I Wanna Make It (so Badly)

I wanna make it (so badly)

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns, swearing, inappropriate employer/employee relationship, dry-humping, a lot of heavy petting, implied age gap, effective-infidelity (reader tested, tashi approved), oral sex (f!receiving), art is a bit of a pervert and mega-pathetic (endearing), references to religion (worship).

Word Count: 5.8k

i white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from this film thinking about art donaldson- this is, essentially, an ode to that

Youth tennis lessons, $20/h, call for details

Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.

Cleaning, baby-sitting, pet-sitting, pet-walking. There was virtually nothing you hadn't tried.

Odd jobs, odd hours, and the occasional odd employer.

You'd played tennis for the last couple years of college. Nothing remotely competitive but you and your friends had looked cute in the skirts and they'd give you whole hours out of class to play.

You were above average with a good arm and better patience.

Another odd job to add to your growing list.

You'd been particular about where you'd posted the ads, the neighbourhoods you'd chosen. Only the ones with manicured lawns and white picket fences.

Tacking the paper to boards in upmarket cafes, fancy supermarkets, ladies-only gyms.

The kind of people that want their kids playing tennis and could find their way to increase your pay- if you did well.

You always did very well.

So your little car looked a little out of place in this neighbourhood, fingers holding the scribbled post-it note with the address. Your scrawling handwriting detailing the "Donaldson's" were enquiring within.

Pulling up outside the house, you had a quiet inkling that you might've been out of your depth. Whoever owned this house deserved more than an above-average-ex-college-student that only learnt the sport to spend time with friends.

But they'd requested you, you'd have to let them come to that conclusion on your own.

Your knuckles only hit the door once before it was being swung open by someone that looked destined to be a security guard, like he'd come out the womb with his future decided.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

He'd left you in the "formal lounge" to sit smack-bang in the centre of a couch that wouldn't even fit in the lobby of your apartment building- let alone the apartment itself.

As you admired a painting on the wall that you'd only ever seen in books, high heels on the stone floors made you jump in your seat.

The most beautiful woman you might ever see in your life appeared before you and said your name in a way that had you standing from your seat.

Your face faltered just enough that you hoped she didn't notice. There was something about her that told you she noticed everything.

Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.

If you know a thing about tennis (or even just watched the news) you know exactly who this woman is. You remember her more from your childhood but you remember her all the same.

The woman that once held the world by the balls.

She apologised for her husband's absence, that he was busy. It wasn't lost on you that the "husband" she casually referred to was Art Donaldson, US Open champion.

The Donaldson's.

Ah fuck.

Tashi went on the explain that they were wanting to begin lessons for their daughter Lily. You assumed this was the one you could hear running circles around the informal lounge.

"With all due respect, am I not the least qualified person in this home for that?"

You watched a perfectly formed cheekbone lift in what was nearly a smile. Strangely enough, something in the pit of your chest was dying to make her do that again.

There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.

You were no exception to the rule.

"My husband and I have seen some of your matches, we liked what we saw."

How? Your 'matches'- if you can even call them that, were nothing of note. You don't even think faculty bothered to watch them. You weren't quite sure why they'd even recorded them.

A silly part of you began to wonder how they'd even got a hold of them- until you remembered who they were.

The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.

"You did? I always thought of myself as more of a casual player."

"And that's what we liked, we know better than anyone how brutal tennis can become. We want someone to help Lily enjoy the game."

Oh, okay then.

You'd made a quasi-college-career out of purely enjoying the game. You were sure you could foster the same spirit for the six-year-old performing the entire 'Encanto' soundtrack in the other room.

Tashi laid down a tight schedule, Monday to Friday, 3pm to 6pm. You would teach Lily the wonders of the game on the court behind their home.

Their home you'd come to find out was a luxury rental when you'd complemented Tashi on another of the art pieces that'd apparently come with the place.

You'd also come to find out they typically live in hotel rooms, but they'd settled in this area for the time being as Art had a good thing going with a regular playing schedule and a sporting-goods deal.

You nodded along like you could begin to understand a life like that.

As she showed you back to your car (the one you suddenly felt humiliated for her to see you own), she called your name one last time from the doorway.

"You undersell yourself, we'll give you eighty an hour."

She left you choking on your tongue with one foot in the car and the other on an Italian cobblestone.

You were never going to walk or sit another dog again.

Lily was going to win her first Grand Slam by ten if that's what they'd pay you.

As your peeled your car from their turn-around area, you watched a Jeep Wrangler slow as it passed you. You couldn't see through the tint but you just knew it was him.

And you knew he was watching you.

The minute you'd told your roommate the situation you'd come into, she'd called bullshit.

A few texts from Tashi's now saved icon and a weird little photo you'd taken from inside the guest bathroom, it'd been enough to convince her.

"Fucking hell, are you God's favourite or something?"

You'd argue you were quite the opposite, she of all people should know. She'd seen some of the states you'd come home in after your other random jobs.

Felt good to be the winner.

Even just once.

In the air of some girlish fascination, she brought up a Youtube video of "Tashi Duncan Career Highlights" courtesy of "tennisguy779."

You'd protested it, rolling your eyes while feigning disinterest. No use, the minute you caught her out the corner of your eye- you were captivated.

It was entirely possible to imagine she hovered above the court, like there was a greater force placing her exactly where she needed to be, exactly when she needed.

It was even easier to believe she was just that good.

As you watched her play, listened to the sounds the game could draw from her- you wondered if this was how she and Art had felt.

Had they curled up in their informal lounge like you were right now? Had Tashi studied your every move meticulously like you assume? Had Art passed comment on your form? Did he think you were any good?

Tennisguy779's lineup changed quickly to "Art Donaldson Career Highlights" and you felt your chest constrict. An inexplicable feeling washed over you.

Like you'd been caught with God's forbidden fruit.

Your roommate had tried to question why you'd effectively flown off the couch, only to be met with a muttered 'goodnight' as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

Thin walls meant you drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic sounds of Art, grunting his way through an ATP Challenger.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

The Donaldson's tennis court was down a steep set of stairs, set back into an oasis of lush greenery.

Perfect for a 6-year-old's first lessons.

You didn't know if it was the grand balcony that overlooked the court or the fact a well-manicured Tashi stood atop it, but you felt positively observed.

Lily was in the midst of showing you how she could do a cartwheel (she couldn't) when the voice in the back of your head started echoing a promise of $80/h.

"Alright, lets channel some of that into your elbow."

