#effiebarty

[grossdyke]

effiebarty, modern au

anyway :/ newly divorced effie keeping barty on a leash and barty ”whatever you say gorgeous” and batting his eyelashes prettily :/

[cazzythefrogking]

One thing i will never understand in media, is why the fuck people romanticize cheating. Like 'oh, its okay they cheated on their partner because they found their ✨true love✨' like. Okay?? Break the fuck up then. Like adding cheating to stories, that's fine. But acting like its romantic, or good, or anything like that is fucked up. Being cheated on is traumatic, especially if you're in love with the person, or you already are insecure about not being enough.

Ive been cheated on twice, technically(more, if i count the times my partner tried to force me into polyamory so she could be with someone else), and it honestly just pisses me off😭😭

[locomotiveodyssey]

writing effiebarty

[grossdyke]

microfic: effiebarty, 1.3k words, mature.

age gap (barty 22, effie 46), cheating, referenced abuse (barty’s father), mild sexual content

Barty huffed out a not-so-surprised laugh when his back hit the couch, looking up at the lust filled brown eyes that, in turn, were looking down at him. Christ, he thought. He was in way over his head. 

Nowhere else he'd rather be, though. 

It had been his fathers idea– to help out at the Potter’s. Maybe befriend Fleamont Potter’s only son, James Potter, the loud arrogant fucker. The most important task at hand, though, was to be at Mr. Potters side. Offer your assistance, his father said. Whatever he wants, and maybe something will become of you. 

Barty had expected Mr. Potter to open the goddamn gates to the pretentious fucking mansion he was living in, but instead he was met with the Missus. It was early in the morning and she had been wearing a mint green silk robe and not much else. Hair a little messy and unkempt, unimpressed look on her face. Twenty years Barty’s senior, at the very least. 

“Fuck me,” Barty had exhaled, inelegant and inappropriate. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but in his defense his father always did say he couldn’t beat him into a proper young man.

Certainly didn’t stop him from trying though. 

Mrs. Potter raised one single eyebrow, raised her coffee cup to her lips and watched him as his eyes followed the motion, and then stepped aside to let him in. She laughed, a quiet mischievous little thing, when his breath caught in his throat. 

“Fuck me,” he repeated through a breathy laugh. 

“Unlikely.” an amused Mrs. Potter said. 

Barty did whatever Mr. Potter told him to, which were all bullshit jobs that certainly wouldn’t help the bloody career he didn’t even care about in the first place. He brought him coffees, cleaned their giant fucking pool, ran errands– and on some, very rare, occasions he was to follow James around. Take notes, Mr. Potter said. 

Barty had punched people for a lot fucking less. 

It could’ve been worse, though. His anger simmered away immediately when he entered the kitchen to find Mrs. Potter already there, standing by the kitchen island. She’d pour him a cup of coffee and ask him how he takes it. She was a bloody goddess, too good for this house, in the early morning sun peeking through the large kitchen windows. 

Barty would say something stupid like: your husband is waiting for me. 

Mrs. Potter would grin and say: you’d rather drink your coffee with him? 

Fuck no, he’d laugh. He figured he could steal five minutes of the day, just to share them with the Missus of the house. Mr. Potter wouldn’t miss him, certainly. Maybe Barty would even survive this bullshit not-even-a-job without breaking something if Mrs. Potter would continue to indulge him. If she’d let his greedy eyes watch her. He felt like a stain in her presence, afraid to get too close and infect her with his filth. 

She stepped closer, entering his personal space, and raised the cup of coffee for him to grab. Their fingers brushed when he took it. She hadn’t flinched at the touch. Hadn’t wrinkled her nose in disgust. She let her fingers linger, just a little, before removing them. 

Good boy, she’d said. 

Barty nearly dropped the coffee cup on the floor.

Since then, she would always wait for him in the kitchen when he came down. Or at least he’d like to think she was waiting. For him. And when he was cleaning their pool, she’d come out and offer him a cold drink. Sometimes she’d stay, lower herself onto one of the tanning chairs with a book. Sneak a glance or two, and maybe, just maybe, Barty would throw his shirt off. Claiming it’s too bloody hot out. Maybe Mrs. Potter’s glances would increase after that.

Yeah, it could’ve been worse. 

“Why are you here, anyway?” Mrs. Potter asked one afternoon, outstretched on her tanning chair in a white silk robe and another book in her hands. She liked books. Maybe Barty would bring her one of his own someday. 

“Why are you?” Barty challenged, and fished a cigarette from out of his back pocket. He raised his eyebrows towards the older woman, as if to ask do you mind? 

Mrs Potter shrugged, “My husband wouldn’t like it if he knew,” 

Barty didn’t know which question she was answering, but he lit up the cigarette and brought it to his lips. Mrs Potter watched him do it. “And you?” he asked. 

Mrs. Potter laughed, a bright thing Barty wanted to hear more of. He felt the burning heat of jealousy bubbling up in his chest at the thought that Mr. Potter got to hear it. Probably a lot, even. Maybe from their shared marital bed, where he touched her in ways he didn’t fucking deserve.

