you creaming on they dick like this?" He shot another question at you that you could barely concentrate on because your whole mind and body were so focused on how good he felt inside of you.

"Huh?" Jalen asked before sending a sharp smack to one of your ass cheeks indicating that he was sneaking an answer from you.

"Huh?" He repeated.

"Only y-you Jalen" you dug deep and pushed out.

"Only you Jalen" you repeated clearly as you angled your head to make eye contact with him.

"Don't nobody fuck me like you" You told him softly. You guess it did something to him because he paused and closed his eyes for a second like he was trying not to cum. You took this as an opportunity to get even for earlier and started throwing it back on his dick.

"Fuck .... Y/N" he breathed as he opened his eyes and you watched as he looked down at how your walls were handling him. He looked so good as he watched you fuck him that before you knew it you felt yourself about to cum again. Knowing the familiar shake of your body when you were close to your end, Jalen took advantage of this by reaching down and caressing your clit. No lie, it took only a minute of that before you felt yourself making a wet mess all over Jalen's dick and you were mad at yourself for not holding on longer. He climaxed seconds later and shot his nut into you immediately making you think of whether it would be possible to get a Plan B before catching tomorrow's flight.

#Jalen hurts #Jalen hurts x black reader #Jalen hurts smut #Jalen hurts x oc #Jalen hurts x you #Jalen hurts x reader #jalen hurts fanfic #Jalen hurts fanfiction #black writers #black reader #jalen hurts imagine

201 notes · View notes

nocturn-warrior · 7 days ago

Text

Ne t'enfuis pas

Adrian Ţepeş x reader

Summary: You are his first love reincarnated and after 300 years, you finally meet again.

Rating: fluff, hurt, comfort

Warnings: mentions of death, grief, Nocturn season 2 spoilers!!!

Nmed after Kate Bush's Ne T'enfuis Pas. This is heavily inspired in Bram Stoker's Dracula by Coppola and mayyybe Nosferatu by Eggers <3 It's been so long since i've written, i am honestly rusty. Sorry for taking so long with this one.

The water in the pond behind the chateau reflects the light of the crescent pale moonlight above your head. It is the first time in weeks since you could go outside after the sunset without worrying about getting your neck attacked by a servant of the Bloody Countess or a night creature. Small tadpoles swim around, feeding on bugs that have the misfortune of falling in the pond and you watch them idly and with a childlike curiosity. You didn’t want to ruminate at that moment, you wanted to think that everything was going to be fine.

Still, your unquiet mind couldn’t rest. The scene of the tadpole rapidly consuming the bug reminds you of your own thoughts consuming you. The dreams you’ve had before his arrival; a dark castle with infinite stairs, forests that you’ve never explored, and flashes of scenes flooding your mind every time he is near that feel so much more real than a mere dejavú. But how could you ever put this into words?

Smooth steps are heard padding against the grass and you softly gasp when you see the tall, pale man coming to the spot you are sitting on. His amber eyes glow like the ones of a cat in a dark night as he walks in the shadow announcing his not fully human nature.

“They are beheading the last one of the day. Won’t you like to see the show?”

Alucard asks with sarcasm, sitting on the opposite side of the pond in a pompous swish. The city's in ruins, but the people are executioning the aristocrats who stood in the side of the vampires during the attack. You don’t answer his question. In fact, the two of you stay in silence for a while, but now and then you peek through the fountain to see if he is still in there and he is perfectly immobile like a beautiful statue in the garden, except for his flouncy hair tousled by the soft breeze. In one of those moments of curiosity, your gazes meet and it feels intense as a lightning hitting your body, Alucard could see your hair standing on end.

“Although I think they should pay for what they did, I don't see the point of gathering in the town to see bloodshed. I’ve seen enough of this in the last few days.”

You answer in an awkward way and twirl your finger around the water, making the tadpoles hide behind a rock to dismiss the feeling that goes beyond embarrassment. Alucard narrows his eyes, cautiously watching your expression, wondering if approaching you now was the right choice. But how long could he keep this to himself? If there is something Alucard learned during these wandering 300 years is that human life is feeble as a crystal, that he’ll see his pals one by one perish to the fog of time. Leaving it be, ignoring the signals would spare him from the very known feeling of grief. Still, there you are. With another appearance, voice and name, yet eyes are the windows of the soul, they say, and Alucard lived enough to know that this might be true. And since yours met during the Eclipse, he knew that calling coming from overseas was not only his duty of destroying Sekhmet’s mummy. He was drawn to your presence like a boat to a lighthouse.

“May i?”

He asks before sitting on the same side as you on the pond, so pale that he seems to emanate his own light and reflect in the pond along with the moon. You nod and he graciously settles himself some palms away not wanting to be invasive, minutely investigating the possibilities and to what paths would they guide him. Your mind is racing with thoughts, so many it could burst. A feeling of urgency that takes you completely and is shared with the man by your side. Gathering forces from an ancient feeling asleep for so too long, you finally speak:

“You have found me… how?”

He hums looking into the pond before answering your question that is so easy to answer yet difficult to put into words when he measures the consequences.

“I felt you calling me.”

You shortly breathe, reminding the nights where that feeling of emptiness would set in as if there was something missing and you would pray for a light, something that could give you a clue of what was the other part of the whole. The dreams that filled your sleep in the following nights left you even more puzzled, but when Alucard arrived, everything was starting to be put in place, for more unbelievable that sounded.

Before you died, you made Alucard promise that he would find someone else. That he wouldn't have his eternity tied to your memory, that he would find other lovers to fulfill his heart and to give him the love he deserved. Your shaking cold hand held his as you collapsed to smallpox in your deathbed and finally the eyes of your mortal body closed forever. He did as promised. Tens of women and men crossed his path across those thirty decades, but no one of them were you. The same emptiness your oblivious, reborn self would experience now, the dhampir would drag along the mists of years; for you, what was an unknown spectrum, for him it was a very palpable feeling that seemed to almost materialize itself.

Your eyes fill up with tears, a rush of emotions suddenly rises as Alucard watches you break down, still hesitant. His slender hand reaches out to touch your shoulder and you shudder; like the sun coming out from the clouds, a myriad of memories start to bloom. Alucard’s eyes are wide open in shock, harm of fear is the last thing he wants to inflict on you. But how could he have been causing it when all you could see in front of your eyes was him and your life together? Piece by piece like a broken porcelain, you see snippets of the past.

You suddenly wrap your arms around his shoulders, a hug so unpredictable and strong that Alucard had to hold onto the bricks of the pond otherwise you would fall directly into it. Once steady, He slowly retributes the hug, face resting on the crook of your neck as you sob tears of unbelievable happiness into his white hair. A small salty droplet roams his cheek too and when he realizes the emotional boy he used to be was here again. Slowly, you pull off from the embrace, drying your tears with the sleeves of your dress and say while cupping his angelical face in your hands, strands of white hair sticking onto his skin. You smile and say before pressing a gentle kiss onto his lips:

“And you came to me… from the sky like an angel.”

#adrian tepes x reader #reader insert #alucard x reader #alucard imagine #castlevania x reader #alucard x f!reader

142 notes · View notes

viperify · 4 months ago

Text

Kinktober 2024 | 𝗼𝗰𝘁 𝟭𝟯: ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Let me take care of you. | pt. 1

Part Two is up!

summary: You and Tom didn’t get on well. Always challenging the other, striving to become the best student of your year. When you then decided to stay at Hogwarts during your last Christmas holidays to fully focus on your study, things drastically changed…

Warnings: 18+ only! | sensual fingering, handjob, inexperienced!reader, fear of getting caught

A/N: after my last post this was very necessary. I do prefer this version of Tom ngl. Feedback is greatly appreciated! <3

wordcount: 2,7k

You and Tom Riddle were both Head Girl and Head Boy. You never got on well with the brunette, years of academic rivalry making the two of you hate each other. The smug grin he put on whenever he scored a better grade than you had you fuming every time. Oh, how much you despised that subtle arrogance.

As it was your seventh year at Hogwarts, final exams were coming up soon. Your parents were going to visit family in the US for Christmas, so you decided it was for the better to stay at Hogwarts, preparing for exam season. This sadly also meant that you would spend your birthday all alone, as your friends decided to return home during the break.

You had high ambitions for the NEWTS. Striving to become an auror, you knew you had to excel at pretty much every single subject. That was why you spent most of the first week of the holidays in the library, head stuck in Potions, Charms, Transfigurations and Defence against the Dark Arts literature. Each time you entered the library, Tom was already sitting in his usual spot, seemingly doing the same thing you were. Nerd.

He never left Hogwarts during breaks. You had been wondering for a while why that was the case. His parents must surely be proud of their son, after all he was one of the best students in the whole school. But in the end, you didn’t care.

“Anything you need help with?” The sudden question tore you out of your thoughts. You looked up to spot Tom standing there in front of you, hands in the pockets of his trousers, an eyebrow raised. You must have been staring at him for too long.

You felt your face heat up at the thought. If you didn’t need one thing, it was Tom getting another ego boost. Of course, Tom was attractive. Girls had been fancying him for years, but he did not seem interested in any of them. Harsh rejections were the outcome of anyone asking him out, even the most popular girl was left crying when she tried. You preferred challenging Tom academically but couldn’t deny his appeal. His brunette locks falling onto his forehead, his posture, his robes always neat without a crease. And his hands. You loved the veins decorating his skin, his slender fingers wrapping around his wand so perfectly.

But you didn’t like each other. And what would be more pathetic than getting rejected by the boy you hated? That was why you tried being better than him at every single test you had, because that was how to humble a Tom Riddle.

“No. I am doing perfectly fine on my own, thanks.” You replied casually, reverting your gaze to the book in front of you.

“Then stop staring. It’s a bit too obvious.” He whispered, leaning to you slightly.

“I was not staring!” You blurted out, but he had already turned around to go back to his spot. You could see the grin on his face from here, and oh how you hated it.

You couldn’t focus anymore after that and decided to go back to your dorm, taking the afternoon off. A well deserved break.

The second week continued just the same, you two and a handful other students studying in the library. However, today was your birthday and you did not want to spend that getting headaches over potion ingredients. If you could not celebrate with your friends you thought, you would at least use it to relax. And what better spot was there to relax than the Prefect’s bathroom?

You made your way towards it, carefully sneaking around the castle to not get caught. It was not too dangerous, most professors and students not being there anyway. When you had finally reached the entry, you looked around again, and as you did not see anyone, you entered the room. You had never been in there before, as obviously Tom was made prefect and not you. But as you both were head boy and head girl now, you decided you could try it out at least once.

It wasn’t well lit, yet you could still see the marble floor and statues decorating the room. It looked stunning, and with a quick wave of your wand the bathtub was filling, air becoming more humid by the minute. Bubbles were forming on the hot water and as it was almost full, you undressed yourself and stepped into the tub. First, you massaged some shampoo into your hair, letting it sit for a few minutes. Soon enough, you felt yourself grow tired, eyelids fluttering close.

You must have fallen asleep, because a loud creak of the door woke you up.

Shit shit shit.

You searched for your wand, but you remembered you had left it on top of the pile of your clothes, out of reach from the bathtub. What was there left to do? You quickly hid your exposed body under the bubbles, sinking into the water as far as you could, only letting your head peak out. Staying as silent as you could, you hoped the person barging in had seen someone was there already and would leave again without making the whole situation awkward.

“Celebrating your birthday all alone, are we?” A familiar voice questioned.

It was Tom. What on earth was he doing here and why was he coming closer?

“Leave! Get out! Can’t you see I am bathing?” You hissed, covering your body even under water.

“That’s no way to talk to someone who just wants to wish you a happy birthday.” Tom purred, now standing behind you.

“Riddle! This is completely inappropriate! What if someone sees us like this?” You shrieked.

“I locked the door, unlike you.”

“If this is just another attempt to humiliate me, you have done a great job. You can leave now.” You snapped at him.

“I am not here for that. As a Head Boy, it’s my duty to wish the Head Girl a happy birthday after all. Besides, who could resist the prettiest girl of Hogwarts mindlessly not locking the bathroom door?”

“Riddle!” You exclaimed, yet you didn’t make an effort to make him leave.

He sighed. “I see the way you are looking at me. I know you feel the same way I do. Tell me to leave again and I will. Tell me you don’t want this and we can forget about it.”

As you were struggling to answer him, he turned around, exhaling loudly.

“No, Tom. Please. Please stay.” You whispered, turning your head to finally face him. What had gotten into you? You hated him, yet you couldn’t resist him.

Tom traced back his steps, returning to your side. At first he seemed hesitant at what to do next, but then he gently started massaging your sore shoulders, his thumbs working perfect circles into your skin.

“Is it true what you are saying, Tom?”

“I don’t lie.”

You nodded but weren’t fully convinced of his true intentions. However, you loved the way he was tending to your body. Did he really think you were pretty?

“Your muscles feel very tense. You shouldn’t spend so much time studying at once.” He remarked, never stopping.

You rested your head against his chest, closing your eyes. “Is that your way of getting me to fail my finals?” You grinned, slightly shifting.

“You wouldn’t fail. We both know that. All I am saying is that you should take more care of your health.” He said, voice calm.

You hummed, solely focusing on his hands on your body.

“Do you mind me joining? It’s alright if you aren’t comfortable.” He asked carefully.

“I don’t mind.” Though, you felt yourself become nervous at the thought of sharing a tub with him. He left your side to undress himself. You could hear piece after piece of clothing dropping to the ground, and soon enough he stepped into the bathtub next to you. That was the first time you looked him into the eyes since he had entered the room, and you felt your face heat up, looking away.

“No need to get shy now. Come here.” He grinned, offering you a hand. As you reached out to grab it, he pulled you onto his lap, so you could rest your back against his chest. Goosebumps started to rise on your body, the contact between your bodies sending shivers up your spine.

“Can I touch you, darling?” He whispered in your ear, and you nodded. You were quite inexperienced when it came to intimate things like these, never having had sex or a boyfriend before. His hands first found your waist, sliding down to your thighs. He massaged them, working his thumbs into your skin. You couldn’t help but gasp at the sensation, making him plant a soft kiss on your ear.

“Let me take care of you.” He added, his hands leaving your thighs to travel up towards your breasts. Tom stopped before he reached them, and as you nodded, he cupped them in his hands. First tenderly massaging them, then rolling your hardening buds between two of his fingers. You gripped his thighs, arching your back as you moaned at the way his hands perfectly worked your body.

“That feel good?” He grinned, one arm now holding you around your waist to keep you pinned on his body. “So good. Don’t stop, please.” You whined, closing your eyes. The sensations went straight to your core and you felt yourself become wet. It all felt so wrong, yet you couldn’t get yourself to stop him.

Almost as if he sensed, his hands found their way to your aroused cunt, sliding one of his fingers through your slick folds. “Even under water I can feel you become wet. Want me to help you make you feel so good?” Tom queried, his fingers finding your clit. “Yes please, want you to touch me.” You whispered desperately. On command, Tom softly started circling his fingers around your puffy nub, eliciting soft moans and gasps from your lips.

His other hand never left your breast, still tenderly swiping his thumb over your erect bud. You felt yourself get closer to the edge, a knot forming in your lower stomach, ready to be set free. “More please, Tom” you begged him, bucking your hips against his hand.

“So needy. Who would have known?” He laughed softly, his fingers leaving your aching clit. You whined protestingly, but soon enough his finger slid down further, meeting your soaked entrance, which he traced. You squeaked at the unfamiliar feeling, water splashing around you. “Sshh. Relax. Gonna make you cum” he soothed. He entered you first with one finger, testing the waters. Soon enough a second finger prodded at your entrance, pushing into you as well. You hissed at the stretch, your body tensing up, thighs closing around his arms.

“Too much?” Tom asked you, his fingers stilling inside of you. You shook your head sligtly. “No but be careful, please.” Tom nodded. “Of course.” He slowly but surely set a slow pace, stretching you out perfectly. His other hand now slid down to meet your needy clit again, circling it.

“Tom m’ gonna cum!” You exclaimed, the feeling getting overwhelming, yet amazingly good. He sped up, murmuring sweet encouraging words into your ear.

“Come for me. Make me proud.”

Tom curled his fingers, rubbing the spongey spot inside of you. The knot inside your stomach tightened and soon enough you convulsed around his long fingers, clenching them so tightly even he groaned. Tom worked you through your orgasm, only stopping when you squeaked and closed your thighs around him. He then slowly pulled out of you, making you whine at the now empty feeling. “You did so well, darling. Such a good girl.” Tom praised as you relaxed against his warm body.

“Thank you, Tommy.” You smiled, earning a scoff from him. “You know I hate that name.”

With one quick motion you got up, turning around to now kneel between his legs, facing him. “I am sorry, Tommy.” You grinned, squealing away from him. He was quick enough to grab your arm, pulling you towards him again. “Little minx. That’s not how you treat someone who was inside of you less than two minutes ago.” He hissed, kissing your forehead. A blush spread on your cheeks, and Tom reached out to massage your scalp. “Want me to wash it out for you?” He questioned, and you nodded.

The whole seven years at Hogwarts you could have never fathomed the boy you despised like no other washing your hair, just after he made you cum on his fingers. He did it so tenderly as well, you could have fallen asleep right then and there.

“Want to get out? The water is getting cold, darling. We can’t have you getting sick.”

“Make it warm again, please. We aren’t done.” You said, kneeling between his legs again. He raised an eyebrow. “Wanna make you feel good as well, please.” You pouted, sliding your hands up his thighs.

“You don’t have to. It’s your birthday after all.” Tom grabbed your hands, stopping you.

“Oh, it’s alright if you don’t want me to.” You awkwardly tried removing your hands from his grip, but he didn’t let you. “Listen to me. I do want you to. I want nothing more than that. All I am saying is you don’t have to.”

“I want to”

“Okay then.” With a quick wave of his wand the water was warm again and you got to work. Your soft hands found his erect length, taking it in your hand. First, you swiped your thumb over his tip, making him throw his head back, groaning slightly. He rested both of his arms on the tub, letting you do your job. Your hands wrapped tightly around his cock, slowly stroking him up and down. “Good girl.” He praised, one hand finding your tits.

You continued your ministrations, going faster, paying close attention to his facial expressions. After a few minues, you could feel his cock twitch in your hand, a sign he was getting close. Then, you stopped.

