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tropes-and-tales · 5 months

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Dyin' for a Taste

Day 11: Face Sitting (Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Idiots in love; pining; smut (oral, f!receiving); 18+ only.

Word Count: 4096

AN: This was requested by an anonymous person!

AN2: When I say this is not edited, please know it is NOT EDITED. Full of typos and sloppy typing. Tropes is a fat-fingered old crone.

It starts with a joke.

The 141 is on a covert ops in the mountains. It’s cold—the sort of cold that burns, that makes the bones ache. You’re posted up in a perch, your sniper’s rifle at the ready if shit goes south. The rest of the team is in the square below, waiting for the drop.

“My bollacks are gonna freeze off,” Soap complains over the comms, and you snort at the whining tone in his soft Scottish brogue.

“Shoulda dressed for the weather,” you reply. “Ghost probably has a spare balaclava.”

“And cover this handsome face?”

“Won’t be so handsome when your nose turns black from frostbite.”

You hear the tsch noise he makes over the comms, the very Soap, very Scottish noise of dismissal.

“You’ll have to sit on my face then, hen, and warm me back up,” he says.

You’re rarely stunned into silence—you and the guys are always making off-color jokes—but when you open your mouth to reply, you only gape wordlessly. The silence over the comms grows, expands, until Gaz—fucking Gaz—chimes in.

“I think she’s into the idea, bruv.”

And you can’t respond to that fast enough either, which leaves another long beat of silence over the comms, which likely seems like enough of an answer.

-----

The mission goes smoothly. The team splits up as planned to avoid drawing attention. You don’t see Soap again until a few days later when you regroup at HQ.

You think, perhaps, that he’s forgotten. Maybe that’d be better. You and Soap get along well, and sometimes he flirts with you, but he flirts with everyone. It means nothing.

And yet…

And yet, it’s Soap. You might be able to lie to others, but you can’t lie to yourself: you’ve spent many a lonely night with your thoughts drifting to him. Turning him over and over in your mind.

Soap MacTavish. Handsome, almost unbearably so. He could be a cocky asshole, be the sort of man who knows he’s hot and be insufferable about it, but he’s gregarious. Friendly. He’s a happy-go-lucky sort of man—or as much as someone in the One-Four-One can be.

-----

“Been avoiding me.”

It’s a statement, not a question. Soap corners you in the mess hall, his blue eyes peering at you without guile. He looks almost concerned.

“I haven’t,” you reply. You try to shift past him, but he puts a hand out against the doorway, bars you with his arm.

“You have.” He peers at you closer, his blue eyes somber. “What’s wrong?”

“Why would anything be wrong?”

You thought, perhaps, that he’d forgotten…but those somber eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, then smooth out as he schools his expression.

“Maybe you think my offer was wrong,” he says.

“I never said that.” You duck under his arm, but he lays his hand on your shoulder and stills you again.

“You’ve never said anything about it.” You don’t look at him, but you hear his gentle snort of laughter. “Your silence is deafening.”

You feel your face start to heat up because he’s not wrong. Too much time has passed now to address that moment in the mountains. You should have said something then, spat out some rejoinder to signal that it meant nothing to you, that it was just another dumb joke between you and Soap. But something about that dumb joke conjures up the mental image of you and Soap, and your face burns in embarrassment.

So you duck from his light grip on your shoulder and it makes him laugh again, then call out to your retreating form, “the offer still stands, hen.”

-----

A month passes, then another. You get leave for a few weeks and go someplace warm, a beach with golden sand and soft breezes where you can relax and forget the horrors of what you see every day.

Then you’re back on base, then another mission. Over and over, the same routine.

Through it all: Soap MacTavish, the team’s Golden Retriever. Always with an easy grin on his handsome face, a laugh, a joke. He teases Ghost, he does a passable impression of Captain Price. He gives Gaz a hard time about their rival rugby teams, but it’s always good-natured.

He jokes with you, but that joke—the one about sitting on his face—becomes just a joke between the two of you. You don’t know if the other men have forgotten it, but Soap only brings it up when you’re alone now.

At the barracks, in the rec room, he’s sprawled out on the couch and half-dozing, half-watching a rugby match. When you walk past, he notices, sits up. Beckons you over, tells you to have a seat…then thoughtfully strokes his face with that damned smirk and comically waggling eyebrows.

“You’re a jackass,” you call out as you leave the room, but by now, it makes you laugh…and it lightly stokes that ever-burning flame low in your belly.

-----

Another time, he sidles up to you at the range as you study your targets with their tight formation of bullet holes. He points out one shot, high in the corner of the paper, off of the concentric circles of the bullseye.