Give a six-year-old a racquet half the size of her and she's going to blow effective chunks, but at least she has the spirit. Maybe it's her energy, maybe it has been a while since you've been on the court-

The kid's running you ragged.

Coupled with her height, you're spending more time bent over than you are up straight and it's all going to your head. All you can hope is Tashi isn't up there watching you stumble after the ball.

But you're sure there are eyes on your back.

Lily is a quick learner and you work out a tradeoff of one tennis skill for one spinning heel kick (mandatory that you watch).

Roll on 6pm and she's dog-tired, however, she's managed to hit the ball at least twice. Surely that's earned your keep. She lays star-fished on the turf and murmurs something about a piggyback.

You know you're about to earn your keep.

By the top of the staircase, you're more than happy to hand over a Lily-shaped-sack-of-potatoes to Tashi's mother. As you emerge from behind an ornate gargoyle, your suspicions proved correct.

Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.

Left alone on the balcony with him, you're acutely aware of the fact he's standing between you and your exit, and he's just had a full show of you bent over and flitting about his tennis court.

That and you still haven't said so much as 'hello' to the man.

You dwell on it for a moment and then there's that feeling back in the pit of your stomach, like any minute you'll be caught with fruit in hand- in throat.

The Original Sin.

Luckily, Art made the decision for you, crossing the space to shake your hand. If he noticed the way your hand trembled, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

You wished you had more to say to him, or maybe something more intelligent. Something better than a quiet "and you."

He was the better conversationalist, thankfully. Head motioning to the court, he looked down his nose at you when he spoke.

It should've felt condescending. It didn't.

"How did she go out there?"

"Yeah, really good- not a Disney character I can't name now."

He laughed.

Really laughed, like the joke was better than it was.

Like there was a preening little flutter inside you that said "do it again!"

You shrugged your shoulders like making him happy came naturally as you squinted up at him, as if he was the sun.

"You were watching? You must've seen her picking it up?"

Because he was the expert. Because he is the champion.

He hummed as he nodded, eyes skywards like there might've been something more important behind the clouds.

"Must've been distracted."

Within an instant- his eyes flickered to your own and you were sure he watched them change. He must've seen something he liked, the corner of his lip quirked up before he spoke again.

"Come on, I'll sort your payment and then we'll let you get home."

And for whatever reason, his hand fit perfectly in the small of your back as he lead you inside.

And how quickly did you become a strange piece of furniture in the Donaldson's home- in their life?

An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.

An abstract piece on the wall for Art to admire when he passes it.

A projection of constellations across the ceiling to keep Lily bright behind the eyes.

At least you belonged- there was no doubt that this was where you belonged.

That wasn't to say your tennis skill had improved any, lesson after lesson you still couldn't wrap your head around why they'd even signed you on, let alone kept you.

"Ok, don't watch that one either- maybe just do what I say and not what I do."

You hadn't nailed a single one, at this point you couldn't blame Lily for skipping around pretending her racquet was a horse.

Wasn't like she'd be learning anything if she was paying attention.

"Ok, here we go just- ok right, when your parents ask how today went, please be kind."

"Your elbow is too low."

It was a miracle you didn't scream.

Art entered the court with a swagger that you could only assume struck fear when he was your opponent.

Right now it struck pure embarrassment and Lily wasn't helping.

"Daddy, she didn't hit a single one!"

"Alright, I don't think daddy needs to know that-"

"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."

Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.

Lily and her racquet took off for another tour of The Grand National as Art approached you with quiet determination.

It was like waiting for impact, his eyes never wavered off his daughter as he made towards you. At the last moment, he snapped his attention in your direction- with a smile that should've felt condescending.

It wasn't.

"If your elbow is too low you lose topspin and power."

If you deserved the $80/h you were earning, you might've known that.

As Art stepped up to you, the turn of the planets on their axis slowed down and it could've been entirely possible to believe it was only you two.

And Lily upon her trusty steed.

The gallops of her tennis shoes thinned out as Art placed one hand around your elbow, lifting it higher. His other hand held your waist as he pulled your back flush to his chest.

"Lily, go find grandma."

Then it really was just you two.

Your heart hammered against the shell of your ribcage, blood rushing around your ears as you felt Art's chin perch at your shoulder.

"If your elbow is high enough," His hand lifted it up and you let it stay there. "And your hip is turned."

He didn't have to say it with the gravel in his voice, but he did. He didn't have to hold your hips as he moved them, but he did. He didn't have to stay without so much of an inch between the two of you, but he did.

With one hand in the curve of your waist, he tossed the ball into the air with the other- then he whistled.

Like the obedient thing you didn't know you were, you raised the racquet and sent the ball flying through the air without even blinking.

As the streak of green hit the court and rolled away, you found yourself lying in wait, as if you were waiting for something- your next command?

"Good girl."

There it was.

Under the all consuming effect that Art Donaldson just seemed to have on people, you'd entirely forgotten you were in a position you could be 'caught' in. By his all consuming wife, of all people.

So, you should've moved.

Quite honestly you should've straightened up and cleared your throat and thanked him and told him it was time for you to go home.

You should've moved.

But Art wasn't moving. If anything he was staying purposefully still at your backside.

Obedient thing you seem to be.

"Show me that again?"

So,

You teach Lily the bare basics of tennis for three hours and receive $80 on the hour.

Then Art spends three hours of his spare time teaching you to perfect your swing- in a way that couldn't ever vaguely resemble professional.

A simple transactional arrangement.

Your tennis improves on a slow but sure basis and he gets the most off-court action he's seen since college.

Even if it is just heavy petting on astro-turf.

A hand under the hem of a tennis skirt. A pressing hip against your own. A deep breath as your hair brushes past him.

You figure Art will take what he can get.

And it's never enough to raise alarm. Sure, there's that fluttering in your chest that warns you might get 'caught' but you're never quite sure what one might 'catch' if they found you out.

It's undoubted who that 'one' is though.

The one who holds the cards- holds the throat, maybe.

Tashi, who's presence precedes her perhaps more than her reputation. Even when she isn't there, she's there.

So, when Art's hand lingers too long on the outside of your thigh and you think you can feel it verging into the territory that'll change everything- it's Tashi on your mind.

You're beginning to think your conscience sounds a lot like Tashi.

Who are you if not obedient to the Donaldson's?

Chasing Lily around a court.

Adhering to Tashi's every request.

Being Art's fantasy.

Being Art's.

Most of the time, anyway. Three hours a week.