He looked at you then, furrowing his eyebrows. “Don’t stop.”

“Stand up, please.”

Tom did just that and he grinned when he realized what you were planning. “Didn’t know you were such a dirty girl. Fuck.”

You continued jerking him off and he stroked your hair.

“Gonna cum, darling.” He warned you, groaning, and you opened your mouth in preparation. Soon after, hot streaks of his release shot straight into your mouth, some of it decorating your face. You made sure to milk him of every single last drop and kissed his tip afterwards, swallowing.

“That was quite the show. Filthy girl.” Tom lowered himself back into the water, pulling you onto his lap so you were facing him. He planted kisses on your collarbone, trailing all the way up to the corner of your lips.

“You got a little something there.” He smirked, swiping his thumb over your soft skin. “Open your mouth.” And you did, sucking his finger clean, never breaking eye contact.

He shook his head, grinning.

Both of you now just enjoyed each others company, holding each other close. You could feel and hear his heart thudding from where you had placed your head, relishing the intimacy between you two.

“Why did you come in here?” You questioned after some time, savoring the warmth of the water in combination with the heat radiating from Tom’s body. Your fingers drew small circles on his chest, until you rested your palm on his warm skin.

“Because I don’t want us to hate each other anymore.” He replied softly, kissing your forehead.

“I don’t think I ever hated you.”

“Me neither. I had all these girls running after me, wishing it was you.”

You smirked, tilting your head up to look at his face. His lips were so perfectly shaped, plump and had a perfect color. You leaned into him, and he closed the gap, capturing you in a breathtaking kiss that had your mind spinning.

“I am afraid I can’t let you go anymore after this.” Tom sighed, never breaking eye contact.

“Then don’t” you smiled, cuddling into him again.

#tom riddle #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x reader #harry potter #slytherin #slytherin boys #kinktober #🦢⋆⭒˚.⋆my works

275 notes · View notes

yoursweetheartsrevenge · 10 days ago

Text

Summary: While touring the countryside, Aegon and Aemond get lost from the rest of the royal party. Left with no other choice during a thunderstorm, they enter a quaint inn with no rooms left. Surely they can convince the maiden who paid for the last available room to share?

Read on Ao3

Written for @hotd-bigbang

Warnings: smut (fingering, p in v sex, oral - female and male receiving, threesome), loss of virginity, Aegon has only one thing on his mind, MINORS DNI, 18+

Word Count: 7.9K+

Author’s Note: Written for @hotd-bigbang First Prompt: Tropes - one room, one bed, love triangle kind of. This is the first time I am writing Aegon as a main character and writing the two brothers together. I had a fantastic time. I suspect more Aegon x Reader X Aemond in my future writings. Also apparently I can’t keep anything short!

On A Dark Stormy Night You Awaken

The meal is warm while the outside rages.

You can hear the thunder shake flickering the candles laid about the cozy interior of the inn. You slice into the breaded mutton with thin utensils glad to have the last room for the night. The storm had caused many travelers to flock to the inn on the road to King’s Landing. There were many who were going to the tourney for the prince’s name day.

At this point in the evening, slightly damp and a bit nervous, you could not remember which prince was celebrating the joyous occasion.

Your wares were in your single bedroom nestled in the corner of the room. Before retreating to receive some warm food, you had been working to repair a small trinket in your collection. As a jeweler it was your duty to inspect each piece of your trade to make sure only the finest quality made its way to lords and ladies willing to spend coin at the tourney.

While the tools laid abandoned upstairs, the fine emerald ring laid perfectly on your finger. The silver band glistened thickly in the candlelight as you admired the craftsmanship and the resetting of the stone now nestled safely in the band. The stone had come loose a few times, but you had managed to reset it to make it truly a beautiful piece.

Your stomach had rumbled reminding you that you had spent far too long working.

The nice piece of meat and freshly cooked potatoes seasoned with garlic and thyme made happiness sing on your face. It was quite late so you were truly excited to see it was only you and the barkeep awake. You were certain the older woman was the owner of the inn as well.

She had been very kind to give you the last room this late in the evening.

You had told her your tale of woe. Your family had deemed you well crafted enough to venture off to represent the family alone at the tourney. Your father would normally travel with you, however he had taken ill in the past few weeks never truly recovering enough to travel. Your mother needed to stay by his side to nurse him back to health.

Being the only child of your family it was your duty to represent. You had joined a group of merchants from your village and neighboring communities to venture forward. The journey shouldn’t have been too long.

Perhaps only a few days, however a great storm had broken through the clouds in the early afternoon leaving the winds and slanted rain a troubling sight for your old mare. Betsy was a sturdy girl, but was no match for the stubborn storm or the lightning for that matter. It was best not to push her. It had resulted in you being separated from your group and ending up here for the evening.

The wind howled louder breaking you from your thoughts. The door smacked open against the wooden walls of the inn from the power of the rains outside. Two hooded figures entered. The taller one pushed the door closed while the other made their way confidently over to the inn’s owner who was eating a small plate of bread and cheese.

You could tell by the voice that there was an air of entitlement to the tone of the male voice who no doubt was inquiring for a room. You smile to yourself as you hear the raised voice wondering why there is no room for him and his companion. You know of men of his type, feeling as if the world owed them something simply for being a man.

The whispers became more hushed.

You look up to see the hooded figure at the counter is looking your way as the woman behind the counter casually points to you. The taller figure seems to be looking down waiting for conversation to end. You can see his long silver hair clings to his neck under his hood.

A set of violet eyes peak in your direction with a smile so charming you wonder if you will actually give your room to them should they approach.

They most certainly approach you.

“Greeting, my dear.” His voice is oozing with confidence. You spear a potato before deciding it should be cut into a smaller piece. “Pardon us for interrupting your meal, but we are quite weary from travel, my brother and I.” Said brother is behind him, peering curiously to you. You can tell from his sharp features that under that hood lies a dashing young gentleman. “The inn keep has told me you have taken the last room here. And it appears you are the only one still awake at this late hour.”

At that thunder rattles shaking the building and the dinnerware. You hold your plate as if it should fall. This makes the man in front of you smile, endeared at your caution.

“I was wondering if you would be so kind as to share your room for the night.”

You look between them.

Their hoods are no longer clinging to their heads.

You can see them.

Violet eyes.

Silver hair.

A charming smile from one.

A solemn serious expression of the other.

These are the Targaryen princes.

You have, of course, never met them, but the girls in your village whisper of them as girls do with princes. Aegon is the charming one who is sought after by many ladies. Aemond is the quieter, more serious sort of prince who trains and studies by way of sword and pen. Of course, both have been described as handsome young men worthy of swooning.

They are standing before you asking for you to share your room.

Your single bedroom.

“We can pay you triple what you paid.” He tells you already retrieving a large sack of coin from under his cloak.

“There is only one bed in the room, mi’lord.” You say sounding quite innocent.

“We can all share.” He says sounding a bit as though he expects you to do more then simply share your bed.

“We will sleep on the floor, my lady.” It is the first time you hear the taller one, Prince Aemond, you suspect based on the description your village friends have given, speak. His voice almost sounds gruff as if he is privy to choosing his words carefully.

“We will do no such thing.” Aegon argues brushing his brother’s thought aside. “We will be well behaved unless the lady hopes otherwise.” The hood falls then revealing how truly handsome Prince Aegon is. His smile makes your heart curl in your throat. You can not help yourself. You shove a potato in your mouth to stop your smile and perhaps halt your blush.

“We will sleep on the floor.” Aemond looks sharply at his brother.

“You can sleep on the floor, brother. I would be honored to share a bed with the prettiest girl in the inn.” You blush at the elder prince’s flattery.

“I do not mind sharing.” What are you saying?! You are not betrothed. You have never in your life shared a bed with a young man, let alone two! Let alone TWO TARGARYEN PRINCES!!! “If it is your wish . . .” You wait to whisper the next words. “My princes.”

They are not surprised you recognize them.

“See, Aemond, she is generous. And ready to serve the crown.” Aegon winks at this. You look down at your food. “Let us celebrate our new accommodations. Barkeep! A round of ale for us and our new lady companion!” He waves to the inn owner. You can see she struggles to be polite.

It is quite late.

***

You find yourself a bit tipsy after two ales.

It is a pleasant buzz, but you are used to enjoying some libations with a meal. The brothers ordered a platter of cheese, fruit, and bread to pick at as they enjoyed your company while you finished your dinner.

Aegon discussed the entire journey that their mother had insisted they travel on to see the kingdom. You learn it is Aegon’s name day that will be celebrated in a few short days. You barely get a word in to explain who you are. It is no matter to Prince Aegon who continues to compliment your beauty and how soft your lips look.

You manage to mention that you are also journeying to King’s Landing, but that is all. Aegon seems excited by the prospect of spending more time with you touching your arm softly. You note that he watches your face to make sure you are enjoying his little touches. He must clearly see you are because he spends most of the latter part of the meal tracing your knuckles softly.

Aemond looks down most of the evening eating small pieces of fruit. You note how he likes to take small bites and savor the flavors of each piece of food he enjoys. Aegon merely shoves food in his mouth without a thought. Upon hearing you are traveling to King’s Landing the younger prince perks up. You catch his one eye noting for the first time the leather eye patch there on the other eye.

That eye is curious. Perhaps always curious.

He watches you as you twist the ring on your finger nervously.

As you make your way up to your room, Aemond saddles up beside you.

“Are you married, my lady?” It is a question you had not imagined to be asked. “Your ring.” He motions toward the silver band.

“Oh.” You can not help but laugh. Immediately you cover your mouth. “Apologies, mi’lord. It is not a wedding band or even a symbol of betrothal. I am a jeweler. I was re-setting the stone earlier in the evening. I like to wear what I make as a symbol of pride.”

The explanation seems to both excite and be a relief to the prince.

“It is a stunning piece. You are a master craftsmen.” He admires it as you approach the door. Aegon seems to wander down the hall, having enjoyed too much drink. “Excuse me, sweet one.” Aemond moves to fetch his brother who begins to loudly bang on an occupied room.

You can not help, but giggle at the interaction.

You unlock the door to your own room.

It is a bit larger than typical accommodations. It appeared that the room was left unoccupied due to the sturdier price. The innkeep had taken pity on you, a young woman separated from your group with a gray mare who shivered and shook in the thunderstorm. She had offered you the room at half cost, though you did not tell the princes that as they paid you triple for the base price of the room.

The bed you now realizes is large enough for the three of them. You would have neither of the princes sleep on the floor, no matter how you felt about the accommodation. You realize your tools are a bit strewn about on the desk noticing the shavings of metal and small bent tools. You quickly tidy up as the princes enter with their baggages.

You see out of the corner of your eye Aegon immediately begin to disrobe.

Aemond scolds him quietly before blocking his brother from your view.

“Oh come now, brother. Surely the young miss would love to take a gander on Targaryen beauty.” You can practically hear the wink he gives though Aemond is still shielding you.

“I apologize for my brother,” Aemond says assisting his brother in removing his clothes as the young man struggles to fit his under shirt over his head. “He has had too much drink.”

“I have not!” Aegon insists. “I can still get it up. I assure you.” He hiccups.

You snort a laugh. Aemond looks to you as you return your tools to your bags.

“Are you to sell your wares at the tourney?” Aemond’s voice is curious.

Aegon flops face first into the bed. He begins to burrow under the covers as if some mole or other underground creature.

“I am. I have several. I can also make custom jewelry for any lords and ladies who enjoy my offerings.” You open a small case that displays the rings you have created. You cushion the emerald ring back in the case.

You can feel Aemond’s breath at your neck as you press your fingers against the velvet dark blue cushion that houses each unique ring. Aemond runs his finger over a bright large sapphire set in a gold band. It is one of your favorites as it appears that a dragon’s teeth are about to swallow the sapphire. You have fashioned a few rings for the celebration to represent various houses. Many represent House Targaryen with dragon motifs.

“I should like to buy this one. If the lady is willing to depart from it?” His eye blinks at you.

“Oh, I would be honored, my prince.” You remove it from the casing to retrieve a small velvet pouch your mother had sewn for clients. You offer him the ring for free, but Aemond insists on paying double for it. You try to stay his hand.

“You should be paid for your materials and time. I see you take great care in your work. I would be most honored to wear this at the tourney and talk up your finery to the lords and ladies at court.”

You smile thinking him the kinder of the two brothers. You thank him for his generosity before awkwardly deciding to disrobe yourself. The pair of you look away as your clothes are removed. You begin to undo your corset letting your mind wander to the bed. It had been soft when you settled in it earlier that evening. The innkeep had said she had just purchased a new mattress and new silk white sheets with gold threading. Aegon is face down in them asleep so they appear to be fit for a prince. You are in your white slip before removing it so you are bare.

You clearly see Aegon peeking at you from his awake position though he quickly closes his eye when you catch him. You smile not minding the attention. Nobody in your village has paid this kind of attention to you before so the attention is almost a welcome. You pull a white night gown over your head settling it against your bare breasts.

You turn to the bed but catch a glimpse of Prince Aemond.

He is VERY well toned. Of course he is, being the prince who trains with the sword. He wears soft trousers to cover his lower half, though they hang low on his hips. His eye quickly casts downward as he gazes on you.

He seems to be pleased with your night time appearance as well.

“I will be in the middle. Hopefully this will stay my brother’s wandering hands from you.” Aemond states, eye still set to the floor.

You can only nod. If you spoke you may something crude, such as you not minding should any hands wander over your body in the middle of the night.

While no man has ever touched you in such a way it does not mean you are not without want.

When both princes are in bed and under the covers, you decide it is your turn. You pull them back to reveal the soft mattress below. You settle hearing the rain beginning to pound louder outside. You shiver tucking yourself in. The heat of the younger dragon prince feels welcoming as you snuggle beside him turning yourself to face away from him.

The bed looked larger when you had been looking down at it, but now it felt small. Prince Aemond turned a bit trying to get comfortable settling to curl forward against your back. You could feel small steady breaths against your neck, hot with nervous energy.

“Is this alright? I can move, but your body is . . . quite warm. Hmmm . . .” His fingers graze your hip in a moment before pulling away.

“Yes, you are fine this way.”

It is the last thing you say before closing your eyes.

You fade in and out of sleep occasionally being awakened by the storm. The thunder is loud enough to make you whimper. As you awaken with a start you are not sure if it is the thunder that startles you or the hardness against your bum. On instinct you move against it cause it to stir with movement. You hear the prince groan low.

“I . . .apologize.” He says clearly embarrassed by his member, long and needy of attention. “I . . .” His fingers are brushing at your hip again, this time a bit more with intent.

“It is flattering.” You decide to say after a moment in thought. “I do not mind it.” At this you feel Aemond’s hand dip lower to the soft flesh of your thigh.

You whimper a bit too loud.

It causes his breath to quicken. You hear him swallow hard.

You decide to turn to face him. He lets go of your thigh immediately at your movement. You see him now. His eye is moving rapidly looking to you with a sweet desire. Your eyes focus over to the sapphire, large and round in his scarred eye socket. He leans forward halfway with his lips, testing the waters.

You will not let Prince Aemond suffer any longer.

You meet him halfway for the kiss.

You do not expect Prince Aemond to be inexperienced with kissing, but he is. His movements are needy and a bit rough. You have had some stolen kisses with stable boys that you feel as if you can judge a good kiss from a bad kiss. His kiss is not bad, but it is sloppy and fast. You slow him down by softly petting his cheek. After a moment or two you fall into a rhythm that is pleasant for you both with slips of your tongue against his. The wet sound echoes in your chamber as you feel your lower half begin to stir with need and wetness.

Your hips hump against his hardness in the dark room as the storm rages around you. He moans against your kisses especially when your clothed sex rubs against the tented tip of his cock.

“You are behaving quite unfairly, Aemond.” The younger brother nearly breaks upon hearing Aegon’s light scolding. You manage to hold his chin to your lips to steal his attention away from the other prince. “I am the elder brother. I should have her first.”

You can feel Aegon watching as you and Aemond continue to lose yourself in sloppy kissing. You open your eyes to make contact with Aegon. He slips his hand below the sheets. You watch as it moves slightly. His eyes flutter momentarily in pleasure as he touches himself.

“I can share myself.” You do not know where your boldness comes from. It may be the storm threatening to swallow this inn whole or the idea you will never get an opportunity like this ever again. Aemond is kissing your neck as you speak too focused on his pleasure to note you are offering yourself to Aegon as well. “Come here, my prince.”

There is no hesitation as Aegon kneels. You can see now he sleeps nude, a tuff of curled silver hairs grace the base of his girthy cock. He crawls over his brother as the pair of you shift to make room for the elder prince behind you. He grabs your hips settling his hands in a comfortable position. He kisses the back of your neck moving your hair as he focuses on your spine with little slips of his tongue.

You can feel, he too is hard.

The pair of lips on you sparks you with a divine energy that makes you feel like you could be finished on these sensations alone.

“Oh, you are a loud one. You like what we are doing to you, sweet girl?” Aegon nips behind your ear in a pleased whisper.

Aemond has made his way down between your breasts, lips leaving a soft wet trail. His fingers toy with the ties there. He looks up at you. His eye is nearly pleading with you. There is only a slight movement of your head up and down. He loosens those ties without an ounce of hesitation.

“Yes . . .” It is a soft sort of agreement. Aemond licks and suckles at the side of one of your breasts. “Gods, yes!” The sensation is so good it leaves you panting. Aegon laughs at your enthusiasm.

“Well, let’s see how pleased you are.” His palm glides up your leg pulling up your night gown. He palms at your small clothes moaning at the wetness gathered there. “Oh, my dear, you are wetter than the storm outside.” He bites your neck softly. “So ready for our princely cocks. You would like that wouldn’t you? To have our cocks all nestled safe inside your tight pussy.”

The pleasure is nearly too much. You have lost all grasp on the common tongue too entrapped in the movement of their royal tongues. You feel long slender fingers massaging against your breast. Aemond releases your breast from the confines of your top, his tongue laps at the rosen perked nipple teasing it between his lips. Aegon’s hands squeeze your hip while the other slips underneath your small clothes.

You gasp as a finger slips inside you.

“So very tight.” The prince nuzzles his lips to your jawline. “Are you a sweet little virgin, dear?” You can barely think to answer.