“Missed one,” he says.

You scoff. “One out of….many.”

He matches your scoff with one of his own. “Might be losing your edge.”

“I’m not.” You know he’s winding you up, but that missed shot galls you.

“Maybe you’re stressed out.”

You set the target down on the wooden railing. “Maybe you’re stressing me out, MacTavish.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. His blue eyes light up in glee, and he only gets out the first part of his retort—You know what’s good for de-stressing—before you drop to one knee and start disassembling your sniper rifle, ducking your head and hiding your burning cheeks from him.

“…nothing wrong with it,” he finishes as you shut the rifle’s case, and you realize you’ve missed part of what he’s said.

“There isn’t,” you agree. You stand up and lean a bit on the courage that sees you through each mission. You look him square in the eye and add, “but you’re just flirting.”

He gazes back at you, a soft smile on his face, only a little teasing. “Not just flirting.”

“Sure.” You roll your eyes.

He makes his Soap-branded tsch sound, then he loops his arm around your shoulders to pull you in close. He smells like…well, he smells like soap, clean with a hint of something herbal. It’s nothing he hasn’t done a hundred times—in safe houses after a mission, walking out of a bar on a night out with the team—that companionable way he pulls you against him.

“It makes me sad when you don’t believe me, hen,” he chuckles, and it’s low, right by your ear, his warm breath fanning over you.

You’re not sure what spurs your next move. You’re a natural-born sniper; you take the measure of everything around you—the curve of the earth, the speed and direction of the wind—before you squeeze your trigger. You’re the same with people, cautious and feeling out every angle of their intentions before you make a move. But you know Soap, and the question around his joke is the only uncertainty.

Something makes you act without much thought. Your rifle case in your hand, your other hand tucked in your pocket, and Soap’s arm slung around your shoulders…the moment is crystalized, will be an easy memory to recall in the years to come because this is when everything between the two of you changes.

“You know what?” you ask, and you don’t allow him to hazard a guess. Instead, you gaze at him levelly, straight into those bright blue eyes of his and add, “alright, let’s do this.”

It’s comical, how the smile drops from his face, how his mouth makes a little “oh” of surprise. His eyes scan your face, quick, like he’s trying to find the joke, trying to find proof you’re just having a laugh at his expense.

“Bonnie,” he starts to say, and his voice has a rough edge to it. His voice is missing its usual teasing edge, and he pauses to study you. You don’t know if he realizes it, but the tip of his tongue darts out, licks against his lower lip, like he’s really thinking of it now that it could be a reality.

“Bonnie, are you just…are ye fer real?” His voice is lower and his accent gets thicker, and it sets a frisson of heat shimmering through your lower belly.

You refuse to blink. Refuse to look away. “I’m for real if you are.”

“I was never joking about that.”

“Then I’m not joking either.” You swing your rifle case towards the barracks, playing at bravery but willing the fluttery feeling in your stomach to calm. “So let’s go.”

Soap—gregarious, convivial Soap—says nothing else on the walk back. He keeps his arm around your shoulders, though, and his hand settles against your bicep, rubs you briskly before gently holding you there, like he’s proving to himself that you’re real, that the moment is really happening.

-----

Your nerve wobbles a little when you get back to quarters. Soap’s nerves must have a similar wobble, because he turns to you and his usual boyish grin is gone, replaced by a grave expression.

“You dinnae have to do this,” he says, “if you don’t want to.”

Part of you wants to back out, chuck him in the arm and say it was just a joke. You could still back out. Soap is flirty and gregarious, but hooking up would irrevocably change your easy relationship with him. It could change the tenor of the team. And yet…

…don’t you both face death every day? Don’t you see the absolute worst of humanity? Don’t your bodies bear the scars of your hard, unrelenting lives—countless scars, visible and invisible both? Don’t you all operate in your own bubbles of loneliness, sleeping alone night after night but crowded out by the ghosts you all haul around?

Is it too much to ask for even a moment of connection, of not feeling alone?

You gaze back at him. Sweet Johnny MacTavish. Handsome but not vain, smart but not aloof, funny without being cruel about his teasing. Is there anyone you’d rather be with?

“I want to do this,” you tell him, and there’s no hesitation in your tone. “If you do. If you really were just joking around, then no harm, Johnny.”

His somber gaze softens at your use of his real name. “Wasn’t joking at all.” Then he opens the door to his quarters and turns to you, invites you in with a sweep of his hand, and when you walk past him, he lays his palm on your lower back to guide you.