Something to keep him bright behind the eyes, maybe. Something to keep him happy. Something to keep him-

Winning?

He tells you he plays better with you around. The way he says it makes you giggle, a girlish little noise that sort of just slips out. He serves the ball with his eyes on you and, sure enough, it lands smack where he wanted it too.

Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.

Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.

Until, well- until they weren't.

"Would you like a coffee?"

Tashi's mother had taken Lily off to bed, leaving you and Art separated by an island. Kitchen island.

He braced both palms against it as he watched you watch the door, wondering if you should cut and run, wondering if someone else might come through it.

Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.

"Yes please."

Even he looked surprised, brows raising an inch as he turned to the Nespresso machine. You took the moment to watch his back, the muscles moving under the cool-dry fabric of his shirt.

You spent all your time pretending not to notice him that actually allowing yourself the chance to study him made you lightheaded.

Had he always looked this captivating?

He broke your focus with a coffee cup, sliding it towards you as he rounded the bench. His eyes didn't even waver off you as he took a sip of his own.

It wasn't lost on you that he managed to tongue foam off the tip of his nose.

This was the longest you'd stuck around after a tennis lesson, longest you'd allowed yourself to be in his presence. You weren't quite sure how big this thing could get.

Your mouth was opening before your brain had decided it was a good idea.

"Mr. Donaldson-"

"Art."

"Uh, Art- I really appreciate the help you've been giving me- uh, you know- with tennis."

He placed his coffee mug down, nodding as he did it. "My pleasure."

Naturally.

That brain of yours was still firing off at a mile a minute. There was a very tiny voice right at the back that said it was up to you how this night would end- you had a choice to make.

Placing your coffee mug beside his, you scanned his face to find him already looking at you. Perhaps the choice was already set.

Maybe it was fate.

All he said was your name, it could've been the way he said it- but your whole body was losing the rigidity it'd formed when he first asked you to stay longer. When he'd made the choice.

Crossing the small gap between you two, Art was careful to keep one hand on the kitchen bench as the other hovered beside you. Not touching you,

Yet.

One step closer and the tip of Art's nose was touching yours. You think you might've been able to smell the coffee off his breath.

It thinned out- leaving you with his sweat. Musk. Art.

A sudden surge of morals overcame you, your voice broke out as a gasp.

"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"

"Actually, it's still Duncan."

You screamed.

Right in his face.

Tashi's voice made you jump out of your skin.

However, Art didn't move. As you turned your head to gauge the way his wife stalked across the kitchen, you felt his nose brush against your cheek.

Tashi retrieved a tall bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge, taking a poignant sip as her eyes flitted between the two of you.

What a fucking sight.

Her husband, eyes shut and face pressed pathetically to their daughter's tennis instructor- his hands itching to close around your waist.

You, young and bleary eyed looking utterly caught. Staring up at her like she might decide your fate.

It took all your strength to find your words.

"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”

“No, of course not. You’re frankly terrible at tennis.”

There's the Tashi you were expecting.

Her words should've stung, but they didn't. They couldn't, not when her husband was laying his hands against your back and rubbing soothing circles down the length of your spine.

Not when his lips were mouthing wet kisses along your cheek.

Not when she was right. Spade's a spade.

"Why am I here?"

She snorted, a real dissatisfactory sound- like she hoped you were smarter than that. She was halfway to her bedroom before she cut you loose.

"Careful, he makes that sound before he cums."

And he had, just like she'd said.

Art had cum in his shorts, pressed up against your thigh with his face still smushed against your own.

And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.

You'd stood there and let him hump your leg like a bad dog and you'd even pat his head and whispered kind words in his ear after the mess he'd made.

Then you slipped out the front door to your car and you'd pretended not to notice that there were two bedroom lights on upstairs.

You hadn't even divulged the freaky details to your roommate when you got home.

But the showerhead knew all about them.

Visions of Art on the clouds of steam- replayed in your head the sounds he'd made right in your ear.

How he'd whimpered your name when he splashed his boxers like a fucking teenager.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

You even showed up next day, valiantly. You didn't run for the hills or even straight to a tabloid about how weird the Donaldson's really were.

And maybe that's why you hadn't told your roommate either.

Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?

That'd mean you'd have to admit your dirty little secret.

You loved it.

When you showed up, something was different. No usual chatter in the house, no shoes by the front door. You checked out the front window to see what you'd missed when you arrived.

Tashi's car was gone.

"She's taken her mom and Lily to the ballet."

At least you didn't scream this time.

You were lucky your back was to him, lest he see the self-righteous little smile that broke when the words settled.

"Oh, ok."

"I'll see you on the court."

Oh, ok.

Lest he see the disappointment that took over.

Following him close behind, you didn't know why you were effectively surprised that he still wanted to continue with your lessons. You'd half expected- hoped, he'd bend you over the kitchen island.

Tennis was fun too, you guess.

Thinking about it, something that bold didn't seem the style of the man who'd nearly blacked out rubbing up on you. Beckoning you onto the tennis court with two fingers and a wry smile did, however.

You fell into your usual position, hip turned and elbow curved on your side of the court. You waited for him to appear behind you, chest melding into the curve of your back.

It never came.

Art took long strides towards the net, vaulting it in one smooth motion. He ended up parallel to you, waiting with a ball and racquet in either hand.

The smile had left his face, a rather blank expression taking over as he sized you up. And there was that fear- knowing what it felt like to be on the wrong side of him.

This was going to hurt.

From the moment he pressed the ball to the neck of his racquet, it was all over. Your feet were never in one place for more than a second, your arms burned above you, your head permanently on a swivel.

Art didn't look like he'd broken more than a sweat.

You knew he had, you could see it in the neck of his shirt. But he didn't look it.

He looked calm, he looked in control, he looked-

Like he was enjoying himself.

For every rally that you managed, you thought you saw an inkling of pride set in his features.

For every serve that you missed, you knew you saw unbridled lust.

Not a point scored in your favour, you hit the ball towards him one last time before you collapsed to the turf. Flat on your back, reminiscent of your first lesson here.

You watched the clouds shift over your head, listening to your pulse thick and fast in your ears. Just underneath it, you could hear footfalls approaching.

No hurry, but impending.

Soon, the sun above you was eclipsed by Art Donaldson. His golden hair shone with the halo of light behind it.

Now this was God's favourite.

"You can't be giving up this easily?"

Forcing a laugh, you threw your arm up and over your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Turns out he did- turns out Art struggled to do anything but win.

Somehow, you found it within yourself to stand back up. This time it was only a practice, you weren't brave enough to face off against him another round.