“I . . . yes. Please.” You do not know if you are begging for more or less of them.

“Yes? No wonder this little cunt is so tight. Let me help.” He pumps a second finger inside you which causes you to gasp in a little more painful way. The fingers drag inside you slowly.

Aemond nearly growls in response.

“Relax, brother. She is enjoying it. Aren’t you?” Aegon is now peppering you with kisses as he pumps his fingers inside you.

“It hurts. A bit.” The pain is slowly subsiding as you grow used to a foreign set of fingers inside you. He curled both in unison and it makes your mind go white. You cry out loud over the thunder feeling so close to your peak.

“Oh you want to release now, don’t you?” Slowly Aegon withdraws his fingers. “Not quite yet.” He smacks your thigh lovingly as Aemond continues to massage and play his tongue along your breasts. “My brother has only ever been with one woman. An older whore from the streets of silk. Certainly no virgin.” You feel Aemond moan into your other breast releasing it too. He lavishes sweet kisses upon the flesh before swirling his tongue around the perked nipple. “My brother should feel a virgin cunt shouldn’t he? Would you like my brother to take your maidenhead, sweet girl?”

You would like that.

There is nothing more you would like then to feel what both cocks would feel like inside you.

Aemond could have his turn.

You nod your head.

From Aegon’s cackle you know you are too eager to get fucked.

“Oh you are a bit naughty, aren’t you? You hear that brother? This little virgin would like you to take her maidenhead.” He ruffles with the curtain of his brother’s long silver hair which has fanned forward.

You feel Aemond groan against your nipple tucked between his lips. Wetness and whimpers escape you. Aemond focuses his eye upward before pulling away slowly.

“Would you like that, my lady?” His hands pet the sides of your breasts as you lay on your side. “Hmmm?”

“Please.”

You want it so badly

You NEED it so badly.

The brothers assist in adjusting you so you are laid flat on your back. Aegon lays on his side, head propped on his open palm watching. He moves your hair aside so he can see your pretty face while his brother fucks you. Aemond is above you hovering. He parts your legs slowly beginning to remove your small clothes. The sensation of your pussy hitting the cool air makes you gasp a bit as the wetness makes your sensitive area feel cool. Aemond’s fingers run over your folds in a loving gesture. His eye watches you as he sinks his digit into you. Your chest heaves as a sigh escape.

There is a playful smile on the Targaryen’s lips as he pumps and curls his finger inside you.

Your back arches as you are drawn closer again. Your small hans grasp at the sheets.

“Oh for Gods’ sake, Aemond. Get that cock inside her. You’re hard aren’t you?” Aegon complains with a roll of his eyes.

You can see Aemond is uneasy. Your hand goes to his cheek as he withdraws his finger from inside you. You smile trying to let him know you want this and it is alright. He smiles in return and bends forward. As his chest crushes to your body you can feel his lips against yours, but also his long cock pressing hard to your thigh.

He slowly a lines his cock to brush against your slit. You can feel the bulbous head at your entrance.

“Be slow. She’s very tight.” Aegon warns. He plays with your hair as Aemond lifts from the kiss. “The tightness will make you want to fuck her hard, but stay yourself. You want to make her first time feel good, make her peak. Ease into her slowly. Do not finish too quickly despite how well her pussy squeezes you.”

Slowly you feel Aemond push into you, a little at a time.

You groan so loudly at the initial stretch.

“That’s it.” Aegon is rubbing your shoulder gently.

Aemond pushes inside a bit more slowly stretching your inner walls. You bite your lip. That detail seems to make the prince’s cock twitch inside you. Your walls flutter. Aemond curses and seems to falter, slipping in a bit further.

“Hold it. I know she is a pretty one, but contain yourself, brother.”

“She’s so tight, Aegon. I do not think I can hold much longer.” You feel your eyes are screwed shut trying to concentrate on the pleasant feelings and holding your own composure.

“She’s pretty. Doesn’t she deserve a good first fuck?” You feel Aegon’s lips against your forehead. “I think you deserve this sweet virgin cunt. Be easy. Be good to her and that pussy will be good to you. She will remember your cock first before all others. She will compare you to everyone after including myself. Perhaps even on her wedding night she will think, ‘Is my lord husband’s cock as good as Aemond One-Eyed?’ ”

Aemond continues to ease in slowly stretching you. He drags along your walls a little out then more in. Before long you feel him fully inside you. He is nearly panting from the effort as you feel his hot breath fan across your face. Finally you open your eyes. His one eye is closed as his brow is furrowed in concentration. Aegon continues to brush your hair away from your face and press his fingers to your shoulders.

“Aemond, my prince,” You call to him as he opens his eye slowly. “Please.” Your hips move slightly. He lets out a long breath.

He is breathing so hot now.

His body and breath are heavy.

He begins to move slowly in and out.

“See? Listen to her! She loves it. You love my brother’s cock, don’t you, sweet girl?” Aegon says with a smile and a kiss to your forehead.

You did not realize how loud you were being at this slow pace. The sensation of feeling the prince’s cock moving inside you makes sounds you never knew you could make leave your mouth. It encourages Aemond to move quicker inside you. The stretch begins to hurt as he moves faster, but the pleasure blinds out the pain. Your hands are to his lower back pressing his hips forward.

You call out the prince’s name over and over again. The frame of the bed begins to shake as the thunder and lightning crash outside through the pounding of rain. Inside the prince is pounding you making you close to your peak. You cry out feeling your body unravel.

“Pull out of her. Release your seed on her, not inside. Wouldn’t want any bastards.”

You barely register Aegon’s voice as several waves of pleasure roll over you.

“Oh look at her!” Aegon calls out delighted. “She is peaking multiple times! Job well done, brother.”

You feel Aemond’s seed warm on your thigh as he whimpers his own peak on your flesh. You are catching your breath feeling hoarse and raw in the throat. Your walls flutter slowly as the sweat beads across your breasts. You feel Aegon kiss your forehead.

“Such a good girl. I can not wait to rut inside you.” His curved lips feel encouraging against your skin. Your chest puffs in and out as you slowly open your eyes. “Aemond, let’s clean her. There is a wash bin and cloth on the desk. Don’t worry, love. We’ll take care of you before I have my turn. Make sure you are well prepared to take me.” You see him wink.

You see Aemond run his hand over your thigh not coated in his spend. He traces the flesh there with reverence as if soaking in the memory of feeling you. His hand lazily travels to the dips of your hips. You feel tender there and wince.

“Did I hurt you?” You look down to see he is tracing over a small bruise, yellowed at the edges. It is in the shape of a thumb.

“It does not hurt. Only a bit sore.”

He nods. His lips bend down to kiss the spot. You sigh happily at the loving gesture. Aegon groans impatiently, a signal for Aemond to stand. He kisses the bruise one more time before standing. You watch his backside move across the room only lit by the flickering of lightning outside.

“We have not had the same woman before. Aemond and I. I must say it has been quite an enjoyable experience so far. You are such a lovely little plaything for us.” Aegon shifts to move a pillow to his lap. He places your head there. “Comfortable?” You swallow and nodd. “Did my brother fuck you well?” His thumb roams over your lower lip.

“He did.” You feel a wetness against where the drying spend rests.

The soft rag glides across your sweat soaked skin. The water is lukewarm and pleasant.

“I feel very well cared for. Thank you, my princes.” You look between them, up at Aegon who sweetly plays with your hair and forward at Aemond who washes and dries your body clean. There is a lovely little smirk of satisfaction on his face.

“Tell me, Aemond. How is her cunt?” Aegon asks with a sparkle of curiosity.

“It was . . . good.” There is a blush that creeps across his cheeks, shame or embarrassment bright on his features.

“Just good? Come now. It is just us. Tell me. Was she tight? Did she milk your cock? What do I have to look forward to?” The elder prince nearly laughs with anticipation.

“I . . .” He seems to struggle to find the right words. He looks into your eyes. There is still desire there. “I should like to have her again. She felt . . .divine.” His fingers tease your slit making you whimper. “Let me make her wet for you.”

Without hesitation Aemond tossed the rag to the floor with a wet slap. He kneels, spreading your legs apart to get better access to what is between them. He bends his head to kiss your inner thigh before kissing sweetly along your slit. A small gasp erupts from your lips. The brothers laugh playfully at your reaction. Where he was sloppy with kisses on your lips, Aemond’s wet puckered kisses leave you nearly breathless here.

“Get her nice and wet for me.” Aegon pets your head as Aemond kisses your cunt, dragging his tongue inside you. “Don’t take too long. I am eager to have her.”

He curves his tongue as he did his fingers. The sensation makes you cry out with pleased whimpers, high and needy. You can not help yourself as you run your fingers through the Targaryen prince’s long silver mane. You try to steady your breathing so you do not sound as desperate as you feel, but it is too late. Your needy little moans of desire hit high making you wet for the prince’s cock.

“That is enough. She is plenty wet.” Aegon shifts to remove your head from his lap.

You call out for Aemond as his tongue flickers over your sensitive bud.

Aegon grunts pushing at his brother’s shoulder. Aemond lifts his head as if a hound hungrily defending his food. Aegon is the alpha in this situation. He relents to his brother moving to place your head and thr pillow in his lap. Aegon is above you with a toothy grin. His thumb runs along your plump lower lip.

“Such a needy little thing. Don’t worry, sweet girl. I’ll pleasure you even better than my brother.”

Prince Aegon captures your lips savoring each little kiss and whimper. Slowly you feel his cock enter you. There is a small sigh that escapes your lips as you feel his girth, thicker then Prince Aemond. He stretches you more.

“By the Gods,” His eyes flutter closed. “You have such a tight cunt. Fuck.” He chuckles pushing deeper. You feel Aemond’s hand stroke your throat as a stretch of pain washes over you as Aegon’s cock stretches you deeper.

“It is alright. You are doing wonderful, here.” Aemond’s hand reaches to fondle with your exposed breasts. His thumb and index finger tweak your hardened nipples. It leaves you with a bit of a distraction. “Better?”

“Mmmmm. . .” Is your only response.

“Good.” Aemond says as he plays with each of your tits equally.

“There we are.” Aegon bottoms out inside her. “So bloody tight.”

He begins to move not requiring much effort to sate himself. He pushes his thumb to the bruise on your hip. You know it was not Aemond who made it, but Aegon. He is a bit rougher than his brother. You cry out a bit in pain as he gives no care to being gentle now that you have been taken kindly for your first time. He lifts your leg higher prompting him to bury his cock deeper inside you giving you deep strokes.

“You are hurting her.” Aemond says through gritted teeth.

“I am doing no such thing. She is enjoying a good pounding by her prince. Aren’t you now?” His own words prompt him to go faster. He grazes a spot inside you, but quickly pulls away before truly hitting it.

Your lips quiver. Aegon jackhammers into you panting like a rabid animal. His throat releases harsh noises. You try to bring his face down to kiss you, but he is hesitant. He appears not used to kisses while he is fucking. Maybe the whores in King’s Landing are not allowed to kiss the prince. He eventually relents kissing you, which slows his pace though removes Aemond’s hands from your tits.

“You are so sweet tasting.” He breaths in small pants between kisses. “You know that, sweet girl? Like honeyed wine and fall spices.” He nuzzles your neck as he pumps inside you in an easy rhythm. “Mmmm . . . so sweet.”

You feel his cock twitch within you indicating he is close to spilling his seed. However you do not feel your peak approaching. Everytime you are about to reach a desirable peak or spot inside you he seems to deviate to his own pleasure. He lifts from your neck and face, a hand on either side of you as he snaps his hips wildly cursing. Aemond reaches downward to your sex.

“What are you -?”

“It will feel better if she peaks.” Aemond’s finger moves to tease the small bud in your folds. “This is her bud. The madame showed me. Stroking her here,” You make a noise that is a mix of a sigh and a moan. “Is as if you were teasing the tip of your cock. It’s sensitive. Pleasureable.” Aegon moves his thumb over the bud. He presses too hard causing you pain. “No, stroke. Gentle. Yes. Listen to her.” Aegon alters the movement stroking you gently before licking his thumb and slipping it over your bud.

Your voice groans at the sensation. Even the pounding of his hips does not dissuade you from the pleasure you receive from the stroking of your bud. You whimper as he gasps.

“Fuckin’ vice on my cock! Gods!” He cries out.

Aegon waits until the final moment to pull his cock free. He ignores your bud for the moment to spill himself on the sheets. Aemond replaces his brother’s thumb stroking you until your walls flutter leaking your arousal on his fingers. He brings them to his mouth tasting you.

“Hmmmm . . .” Aemond hums against his fingers.

The elder prince pants before turning those pants into laughter. He is knelt on the bed holding his softened cock in his hand. His brother is licking his fingers of your arousal as you are laid out satisfied.

“No regrets on your part I see.” Aegon chuckles. “But . . .” He looks between you and Aemond. “It would be a grand thing if we could get both of our cocks inside your holes.” Aegon reaches to rub his thumb along your lower lip again. You kiss it softly. “Here.” His other hand strokes your center, remembering exactly where that bud is. “And here.”

“Aegon . . .” Aemond says it as if a warning.

“I would like that.” You say looking at Aemond first. His eye is wide. “I am not tired. I want to feel more.” You palm at Aemond’s thigh. Your fingers tease the side of his cock.

You know you will remember this moment for the rest of your days. Someday you will be wed. Someday you will have babes at your breast instead of needy princes. You want to take as much pleasure from them as they do from you, savor the passion of this moment even as the wind howls and the storm rages.

You kiss the tip of Aemond’s cock. He hisses, though the sound is not unpleasant. Aegon moves to sit on the other side of your face. You feel the tip of his cock trace your neck. Your tongue swirls around Aemond’s tip on instinct . He guides your mouth further down on his cock while instructing you to take what you can not fit in your hand and stroke it. You do as instructed, feeling him graze your cheek as his cock grows larger inside your mouth.

“How is her mouth?” Aegon is nearly humming with excitement beside you.

“Exquisite.” Aemond says maintaining his composure.

Your tongue flickers at the underside of his cock as you take him further into your mouth. He is gentle with his instructions, kind when telling you what he desires from you. He tells you to hollow your cheeks. When you do he moans much louder then he did when he was fucking you. You are glad you can give him pleasure simply with your mouth and tongue.

“Let him fill your mouth then I will as well.” Aegon teases in your ear.

You feel a little uneasy at the thought. You can taste salty remnants of Aemond against your tongue. Aemond seems to see how uneasy you have grown. He pulls you from his cock with a pop. His thumb runs across your bottom lip gathering his essence to rub it further into your mouth. You suckle his thumb looking into his eye.

“Hmmm.” He looks to you slowly blinking. “I think you want my cock inside your cunt again. Don’t you, sweet one?” You swallow whatever salty essence he has released in your mouth, not much but enough to know what he tastes like, an aftertaste of sweet fruit.

You hum approval.

“Alright, fuck her cunt. I’ll take that mouth of hers. It sounds as if it is better than her cunt by how pleased you seemed, brother.” You feel Aegon pull your mouth toward him.

Without hesitation he pries your mouth open.

“Careful.” Aemond is hissing again. “Be gentle with her.”

“What if she wants a bit of roughness?” You feel Aegon pump two fingers into your mouth. You suckle tasting bits of cheese under his nails. The corners of your mouth seep drool. “Oh good girl. She’s drooling over the thought of sucking my cock. Let me hear it from your mouth then, sweet girl. What do you desire?”

You have never been asked such a question in your life.

The thunder crackles shaking the room. You are looking into one prince’s eyes before looking into the eye of the other prince.

What is it you desire?

You were practically forced into your current line of work. A family trade is tradition and should be treated as such. You love your work now, but were never given the opportunity to try anything else.

You will not have a say in your husband.

You will not have a say in your friends.

Your free time has never been your own.

Yet here, in the darkness of night, in a storm that rages outside you are asked such a question from the least likely of people.

“The crown demands to know your true desires.” Aegon seems sweeter now removing his fingers from your lips. The wet fingers stroke from your temple to your cheek catching some of your sweat stained hair.

In the storm you awaken your true desires.

“I want to be touched. Worshipped. I want to feel you both inside me. It does not matter where, but yes, I should think a gentle embrace is what I would like most.” Your eyes flutter with a mixture of innocence and pure lust.

“Well then, I will remain gentle. But I may lose control. Tap my leg thrice if my cock is too rough, my lady. I do not wish you pain, only pleasure. For tonight you are the one we shall worship.” He bends down, giving you a sweet kiss on the temple.

Aemond slowly begins to remove your night dress so you are bare before the two princes. It does not feel like exposure, but instead it feels as though you have truly given yourself to the moment, to this place in time, to your lovers. In that moment the prince titles fade from your mind.

All three of you only want to make each other feel good.

“You are so soft.” Aemond says.

His lips are trailing down your body, between the valley of your breasts, at your soft belly, and then to your thighs. You can feel how soft you are in each spot as he travels. Aegon slowly rubs his fingers over your lips letting you kiss him before his cock, hard and ready rubs across your lips too. You open your mouth taking the thick cock.

As you suck on Aegon’s cock, Aemond slowly inserts himself inside your cunt.

“By the Gods, your mouth . . .” He groans almost as loud as his brother did.

You are glad you are making him feel this way. Each brother has a hand on one of your tits. Slowly their rhythms seem to match thrusting into each of your wet holes in unison. You tap Aegon’s leg thrice when you find it difficult to breath. He does seem to care about your comfort as does Aemond who has gently folded your thighs upward as he strokes his cock inside you.

The gentleness of it all makes time seem never ending.

It is fine by you. You are feeling elated in this moment.

Enjoying yourself perhaps too much.

“I am close.”

“As am I.”

“Are you close, darling?”

You do not know who’s voice is who’s in that moment. You simply hum around Aegon’s cock before he can pull out.

“I want to fuck your mouth a little rougher. Would that be alright with you?” Aegon blinks softly.

It is hard to deny him, but also you feel your pussy twitch at the suggestion. You nod.

“Mmmm. . . her cunt twitched at the suggestion. She’s so fuckin’ close.” You hear in Aemond’s voice he is ready to spill himself.

You wonder if both of them will spill inside you.