-----

In truth, you’ve never actually sat on anyone’s face. It’s one of those funny sex acts that you joke around about but have never gotten around to, like sixty-nine (always seemed more complicated than necessary) or food-play (always seemed too messy).

Soap, it turns out, has never actually had his face sat on.

And it’s adorable, how he sheepishly runs his hand through the longer stripe of his short-shorn hair and admits as much.

“Figured it cannae be that complicated though,” he says. He huffs out a breath, and you realize how nervous he must be, and it gives you courage to take charge.

“Kiss me first. Then we can figure it out from there.”

The tame command makes his face light up and he murmurs, “yes, ma’am” in his brogue, and then he does as you say.

If Soap MacTavish is generally the team’s Golden Retriever, bouncing around with a wagging tail, he kisses with far more finesse. He cups your face gently, reverently and leans forward, brushes the lightest of kisses against your lips like he’s testing the waters. Like he’s waiting for you to pull away, and when you don’t, he kisses you again.

It’s awkward at first, but only because you’re both so tentative. It’s uncharted territory. He must be aware that you’re crossing a line in doing this, you think, and he must not care either. But the awkwardness melts away quickly because Soap is a damned good kisser, skilled in how he moves his mouth against yours, his tongue against yours. One of his hands stays on your face, cupping you gently and steering you, but the other hand touches your waist, your hip, slides around to squeeze your ass gently before returning to the dip of your waist.

He tastes like something warm and spicy, like cinnamon or nutmeg. Everything about him is warm, really: the way he cups your face but runs his thumb over your cheekbone, the way his other hand holds you steady as he kisses you. And the way he looks at you when he breaks the kiss, the almost-shy way he tugs at the hem of your shirt and asks if he can take it off.

He’s warm too—his body, his skin as you bare it with each article of clothing shed. You strip each other in tandem, and the sight of him leaves you breathless. He’s like something carved by a Renaissance sculptor, but when you smooth your palms over the dips and swells of his muscles, you find that he’s warm to the touch, wonderfully so, and a wave of lust almost takes you out at the knees by how much you want to feel his body against yours, under you or on top of you, every inch of you pressed against him.

Soap must feel the same way about you—he touches you just as gently as before, almost reverent, but his goddamned eyes practically shine when he looks at you, then groans out, “fuck, but you’re stunning, hen.”

He maneuvers you both towards the bed, and then he stretches out across it, and this is precisely why your sexual repertoire has always been lacking: when a brutally handsome man is stretched out in front of you like a damned buffet, your mind singularly focuses on one thing, and you rarely remember that there’s other, more adventuresome things you could do.

You’re already turned on. Ever since the two of you walked back from the range, you’ve been on a low simmer of lust, and the desire has ratcheted up with each kiss, with each little grumbling groan of Soap’s, with each sweep of his big warm hands along your body.

So you’re already turned on, so why sit on his face when his beautiful cock—perfectly sized for you, the ruddy tip already leaking precum—is also an option?

And Soap is no dummy. He must guess at your internal battle because he says your name softly, pulls your gaze back to his face where he smiles that brilliant Soap-smile at you.

“Alright then?” he asks. He pats his upper chest. “You can sit right here, to start.”

It hits you all at once how intimate this is. Fucking, hooking up—that’s one thing. But sitting on your teammate’s face feels like you’re taking a further step into the unknown. Oral sex, to you, is already more intimate than regular ol’ intercourse, but sitting on his face feels…even more intimate. There’s a lot of trust on both ends: he has to trust you not to hurt him, not to put too much weight or force on his face or neck. And you have to trust him too, since you’re basically smothering him you with your pussy, and many men are precious little babies about eating pussy.

“I could just…” You trail off and gesture vaguely at where his erection strains and bobs against his belly, and Soap snorts before he replies, “we could do both, hen.”

When you don’t say anything, when you don’t move, he adds, “c’mon, sweet girl. I’m dyin’ for a taste of ye.”

The accent is unfair, you decide. The accent is not fighting fair. Soap’s Scottish brogue is charming in the best of times, but his bedroom version is thicker, at a slightly lower register, and it’s entirely unfair. It easily dismantles the rest of your meager defenses, so you nod and then kneel on the bed. But when you start to awkwardly clamor on top of him, he stills you for a beat and taps his mouth, says, “give me a kiss first.”

And the kiss is unfair too because it reminds you that it’s just Soap, one of your dearest teammates, a man who often holds your life in his hands and whose life you hold in your own. His now-familiar taste of spicy warmth on your tongue, and his lips curving in a smile against yours when he whispers, “climb on up, hen Don’t keep me waitin’ anymore.”