This was more your speed.

The hand that wasn't holding your elbow was curving around your front, the pleats of your tennis skirt lifting over his fingers. You felt a warm hand slowly moving across the front of your underwear.

Two fingers migrated south, pressing against the seam of you- he must've felt the pure heat radiating beneath his fingertips.

Turning your head even an inch, you found the curve of his nose pressing into your cheek.

"I didn't give up."

He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.

"Mmm, you didn't."

The hand sans-racquet dropped between your thighs to press his palm into your cunt. It was Art who flexed your fingers and cupped it.

"Where's my prize?"

There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.

But there was Art between your legs, slinging a knee over each shoulder like he might've been the real winner.

You'd never been inside the 'changing shed' behind the court, of course it was nicer than your actual home.

Your head made contact with the hard wood behind you, bench digging into your ass as you felt a hot mouth moving against the seat of your underwear.

Running your fingers through his hair, your gripped the ends of it- tugging him closer until you felt the flat of his tongue through the thin fabric.

Needy fingers tugged the ruined garment down your thighs, tucking him into the pocket of his shorts. You knew all too well that you'd never see them again.

You were sure Art would be seeing a lot of them.

His tongue ran up the split, one long stroke before you felt the curve of his nose press to your clit. The ridge of it moved as his tongue retreated back to your entrance.

With everything he had.

Your eyes had been rolling back in your head as you arched your back, the moment you were able to find a semblance of control- your gaze fell before you.

Naturally, Art was already looking up at you. Two hands splayed across each side of your hips as he pulled back to wrap his lips around your clit.

You couldn't help the hazy little smile on your face as you watched his eyes.

Utterly devotional.

The more you tugged on his hair, the hungrier he seemed. Pulling from the root seemed to spur him on, seemed to tell him 'good job' and he was responsive.

His tongue flicked beneath your clit, pressing it to his upper lip as he brought two fingers to your entrance. He stroked a couple times, making your hips twitch against him, before he sunk in to the last knuckle.

Turns out Art had a style about him. One he brought to the tennis court and, seemingly, to the floor of his changing shed.

The style was calculated.

Every move he made was engineered to get something out of you- a reaction, a whimper, a twitch. He was doing what he did best.

Playing a game.

Art struggled to do anything but win.

"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."

"Art."

Even muffled against your cunt, you were good at following his orders. Even more so when he was the decider of your imminent orgasm.

You threaded your fingers in the sides of his hair, pulling his face flush against you so you could ride his mouth. Taking every last thing from him you could.

It drew the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard, straight out of his chest and hit you straight at your core. The burning coil tight within your stomach was unraveling quickly.

You heard the murmurings of words, among the blood rushing in your ears. Easing up just enough, you let him pull back to speak.

"Tell me this feels good, please."

Your chest thumped, the sight of Art helpless between your legs was one thing. Hearing him beg?

You might black out.

"Art- you feel so fucking good," Dragging him right back where you needed him, the tip of his tongue drove against your clit. "You're gonna' make me cum."

He whined.

A heady drawn-out sound that quite literally sent you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the bench, the heel of your foot digging into his back and making his whine turn into a whimper.

Your orgasm broke you apart until it felt like white-hot flame licking up your sides. Of course, Art never relented, drinking in everything you could give him- literally.

The moment you felt the peak begin to subside, the urge was ramping right back up. Like he knew what he was doing, his eyes locked back onto yours as he sucked at your clit.

He was going for gold.

A quick second orgasm hit, seemingly out of nowhere. Your thighs clenched around Art's head, his hands coming to each of them.

You relaxed yourself a bit, feeling like it might be too much- until you felt him pressing your thighs even harder to either of his ears.

Oh, ok.

Art Donaldson knew what he liked.

You physically had to push him off you, watching him fall back on his outstretched palms as you let yourself breathe for what felt like the first time.

Wet eyes, wet chin, chest rising and falling like he'd run a marathon- Art sat sprawled out before you like he'd stumbled upon an alter (he had).

Breathless, you gestured towards him. Your hand dropped a little as your eyes fell between his legs, wordlessly offering a deal.

A deuce.

His cheeks flushed, more so than they already were. His eyes fell an infinitesimal amount before he spoke up.

"Uh- I already have."

Of course he had. He makes that sound before he cums.

Instead, you heard him shuffle back onto his knees as he all but crawled towards you. He draped his upper half into your lap, head resting against the soft cotton of your skirt.

Coming off the other side of a high, the reality of your situation began to settle for you. Why they'd really called you here- what purpose you really served.

All you could do was gently stroke a hand across Art's head, feeling him go limp against you. Boneless, but not spineless.

He must've known you were going to speak, he must've heard the intake of breath or just felt you shift. He cut you to the chase- beat you to the punchline.

Art nuzzled his face further into your lap as you felt him mumble against your thigh.

"I can't lose- you."

Pretty Boy

Harry Potter x fem!reader

WC: 563

CW: mentions of the Dursleys being neglectful; FLUFF

Summary: You love to make your boyfriend embarassed

Day 21 of mk's mad dash

Sadly, your boyfriend grew up without any affection from his family. So, it was no surprise that any affection he was shown was foreign to him. And, in some cases, maybe even a little embarrassing. You remembered the early days of your relationship- how even a peck on his cheek or a hug would make him blush furiously. With time, of course, he became more comfortable in your affection and even initiated it himself. Still, occasionally, you were able to bring back out his shy side, intentionally or not.

In this instance, you were very intentional about trying to make your boyfriend blush. After he’d called you pretty girl a few weeks ago and left you a flustered mess, you were determined to get revenge.

You decided to act completely unassuming, only throwing the term of endearment back in his face when he was most vulnerable and sweet in your arms.

After a long Friday of classes, you brought Harry back to your dorm to cuddle and relax, simply enjoying one another’s presence. You snuck some food from the kitchens that now left you both feeling stuffed and satisfied. In your current position you were laying sprawled out, back on the bed and Harry nearly entirely on top of you.

In your post-dinner bliss, you two had gone mostly silent, reveling in each other’s company and touch. You absentmindedly ran your fingers through Harry’s wild black hair, pursuing a pointless mission of trying to untangle his curls.

Your boyfriend’s face was buried in your neck, occasionally pressing gentle kisses to your skin when the urge presented itself.

When your fingers made their way to the nape of his neck, Harry hummed softly against you.

“Feel good, Haz?”

“Yeah, baby. So good. Love when you play with my hair,” he sighed.

You pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, “Good. You deserve to be spoiled, you know.”

“Why? ‘Cos my parents are dead?” he mumbled.

To those who didn’t know your boyfriend, this type of comment would’ve left them floored. But for you, who was used to his dark humor, you only laughed disbelievingly, squeezing his arm chidingly, “Harry!”

“Well?”

You pressed another fond kiss against his skin, this time to his cheek, “You deserve to be spoiled because I love you and because you’re a sweet boy.”

Then more quietly you whispered, “my sweet boy.”

Harry raised his head from its home in your neck and pecked your lips lovingly, “love you, baby.”

You knew that now was the time to strike.

“I love you too, my pretty boy.”

Your boyfriend’s face went from loving to embarrassed in seconds, his brown skin coloring red.

He whined and buried his face back in your neck.

“What’s wrong my love,” you asked teasingly.

“You know what’s wrong,” he grumbled, “you did it on purpose.”

“Did what on purpose?”

Harry looked back up at you, the most adorable pout gracing his lips, “You called me…. pretty boy…. just to make me embarrassed.”

“I said what I meant,” you answered honestly, “though the teasing was a benefit.”

Your boyfriend continued to pout at you, “I hate you.”

“You love me,” you reminded him, “Otherwise you wouldn’t feel so embarrassed right now.”

“Fine,” he huffed, rolling his eyes, “Whatever you say, pretty girl.”

And damn him, because now you were the one left a blushing mess.

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weasleysarch

1 month ago

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weasleysarch

1 week ago

tell me i'm wrong

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weasleysarch

2 months ago

#sad wet cat

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weasleysarch

2 months ago

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭: 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐣 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 part 1

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐧𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐨 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭- 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝... 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞? 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐌𝐀𝐉𝐎𝐑 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 (𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜) / 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐱 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 (𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜) 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 <𝟑

𝐈𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 charlotte loved more than anything it was brilliant adventure and mystery and that is what charlotte carter, a sixth-year gryffindor student was up to right now. during potions class earlier in the day, she had heard her close friend theodore nott talking with some of his slytherin peers about meeting up in the forbidden forest after curfew that night, and when he hadn't said anything about it to her, she became curious. obviously, charlotte knew about theodore and his family, his father was one of lord voldemort's most valued followers, and when she got to know the boy it made her realise that he had grown up to be nothing like his father- or so she thought. after her dear friend cedric diggory had been killed she had theodore had befriended one another during their defense against the dark arts class, as they sat next to one another for the majority of the term.

charlotte looked around her dormitory to see that the other four girls were fast asleep, the girl was still dressed in her school uniform from the day and had pretended to go straight to be as soon as they all reached the dormitory after the evening feast that night. quickly, but silently she picked up her wand and the marauders map that she had been able to pinch off of harry during their history of magic class, the dulcet tones of professor binns had the teenage boy almost asleep in the chair next to her- she hated stealing and lying to her friends, but if she had gotten hermione, ron, harry or even her dear friend andromeda involved, she knew that she would have a much harder time finding out what and where theodore were going.

a hiss left her mouth when the timber flooring beneath her feet creaked, thank-merlin that none of the other girls had awoken from her movements. although she knew that she would be back with her friends in no time, she looked over them as if it was the last time she would be seeing them. in the world that they all lived in today, you never knew what could happen or who was lurking around a showed corner.

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 able to get past both professor snape and professor mcgonagall on her way out of the castle, she yelled at herself in her mind for not also taking harry's invisibility cloak as well- the disillusionment charm almost giving her presence away to the ghosts that were doing their rounds of the castle during the night time.

the entire time she had made her way out of the castle it felt like she did not breathe more than once, she exhaled with exaggeration once she had made it outside into the autumn air. She used the wand in her hand to exit from the disillusionment charm she had used to mask her body, pulling the marauders map out from her back pocket and looking for either theodore nott or unfortunately draco malfoy.

the girl was about to give up and call it a night but then a name caught her eye. the name of lucius malfoy appeared on the map, now she knew she needed to be there. she needed to hear and see what on earth the death eaters were doing on hogwarts grounds.

it was more than likely stupid for charlotte to be doing this, a muggle-born witch entering a dark and scary forest with a bunch of pure-blood, blood-status raging wizards. she was going to be safe as soon as she made here foot off of the brick of the castle she adored so much.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐎 where the map had shown theodore and the rest to be, keeping herself hidden with the disillusionment charm once more. she had found herself hidden behind the stump of an old oak tree. she could clearly see mr. malfoy and the rest of the dark lords' most loyal followers, most of whom had students at hogwarts.

from where charlotte was crouching down she could see theodore perfectly, he looked like he was in distress. which was not normal for the boy. he always had a smirk plastered onto his face at all times, and this was when she watched him pull up the sleeve of his black cloak. a dark mark had been branded onto his arm, this was it he had joined his father within voldemort's ranks. yet again she had lost someone close to her because of the dark lord. she could feel warm tears run down her face as she continued to look at theodore, his face tried to hide the pain he was in. he didn't want to do this, he wasn't like his father or the cronies that followed around draco malfoy. her body had been engulfed with so much stress that she had lost concentration on the charm that had been protecting her from the death eaters in front of her. this meant that the guards who were on watch spotted her, she had't noticed the man come up behind her and pick her up off of the ground, making her drop both her wand and the map.

"let go of me you git!" Her voice could be heard, theodore and the rest of the death eaters looked up in the direction from where charlotte's voice could be heard. "let go of me!" "well isn't this just delicious?" mr. malfoy could be heard, theodore's eyes were stuck on charlotte's body as fenrir greyback carried her to where he was. "isn't this one of your classmates?" mr. malfoy looked at his son. draco only laughed before answering his father. "i have nothing to do with this, mudblood." when the word left this son's mouth, mr. malfoy knew who it was that fenrir greyback had brought to them.