Hands fit against the back of your head as Aegon gently guides your mouth over his cock. Your jaw is beginning to hurt from holding open for so long, but you want to feel good as well. A small price to pay, you suppose. Aegon’s cock begins to go deeper inside your mouth before thrusting faster. You feel spittle gather at the corners as you hear your hollow chokes begin. Those sounds seem to spurn Aemond on.

His thrusts are deeper as well inside your cunt, which is well stretched at this point. He is muttering curses as his fingernails make half moons on your thighs. All you hear is the men’s moans as they reach their peak as you choke and gasp around Aegon’s cock.

“Swallow all of it.” You feel it hit the back of your throat. You choke and slurp it back into your mouth. He is saltier then Aemond and there is much of his spend. You lick your lips when Aegon pulls from your mouth.

Aemond pounds viciously into you.

Your pussy twitches as you feel your eyes go white for a moment in your peak.

He is growing soft inside you collapsed.

“Naughty Aemond.” Aegon scolds. “Spilled his seed inside. Don’t worry. We can prepare some moon tea in the morning. Make sure no bastards grow in this cute little belly.” Aegon leans down and kisses your stomach.

Aemond rolls to his back panting.

“You enjoy her, brother? Tight cunt is much better then the cunt of an old whore.” Aegon nearly laughs. “And you my dear, how was your first time? Hmmm . . . you feel thoroughly worshipped by your princes?”

“Yes. I do.” You are nearly panting as well.

You will be sore in the morning, but the pleasure was worth every ache and pain.

“Perhaps when you are in King’s Landing we’ll have you again. It is my name day after all.” Aegon lays beside you his hands under his head watching you breath and your eyes lazily begin to close before opening to look at him. “We wore you out. Didn’t we?” He runs his hand over your lips once more.

“Yes, my prince.”

It is then you turn to Aemond. He is looking at you in a similar position to Aegon, but on your other side. He reaches forward to kiss your lips, moaning against them. He presses himself to you. On instinct you wrap your arms around him to cuddle him and stroke his hair. It is in this moment when he is nestled between your breasts and suckling comfortably at your skin you think this is typical for him after sex. Aegon hugs your waist from behind.

“Such a beautiful night.” Aegon mumbles into your hair. “Such a strange and beautiful stormy night.”

One the three of you will never forget.

#vbbships #aegon x reader x aemond #aegon x reader #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aegon smut

99 notes · View notes

whosscruffylooking · 3 months ago

Text

Open Arms Chapter One

steve harrington x fem!reader Open Arms Masterlist word count : 6k Rewrite/Character Insert of Stranger Things This chapter takes place during Season 2 Episodes 1-5

~1984~

Chapter Two

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Another day in Hawkins. Another day of high school. Another day stuck in the same small, sleepy town you’ve known for as long as you can remember. It feels like nothing ever changes here, like every day just blurs into the next, predictable and quiet.

Every day, you wake up wishing for some kind of miracle, something that could shake things up, make life a little less ordinary. Something that could turn your world… Upside Down.

“Y/N!” your mom calls out from the kitchen, “Is Steve giving you a ride today?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Mom, seriously…when was the last time Steve drove me to school? He has a girlfriend to pick up now.”

Steve, your best friend since the first grade. To everyone else he was The Reigning King of Hawkins High. To you he was just the boy next door who reigns havoc on your life, makes everything a little more complicated whether you want it or not.

Your mom hums thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s time you found yourself a boyfriend.”

“I’m perfectly fine, thanks.”

She gives a little shrug. “I’m just saying, wouldn’t it be nice to be taken out on a date once in a while?”

“Mom,” you sigh, “please take your matchmaking somewhere else.”

She’s not wrong, though. You haven’t let yourself even think about dating anyone else since the last “almost” with Steve. Around a year ago, he’d done something reckless enough to mess up things with Nancy, and she seemed to be getting closer to Jonathan Byers. You had just gotten out of a relationship yourself.

It happens every time: he messes things up with a girl, or you’re fresh out of a breakup, and suddenly, like clockwork, you’re back in each other’s lives, circling each other. It’s as if you’re both bound to this endless cycle of almosts—falling together just to fall apart again. You know the game by heart, and you’re tired of it, tired of the late nights that never lead to anything real, the unspoken words that hang heavy in the air between you both. But still, you can’t seem to let go.

Nothing ever actually happens. You just end up crashing at each other’s houses, watching movies till you both fall asleep, or driving out to Lover’s Lake to stargaze and rant about your trainwreck love lives. But you both know what it is—and what it isn’t. The truth is, you’re bound by a history no one else could touch. Growing up together, you made the stupid decision of being a lot of each other’s firsts, and you’ve always been the one person who truly gets him. It’s a bond that runs deeper than most things in your life, yet it never seems to go anywhere beyond these stolen moments. And maybe that’s why it hurts the most—knowing he’s always right there but never fully yours.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

At school, you overhear the girls in the hallway whispering about the new guy in town. Though “guy” isn’t the word they use—they’re calling him a real man, with a muscle car to match and actual muscles to back it up. You’ve never been the type to shy away from guys, and you’ve certainly never had any trouble attracting attention. Still, something about the way they talk about him piques your curiosity, though you’d never admit it.

You notice the once-empty locker beside yours is finally in use, a few things tossed inside. You wonder briefly who claimed it. That curiosity doesn’t last long.

“Excuse me, gorgeous, but I think that’s my locker.”

You turn to find the living, breathing embodiment of the girls’ descriptions. Tall, sharp-jawed, with piercing blue eyes, and that effortless, cocky grin. You don’t even have to ask if it’s him.

“Oh—my bad,” you say, stepping aside.

“And what’s your name?” he asks, his smile unwavering.

Who does he remind you of?

“Y/N…” You try to pinpoint it, that nagging sense of familiarity.

He tosses his keys into the locker, eyes still fixed on yours, something almost playful in his gaze.

Then it hits you.

“I’m—”

“Knight Rider?” you say slyly, a smirk playing at your lips. He blushes just a little, caught off guard, and you savor the small victory.

“Well played,” he says, taking your hand into his for a confident but gentle shake.

“That’s just the beginning,” you respond, shutting your locker with a quiet click, eager to keep the mystery between you two alive.

“I hope so. I’m Billy by the way,” he replies, his voice softer now, still slightly in awe of you. There’s something in his eyes—a challenge. And you can tell, he’s baited.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

At lunch, you find yourself walking through the crowded cafeteria, scanning the room for a familiar face. As luck would have it, you bump into Nancy and Steve near the food line.

“Hey,” Steve greets, his voice laced with a hint of curiosity. “What did you think of the new guy? Total douche, right?”

You catch the look on his face, a mix of hope and something else you can’t quite place. It’s clear he’s fishing for your opinion, eager for you to agree with him.

You shrug, trying to keep your tone casual, though you can’t hide the small smirk tugging at your lips. “I mean…” Your voice comes out just a bit higher than usual, betraying your uncertainty. “He’s like the entire cast of The Outsiders wrapped up in one package.” You leave it at that, the playful jab hanging in the air between you three.

Nancy chuckles, gripping her tray closely as she looks between you and Steve. You take the opportunity to point at her, nodding toward Steve. “Looks like your girl might agree with me too.”

Nancy gasps and bursts into laughter. “I don’t know, I guess. He’s not really my type though.”

You smirk, not missing a beat. “That’s so funny, because I’m pretty sure I saw a David Hasselhoff photo in your locker just last week?”

Steve’s face falls slightly, and you catch the brief flash of disappointment in his eyes. “Oh please,” he says, his tone a bit too defensive, “he is not David Hasselhoff.”

“Knight Rider,” Nancy interjects, her eyes darting between you and Steve. You both freeze, caught off guard.

“What?” You ask, happy she sees the resemblance too.

Nancy looks back and forth between you two, realization dawning on her. “He has the car, the curls, and the mus—muscle car.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing her. “You just said the car twice. Sure you didn’t mean another kind of muscle?”

Nancy giggles at your comment, but Steve pushes you playfully, though there’s a layer of something more in his touch—like he’s trying to keep things light but it doesn’t quite feel like it used to.

“Have I told you that I hate you?” Steve mutters under his breath, though it’s more playful than anything else.

You smile, your tone laced with the usual teasing. “All too often.”

But as you both lock eyes, something shifts. It’s not just a playful exchange anymore. The usual banter feels heavy now, the space between you both thick with unspoken words. Steve’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you wonder if he’s feeling the same distance creeping between you two that you’ve been trying so hard to ignore. You quickly look away, forcing the feeling down as Nancy continues to laugh, unaware of the sudden tension lingering.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

You’re walking down the hall, a few steps ahead of Steve, the sounds of lockers slamming and voices all around you fading as the tension between you both hangs in the air. Every time you glance over your shoulder, his gaze is already on you—lingering, just a bit too long.

You both fall into an uneasy silence. It’s not the comfortable quiet you used to share, but something heavier. Something unspoken.

You stop for a moment, unsure of what to say. “I’ll see you in class,” you murmur, turning to leave.

But Steve’s voice stops you. “Hey,” he calls softly, his hand brushing yours as he steps into your path. His touch is warm, too warm for something so casual. His fingers linger for a split second before he pulls away, but the moment still sits between you, unresolved.

You look up, meeting his eyes. His usual cocky confidence is gone, replaced by something more vulnerable. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for you to say something, anything to break the silence.

“Steve…” You don’t know what you’re going to say. You want to say something that makes it all feel normal again, but the words feel stuck in your throat.

He opens his mouth, hesitates, then shuts it again. “Never mind.” The smile he forces doesn’t reach his eyes again. It’s strained, tight. And suddenly, you can’t look at him anymore.

Turning quickly, you walk past him, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

From down the hall, Nancy watches the exchange, arms folded, leaning against the locker as she observes. There’s no jealousy in her gaze—she’s been there too. She knows the space between two people who care for each other but don’t know how to bridge it. She’s seen it with Jonathan, with the way they get tangled in unspoken words and moments that feel like too much, but too little at the same time. It’s just the way things go sometimes.

───⋆｡°✩🕰️✩°｡⋆───

*Flashback*

2 years ago

It’s a Friday afternoon, and the hallways of Hawkins High are quieter than usual. Most of the students have gone home, leaving the echoes of footsteps and lockers slamming shut. You and Steve are walking side by side, the familiar warmth of his presence at your side like it always has been—comforting, easy.

You laugh as Steve pulls an exaggerated face, trying to get you to laugh at his antics as he mimics one of the teachers. You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile spreading across your face.

“You’re such an idiot,” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder.

He bumps you back, almost knocking you into the lockers. “You love me for it,” he smirks, and there’s a hint of something else in his gaze, something unspoken that lingers between you, like a question neither of you has the courage to ask.

You roll your eyes again, but there’s no denying the way your heart skips. “Yeah, maybe,” you say, trying to brush it off. But you both know that maybe means something more.

You reach the end of the hallway, your steps slowing as the moment stretches, neither of you wanting to be the first to turn back, to end this rare, quiet time between just the two of you.

He glances over at you, his steps slowing, his voice quieter when he speaks again. “Hey, so… Bryan still around?”

You stop walking, surprised by the question, but it’s Steve, and it’s always been easy with him. “No,” you reply, shaking your head. “He’s out of the picture.”

Steve’s expression softens, a slight smile playing on his lips as if the weight of something between you two has been lifted. “Good. He never really seemed like the right guy for you.”

Your breath catches slightly at the unexpected warmth in his words, but you don’t let it show. “Yeah, well… sometimes you don’t really see things until it’s too late.”

Steve nods, looking down for a moment as if he’s trying to decide something. He looks back up at you, his usual carefree grin returning. “Well, if you’re not busy tonight, you wanna come over to my place? We can grab some takeout, watch movies… you know, normal hangout stuff.”

There’s something in his invitation that feels different this time, but you brush it off. It’s Steve. He always invites you over. You’ve done it a million times before—movies, pizza, talking about everything and nothing. It’s what you do.

“Yeah,” you agree, “sounds good.”

Steve’s eyes flicker down to your lips, then back to your eyes, his expression shifting. You feel your stomach flutter, the air between you thickening as the playful banter dies down.

You find yourself leaning in, just a bit, and you see Steve’s breath catch, the tip of his nose almost brushing yours.

But before you can get any closer, a loud bang from down the hall makes both of you snap apart like you’ve been caught.

You both step back, instantly awkward, eyes darting everywhere except at each other. The spell breaks, but the tension still lingers, heavy in the air. You glance at Steve, and his expression is unreadable—like he’s trying to hide something, or maybe it’s you who’s hiding it.

You break the silence first, a half-laugh escaping your lips. “Well… that was close.”

Steve rubs the back of his neck, looking embarrassed but also relieved. “Yeah, totally. We’re just—uh, messing around, right?”

You nod, trying to brush it off, but your heart is racing, and you know he feels it too. “Right. Just messing around.”

But neither of you says anything more. You both head in opposite directions down the hallway, still feeling the echo of what almost happened, both of you wondering if the other is thinking about it too.

───⋆｡°✩🕰️✩°｡⋆───

At last, it’s the day of the party. You’ve spent longer than you’d like to admit getting ready, but you’re finally happy with your look. Blue bell-bottom jeans, a tight orange top with a center zip that falls just below the line of modesty—it’s bold, but you feel good in it. Confident, even.

You arrive at the party, a mix of excitement and nerves swirling inside you. The music pulses through the house, and people are scattered, laughing and talking, their faces blurry in the haze of a dimly lit room. As much as you try to act like you don’t care, the anxiety creeps in. Funny how someone so confident can still feel out of place in a crowd.

You push through, trying to find your core group, but as you weave through the bodies, there’s really only one person you’re looking for. Steve. The one person who has always had a way of making you feel like you belong.

On your way through the crowd, you bump into Jonathan Byers. Another one of your longtime friends. You’ve all grown up together in Hawkins, so you’ve seen each other through the years—some friendships stronger than others, but still, it’s hard to forget those familiar faces.

“Jonathan!” you call out with a smile, pulling him into a quick hug. “Loving the look, very you.” You nod at his usual, low-key style—flannel and jeans. He’s always been the quiet, thoughtful one in the group, and you just want him to feel good about his understated vibe.

“I like… your shirt,” he says, his words trailing off awkwardly.

Well, at least your shirt is doing what you intended it to. Maybe just not with the target audience.

“Looking for Nancy?” you ask, hoping he’ll pick up the conversation.

“Yeah,” Jonathan responds, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I don’t really associate with anyone else here.”

You put on a mock-offended face, “Ouch.”

He immediately backpedals, realizing how it sounded. “I mean, you were gone for a while. We kinda lost touch.” His gaze drops a little, clearly uncomfortable, referring to the time when your parents separated again, and you spent some months with your mom in California. It had been a rough time for you, especially being away from Steve. You’re still not sure how you survived that.

“Well, I’m back now,” you say, brushing off the past. “Come on, join me. I’m on a mission to find Steve and Nancy.”

Jonathan nods, grateful for the company. “Alright, lead the way.”

And there he is, leaning against the wall by the kitchen, laughing at something someone said, a bottle of beer loosely held in his hand. He’s effortlessly cool as usual, but there’s something different tonight. Maybe it’s the way his eyes flicker over to Nancy every now and then, or the tightness in his posture that betrays the casual air he’s trying to maintain.

Nancy stands next to him, arms crossed, her jaw clenched in that familiar way when she’s upset—though it’s hard to say if it’s the alcohol or something else that’s fueling her frustration tonight. She’s leaning a little too heavily on the counter, her face flushed, the words she’s muttering barely audible over the noise of the party.

Steve’s smile is gone now, replaced by a more serious expression. He’s trying to keep things light, but it’s clear she’s not having it.

As you and Jonathan walk toward the kitchen, you spot Steve and Nancy in their little world, tucked away by the counter. You can hear the edge in Nancy’s voice, even from a distance, though you can’t make out the words. Jonathan follows your gaze, his brow furrowing. You can’t blame him for looking the way he does—he’s been around long enough to know the dance between Steve and Nancy.

“Is she okay?” you ask, your voice quiet, though it feels more like an automatic question than one you really expect an answer to. You’ve seen enough of this cycle to know the routine.

Jonathan glances over, shaking his head just slightly. “I don’t think so,” he says, a rare seriousness in his tone. “But you know Nancy. She’ll push through.”

You feel the knot in your stomach tighten as you watch Steve’s stance shift, his body leaning toward Nancy as if trying to reach her without crowding her, trying to give her space but also not let her slip too far away. There’s something fragile in the air, something more than just the tension between them. It’s like Steve’s holding on by a thread, and maybe Nancy is, too, but neither of them wants to admit it.

“You should probably go talk to them,” Jonathan says, glancing at you. He doesn’t know what to say either, but it’s obvious that Steve’s been trying to manage things on his own. You could step in—or let him handle it.

You glance at Jonathan again, silently debating what to do. Jonathan nudges you gently with his elbow. “You good?” he asks. You nod, taking a step forward, your voice hesitant but warm. “Hey, guys, what’s going on?” you ask, trying to break through the tension without adding to it.

Nancy shoots you a sharp look before turning away, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind. He’s got that defeated, yet resigned, look on his face as he exhales deeply. He’s trying to hide it, but the frustration is written all over him.

“Just the usual,” Steve says with a small, forced smile, looking at you.

Nancy, still with her arms crossed, shoots you a look that says more than her words do. It’s not that she’s mad at you; it’s just that she doesn’t want to be the center of attention right now. She’s not ready to have the conversation.

Jonathan stands by you, hands in his pockets, waiting for you to say something. You don’t know what the right thing is. The silence in the room is thick now.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” Nancy slurs, her words trailing off as she pushes past Steve, who’s still trying to calm her down.

“Please don’t,” Steve says, his voice low and frustrated, but he’s too late. He sighs and chases after her, leaving you standing alone for the moment.

Not long after, a voice you’re starting to recognize from the past few days calls out from behind you.

“So if I’m Knight Rider, then who does that make you?” Billy’s voice is smooth, cocky, and unmistakable. He’s standing just a few feet away now, that grin still plastered on his face.

You turn to meet his gaze, letting a playful smile tug at the corners of your lips. You raise an eyebrow, a silent challenge in your eyes. “You’ll have to learn more about me to find out.”

He steps a little closer, eyes narrowing with amusement. “When?”