“You’re cocky, you know that?” 

“I’ve been accused of worse things.” 

“I’m sure you can be a good boy,” Mrs Potter teased, “when you want to be,” 

Barty fought the urge to drop to his knees and crawl over to her on all fours. He wasn’t completely sure he wasn’t salivating, like a dog with a bone just out of reach. He wondered if Mrs. Potter was doing it on purpose, dangling it infront of him like this. It certainly didn’t stop his imagination from running wild. 

They held each other's gaze, tension heavy in the air. Barty knew he was blushing, but he didn’t look away. His knees would buckle, though, any second now, he was sure of it. The thought only made him blush further. He wouldn’t mind falling to his knees in front of Mrs. Potter. Wouldn’t mind submitting to her every whim, really, if that’s what she wanted 

Mrs. Potter bit her lip and lowered her gaze just slightly. She put her book down on the ground, ever so slowly— and allowed her legs to part, her silk robe loosening sinfully as her legs continued to spread. 

The cigarette fell from Barty’s lips, long since forgotten. He was about to say something, to maybe possibly object. Remind her of her bore of a useless husband, before he realised he absolutely didn’t care. Couldn’t care less, really, as his gaze lowered and watched as Mrs. Potter’s fingers reached the hem of her swim wear. 

“Mrs–” 

“Effie,” she interrupted. 

Heat pooled in his chest, his belly— his entire body. He swallowed tightly as her fingers dipped even lower. Someone would kill him for this, he thought. If they ever found out. 

He bit his own lip until he could taste the metallic tang of blood. Mrs Potter - Effie, he corrected - moaned as her hand disappeared between her legs, not looking away from him once.  

His knees buckled. 

“Watch,” Effie commanded, “no touching,” 

He’d die a lucky fucking man, though. He’d let Effie herself kill him, gladly, if that’s what she wanted. Whatever she fucking wanted. He’d lay his head down on her knee, like someone would lay their head on the execution block, and he’d look up at her so fucking sweetly. 

That’s how he had ended up here, with his back against the couch– in a pool house with a married woman. Not knowing or caring where her husband was. His fathers words echoed in his mind, demanding Barty do whatever Mr. Potter asked of him. Offer your assistance, his father had said. 

Effie straddled him, hand around his throat and robe falling off her shoulders. Sure, Mr. Potter hadn’t asked him to do this, but if that idiot couldn’t keep his wife satisfied then someone would have to do it for him. A woman like Effie should always be satisfied. Should have whatever she fucking wanted, whenever she wanted it. He was simply offering his assistance. 

Effie closed her hands around his wrists, keeping them above his head. “Will you keep them there?” she whispered, gently rolling her hips. “for me?” 

Way, way over his fucking head. 

“Anything,” he stuttered. 

“Good boy.” 

[grossdyke]

your pool boy barty made me think of handyman barty but he makes sure you can see his thong when he leans over to fix the sink, shout out Effie doing the lord's work

EXAAAAAACTLY.

he’s on all fours trying to reach something, shirt riding up, cursing and grunting, loose pants hanging low, pink thongs showing. effie wants the string between her TEETH

[grossdyke]

that Effie tag was so inspired I want to swim in your brain

and……what if i said that seducing and locking down inexperienced working class 17-20 something girls by lavishing them with luxury and comfort by way of controlling their future wives and isolating them from their friends and families was a family trait that james picked up from his father ..

enter, in effies case: barty

[grossdyke]

Just something about regulus not wanting to ruin monty and effies relationship, already damn well knowing that Effie is having an affair behind montys back with his best friend of all people….. squeezing his thighs together under the dinner table while he’s eyeing montys biceps, giving him an innocent kiss on the cheek while greeting him..

yes yes yes….. something soooo sexy and fucked up about bartylus scheming to ruin their relationship literally just for fun… and ESPECIALLY if bartylus are already fucking. this is all genuinely just a game to them !!!!!

something soooo so sexy about effie being the first one to give into temptation with barty and regulus having to work so much harder to get into montys pants. i have this image in my head (which came to fruition while talking to @standardlovers) where reg shows up at the potters house and monty is like .. ?? neither james or sirius are here kiddo. and reg already knows this because barty and him made sure they WOULDNT be. and reg saying thats fine i’ll just wait :) can i come in? <- he’s wearing something soo slutty

and monty lets him in because why not and oh well it wont kill me to just indulge a little. i can offer him a cup of tea and let him lounge around the house and keep me a little company. whats the harm in looking it’s not like im gonna do anything. and besides, effie had to stay late at work tonight so whats the harm in just wanting some company… <- effie was picked up from work by barty and his god awful car and he’s taking her to a disgusting burger joint and then letting her fuck him somewhere way too public on the hood of said car <3

barty and reg are texting the entire night too… this is litetally foreplay to them ..

[grossdyke]

barty straddling effie when shes reading on her tanning chair by the pool