"oh." mr. malfoy looked at his son with a devious smile. he watched as charlotte was thrown onto the ground below, landing right in front of theodore. he did not know how to react, he wanted to scream to allow charlotte to find out what he had done. when he had done this all for her. "whatever shall we do with her?" mr. malfoy looked at the older men of the group, and they all laughed at mr. malfoy's words. "i do believe his lordship has been looking forward to meeting this one." mr. malfoy crouched down to her level, both sets of blue pupils meeting. "you created quite a stir at the end of last year didn't you?" he reached his hand out to grab a hold of her chin, charlotte moved her face so that he could not touch her. "look at me when i talk to you girl!" all charlotte did was turn her face back to look at mr. malfoy, taking a moment before spitting right in his face. she had nothing nice to say to the man. after all, he was the one who made her an orphan. "you insolent mudblood!" mr. malfoy got to his feet, wiping the wetness from his face and taking his wand out from the cane he held so closely to him. "i am going to make you suffer, just as i made your hideous and dirty parents did."

she gave theodore a pleading look, but they both knew that he could do nothing, or he would risk getting himself or even both of them killed if he tried anything. "crucio!" the curse left mr. malfoy's wand, the red-headed gryffindor was now on the ground, groans and belts of pain flew from her mouth as the red sparks that came from mr. malfoy's wand wrapped around her body. "crucio!" mr. malfoy allowed the spell one last time to hit the girl. this would have to be one of the worst things she had ever experienced in her life, and she had broken almost every major bone in her body. "theodore, theodore! help me!" she could not help but call out for her friend, mr. malfoy and mr. nott looked at the teenage boy, his eyes were still fixated on the girl on the ground. her body still shaking from the pain that mr. malfoy had caused her. "tell me you're not friends with this... with this impure half-breed!" mr. nott's voice could now be heard as he stormed over to his own son. theodore did not know what to do or how to answer, that was when he looked at fenrir greyback, who had a hold of both charlotte's wand and the map she had used to find him.

"i have no idea who this is." theodore lied, the look that was now on her face made theodore want to break. "well, why then does she know your name? how did she find where we were?" nott senior questions his son once more. "i have no idea- expelliarmus! charlotte run!" theodore threw both her wand and the map back to charlotte, she barely had enough time to catch the items and make a run for her life.

charlotte ran through the trees back to the castle, making sure to hide as much as she could. "potter ain't here to save you!" draco's voice could be heard, he was trying to taunt her and it was not going to work, not this time. "go to hell malfoy!" she looked back briefly as the spell bombarda flew from the end of her wand, bringing up soil and rocks to fly up into his face. "you're going to pay for that you filthy mudblood!" draco chased after her, with theodore running after draco. to make sure that he wouldn't hurt charlotte. she had her body plastered to the side of the tree, the only source of light was from the full moon above them in the sky, the thoughts and memories of her summer with remus running through her mind. this could be it, this could be the night she died.

when charlotte thought it was okay for her to move she did so, taking a few steps before another spell had hit her body. "diffindo!" this made charlotte stop in her tracks, looking down at her body, she could not see the damage but she knew it had been done. "run charlotte! go!"

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 it back to the castle, not even caring who saw her at this point, she needed to get to dumbledore and tell him what had happened in the forest. she pushed the main doors open and walked through to where the central hall was, slowly but surely making her way back to the gryffindor common room.

"dilligrout." she spoke the word to the portrait of the fat lady in front of her, she nodded and opened up the portrait allowing the girl to walk through- she would be the one to notify dumbledore about her condition. as she entered the gryffindor common room charlotte was quick to take off the blood-soaked robes she had on. making her stagger slightly. "hello?" she looked up and saw someone coming down the stairs from the dormitories. "harry? is that you?" she called out weakly, but her demise it was snot harry who walked down it had been her ex, free weasley. "lottie!" free basically jumped down the last set of steps and rushed to her side "what on earth happened?" as he reached her he could see the red seeping through her white button-down shirt. "Oh my god, we need to get you to the hospital wing now." "fred, what is going on?" he looked up and saw harry now standing there. "harry." the word left her mouth and she fell back into fred's arms, passing out as she did so.

𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 charlotte still hadn't woken up from the slumber she had fallen into, the curse that draco had thrown at her had cut her stomach that deep that even madam pomfrey needed to call in another set of hands from st. mungo's hospital. everyone was worried about her.

harry hadn't left her side, the two might as well be together at this point. they had been staggering over one another since their third year. and everyone was just becoming annoyed at the fact that they were not officially together

he had been a mess, harry never wanted to see her in that state ever again.

"come on lottie, we need you," harry said as he sat there next to her. madam pomfrey had been able to give her a calm agent for the time that she had been out and asleep.

"hermione is starting to drive us all crazy, i do not think she has left the library once since you have been out of it. but i think fred and andromeda have taken it the worst. i miss you." a sigh left the boys mouth as he looked at her, he was just hoping for a twitch in her face, or a smile. "i miss your laugh, and honestly just miss having you around, lottie." a sigh left his mouth when he did not have a response from her, he squeezed her hand one more time before picking up his bag and began to leave her for the day so he could get to his first class of the day. "damn potter, didn't know you were such a softy." the words left her mouth, he had never moved as quickly as he did. the small distance was closed by harry as he hugged her, a huff left her mouth a long with a tiny giggle. "can't... breathe... need... air." her voice staggered, harry let go of her. their faces being inches a part, this always seemed to be how they would end up, faces merely apart but nothing ever came from it. and it was starting to drive her crazy.

"what can i say, i like have you around." harry spoke, pushing up his glasses further as he did so. "you going to kiss me or what, potter?" her words were confident. "what?" he moved further away from her slightly, god he was so clueless for when it came to girls. especially charlotte. "i almost died, harry. i think it' the least i deserve." and there it was, the magic word 'harry.' she rarely called him harry, no one knew why, not even charlotte. she just like calling him by his last name. so when she used his first name, he knew that she was serious. "are you sure?" harry questioned her, she rolled her eyes. "we have been stumbling around one another since we were thirteen, i think it's about time we put all of those awkward teenage feelings and just bite the bullet. harry when i was out there the only person i thought of was you. you're it for-" he did not need to hear the rest of what she had to say, both of his calloused hands cupped her hands delicalty, not wanting to harm her in any form. and after many, many yearsharry could now say that he was kissing the love of his life. the fact that it had taken her to almost being killed for him to realise that this is how he felt made him feel like an idiot.

"also next time, just ask for the map. you knew i would've said you."

Tags

harry potter hogwarts romance draco malfoy daniel radcliffe Harry Potter x reader theodore nott harry james potter fred weasley albus dumbledore lord voldemort tom felton lorenzo zurzolo abigail cowen harry potter x oc abeyance wattpad

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weasleysarch

1 month ago

SAY YES TO HEAVEN pt. 4

18+

I don’t know how taglists work but I hope it worked. Feeding the hungry and such.