The question hangs in the air, and for a split second, you feel that old rush of excitement—the thrill of the unknown. Remembering your mom’s less-than-subtle hints this morning, you decide to play along.

“How about Wednesday night? We can go see the new Terminator movie. You look like someone who appreciates a little Arnold Schwarzenegger,” you say, testing the waters, letting a hint of flirtation slip into your voice.

Billy doesn’t hesitate, that confident grin of his widening. “It’s a date. I’ll pick you up. And…I’ve been to the gym Arnold works out in.”

You raise your hand to stop him, a slight smirk on your face. “Right…I’m sure you have. Also, I’ve seen how you drive your car. Maybe I’ll meet you there,” you tease, enjoying the playful banter.

He chuckles, stepping back, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint. “I’ll go nice and slow just for you.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, the tension between you both shifting into something lighter, something you haven’t felt in a while. But as you look past him, your eyes flicker briefly to Steve, catching him trying to pry the solo cup out of Nancy’s hand. Just as the music halts, that red solo cup and the red mystery punch within it spills all over Nancy’s white shirt.

Her face is in complete disbelief, she sways back and forth her reaction clearly slowed down by her alcohol intake.

“Screw you.”

Jonathan follows her quickly into the bathroom.

“You know,” Billy starts again, “Rumor has it that you and Harrington have quite the colorful history? Why is it that you two aren’t prom king and queen this year?”

Something in Billy’s tone instantly makes you second-guess your plans for Wednesday. His fading smirk tells you he’s noticed the flash of disdain on your face.

“What does it matter if you’re the one taking me on a date Wednesday?” you say, your voice edged with a warning. You’re feeling oddly protective over you and Harrington’s history, a past that’s none of Billy’s business.

Billy raises an eyebrow, caught off guard but intrigued. “Fair enough,” he replies, but the cocky glint in his eyes lingers, as if he’s still sizing up the situation.

Shortly after, you spot Steve storming out of the bathroom alone, Nancy nowhere in sight. His expression is tense as he heads straight for the drink station, a familiar frustration in his stride. You catch a glimpse of Jonathan making his way toward Nancy, so you turn to Billy with a polite excuse and make your way over to Steve.

“Hey, you don’t need to be drinking any more right now,” you say, noticing that Steve has downed two cups of punch in the short walk it took to reach him.

“I’ve got a pretty damn good reason to,” he mutters, his jaw tight as he opens a beer.

“Steve, you don’t have to tell me what happened, but at least think about the fact that you still have to drive home,” you warn, trying to keep your tone light.

He shrugs, avoiding your eyes. “You can drive me.”

“I never volunteered for that,” you reply, crossing your arms.

For a moment, he looks at you, really looks at you, and you can tell he’s realizing that things are different. You’re not just there to pick up his pieces anymore. You have your own life to live tonight—a party to enjoy, and maybe even boys to dance with. The weight of another round of Steve-and-Nancy drama? That’s not something you’re willing to carry this time.

“You’re right,” Steve says, setting the beer down with a sigh. “I’ll just go sit out on the porch and sober up a bit. Then I’ll head out. And I wanna make sure Nancy gets home safe.”

You give his arm a quick squeeze, silently admiring that, even in the middle of an argument, he’s still looking out for her. That is… until his gaze drifts to the front door, where he sees Jonathan helping a barely-standing Nancy out to his car.

Crap.

“Go sit on the porch. I’ll be right there,” you say quickly, hinting you’ll handle it. You rush outside to catch up with Jonathan. “You know how this looks, right?”

Jonathan gives a solemn nod. “She asked me.”

Nancy lifts her head slightly, her words slurred and muddled. “I don’t want… Steve to take me home. Not Steve. I want to see Barb’s parents. Take me to Barb’s house.”

You pause, taken aback. “Barb’s parents? Why do you want to see Barb’s parents right now?”

Jonathan stiffens, worry flickering in his eyes. “Uh, I really think I should get her home now. Maybe check on Steve too.”

Without another word, they’re off, leaving you standing in the night with a sense of unease. You know Barbara Holland was Nancy’s best friend, missing since last year. But why would she bring that up now? And why with such urgency?

You find Steve out back, leaning against the porch railing, eyes glazed with frustration and a hint of sadness.

“Steve…why would Nancy want to see Barb’s parents tonight?”

He shakes his head slowly, the alcohol clearly loosening his grip on restraint. “God, I wish I could tell you everything right now. It would make things so much easier. You’re my best friend. I tell you everything. But for the past year, I’ve been keeping so many secrets from you.”

A pit forms in your stomach. “What do you mean, Steve?”

He looks at you, eyes haunted, and whispers, “If I told you, you’d die.”

You laugh nervously, trying to shake the unease settling over you. “C’mon, it can’t be that serious.”

“There’s stuff going on around here that you have no clue about.” He reaches up, gently brushing a stray hair from your face, his fingers lingering a second longer than they should. Your heart skips, half hoping this is just the alcohol, half hoping it’s not. He always does this, walks that fine line.

His voice cracks slightly as he murmurs, “I just want to keep you safe.”

In that moment, you realize it’s not just words—it’s a plea, and you can feel the weight of something dark lurking just beyond his gaze, something he desperately wants to shield you from.

You give Steve a gentle pinch, trying to ground him. “I’m safe, Steve. I’m right here, see?”

But he only shakes his head, eyes dark with something close to dread. “Here is where it’s least safe. Those things… they’re out there.”

A chill runs down your spine. “What things, Steve?” You search his face, recognizing the unmistakable truth behind his words.

He just looks away, jaw clenched. Instinctively, your mind flashes back to last year, the disappearances of Will Byers and Barb. Then Nancy and Jonathan, vanishing for days without a word. Everyone assumed Jonathan had to hold things together while Joyce spiraled, refusing to believe her son was dead. There was even a funeral, and she still wouldn’t admit it. Then, against all logic, Will came back with no real explanation.

You remember Steve acting strangely after everything went down. He kept trying to make peace with Jonathan over the fight they got into outside the movie theater, but he dodged every question you asked about the night he went to Jonathan’s house, laughing nervously or changing the subject so fast it left you spinning. Then there was the night you found a bat in the trunk of his car—nails hammered into it like some kind of makeshift weapon. When you questioned him, he just shrugged it off, calling it a “guy thing,” and you let it go, though every instinct told you there was more to the story.

Whenever you pushed for answers, Steve would wave it off, teasing you about reading too many mysteries and spending too much time theorizing. But seeing the fear in his eyes now, the weight he’s carrying, it hits you like a punch: you were right to question everything. And he knows it, too.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

You drive Steve’s car back to his house, figuring you’ll pick up your mom’s in the morning. One night won’t matter.

Helping him up to his room, you can’t shake the strange coincidences piling up around Hawkins.

“I missed this,” he mumbles, settling onto his bed.

“What?”

“You… in my room,” he says softly, grabbing your hand. “Stay tonight. Don’t leave.”

“You have a girlfriend, Steve. I don’t stay over when you have a girlfriend.”

He sighs, eyes full of something almost desperate. “What kind of girlfriend says she isn’t really in love with you?”

You freeze. “I’m sorry—what?”

“She said we’re just… acting like we’re in love,” he says, voice rough with frustration and something else.

You can see it—the hurt he’s tried to bury, the way he’s tried so hard to be enough for someone. To finally feel wanted.

His arms slip around your waist, his head resting against your stomach, and you feel his shoulders shake. Silent tears he doesn’t want you to see.

“Hey, hey… She was drunk, okay? Everyone says stupid things when they’re drunk. Talk to her tomorrow. It’ll be fine.”

“She meant it,” he whispers, his voice breaking.

You gently push him back onto the bed, pulling the covers over him. “You’ve got a long day tomorrow, Steve. Get some rest, and we’ll figure out the Nancy thing together.”

You hate to leave him like this, but you know it’s the right thing to do. So, once again, you walk away, leaving your best friend alone with his heartbreak and the last traces of alcohol on his breath. Another turn in the endless cycle that is your friendship—always there for him, even as it pulls you back into the same, unbroken loop.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The next day, Billy and Steve square off on the basketball court, the air thick with tension. Billy’s been taunting him non-stop, poking at Steve’s so-called “King Steve” reputation like it’s a worn-out joke. But Steve keeps his cool, mostly.

Until Billy casually drops your name.

“So tell me, Harrington,” Billy sneers with a smirk, “what made you go for the Wheeler girl over Y/N?”

Steve feels the muscles in his jaw clench, but he doesn’t take the bait. He knows better than to react. But Billy’s not done. He moves closer, a low chuckle escaping as he continues, “I mean, the King and the Princess of Hawkins High—cute match and all. But damn, man, have you seen the hips on her? Perfect for holding onto. Word is you already took her for a test drive, too. So I gotta wonder… why didn’t you ever claim her? Or maybe you just weren’t man enough?”

Steve’s control snaps. He shoves Billy hard, fire in his eyes as he stands inches from him, fists clenched. “Say one more thing about her. I dare you.”

Billy laughs, clearly enjoying himself, but there’s an edge to Steve’s stance, a fierce protectiveness that makes even Billy pause. Steve glares, his voice low and dangerous. “Y/N’s worth more than someone like you will ever know. So keep her name out of your mouth, or you’ll regret it.”

Right on cue, Nancy’s soft voice cuts through the tension. “Steve?” She stands just a few feet away, looking pale and uneasy, clearly having seen the entire thing unfold.

Billy smirks, throwing a last taunt over his shoulder. “Good luck, Harrington.” He saunters off, leaving Steve standing there, fists still clenched, his heart pounding.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

“Y/N!” your mom calls from downstairs. “Steve is here!”

Steve coming through the front door? That’s unusual—he’s always climbed the vines up to your window. You quickly spray a bit of perfume, fix your hair, then catch yourself in the mirror. Why are you even putting in effort for him?

When you come down, your mom throws you an excited smile, her back to Steve so he can’t see. She’s still holding onto that hope she’s had since first grade that you and Steve would end up together.

And then there he is, standing in the entryway with a bouquet of sunflowers—your favorite. Your heart stumbles as you take in every inch of him. For a brief second, you let yourself imagine you’re the only girl he brings flowers to. But realistically, he’s probably just coming from Nancy’s or on his way there next.

He hands you the flowers, his gaze lingering. “Thank you for everything.”

“It’s no big deal,” you say, trying to steady your voice.

“Well, I should get going,” he says, and your heart sinks. That’s it?

“But, uh, make sure to open your window. There’s a nice breeze out tonight,” he adds with a wink. You bite back a smile, catching on.

You say your goodbyes and dash up the stairs, ignoring your mom’s questions as Steve leaves. You open your window, sitting on your bed, waiting for him like you have a hundred times before. Somehow, after all these years, the excitement still feels brand new.

“Miss me?” He slips through the window, quietly so your mom doesn’t hear, and makes himself at home. He turns on your record player, the soft hum of music filling the room, then joins you on the bed.

He stares down at his hands. “I’m sorry for the position I put you in last night. It wasn’t fair, and you deserve better.”

You try to catch his gaze, but he’s clearly embarrassed. “That’s what best friends are for,” you say, hoping to ease his guilt.

You bite your tongue, unsure whether to bring up what he shared last night—but you’ve never hidden things from each other, and you don’t want to start now. “You told me about Nancy… how she said it felt like you were just acting in love.”

He sighs, defeated. “Yeah. I confronted her about it today. Asked if she could say she loved me, and she couldn’t.”

Your heart aches for him. “I’m sorry, Steve. Maybe she’s just… having a moment. A lot’s happened this year.”

The silence hangs between you for a moment, heavy with unsaid words.

“I’m gonna bring her flowers after this. I don’t think it’ll change anything, but she deserves an apology for everything I put her through,” he finally says, breaking the quiet. You smile, resting your hand on his knee. “I think that’s a good idea.”

He looks down at your hand on his knee, his fingers hovering for a moment before he covers it with his own. His expression softens, a hint of something he quickly tries to hide, but you can see it—a sadness mixed with a reluctant acceptance, like he knows exactly what all of this means.

He lets out a quiet sigh, staring at your intertwined hands. There’s a heaviness in his eyes. Like even if things with Nancy are ending, there’s something between you and him that’s never quite let go.

His fingers tighten around yours, just for a second, before he releases your hand and gives you a small, bittersweet smile.

“You should go,” you whisper. You don’t want him to. But he needs to.

He reluctantly resigns himself.

“Can I come pick you up in an hour? Maybe we can go to the movies or something?”

You know you should say no, but you can’t. “If you and Nancy aren’t making out and making up within the next hour then yes, we can go to a movie.”

He stares at you, and you can’t quite read him. You avert your gaze.

“It’s so funny,” he speaks almost as if he can’t believe himself, “No matter what…or who…I always need you.”

And with that he’s out the window and on his way to try and win back another woman.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

#strange things imagine #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington angst #steve harrington #slow burn #angst #steve harrington fic #stranger things fic #billy hargrove #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #Open Arms AU

114 notes · View notes

tsumuus · 7 months ago

Text

meet cutes | my hero academia

a/n so random make ni sense and not proof read at all. i just love all these characters sm and think they need more appreciation

characters tenya iida, hanta sero, eijiro kirishima, denki kaminari

masterlist

tenya iida

The bustling streets of Musutafu seemed to never quiet, especially during the evening rush hour. You hurried through the crowded sidewalks, clutching a stack of documents to your chest, trying to avoid any collisions. The sky had a gentle orange hue as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the city.

Just as you rounded the corner near a small, bustling cafe, a gust of wind swept through, snatching one of your papers and sending it fluttering into the air. You gasped, reaching out futilely as it soared higher.

Suddenly, a blur of blue and white darted past you. Tenya Iida, in his hero costume, appeared, deftly catching the paper mid-air. He landed gracefully, adjusting his glasses and holding the document out to you. The sunlight framed him perfectly, making his appearance even more striking. You accepted the paper, your fingers brushing his gloved hand.

With a warm smile, he nodded at you. “Always happy to assist,” he said, before dashing off again, leaving you standing there with a racing heart and a newfound admiration for the hero who had saved your day.

hanta sero

The neighborhood park was your favorite spot for a morning jog. The dew-kissed grass, the chirping of birds, and the occasional rustle of leaves created a tranquil atmosphere. As you rounded the trail's curve, you noticed a commotion near the large oak tree in the center.

Curiosity piqued, you jogged closer, only to see Sero Hanta struggling with a tangled kite. It was a bright red dragon, its tail hopelessly entwined in the branches. Sero, now a seasoned pro hero, was trying his best to free it using his tape quirk, but the kite remained stubbornly stuck.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound catching his attention. He glanced your way, sheepish but grinning. Without a word, you joined him, climbing onto a lower branch to help. The two of you worked in harmony, hands brushing occasionally, the shared effort bringing an unexpected sense of camaraderie.

Finally, with a triumphant tug, the kite was free. Sero’s laughter was infectious, and as you handed the kite back to the grateful child who owned it, he gave you a thumbs up. “Great teamwork,” he said, his smile brightening your morning.

eijiro kirishima

The gym was quieter than usual, the perfect setting for a late-night workout. You focused on your routine, pushing through the last set of weights when a loud crash echoed through the space. Startled, you looked over to see Eijiro Kirishima, now a well-known hero, sheepishly picking up a toppled barbell.

He caught your gaze and grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. The dim lighting highlighted the sharp angles of his face, and you couldn’t help but notice the genuine warmth in his eyes.

You walked over, offering a hand. Together, you righted the barbell, your fingers brushing against his. He chuckled, a deep, hearty sound that reverberated in the empty gym. “Guess I overestimated myself,” he admitted, his laughter contagious.

As you returned to your workout, you felt his gaze linger, a silent promise of future encounters. There was something undeniably endearing about his honest clumsiness, and you found yourself looking forward to the next time fate would bring you together.

denki kaminari

The arcade was buzzing with energy, neon lights reflecting off the polished floors and flashing screens. You weaved through clusters of gamers until you spotted Denki Kaminari, your former classmate and now a hero known for his electrifying abilities, focused intensely on a claw machine. His usual carefree grin was replaced with a determined frown as he tried to snag a plush.

You couldn’t resist joining in. Standing beside him, you both took turns maneuvering the claw. After a few failed attempts, your skillful finesse finally paid off—the claw gripped the plush snugly and dropped it into the prize chute. Denki’s eyes widened in amazement, his grin returning full force. “No way! You did it!”

He offered you the plush toy, a spark of excitement evident in his eyes as your hands briefly touched. As you walked out together, the arcade’s lights painting playful patterns on his face, Denki chattered enthusiastically about his favorite games and hero escapades. His infectious energy made the evening feel like a whirlwind of laughter and camaraderie, leaving you with a smile and a sense of eager anticipation for what could unfold between you.

262 notes · View notes

httpiastri · 11 months ago

Text

PERFECTLY FINE – Y/N PROFILE

full name: y/n harper

date of birth: june 3rd, 2005

birthplace: cambridge, england

family members: william harper (father); sarah harper (mother)

teams: prema racing (2020-2023), campos racing (2024-now)

driver academy: red bull junior team (2019-now)

instagram: yourusername

best friends: jak crawford, dino beganovic, pepe marti

racing record:

2020 italian f4 championship – third place (six podiums; two wins)

2021 formula regional european championship – fifth place (four podiums; one win)

2022 formula regional european championship – second place (nine podiums; three wins)

2023 fia formula 3 championship – second place (five podiums; three wins)

2024 fia formula 2 championship – ongoing

trivia:

– y/n harper is the only child of four-time world champion william harper. her father was a ferrari driver for a total of eleven years and won his first two titles with the italian team in 2007 and 2008, before moving on to drive for red bull. there, he won his second championship in 2010 – only to move back to ferrari and take his last title with them the following season. as of early 2021, he's the head of the ferrari driver academy.

– y/n began karting at the age of seven, starting off with being coached by her father but later moving on to getting a trainer of her own. she joined the red bull junior team for her last year of karting and has stayed in the academy ever since.

– american f2 driver jak crawford joined the junior team one year later, and he and y/n found each other instantly. the two have been best friends, as well as neighbors, since then.

– y/n began being romantically involved with teammate paul aron during the summer break of the 2022 freca season. however, the pair split up almost a year later. she then started dating ferrari academy driver oliver bearman in late july 2023.