There’s no sexy way to climb on top of him. Do you just kneel by his chest and throw a leg over him? Do you straddle him lower and scoot up? You split the difference, try to straddle him on his lower chest and scoot up, but then his one arm gets pinned. Any other man? It might be a deal-breaker being so clumsy, but Soap laughs underneath you—a genuine belly-laugh full of warmth that makes you giggle too. He wrangles his arm free, then lays both hands on your hips and guides you the rest of the way.

This is unbearable intimate too, being so exposed to his bright blue-eyed gaze. You probably have tons of issues around previous men who didn’t eat pussy, who were grossed out by it, but Soap’s eyes practically glitter black with how blown his pupils are. His face rarely hides its emotions very well (he’s a shitty poker player), and there’s no disgust in his expression at all. There’s only desire, naked and apparent.

“Tell me,” he says, and his voice is a low growl that sends that frisson of heat straight to your core. “Tell me what is working for you, yeah? Don’t go quiet on me.”

You nod, and you wish you could think of something cool or funny to say, but Soap lifts his head a little and presses a plush, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, where both are splayed in front of him, and before you can even beat yourself up for failing to think of something cool or funny, his mouth is on you in earnest.

Soap, a damned good kisser. It translates to this, his skilled tongue and lips licking at you, suckling at you, swirling against you before he breaks up the pattern with an outright kiss, then resumes his routine. He traces the tip of his tongue around the firm bud of your clit, the perfect amount of pressure before he snakes it lower, lapping at the arousal leaking from your entrance. He’s unabashed about it, groans against your feverish skin, and you love him in this moment—love that he wasn’t joking after all, love that he had led you here, where you sit perched on him while he feasts on your cunt and seems to genuinely enjoy it as he does.

Any other position, you’d lean down and kiss him, or pull him to you and kiss him. Now, as he groans against you again, you reach down and run your fingers through the longer stripe in his hair. He must like that, because he groans a third time, and his grip on your hips spasms tighter.

You remember what he asked of you, so when he purses his lips and suckles against your clit, you gasp out a startled “oh!” but then add, “fuck, Johnny. Just like t-that.”

“Good?” It comes out muffled against you, and he pauses his mouth long enough to gaze up at you with a smile.

“So good.” You shift your hand, cup his stubbled chin slick with your arousal—a gentle movement that makes his smile soften too.

“Like when you call me Johnny, hen.” Now he sounds a little shy, like he’s edging close to something beyond a random hookup with face-sitting.

“Keep using your mouth like that and I’ll call you Johnny all the time,” you tease.

“Deal.” And then he’s on you again, laving your sensitive folds with his tongue, his bit of stubble raising a warm burn against your inner thighs. His hands on your hips pull you closer, and he encourages the slow, careful rhythm when you start to actually ride his face—a languid back-and-forth, mindful of his need for oxygen, while he eats your pussy with the fervor of a starving man.

Your orgasm approaches faster than you thought; you thought you might have to fake it, since you rarely come from oral alone. But there’s something about this position. You feel powerful in a benign way, in charge, but mindful of the man underneath you. You run your fingers through his hair and Soap preens at the touch, just as he preens when you pant out praise for him, tell him how good you feel. How good he is making you feel.

He must sense it because his grip tightens on your hips, but his tongue moves faster and focuses solely on your clit—teasing with the tip of his tongue, then laving it with the flat of his tongue, then wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

“F-fuck,” you choke out. “Johnny…fuck…I’m gonna…” but you don’t finish the sentence, you keen out a garble of nonsense as you come.

The heat in your belly pools over, spills over in a brilliant wash that courses through your veins, into your trembling legs and up through your body, makes your vision shimmer and crackle with sparks. Your heartbeat, your panting breath are loud in your own ears, and you hear Soap groan but he sounds faraway. He teases your orgasm, prolongs it by licking against you until you grip his hair tighter and hold his head still while you clumsily dismount, then flop gracelessly onto the bed beside him.

You feel boneless. You feel heavy, sleepy, like you could sink into the mattress and sleep for days. You close your eyes and feel the bed shift, and Soap disappears for a moment. You hear running water—he must be cleaning his face, you think—but then the mattress dips again and he’s curling his warm body around yours, wrapping his arms around you as he pulls you to him, then settles the blanket over both of you.

“Good, yeah?”

You laugh. “Yeah, that was good. Especially for someone who’s never done it before.” A beat. “Give me a moment to catch my breath and then I can help you out.”

Soap chuckles above you, and you feel him press his lips to your forehead before settling again. “No need.”

“But I—”

“Already came.”