Slowly you and Art fell back into your old routine. Sitting beside you in seminars, studying at your dorm, going to the movies. But only this time it was different. Holding hands was new. Art was addicted to holding your hand. The way your fingers fit so perfectly against his, like you were made from him. Sometimes he’d glance down at your fingers, thumb drawing over your knuckles. Your hands were always cold but it didn’t bother him, since Art ran hot.

Kissing was new as well. It didn’t matter if he picked you up from your dorm, or followed you into the toilet during class, Art couldn’t get enough of you. If he could, he’d climb inside you and embed himself into the marrow of your bone. He was an addict. Nibbling at your neck when you tried to finish your homework. An insatiable little thing that couldn’t believe his luck.

“Art,” you’d chuckle, softly nudging him away so you could finish writing your essay.

“Miss you,” he’d say, lips trailing down to your collarbone. You sighted softly, it didn’t take much for Art to convince you. You’d shove the papers away, spreading your legs for him to settle between your thighs. It had been going like this for weeks. Sometimes Art would cry after and you’d have to soothe him until he fell asleep. Other times he grew cold, distant. But you were patient. You couldn’t imagine how he felt, with his mind at war between his devotion and you. But you didn’t want him to suffer.

Art still wouldn’t let you touch him. Kissing was fine, your hands tugging at his curls or winding around his neck. But the moment your cold fingertips slipped under his shirt, he’d shake his head, gently pushing your hands away. You were surprised how much it bothered you. Usually the guys you were with mostly let you do your thing. They were with you because of their pleasure not yours. They barely made sure you’d finish after, so it felt weird, having Art go down on you but wanting nothing in return.

Sometimes you’d catch him adjusting himself with flushed cheeks, a wet patch growing quickly against the fabric of his boxers. It was frustrating. You wanted to touch him and you wanted to make him feel good. You wondered if it had to do with his beliefs. That he didn’t want to indulge his pleasure.

Art was tired. He was achy and frustrated. He was needy. Humping his bed until he came with your name on his lips was not enough at this point. But he didn’t allow to touch himself. He would be good. Well, as good as he could be. He tried not to imagine how the both of you could be doing other things. Emphasis on tried. His imagination wasn’t as loud and clear as most of the guys (Having never watched porn before) and he’d rather have it stay that way. Until some guys approached him after class.

Chad, one of the tennis guys, wound an arm around Art’s shoulders as if they had been friends for ages. Four other guys surrounded them, walking all in sync along the campus.

“Well, Artie, now that you managed to bag the jackpot you have to tell us,” the guys all had shit eating grins on their faces, waiting greedily for a crumb of information.

“Tell you what?” Art asked, confused. He didn’t really mind them talking to him, his thoughts were elsewhere already. He’d come over to your dorm that night and he knew he’d have to take care of his aching groin before seeing you, it was embarrassing how quick he spilled every time he heard those sinful sounds spill past your plump lips.

“Is she as good as some guys say?” One of the guys nudged Art playfully but Art only blinked at them all. He was feeling strangely left out. The group stopped surprised at the clueless look on his face.

“You must at least gotten to third base, with a girl like her,” a brunette snickers, his friend chiming in, “yeah, wouldn’t be surprised if she’d let you pound after a week.”

Art frowned. He had no clue what they were talking about but by their dirty grins and lustful gazes he shrugged Chads arm off his shoulder, stopping abruptly.

“Third base?” He asked.

“Yeah you know,” Chad made an obscene gesture with his hand, moving his tongue against his cheek in sync. Art flushed furiously before hot anger flared inside him.

“That is private.”

The guys laughed in unison. “Nothing is private with her. If you’re that easy, you’re obliged to give people a show.”

Art’s skin crawled at his grating voice. He usually wasn’t one to get riled up quickly. He was the one to turn his other cheek when someone hit. But you were changing him in some way, he didn’t know if he liked he change. The only thing he knew, was that these guys were talking about you with distasteful smirks, dropping comments and making obscene gesture.

They didn’t see it coming as much as he didn’t. His fist flew out and landed. Bulls eye.

“Love, you need to be more careful,” you murmured as you held the frozen pea’s bag against Art’s bloody knuckles. He sighed, eyes puffy and red, cheeks tear stained.

“Was all my fault,” he murmured, head hanging low. You didn’t ask him exactly what had happened. You only heard some loud shouts as you were leaving the lecture hall, on accident coming across Art, decking Chad in the face. Blood streamed over his lips as he cried out and you were quickly at Art’s side, eyes widened in surprise.

You convinced him to join you early at your dorm, taking care of his split knuckles. You leaned down, kissing the split skin of his as silent sobs left his lips.

“I should’ve been better than this,” he whispered, head in your lap.

“Art, you’re only human.” Your hands softly weaved through his curls. “You hit him once you won’t do it again.”

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. That’s not what Art meant. It wasn’t the fact that his hand was throbbing. He deserved the pain. He deserved to suffer. But it was his thoughts that had been torturing him the most. Whatever the guys had suggested Art was disgusted by them. For them. But he wasn’t any better.

“How can I make you feel better, baby?”

Oh those words.

Art looked up from your lap, all teary eyed. He crawled onto the bed, lips meeting yours desperately. Art needed you to make the pain go away, to soothe the ache inside him. His tongue slipped past your lips, tasting of salty tears and clear devotion. His hands found your hips, bruising your skin with the force he was exerting. You shivered slightly at the change in his movements.

Art was always slow. Determined yes, but he was also careful and took his time to make you feel good. This time he was hurried, his mind wasn’t in on it and when you noticed, you pushed him back by his shoulders.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You asked, eyes wide in worry. How perfect you were. Worrying about him even though he didn’t deserve one bit of it.

He reached up to kiss you again but you pulled away, making him whine.

“I don’t want you to use me to drown out whatever you’re feeling right now, Art. That’s not what I’m here for.” There was hurt underlying in your voice.

Art flushed in a hurry. “I would never do that. Never.”

He kissed your cheek devotedly. “You’re everything to me. I just want to be close to you.”

You shivered, his words spreading over your soul like warm honey. You leaned down, capturing his lips again, tongues swiping wetly against each other. Your nails trailed down his stomach, stopping at the hem of his shirt.

Art was too fast, kissing too clumsily, tongue and spit mixing with yours before he leaned back breathlessly. He stared up at you like you were his god, thumb finding your bottom lip. Curiosity reflected in his eyes, pupils dilated.

He exerted small pressure and you parted your lips on instinct, letting him gently push his thumb in your hot mouth. Your lip gloss was all smudged, down your chin, glittering softly.