– y/n was homeschooled between ages 14 and 16 so that she could focus more on her driving.

– besides racing, her interests include skiing, baking, reading, and journaling.

– despite often being held back by her own performance anxiety and imposter syndrome, she is very set on and clear about her goal; getting into formula one. she has claimed that she will never truly be satisfied until she stands on the top step of the podium after an f1 race like her father did so many times.

series masterlist

#perfectly fine!#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f2 #formula two #formula 2 #ollie bearman #paul aron #fluff #angst #x reader #x you #x yn #x y/n #series #fanfic #imagine #blurb #drabble

166 notes · View notes

crow2222 · 23 days ago

Text

Two Darry x Paul fic wips I'll probably never finish 💔

———————————————

"Paul. Paul get up, you were gonna drive me home."

Darry shook his boyfriend's shoulder until the other smacked his hand away with a groan.

"That was yesterday. Leave me alone."

"If I come home and everyone's awake, I'm as good as dead."

Paul turned around in the bed then, rubbing his eyes open. "No shit? I thought they weren't strict."

"Well, not really." Darry pulled the covers off Paul, who weakly grabbed at them, before kicking it under the bedframe. "I mean it, I gotta get home- and I ain't walking, no way."

"Okay, okay! Let me find my pants at least, God."

Darry took one last glance at Paul’s bare ass before walking off to Paul's very own car. He'd wished for his own long before his dirty shoes could've even reached the pedals with his toes, but his family could barely afford the one truck they got now.

He wasn't dumb, but maybe a dreamer. A wisher? Darry wasn't quite sure how to describe himself, and that applied to everything.

The car roared to life as the two of them jumped in at the same time. Despite the rushing Darry had done, he was nervous for Paul to be behind the wheel. Was he even aware that he was awake?

Not that Darry had a lot of time to think about that, as the were speeding down the road in record time.

Christmas came and went as per usual, the decorations left behind even into the next year shining bright on the perfectly manicured lawns of the Soc neighbours.

These holidays always felt like it was Darry's. It was his time to shine, even if winter was his least favourite season. Christmas was his. And Paul's. Seeing how his birthday was only a bit before Christmas itself.

Candy canes, stupid sweaters, presents, elves and Santa. Theirs to take and kick down in town. Each cardboard stand and figure, every single one destroyed or stolen for their own pure selfish sake.

Darry suddenly looked down, he was wearing Paul's sweater instead of his own, and when he turned to look over at Paul, low and behold was his sweater. He looked good in it. It's hard to pick up clothes from the ground in the middle of the night with no light.

Maybe this little mix up wouldn't hurt anybody.

Not any more than last night did, laughter bouncing off the walls in Paul's room as the two of them grew tired. They ended up holding each other under the covers, Paul nuzzling up to Darry's chest, adding a pressure down on him that helped sleep come easily.

Darry tugged at the front of the sweater and sniffed, only to find that he can't. Like how you walk into your own home and never notice the smell of it, unlike the times you visit others.

"I don't think you're sweaty enough to make that fresh sweater smell just yet Dar."

———————————————

Wip no2

———————————————

Paul twirled the little brown strand of hair that stuck out.

He tugged on it gently when it's fully wrapped around his finger, prompting Darry to open his eyes. The man, in turn, is met with a gorgeous sight - his boyfriend laying down next to him, with the morning light from behind him casting a holy glow to his golden curls and lion-like arms.

That's all that was beautiful in his life in that moment, because in the next, he sat straight up like an arrow and started coughing up his lungs from whatever lingered in them during the night.

Paul must've sat up too, for the pounding that struck Darry in the back, which sent him into an even worse coughing fit that even turned into gags by the end of it.

"Shoot, you got something for that cough of yours somewhere?"

Paul wrapped an arm around Darry to keep him upright, who had vaguely registered that he had been swaying.

"Maybe. I'll be fine don't worry, it's my house afterall." He didn't want to mention how he didn't want Paul running around, messing up his organisation and all. Not like he had much of an organised system in the first place.

"No bother at all. Stay in bed, and I'll find something." And he did leave, after a peck on the cheek and a tuck back under the sheets.

#the outsiders #darry curtis #darrel curtis #paul holden #the outsiders fanfiction #the outsiders fanfic #the outsiders writing #parry #daul #peril #darry x paul #darry curtis x paul holden #in the first wip darry comes home to ace #she is nawt happy #second wip i wrote while sick myself so i think that was just to cope lol

33 notes · View notes

littlejoyss · 2 months ago

Text

𝙷𝚘𝚝 𝙲𝚘𝚌𝚘𝚊 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 Day 2 - Trapped together in a snowstorm @12daysofchristmas Stray Kids - Hwang Hyunjin x Reader Word Count: 1341

A/N: This is just a short sweet thing I wrote because I was in the mood 😊

The first snow of the season had just started to fall, blanketing the yard in soft, glistening white. Thanks to the fire crackling in the fireplace, the house felt warm and cozy. You and Hyunjin had spent the afternoon decorating for the holidays. Now it was time to set up the Christmas tree.

Hyunjin dragged the box holding the artificial tree into the living room, groaning dramatically. "Why is this heavier than I remember?" he said, pretending to stumble under its weight. Dramatic as always.

The two of you assembled the tree, slotting the pieces together. Hyunjin took his time fluffing each branch, determined to make the tree look perfect. Meanwhile, you untangled the string lights. They somehow got into a mess despite Hyunjin claiming he neatly packed away last year.

"Neatly packed away, huh?" you teased, holding up the tangled lights. "Remind me to never let you handle storage duty again."

Hyunjin pouted, "Hey! It’s not my fault they have a mind of their own. They were perfectly fine when I put them away."

You gave him a knowing look. "Sure they were."

Despite his protests, Hyunjin came over to help. Together, you worked on untangling the lights, your fingers occasionally brushing against each other’s. Every time it happened, he’d flash you a playful grin.

Finally, the lights were ready, and Hyunjin stood on his tiptoes to start wrapping them around the tree. He hummed along to the holiday music, swaying to the rhythm as he worked. He stumbled occasionally due to being on his tiptoes. You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics, grabbing your phone to snap a picture.

"Are you documenting my suffering?" he asked with a mock horror in his voice.

"Of course," you replied, smirking. "For memories.”

Once the lights were in place, it was time for the ornaments. You opened the box and handed Hyunjin a delicate glass snowflake, one of your favorites. He took it carefully, studying it with a soft smile before finding the perfect spot on the tree.

Hyunjin picked up handmade ornaments out of the box. They were two clumsy clay stars you’d made together last year during a snowstorm.

"Remember this?" he said, holding them up with a fond expression.

"How could I forget? You insisted yours was better," you replied, grinning.

"Because it was," he shot back with a laugh, hanging the star near the top of the tree.

When the final ornament was placed, Hyunjin plugged in the lights. The tree lit up in a warm, multicolored glow. You both stood back to admire your handiwork.

"Perfect," he said softly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

You leaned into him, the tree lights casting a cozy glow around the room. The snow continued to fall outside, but now it was heavier.

You walked to the window. “Oh no.”

Hyunjin followed you to the window, looking at the swirling snow that now blanketed the street and yard. The gentle snowfall from earlier had transformed into a full-blown snowstorm. The wind howled, rattling the windows, and the world beyond your cozy home was barely visible.

“Oh no is right,” Hyunjin said, pressing his nose against the cold glass like a curious child. “Looks like we’re snowed in again, just like last year.”

You sighed. “Great. I guess our plans to go grocery shopping tomorrow are canceled.”

Hyunjin turned to you with a mischievous grin. “Guess we’ll have to survive on hot cocoa and marshmallows. Such hardship.”

You laughed, swatting his arm. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, silver lining!” he said, throwing an arm around your shoulder and turning you back toward the tree. “Now we get to spend the evening snowed in, all warm and cozy. Think of it as fate giving us a little extra time together.”

“Ah, yes, fate.” You joked. “Since you mentioned hot cocoa I’m craving it now.”

Hyunjin’s eyes lit up. “Hot cocoa it is! Maybe a movie too? I know you enjoy those Hallmark ones.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. "I do not enjoy those cheesy Hallmark movies."

Hyunjin gave you a knowing smirk. "Oh? Then explain why you cried during Leaving for Christmas last year."

You playfully glared at him. "I had something in my eye."

"Sure you did," he teased, pulling you toward the couch. "But don’t worry, we can start with something less cheesy.”

"Fine," you relented with a grin. "Hot cocoa and one Hallmark movie. Just one."

"Deal." He kissed your forehead before bounding off to the kitchen, his enthusiasm contagious.

You busied yourself fluffing the pillows and grabbing the warmest blanket while Hyunjin worked his magic in the kitchen. Soon, he returned with two steaming mugs of cocoa topped with whipped cream and marshmallows. He handed you one with a proud smile.

"Extra marshmallows, just how you like it," he said, settling in beside you.

“It’s like you know everything about me!” You took a sip, savoring the flavor.

As he scrolled through the options of movies, you couldn’t help but notice how cozy the room felt. The glow of the tree lights, the crackling fire, and Hyunjin’s laughter as he read out ridiculous movie titles. It all felt like a scene from one of those Hallmark films he teased you about.

Eventually, he landed on a movie about a big-city journalist in a small town, falling for a local artist. "This one’s got all the clichés," he said, nudging you. "It’s perfect."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. "Falling in love with an artist? Hm…that sounds familiar.”

Hyunjin gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "Are you implying I’m a walking Hallmark cliché? How dare you!"

You laughed, nudging him playfully. "If the label fits..."

"Well, if I’m the artist in this story, that makes you the journalist. What groundbreaking article are you here to write, huh? ‘Local Artist Caught in Cheesy Romance’?"

“More like, ‘Local Artist Makes Best Hot Cocoa in Town,’” you teased, taking another sip from your mug.

"Now that’s a headline."

As the story unfolded, you couldn’t help but exchange knowing glances every time the characters ended up in predictably romantic situations. When the journalist tripped in the snow and the artist caught her, Hyunjin whispered, "Classic move," and you burst out laughing.

When the characters in the movie found themselves stranded together in a cabin, Hyunjin turned to you with a grin. "See? This is where they really turn up the charm. Cue the heartfelt confession in three, two, one-"

Right on cue, the artist on screen poured out their feelings, professing love in an overly dramatic monologue. You both burst into laughter, unable to take it seriously.

"Do people actually talk like that?" you asked.

Hyunjin smirked. "What, you don’t think I’d confess my love for you in poetic verses?"

You arched an eyebrow. "Isn’t that exactly what you did?”

"I’ll have you know my confession was heartfelt, original, and definitely not cheesy."

"It was sweet, I’ll give you that. But I’m pretty sure there was some poetry involved."

He tilted his head, pretending to think. "Okay, fine. Maybe a touch of poetry. But can you blame me? You inspire me."

"Smooth," you teased, nudging him with your elbow. "Keep talking like that, and you’ll end up starring in one of these movies."

"Maybe I should write my own," he said, his eyes lighting up. "A story about an irresistible artist snowed in with the love of their life. What do you think?"

"I think the Academy’s waiting," you joked. "But if you’re casting me as your co-star, I want input on the script."

"Deal. But only if I get the final say on the soundtrack. It has to have the right vibe."

"Fair enough," you said, imagining the whimsical movie montage he’d put together (maybe involving the picture you took earlier). "What would the title be?"

He paused, looking thoughtful. Then, with a playful smile, he said, "Snowed In: A Love Story."

You rolled your eyes, laughing. "So original."

"Hey, it’s better than Hot Cocoa and Heartstrings," he shot back, grinning.

#12daysofchristmas2024 #stray kids #skz #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #fanfic #stray kids fanfic #fanfiction #christmas #christmas prompts #winter #holidays

22 notes · View notes

smoooothoperator · 2 years ago

Text

What A Shame

03: Don't Blame Me

Driver! Charles Leclerc x Singer! OC (Juliette Morelli)

Exes to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Childhood Sweathearts

Summary: feelings and thoughts started to boil, spilling out of the cup

Words: 2.4k

warnings: Juliette being wild and angry, drunken Charles, flashbacks are on italics

Official Playlist

Masterlist

previous part l next part

a/n: hello loves!!!! Today is not race day BUT chapter day!!

🏎️

It was a torture.

Everytime it was the same. Everytime I fell and I tried to get up it was as if the walls of the bottomless pit were higher and higher.

All the dreams were of her. All the memories were of her. All the thoughts were her.

She made me crazy, hearing her all the time. During the dinner, even if everyone in the room was talking, the only voice I could hear was hers and it drove me insane.

And right now, on that bench under the fairy lights, the only thing I could hear instead of the crickets, were her moans. It was like if she did it on purpose, leaving the window open knowing that I was outside and I could hear her.

"Fucking hell" I groan getting up if the bench and walking inside the building, going straight to the bar and ordering the strongest alcohol they had.

I read things about her. I did, because I missed her. Sometimes when I was on my own, alone and on my lower, I searched her name on the internet just to know how she was doing, how her career was developing.

But then I saw everything:

Is the new Italian musical star dating Shawn Mendes?

Juliette Morelli, the new heartbreaker around Hollywood.

Sebastian Stan and Juliette Morelli, the newest hot couple?

Meet Juliette, newest movie star of the UCM and love interest of the Winter Soldier.

Exclusive: Juliette Morelli walking out of Harry Styles' hotel after the Grammys

It hurts. Reading all those articles about her, it was as if I was reading something about someone I never met.

Juliette could never do that. Not my Juliette. She was sweet, loyal and the last caring person I ever met. But... Right, she's no longer mine.

"Dude, what are you doing here?" Carlos frowned when he saw me on the bar, swallowing the whiskey quickly. "Charles! God!"

"I created a monster" I mumbled, already feeling the effects of the alcohol. "I barely recognize her..."

"What?" he frowned. "Juliette?"

I smiled weakly, moving the glass and watching how the ice cubes moved in circles. Carlos knew about Juliette, after all, my last year with her was his first year with me as teammates.

"What are you talking about?" he sighed, taking the glass out of my hand.

"Right now she's fucking with Lando" I scoffed. "And I bet she fucked all her coworkers"

"Mate you are drunk, you shouldn't say those things, you'll regret it" he frowned, looking at me disappointed.

How ironic, that's the same look my mother gave me when I told her that Juliette and I were no longer together.

"You what?" she gasped, standing next to the simulator while I worked on it.

"I won't repeat it" I said, not taking my eyes away from the screen.

"Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc!" she screamed, the way she said all my name's made my ears ring as a warning.

"What, mother?!" I said furious, stopping the simulator and looking at her. "Yes, I broke up with her"

"Why? What happened?! Yesterday you two were perfectly fine!" she asked me furiously, searching for answers. "What changed!"

"What changed? I realized that I don't love her anymore, mother" lies. Everything is a lie. "That's what changed"

"I can't believe you" she said, looking at me with cold eyes, her voice sounding deeper and her eyebrows frowned. "You father would be so disappointed, just like me and your siblings. I can't believe you left a woman for the first seat of the team. I thought I taught you better than that"

"I regret so many things, Carlos" I scoffed. "One of them is accepting the first seat that season with them"

"Charles..." he sighed and I just moved my hand to the bartender asking for another round.

"I regret lying to my father and telling him that I got the seat while he was dying" I said, taking a long sip of the alcohol, feeling how it burned my throat. "I regret all the bad decisions I made while racing, as well as accepting that Ferrari could change and not listening to people and their warnings"

I looked at the liquid, I'm sure it's whiskey. I'm not a big fan of alcohol, of drinking to forget. But right now, this is the only solution I see to forget her, to forget what I heard.

"But, Carlos" I said looking up at him, my red eyes somehow made his gaze get softer. "The thing I regret the most was leaving her, because without her I'm only a body without a soul, without a heart"

🎤

The bedroom was a mess with clothes on the floor. The bed felt heavy on the side next to me, just like the arm wrapping my waist. I followed it with my eyes, turning my head and finding that curly haired man still sleeping.

I sighed, squirming and getting out of bed without waking him up. I recollected all his clothes and folded them on the chair next to him while I searched for clean clothes so I could go downstairs to have breakfast.

This doesn't feel stranger anymore. I got used to this, leaving without making a single noise, going from bed to bed just searching for a way of getting him out of my mind.

After getting ready without making a noise I walked out of the room with my phone in my hand, going downstairs towards the restaurant and serving myself a coffee with some french pastries.

"I remember that you hated coffee" I heard someone say behind me, making me smile after I recognized the voice.

"Isa" I sighed watching her sitting next to me. "Hey"

"It's been a long time, hm?" she smiled looking at me.

I nodded and smiled weakly. I looked at her. She looks older, of course. The golden band on her ring finger shines with the light of the sun, making my eyes go down to it. Then I noticed her belly.

"Oh, you are pregnant" I smiled surprised, happy for her. "Congratulations"

"Is the second one" she smiled rubbing her belly. "Vera is with Carlos, she's the flower girl"

"Ah... I see" I nodded looking down at the coffee cup. "I guess that I got addicted to it in the US... With a Starbucks on every corner is impossible to not drink and get used to it"

"How are things going, hm?" she smiled at me , her voice sounding like the high of a mother.

"Fine, yeah" I nodded. "Writing songs, producing them... Now I'm an actress too"

"Yeah, I saw" she nodded. "A Marvel star, yeah"

I nodded and took a deep breath. This feels awkward. Isa and I used to be great friends, but it only lasted a year.

"He's not the same, you know?" she sighed, making me look at her frowning.

"I don't want to talk about him" I frowned. "Please"

"Okay" she sighed, rubbing her belly. "I get it, he was the one that cut strings"

"Exactly" I nod, but I just did it to convince myself.

"But answer me something" she sighed looking at me, making my heart go faster. "You still write songs about him, don't you?"

"Of course not" I frowned, lying.

Of course I do. He has always been my musa, the reason why I wrote songs. Even after he broke up with me, he was always in my mind making me write songs about how I felt without him or how much I missed him, or how much pain he gave me.

"Mhm" she nodded, taking a sip of her tea. "Well, I have to say that Vera loves your songs"

"That's... Cute" I smile softly.

It was awkward all the time. It was lime if we never met before, like if we were trying to start a conversation to get to know each other, forgetting how much fun we used to have together, cheering for our respective boyfriends in the garage.

"He won two titles" she said, taking me out of my mind, making me frown.

"I told you that I didn't want to talk about him..." I sighed.

"He left Ferrari, won the titles with Mercedes" she smiled. "Black looks good on him, by the way"

I looked at her frowning. He left Ferrari? But that team was his dream, he wanted to win titles with them like Michael Schumacher did.

"No fucking way!" I heard him gasp, making me get up from the couch and ran to the simulator.

"What? What happened?" I asked worried, nervous. "Charles!"

"I have the seat" he said smiling, tears forming in his eyes. "I have the seat, Juls!"

"Ehm... What?" I frown. "I mean, yeah? You are in Sauber"

"No, Juls" he smiled, placing his hands on my shoulders. "Ferrari. They called me, like, now. I have a seat for the next season"

"Oh my God" I gasped while hugging him. "Oh God, Charles!"

"I know!" he giggled, cupping my cheeks and pressing his lips on mine. "I can't believe it... My dream! Is my dream!"

"He got tired of them, of all the things they promised to him" he sighed. "He did exactly what Schumacher did. Retired a year and came back stronger to Mercedes"

"He retired?" I frown, surprised.

"Yeah, on 2027" she nodded.

I frown and look at her. I missed so many things, but he's not my business anymore.

"Good for him" I nodded, indifferent, wanting to end the conversation about him. "Well, I have to go. I need to make sure the speakers and instruments are fine"

With that I got up from the table and walked out of the room, finding Lando on my way. He just smiled at me and I looked the other way. That's how I work. One night stand is a one night stand, nothing more.

🏎️

My head was exploding. I don't even know how I came to the room and how I got to bed. But I answered myself when I found a glass of water with a headache pill and a piece of paper next to it.

'You should man up for once and stop hiding. Everyone knows you are not the same without her and we're tired of watching you suffer in silence. You better talk to her before we go back to race.

-Carlos'

"Great" I groaned, drinking the glass of water and swallowing the pill. "Fucking great"

I sit on the bed and look at the wall in front of me. I can't remember much of what I did last night, God knows how much alcohol I drank to be like this.

I have to get ready, the last things for tonight's wedding are this morning, one of them is adjusting everything for Juliette.

"Shit" I groan, messing my hair with my hands.

I got out of the bed and got dressed, trying to put on the best face I had to hide my headache and how much I wanted to leave this place. Walking through the corridors towards the restaurant I saw Lado walking out of a room that wasn't his with the same clothes he had yesterday.

"Charles! H-hey!" he exclaimed with a smile. "You'll never believe what happened"

I look at him taking a deep breath. Right now the way he talks is too much for my headache.

"I slept with Juliette!" he said happily, making me look at him with a poker face. "Come on dude, be happy. Is the first time I get laid in a long time with all this championship going on. And damn, she was fucking amazing"

"I know" I frowned, groaning and really hating the fact that he told me he slept with her. "I practically was the one that taught her all those things"

"What?" He frowned, but I already walked away, mad.

She did the thing I asked her to not do. And that's what made me angrier, because I knew she's not mine and the one to blame here it's only me.

"What the fuck, Juliette!" I exclaimed when I walked out of the building and went towards the ceremony room. She was making sure everything was ready for tonight.

"Good morning to you too, Leclerc" she said through the microphone.

"You really fucked him" I said mad, walking towards her and standing in front of her, clenching my jaw. "Just after I told you to not to"

She looked at me and I saw the smirk showing on her lips slowly. I saw how she crossed her arms in front of her chest and put all her weight on a leg.

"Are you jealous, Leclerc?" she scoffed, taking her hair out of her shoulder. "Well, too bad you let me go, hm? Too bad I'm not yours anymore"

Right. She's not mine.

"You know, Charles?" she said, making me clench my jaw tighter. "The first year after you broke my heart was hard as fuck. I blamed myself, I thought it was my fault. And you know what? The only one here that has to be blamed is you, because instead of having a family with me, you decided to stay on a stupid team that made you believe you were part of them and that made your life a living hell"

I swallowed thickly and looked at her. She knew Ferrari was my dream.

"Tell me something, yeah?" she frowned looking at me. "Did they give you what they promised you? They gave you the first seat? Or they said that Ferrari didn't have a first driver?"

How does she know? Why does she know this?

"You believed all the lies Mattia told you, you followed him like a fucking lost puppy and it was the most ridiculous thing I have ever seen" she scoffed, making my heart break with her words. "Thank you, by the way. For breaking up with me, because thanks to that I didn't saw how ridiculous you were all those seasons with them even if they were like a cancer in your life and career"

"Juliette..." I mumble, feeling my heart breaking.

"Actually... No. I'm not thanking you for breaking my heart" she said, and then I saw her eyes getting wet "Because you made me break the heart of a man that was way better than you. A man that was what you will never be, but instead of that I kept telling myself that I couldn't love him because I loved someone else! Someone that doesn't deserve my love anymore"

"What? What does it mean?"

taglist

@lestappenloverr @racinggirl @roni-midnights @livster @kakorrhaphiphobia

#f1 #f1 x y/n #f1 x oc #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 drabble #f1 serie #formula 1 fic #formula 1 drabble #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine

345 notes · View notes

bitchlessdino · 11 months ago

Text

Would you like a receipt? Pt. 2

Part 2 of my Valentines collaboration with @svthub hosted by my wifey @wongyuseokie thank you so much for creating this collab, we love you so much. here is part two in case you missed it pt. 1 Pairing: Childhood bf!junhui x working class afab!reader Genre: fluff, slight angst, slice of life, smut Word count: 4.3k tags: mentions of alcohol, adult activities under the influence, second chances, exes to ???, childhood friend/boyfriend!junhui, teasing, unprotected sex, soft turn needy jun, biting Summary: Coming across a grade school ex-boyfriend while you worked a shitty seasonal job around Valentines was not in your 2024 bingo card. author note: finally to my dear valentine @skyechild. it feels like so long since i wrote a fully fledge smut and i'll be producing more. I hoped you've enjoyed it mio, happy valentines day again 💘

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @6969lilithcat @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch

Your relationship with Junhui ended when he abandoned you.

Of course, you remember him. He is the first guy you’ve ever dated and all of a sudden in the height of your relationship he mysteriously moves away without a trace. You were left in the dust, wondering what it was for him to leave you alone without warning, much less a goodbye. Back then, neither of you had the privilege of owning a cell phone nor any other way to contact each, even so, how would you call god knows who where?

Despite the abrupt and unexplained departure, hope flickers within your tiny eleven-year-old heart; an inkling whispers that you might cross paths again. However, the reality your adult self faces is starkly different from the innocent optimism of your youth. Those hopes of reuniting in fruitful harmony died along with your dreams of living out dreams beyond reality. You know better than that now. However, meeting him again, unexpectedly, reopens old wounds for the same reasons that severed your connection years ago, yet at the same time also opens up new possibilities you have yet to discover about yourself.

“I know you have every right to hate me.”

“What’s there to hate you for? Something came up. That’s fine.”

You busy yourself with your work a day after Valentine's during the lunch hour, which you woefully choose to take. You say woefully once the doors are open and the singular customer you come across is the very man that left you hanging all of last night. His eyes round with guilt, he strides right towards you, and nothing but apologies spill from his lips.

You are usually a person to hold a grudge–with your background of servitude and duty, you have no luxury to–but Jun seems to bring out that side of you. That childish side that you’ve repressed for so long. The kind that hoped their parents would take them to the carnival and pay for overpriced popcorn and cotton candy.

"I understand you might harbor some…resentment towards me, and you have every right to feel that way."

You scoff under your breath. "What's there to hate me for? Things came up, and that's perfectly acceptable."

"It's not fine." Jun trails behind you as you briskly navigate the aisles, replenishing the missing items, all while avoiding his eyes. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the shelves, and his shadow shades over any shelf you stand in front of–constantly in your line of vision. "I should have given you an earlier heads-up. You waited for me."

You meticulously scan the shelves, your fingers deftly selecting items with practiced efficiency, nonchalantly proceeding with work. "And I went back home; it's okay. Have a good day, sir. Remember, only paying customers are allowed in the store."

Immediately, Jun hastily seizes several boxes of candy, the crinkling of plastic punctuating the sudden flurry of movement. His fingers fumble slightly as he attempts to maintain composure, but the visible tension in his posture betrays his true emotions. He carries the candy with him as he trails behind you, a silent acknowledgment of his disrupted intentions. "I'll be buying these, don't worry."

You expel a loud sigh, the weariness evident in your demeanor, before retreating to the counter. There, you rest your arms against it in annoyance, the cool surface providing a brief respite. "Junhui, you're not buying these."

“Yes, I am.”

A challenging exchange unfolds between you, and Jun leans in, determination flickering in his eyes. You cross your arms. "What will get you to leave?"

“I’ll leave…if you tell me you never ever want to see my face again. That you wish me the worst and you truly want me out of your life.”

You fixate your gaze on him, a long moment passing as you process the weight of his terms and conditions.

“I never ever want to see your face again. I wish you the worst, and I truly want you out of my life.”

A moment of silence hangs heavily, and Jun lets linger longer than it should. “...I’ll be honest, I didn't think you’d actually do it.”

You offer a nonchalant shrug, your face maintaining a stoic expression. "Well."

His smile fades, and he retrieves his wallet with a subtle sense of resignation. A handful of bills gracefully leave their sleeves, and he places them gently on the counter before you. "Then, I'll leave. The candy is for you.”

As he takes tentative steps toward the exit, the atmosphere thickens with unrelieved tension. He can't resist the urge to steal glances back at you every few seconds, revealing the inner turmoil that accompanies his departure. The weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions hangs between you like a translucent veil, urging you to let him go, yet a lingering hesitation looms in the air.

“I can’t eat all this candy,” you mutter from behind the counter, your gaze meeting his with a blend of understanding and resolve. The subdued lighting from the overhead fluorescent lights casts a muted glow on the scene, intensifying the bittersweet nature of the moment. It's as if the very atmosphere is a canvas, painting the emotional undertones of a strained encounter.

He attempts to suppress a grin, the corners of his lips betraying a flicker of amusement. "Keep them, give them away. Whatever you want." You lightly flick at the edge of one of the candy boxes. The faint rustling of plastic emanates from the candy boxes, their contents cascading over each other in an unstable tower reaching the height of your chin, yet somehow its stands tall.

"You should take some, considering you bought it anyway."

He glances back at the candy, hesitating for a moment before responding. "Then I'll get it later." His hands hover over the door handle, caught in the indecision of departure before a ghost fo a smile appears on his lips. “When I come back.”

The ambient sounds of the store, the soft hum of the air conditioning, and the intermittent creaks of the floor fills the deafening silence. The door handle finally yields to his touch, and the door opens with a muted chime. He steps halfway through, still tethered to the threshold. The quiet rustling of the candy boxes accentuates the pause, and he turns back to you, a question lingering in his gaze. The fluorescent lights overhead continue to cast their gentle glow, creating a subdued ambiance that amplifies unspoken tension that you tried damn hard deescalating.

A beat passes, and you nod towards the candy. "Okay. When you come back." The words hang in the air as a subtle invitation. With a final nod, he steps out, the door closing softly behind him, leaving you in the quiet aftermath with the candy boxes.

Uncertainty takes residence in your thoughts, including the consideration that perhaps you meant to reunite with Junhui. You still have shattered pieces of your youth, reminding you he has the power to hurt like he’s done before. Yet, a weariness settles in—a weariness with the familiar routine, the predictability that has defined your interactions. Throughout your life, your every move has been strategic, a means of survival for yourself and your family, driven by the imperative to secure their well-being. Maybe it's time to defy convention and take it back to your roots, do what present-day you wouldn’t dare do.

You meet as expected, coming out of your work in your casual attire usually hidden behind an obnoxiously loud candy sales apron, muted in colors that paired well with the night. Junhui stands before you, a bundle of roses–bigger than you’ve ever seen–is hold up with endless ribbon and his iron grip. “A cliche, but I figured you were overdue one. This obviously doesn’t make up for anything–”

“I appreciate it,” you interrupt. “It’s the kindest thing someone’s ever done for me to be honest.”

“Well, good,” he grins, “But I have much more planned.”

It’s funny. The last thing you expect on thursday–the day after valentines–is to be on an helicopter several thousand feet in the air overlooking the town and their handful of buildings in every corner. You look as if discovering color for the first time with the bright lights under your feet looking like stars, insignificant yet blinding where you sat. You glance over at Junhui in shock as he smiles at your amazement, finding you the most profound thing he’s seeing tonight.

Dinner is given, considering that was the original plan, but dinner in the nicest restaurant a town over with a private room to yourselves isn’t. Junhui, stylish in a simple navy button-up and lack of blazer left in the aircraft with no remorse, picks through with chopsticks his perfectly cooked wagyu steaming from the scorchingly deliciously broth that coats it before putting it in his mouth.

You follow after him, not forgetting to dip rich and decadent flavors the sauce he personally curated for you. Having only ever eaten to survive, you’ve never had hot pot before and Junhui looks as if he’s an expert.

“The way I will miss this every day the moment dinner is over,” you pick up sauce from the corner of your lip with your tongue, a film of umami dancing on your tastebuds.

“I still can’t believe you’ve never had hot pot before,” Junhui expresses in disbelief. “You have not lived until a molten piece of wagyu melts in your mouth.”

“Yeah,” you softly chuckle knowingly. “Out of my price range most days, if I’m being honest.”

“Right. Just kind of the life I always knew, I hope I get to share it with you more.”

Your eyebrow raises by a fraction. “More?”

An airy laugh escapes from Junhui's lungs as he picks up another piece of perfectly cooked Wagyu and places it on your plate. “More.”

You swallow a lump in your throat, following the delicious gift bestowed on your plate before facing him. You don’t know why your hands are clammy, you’re just having dinner in a restaurant you wouldn’t otherwise know about in another town dropped off in a fucking helicopter. “Jun. I didn’t come here to rekindle a relationship from when we were kids.”

His hands falter, dropping strength as he picks up his food. “I know…I was just. I was just happy to see you.”

“Really? Then why did we part like that?”

“Like what?”

“Without a goodbye.”

A look of resolve washes over his flawless complexion, “…I didn’t expect it either. My parents made it their life’s mission to give me the life that they thought I deserved and wanted. To them, that meant a life without, well, anything short of the best. Whatever made our family looked good.”

You fork through your food, a mixture of curiosity and frustration etched across your face. “You could’ve at least told me.”

“I didn’t know we were going until we flew off. I wish I had, I would’ve stopped that plane at all costs. Come back to this town for work, thinking everything’s changed. Then I saw you, I was ecstatic. Like, a piece of me still left behind in this town.”

You laugh in disbelief. “Jun, you’re joking. I’m not anybody.”

“You were the last real friend I had. The last authentic relationship I had with anyone my age. All business, no pleasure. When I left, I was trained day and night, molded into this perfect model exec. Perfect to continue my family’s business. Well, almost perfect.”

Your gaze lingers on him, unraveling the layers of his confession that starkly contrast with his captivating exterior. His chocolate hair is illuminated by the light of the dangling chandelier, his body is hugged by the luxurious cotton as if it were a second skin. Despite the opulent surroundings, the genuine humility he exudes speaks volumes about his character. He is perfect.

"Well, you seem to be pretty damn perfect from where I'm standing."

He shakes his head, putting another piece of meat on your plate, followed by a piece of shrimp. “That’s far from it. It’s funny you’ve gotten to see it all. Me messing up. I try not to let that happen to often.”

“So Valentine’s Day…it was all because of work?”

He nods, a subtle grimace betraying the weight of his responsibilities. “The one and only dreaded mistress.”

Junhui has worked all of his life until this moment, even in his desperate escape from reality. It’s a weight on his shoulders, constantly beckoning at him for his attention, and somehow having their vice grip on his collar. He knows it's unhealthy, but it’s all he’s ever known. All the socialite dinners, the charity events, the several hours long meetings on a daily basis. It’s the life he has always lived.

Then comes you, someone a sight for sore eyes. Age obviously has had its way with you but it did not rid you of your grace or gentle gaze. You had that look even young. Someone who only spoke of kindness and sincerity, even now with him, who stood you up hardly 24 hours ago. He could at least make up for it. He wasn’t sure if it was to you or himself.

The clinking of silverware against plates punctuates the conversation, the atmosphere heavy with the unspoken. The restaurant buzzes from the crack of the door, oblivious to the palpable remorse for a relationship–even friendship–that cease to exist in your private room.

“She isn’t good to you?”

“She’s…demanding. Do you remember when that kid Wonwoo stole your juice box without looking and every day after for the rest of the year?”

You scowl, recalling the glasses-dependent little boy. "What a brat. I couldn't stand him."

Jun laughs, sensing the lightheartedness in your tone. “Kind of like how he stole something you love, your favorite apple juice, that’s what work has done to me: stolen my happiness at the end of the day. It’s…exhausting.”

“I understand that. I’m in a similar situation. Working to live is what all we can do nowadays.”

Junhui holds up his drink for you to clink. “Fuck adulthood, am I right?”

You grin, lifting the glass. “Let’s not talk about work then. To live the night to the fullest.” Your cups clank and you drink your first of many glasses of wine of the night.

You end up relearning about Junhui, hearing about his likes, dislikes, dreams, and what he’d do if he wasn’t him. It’s strange. You don’t go on dates but here you are with Junhui, one of the most interesting men you’ve ever met and you’re enjoying yourself. You’re enjoying his presence.

Perhaps you’re enjoying it too much.

Your work clothes find themselves on the floor, your arms dangling from from his taut body to feel the tension of his muscles gather your flesh in his grasp.

How did you get in his apartment? You swear up and down that you had just been in the restaurant.

You gasp as his lips find your neck, cascading kisses over your skin and his hands find the fullness of your thighs. Your hands run through his hair with reckless abandon, tugging from the root and breathing against his ear. You feel a shudder run down his spine and he lifts you off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist as you’re enveloped in soft giggles.

You utter his name in a heated whisper, feeling the friction of his bulge against the plush of your stomach. You grasp his face, looking into his eyes that were blown out from lust, and trace over his features wordlessly. A hint of a smile creeps against his mouth before reuniting with you in a liplock, softly giggling against your lips.