Art watched your lips entranced and a soft groan left his lips when you sucked the pad of his thumb.

“Ohh—mmh god,” he whispered and you slowly started to bob your head a few times. Arts lips parted pretty and flushed, making you smirk lightly.

You let his thumb go with a pop, eyes catching the bulge in his jeans. “Is that what’s having you all stressed?” You tilted your head at him and he flushed nodding shyly.

“You want me to do it?” You asked. “Give you head?”

Art didn’t know what to say. He knew it was wrong. He had tried to think his way around it, to somehow come up with a solution. But there wasn’t one. He had to decide between you and his beliefs. And right now the pulsing in his pants was obviously choosing you.

“I d-don’t,” he huffs, “I haven’t—“

“Art,” you chuckled softly, stroking his cheek gently. “We’ll try, if you feel uncomfortable at any point you tell me and I stop.”

“I won’t feel uncomfortable—“

“Art,” you interrupted him. Grabbing his chin you made sure that he was listening intently. “No matter what, no matter with who, you say stop the other person stops. If something with me doesn’t feel good you tell me or else this isn’t going to work.”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded quickly. Anything for you. Good. You pulled him to sit on the bed, leaning against the headboard.

His head was crimson, fingers fidgeting as impeding dread filled his chest. Your hands slowly unbuckled his jeans.

“You want them on or off?” You asked gently, hand stroking his thigh.

“O-off,” he stuttered. His hand went up to clutch the cross dangling from his neck. Once the jeans were off you looked down at his cock. It was already fully hard, no need to go easy on him. Still, you only started to stroke him over the fabric softly.

“W-wait,” Art stuttered and you stopped immediately. You looked up at him, waiting as he undid his necklace and leaned over to put it on your nightstand. The gold glinted in the dim light of the rum, metal hitting the wood with a dull thud.

Something shifted then and you turned to look at Art. He was shaking slightly, a determined look on his face as he slowly nodded. You kissed his left knee, then the right one, hand still moving slowly over his erection.

Art whined, his hips moving upward into your hand, cheeks flushed. “Y-you need to start or I’ll-ahh,” he quickly pushed your hand away before he could spill in his boxers again.

An embarrassed smile made way on his lips and you chuckled. “All right, I’ll stop teasing.”

Your hand wandered inside his boxers, fingers wrapping around his hard cock and pulling it out. Your breath hitched at the look of the sensitive skin, the tip all wet. “Damn,” you huffed. “You’re wet like a girl.”

“Stop,” he whined and hid his face in his hands. You smiled sweetly, pressing an apologetic kiss to his tip. His eyes flew open as he quickly looked down at you. Your tongue licked a stripe up the length of him, salt hitting your taste buds.

“Ohh,” the sensation was so strange to Art. He tried to keep watching as you kissed him bottom to top, tongue darting out and pushing into his slit. His hips arched off the bed again as he whimpered softly, his cock slipping past your grip and sliding against your cheek.

Arts eyes widened. “Sorry.”

You giggled slightly, hand moving up and down his shaft. And finally your lips parted around his tip. It took everything in Art not to buck up his hips, his hands fisting the bedsheets as you slowly lowered your head.

You stayed down for a moment, letting him adjust to the warm feeling of your mouth around him. Art breathed through his nose, trying everything to not spill down your throat at that moment.

When his heart slowed enough you started to move. Your head bobbed slowly and if he weren’t so needy he’d be astonished by the way you could fit all of him down your throat.

The tight, hot inside of your throat kept working him, humming softly as your tongue swiped over his tip repeatedly.

“Oh—ohh fuckk,” he moaned, the tightness in his body rising rapidly. His hips slowly started to thrust, hands still fisting the mattress beneath him as he watched you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled one hand finding your cheek. Oh. Wrong move. He could feel his cock from the outside and he started to blubber incoherently.

“You feel so good, baby, uhh—fuck. Never want to leave your hot mouth,” he moaned. “‘M never gonna want anyone else. You’re—god—you’re it for me.”

You hummed appreciatively and when your fingers found his balls it was too much. There was no way he could hold back.

“Oh no don’t do that—I’m gonna—argh,” his hips bucked up quickly, making you gag but you knew well enough to stay where you were as Art’s hot seed spilled into your mouth. It was so much it started to spill past your lips and down his cock, even though you tried to swallow as much as you could.

It took him a full minute to calm his breathing as you slowly slipped his softening cock out of your mouth.

Art’s lids cracked open, his hand still stroking your cheek lovingly.

“How’d it feel?” You asked with a cheeky smile. Art couldn’t answer, only shaking his head repeatedly. How could he ever get enough of you? How would he be able to hold himself back after this?

His eyes met yours and he relished the moment, not worrying about his guilt. He could feel bad later, he would feel bad later.

His thumb slowly drew over your lips, pushing the spilled cum back into your mouth. You pressed a soft kiss against the palm of his hand.

“I want you to meet my nan,” he suddenly blurted and you looked at him wide eyed.

“What?”

“You need to meet my nan, she has to know my girl,” he said. Your heart thrummed and thrilled at his words and you crawled upwards into his lap.

“I can’t believe you just told me to meet your nan after you pushed your cum into my mouth.”

Art flushed furiously before you both broke out into laughter. You pressed a chaste kiss against his lips. Arts eyes widened at the salty taste of himself and you giggled again.

“I’d love to meet her, Art.”

____________________________

@curiousshifter101 @weasleysarch @tinythebunni @jamespotteraliveversion @grimsonandclover @soulxinxthexsky @addiexith @seokjinluvb0t @celuverst @devilpeqch @reverie-and-roses @antxnxlla @sazura @anehkael @faiththealbum

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weasleysarch

2 weeks ago

WARZONE • THE PITT FANFIC

DISCLAIMER

THIS BOOK WILL INCLUDE

- SUBSTANCE ABUSE - MEDICAL PROCEDURES - MENTAL

HEALTH ISSUES - DOMESTIC VIOLENCE - MENTIONS OF PTSD

- PTSD OF WAR - AMPUTATION / MENTIONS OF BEING AN AMPUTEE

- SELF HARM - ALCOHOL ABUSE - LOSS OF CHILD - MEDICAL

PTSD - JOB PTSD - MENTIONS OF RAPE - MENTIONS OF TORTURE

if you have any issues or are sensitive to any of these topics, this is your first and final 'trigger warning' the last thing i want is for someone to feel uncomfortable while reading.

please know that this will follow the story from the tv show itself but- will also inculde my own workings for maeve and her story.