“You taste like wine,” he presses a tender kiss, “I like it.”

“You’re just a little drunk,” you sweetly respond, squealing as you meet with the cushion of his mattress adorned in the most lush sheets. His playful gaze peers over you in piqued interest, kneading into your flesh as he ravishes your body, eliciting moans that delight him to the point of hardening.

You feel it swelling under your palm and you find yourself smiling, drunk on not substance but fantasy, as in this moment, it feels like you are living in a dream. At this moment, you’re not working multiple part-time jobs to make ends meet and send money to your family. You’re living. There's no pressure, only bliss; and right now, bliss is being in Junhui’s touch.

His clumsy yet gentle hands strip you to your skin, slipping you out of your straps and embracing every inch of your body. You reciprocate, roaming his body in light strokes, taking him by his hips.

“Are you sure about this? Are you sure about me?” Junhui cautiously asks, fingers threading through your hair.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you respond, voice laced with ease.

You extend your arms, beckoning him to come closer, but you sense the tension in his muscles. Worry graces his eyes as he hesitates, and he voices his uncertainty, saying, "I'm not sure if you are."

“Junhui…” your hands caress his arms, goosebumps pebbling his skin. “I want you so bad.”

“I want you too.” His legs anchor on either of your sides, towering over you. “I don’t think I wanted anything—anyone as badly as I want you.”

His words sober you up, oxygen stolen from your lungs. Your lips parted for nothing to come out, a wordless ponder in what he had meant. You slip off his grasp with his gentle release, his head bowing down in view. “But I shouldn’t do this. Not in your state.”

“But—“

“I shouldn’t have even gotten this far, but I’ll be holding myself back from now on.”

He picks himself up, and the draft immediately hits your flushed skin. He picks up your abandoned clothes and tucks them under his arm before making his way to a wardrobe. He pulls out a set of silk pajamas and sets them at the end of the bed. “I’ll wash your clothes and you can sleep in these. They might be a bit big, but they’ll be comfortable.”

You’re speechless as he walks away, disappearing behind the heavy door of the bedroom you’re left alone in. You weren’t sure how to feel. Unwanted. Betrayed. Disappointment. However, sleep offers no time for deliberation, and the amalgamation of fatigue and alcohol becomes a potent concoction for slumber. Lost in the enveloping darkness, your body succumbs to the overdue rest. Resolving to deal with it in the morning, you surrender to the oblivion of sleep.

It’s a morning unlike any other, starting with the fact you decide not to be at work today like you should’ve been, but you’d soon regret that later. That thought is interrupted by Junhui bringing you breakfast, setting it on the bedside table to take the space by you. “Did you sleep well?”

You slowly nod, emerging from the sheets you’ve found temporary comfort in.

“I left you some hangover medicine, just in case.”

“Thanks, Jun.”

“And I’m sorry for leaving you here by yourself. I wasn’t sure if I could handle being alone with you in a room.” He shifts in bed, weight dropping deeper into the mattress. “I’m glad I stopped things before we–I did something I’d regret.”

“...I wouldn’t have regretted it.” The bed sheets fall past your thighs to reveal your bare legs, cool air brushing against your warm flesh. You notice how his eyes lower to your exposed skin, his hand visibly tingling with urge.

Words hitch in Junhui’s throat before he clears it, speaking as he averts his gaze. “Still. That would’ve been a very, very bad idea.”

"That's very considerate of you," you say, inching closer to him. “Wish you were considerate enough to wake me up early enough to go to work, though.”

Guilt sweeps across his features, he releases a soft chuckle of disbelief. “I skipped out on work too. Guess we’ll both be in some load of trouble.”

“Best we make it worth it, right?”

Food would not saite the hunger in your body. It craves much more than it can offer. Junhui only knows half an idea of what that is.

You quickly pick up where things were left off from last night, finding yourself topping over him with purpose, meeting his lips in a feverish frenzy, and finding that sense of abandonment. Junhui, lost beyond comprehension in your heat, takes only a split second to compose himself and undo his clothes as you undo yours. Warm familiarity swells his chest touching your skin as his fingers dig in your hips. He sighs against your lips and all he can think about is making up for lost time.

“Gosh, you’re so big, Jun.” Your hand runs along his shaft, gliding it against the slit of your heat. Jun inhales, latching around your vicarious wrist, catching the subtle darkness in your eyes that halts the saliva running down his throat. “C-condom?”

“I’m safe. Don't worry,” you let out, a sultry laugh to follow.

“I figured, but the other thing?”

“I’m protected from that too,” you whisper, grinning. “Anything is on the table.”

His face reminds you of strawberries and cream, sweet and red. He lowers his gaze timidly, unable to suppress his smile, almost too precious not to bite into. Almost.

You press his cock between your folds, letting your heat melt around him and you mewl over his size. He softly moans caressing your shape and letting you have control as your teeth nip at his shoulder. The cushion of your thighs crushes around his body in an iron grip, working him between your walls.

You lift your upper body for display, kneading your breasts that’s used to the constant confinement of a 12-hour work day before guiding Junhui to join you. Eagerly, he follows, feeling your flesh spill through his hands, your nipples growing stiff as he twists them between the pads of his fingers. Stars in his eyes, he instinctively thrusts up you, and stuffs his cock deeper back in you, watching the plushness of your body land safely back into him.

You stumble to maintain your form, utterances of religion on your tongue. You lick your lips and latch to every inch of his throbbing hunger. His name comes out in choked breaths, complimenting him without the prestige vocabulary, and you grind into him until he disappears inside you. Your eyes flutter in contentment, the kindling fire in your abdomen burning a bright glow.

“Shit…”

Junhui a hand claims the back of your neck, pushing your head down until he meets your lips once again. It’s so gentle yet lustful, almost like love, but you know to suspect otherwise.

In an instant, he flips you on the bed, landing you on your side. Your body, experiencing too much ecstasy to protest, allows Junhui to take reign and is pleasantly surprised with his choices.

“I swear I have more self-control,” He defends before his hand gingerly makes its way between your legs, and the pads of his fingers find your clit in a sensual caress. “Just…just not today.”

Your arousal creates a film of sex on his fingers, building pleasure as his cock regains his paces, fucking into your steady, controlled rhythm. It’s delicious, tantalizing, and makes your back arch at every thrust, but you know he’s holding himself back. You know there’s more in him.

“More, Jun…”

“Too…soon…”

He bites his grunts into your side, sandwiching you between him and the mattress, and he ruts into you only a fraction harder. His patience has you desiring for more, compelled to lure him into a drastic reveal of his inner demons. Your head turns to him, eyes oozing in need and conviction, and you softly jut out your lip to plead. “Please, Jun…”

“I’ll cum…too soon…” he whines.

You force your hand, then your hips, slamming back against him, needy and desperate. It's filthy with the look in your eyes, the bounce against his lap, the blood rushing over Jun’s whole body down to his disciplined cock. His length runs along the slick of the walls, the walls that feel only narrower as he grows bigger. He swears under his breath he can’t take it, fucking you loud and clear until the clash of your skin was comparable to the sound of drums.

Before Junhui is determined to savor every thrust, now he only wishes to seek a newer form of enlightenment in every inch of your body. Your hands ball into the sheets, gaining a foundation, and your eyes start to roll back into your skull, now you savoring every hasten jerk of his hips. No longer delicate and kind, but relieving yet electrifying.

You embrace every corner of him until your climax explodes like a bomb, traveling to all parts of your body and you can no longer recall where you are. Your legs spasm, toes curling, hips writing, and it doesn’t stop. Not for a while.

Junhui hardly notices as he’s lost in his own pleasure, your swollen clit between his fingertips. Your voice muffles as it falls against the sheets, although he expects them to be incoherent as he is now with only sex on his mind.

Eventually, his gut tightens, a surefire sign that it would soon enough come. His arms crush around your body as he lifts you against him. He pounds deep and hard into you, your pleasured sounds of ache growing smaller as his thrust does, and he floods every ounce inside you. He hears your shattered breath against his ears, unearthing his own before his body limps and falls over on the bed.

Both of you needed escape for your own reasons, reasons being much similar than you realize. Now all that left is breakfast, and the ponderance of what’s to become of this after. One suspects more to come, seeing this as only the beginning of something different, maybe even good. The other is ready to face reality, go back to daily routine, and do what’s needed to be done.

Unsurprisingly, you are the latter.

132 notes · View notes

dckweed · 10 months ago

Text

TORMENTED TRAGEDY, benedict bridgerton

summary: in which ruth archibald participated in her first social season in two years, re-introduced to high society after a years long retreat to a rest home after having had a horrid break down during her first season. she expects the whispers and sideways glances, the purely evident lack of suitors (what man wants a crazy wife?), however she doesn’t expect to find companionship in that of Benedict Bridgerton, and least if all the affect she so unknowingly craved.

warnings: brief mentions of abuse & attempted suicide. depression is going to be a heavy theme throughout the series so if you're uncomfortable, please do not read any further. cold and uncaring maternal figure, crazy twin brother who helps his sister be happy by sneaking off with her favorite bridgerton brother, loving father figure, its brigerton so ofc she's gonna be featured in whistledown and most likely bullied by the ton...eventual smut

series masterlist here. if you would like to be tagged in future parts, please comment on the separate taglist post!

i. seasons greetings

The sun rose over the blackened iron gates of the Archibald family’s city home, a grand structure (much too large for their family of five) situated on it’s own city block merely four streets over from the royal palace, and with it, Ruth Archibald woke to the sights of here own bedroom for the first time in two years.

The walls were still the peachy pink color of her girlhood, her room still decorated with that of the last things she’d touched, a book on the table next to her bed, her hairbrush and jewelry and in the corner, that god forsaken baby blue dress..She stared at the ceiling, unmoving from her bed despite the early morning light filtering in from behind the drapes. She felt like a stranger to herself in these four walls..Ruth had left a crumbling mess of a distraught girl, and had come home an entirely different person.

Two years in a glorified mental facility could do that to a person, though deep down, she had always quite felt like this, like she was just going through the motions and painting a bright smile on her face while doing what was expected of her, and there was always so much expected of her.

The Marquess and Marchioness were of one of the highest rankings, The Marquess, Lord Archibald serving as advisor to King George and Queen Charlotte. His children were expected to be intelligent and beautiful, sociable. They were expected to be prim and proper, to be knowledgeable in politics as well as being proper hostesses, fine horsemen and cordially impeccable. They were expected to be the most popular of the Ton’s high society, the most desirable for courtships and the perfect marriage for even someone as high ranking as a prince.

All of which, Ruth had been. Perfectly perfect in every aspect..though it seemed never perfect enough for her mother.

Marchioness Archibald was not an easy woman to please, the three of her children had learned that together, growing up competing for the womans cold affections their entire lives. It seemed that Ruth had finally won them two years ago when she had landed herself the fancy of a soon to be Duke, someone she had known her entire life..The boy was handsome, her mother had said, his father worked closely with the king and queen, he had troves of money..they would make a fine match, she had said.

Ruth couldn’t do it.

The soon to be Duke was not a kind nor caring man, something that Ruth had known growing up. Her brother had protested (having gone to eton and oxford with the man), her father had seemed angered by the arrangement that had happened behind his back. Ruth had tried to tell him no, but her other had already betrothed them, making the plans with his father,.the family would be receiving an ungodly amount in the form of her dowry.

Ruth tried.

She smiled politely, she wore her most flattering dresses, she spoke kindly and intelligently. She did everything she had been taught to, Cecil seemed to have responded well, though he spoke hardly in a cold tone not unlike her mothers. Her mother, though, had seemed quite pleased with her for once and Ruth basked in it, feeling the warm tickles of her conditional love.

The girl had managed to keep up with it, her upcoming nuptials the talk of the ton. She kept up the smile, the ruse of love drunk bliss, had done all that was expected of her by society, and most importantly, her mother. She thrived under the pressure, until she couldn’t.

It had happened on the eve of their wedding, the two families had been rehearsing how the next day was supposed to go, where each person would stand at the ceremony, what the couple would say as their vows..

Ruth couldn’t quite meet Cecil’s eyes as she repeated the vows after the priest. Something about the man she was set to marry the next afternoon seemed extra foreboding, his entire body looked rigid, tense, and his voice was cold and empty when he spoke his words. Short and to the point, as if he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. Honestly, Ruth couldn’t blame him, she herself would rather have been anywhere besides there.

The rehearsal came and went easily enough, and the entire party went back to the Archibald manor, where the grooms family was joining the Archibalds for a friendly, but formal supper.

Ruth had taken to her room nearly immediately, having politely mingled with her mother and father in law to be for a few minutes before feigning exhaustion and retiring herself upstairs, where se paced tirelessly, attempting to calm her nerves as she thought about the wedding, how in mere hours she would belong no longer to her own self but to a man that she had been afraid of when they were younger.

It had terrified her how unhappy she already was.

Ruth knew not how long she paced for, but a soft knock at her door brings her out of her reverie. At her approval the door opens and her lady’s maid Esther appears.

“Yes, Esther?” Ruth asks, feigning a smile as she looks her young maid in the face. The girl was a shy thing, her face flushing at being put on the spot by her mistress. Ruth envied her something awful.

“Your betrothed has asked me to come fetch you, Miss..your families are sitting down for supper and noticed your absence.” The girl can’t even meet her eyes, staring down at Ruth’s bare feet poking from under her skirts. “He seemed most irritated, Miss..”

Ruth sniffs, turning towards her window. “Kindly inform my betrothed and his family that I will not be joining them for supper, I am unwell. I bid them good evening..” She says, voice stiff. “And then please help me prepare for bed..” There was noway she was going to get the stays of her dress or untie her corset without help..her mother had been insisting on her wearing them as tightly as possible the past few weeks.

Esther rushes out, leaving Ruth alone to her thoughts once more. The girl, resumes her pacing, mind reeling about her impending nuptial. She so desperately did not wish to marry this man, but she saw no way out without facing her mothers wrath or ruining their family reputation, unless her father put his foot down of course..

An idea formulated as she paced, her mind working on what to say to her father that would make him give final say on the matter. The Marquess had always been soft on his daughters, so really, she knew it would be easy.

A short moment later a sharp knock sounds on her door, thinking it her maid she’s quick to allow entry, not even bothering to glance. “I should like a hot bath prepared, Esther” Ruth says, opening her wardrobe to find herself a nightgown.

“Well, i’ll be sure to let her know on my way out.” His vold voice sent her body rigid, a chill creeping along her spine. Ruth turns slowly to face him, offering a soft smile. His face was blank, eyes dark and empty. Slowly he walks towards her, as if stalking prey, until he comes to a stop merely inches from her. “Your young maid said you were unwell and had taken to bed, i thought i would do the husbandly thing and coem check on my bride to be..” His lips purse as he stares down at her, his hand raising to caress her cheek. Ruth felt no emotion behind what should have been a loving touch, and instead her nervousness increased. “Though it seems to be unnecessary, you appear quite well.”

Ruth wondered where Esther was, they weren’t yet married and she knew they still require a chaperone. “My apologies, your grace,” She says, hoping the smile she wore would help her matter. “I am feeling unwell, nervous about tomorrow I suppose..I was hoping to prepare for bed early so I could be well rested.”

Cecil purses his lips, removing his hand from her face. A feeling of relief flow through Ruth, though it is only for a moment as her cheek is met with an open handed blow, skin stinging as her head is flung to the side. The metallic taste of blood hits her tongue as tears fill her eyes, threatening to spill over.

Ruth looks to the man that she was meant to wed, eyes widened in fear as she presses a delicate hand to her smarting cheek. “I do not tolerate liars, darling. “ His voice is cool, uncaring that he had just struck his bride as if she were a man. “I will tell our families that you are unwell and wsh to not be bothered.” He caresses her cheek once more, almost affectionately this time, before turning on his heel and marching out.

A sob wracked her body as the door slammed shut, crumpling to the floor in front of her wardrobe. Esther had nearly fainted at the sight of her, but had stood by her mistress through the night as she lay in bed weeping. It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning when Esther had gone to fetch something for the girls aching head that she had done it. Ruth wasn’t entirely sure what possessed her to take the ornate silver letter opener to her arm, but she had done it. Panicked by the sight of her own blood, the girl had collapsed to the ground, a heap of sobs.

Her mother had shipped her off to the rest home quicker than she could eat breakfast. Hadn’t come to visit her but one time within two years, to tell her with contempt that it was time to come home and marry. That was how she wound up back here, with these memories plaguing her..

A sharp knock at her door moves her mind from the past and into the present as the heavy door swings open, a tuft of graying hair peaking around the edge.

“Papa?” Ruth asks, sitting up in her bed, worried that something may be wrong. The man sighs and steps into the room, he had not entered it since the morning of the almost tragedy.

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright, my dear..” The older man speaks, placing a warm and loving hand to his daughters cheek as he takes a seat at the edge of her bed, near her pillows. “I know that your Mama didn’t give you much choice in coming home, I begged her to at least move your room, or for god sake get the damn dress out of here..” His jaw ticked as he stared at the scrap of fabric as if he had wished to burn it on the spot.

Ruth places a hand on her fathers arm, giving a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be okay, Papa..” Her voice was soft as she spoke, as was the smile that her fathers face bore. “I’m sorry to make you worry, but I promise, it won’t happen again..”

A large hand covers her own along with a squeeze as he looks down at the smaller form of his youngest child, eyes watery. “I know my daring, I won’t allow it.” Another squeeze, an unspoken promise to do better. To protect her better. “What have you got there?”

And thus began a quiet morning of reading the novel Sense and Sensibility to her father, a fond memory of him reading to her in her youth crossing her mind. When she finally heads down for breakfast with her family, she notices her Mother and older Sister reading little leaflets, the words ‘Seasons Greetings’ emblazoned across the heading.

“Mama, when may i see the dress for tonights ball?” She asks, sitting down across from her twin brother, who tosses a melon ball in her direction as she’s being served. She rolls her eyes, returning the warm smile he offers her. She had missed her twin brother something awful. He had been her best friend growing up, always getting up to no good with each other.

Maybe being home isn’t such a bad thing, she thought.

taglist: @cherrylovers-world @little-boats-on-a-lake @imgondeletedis

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton romance #luke newton #bridgerton

79 notes · View notes