The gears in your head turn slow when you’re sated from sex. Coming makes you stupid. “Huh? When?”

Another chuckle, another kiss to your head. “When I was eating you, hen.”

You turn your head and try to peer up at him. He looks comfortable and sleepy too, content and sated. “Seriously?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Told ye I was dyin’ for a taste.” He shifts a little, pulls you closer to him. He tugs the blanket more securely around your shoulders. “If ye want a second round, I’ll need a few minutes.”

You appraise the situation: the warm scent of Soap, the feel of his naked body pressed to yours, the warm little cocoon he’s created here in his bed. Of course you want a second round, but you’re sleepy too, and the thought of sleeping with Soap doesn’t seem nearly as terrifying as it might have seemed before he had his mouth on your pussy.

“Or we could sleep,” you offer.

“Sleep,” he agrees. “Round two tomorrow.”

The doubts from earlier start to surface in your mind, but they seem tiny and inconsequential when you’re wrapped up in Soap’s arms. You feel sleep tugging at you—he’s already asleep, you think, breathing deep and even against you—so you chance to brush your lips against the bit of him you can reach and whisper good night to him.

But he’s not quite completely asleep yet because he kisses you back, another press of his lips against your head, and he whispers back, “g’night, hen.”

#john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #soap imagine #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish imagine #soap x reader #call of duty modern warfare #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

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gurugirl · 8 months

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The Big Tease | bfd!harry

*photo is for t-shirt placement visual only. please picture who you like as reader.

best friend's dad!harry x reader - forbidden relationship au

Summary: based loosely on this request - Harry comes to your place to make sure you're taking care of yourself and you find that as hard as you try to tease him, he's not giving in to you and then some high emotions are exposed.

Word Count: 7.8k words

Warning: 18+ only, NSFW, smut, angst, age gap, cheating

bfd!harry masterlist

You tried not to feel guilty about what you were doing with a married man. Your best friend’s dad. It was hard when it came to keeping it a secret from everyone. Keeping it a secret from Fae.

“Where’d you get this?” Fae brushed her fingers over the pretty little bracelet Mr. Styles gave you a few nights before. It was gold with three round light-colored opals in the center and two round-cut tiny diamonds on either side. It was dainty and sweet and you knew it was expensive after googling the brand and finding the exact item available online and in high-end shops nearby.

“Ahh… my mom and dad got it for me a while ago. Just haven’t worn it in a long time. Forgot it about,” you lied with a shrug. Lying to her made you nauseous.

“Really? How could you forget about this? It’s gorgeous! Looks really pretty on you too,” she complimented and you frowned as you looked down at it.

You hated lying to your best friend. But what could you do? You certainly wouldn’t admit to your affair with her father. And of course, you weren’t quite feeling guilty enough to put an end to it either. Mr. Styles was the best you’d ever had and you were completely smitten with him.

When you two finally made it back to your apartment after shopping and eating and stopping at the ice cream shop for a treat you’d also forgotten all the lovely flowers you had sitting around your living room and kitchen.

It had also become a thing where you’d get the most exquisite bouquets delivered to you every Monday morning. Peonies, roses, phalaenopsis orchids, and gardenias all stuffed with hardly any filler. You knew the bouquets he was sending you were hundreds of dollars a pop. But they were breathtaking.

You quickly assessed in your mind whether or not you’d removed the cards from them which would have given everything away should Fae see. Unlocking your door and letting yourself in first you quickly glanced around and the freshest bouquet clearly still had its card poking out of it. You made a beeline across the room as Fae closed your door behind her and plucked the tiny card out, crumpling it in your hand, and then bent down next to the table to pretend you were doing something else.

“Those are so pretty, Y/n. Oh my god. Do you have a flower service or something?”

You had three bouquets placed around your living room. One was clearly old and some of the flowers were drooping, losing their vibrant colors, while the newer ones were full of soft pinks and purples, crisp white and cream…

“Yes. I decided to start treating myself to nice flowers every week.” You smiled. Another lie. You couldn’t afford a weekly delivery of these kinds of flowers and if Fae bothered to research how expensive bouquets like this were she’d have questioned you further. But luckily she didn’t.

The bracelet, the flowers, your glow… all things she noticed, could have been an indicator of a lover but as far as you could tell she hadn’t connected the dots. Or at least she didn’t voice it to you.

Of course, everything could be explained. But she was your best friend. If you weren’t more vigilant, she’d be catching on soon, you were sure.

. . .

The following day after a morning shift at the restaurant you arrived home and collapsed on your couch. It was exhausting. The restaurant was only open for breakfast and brunch on the weekend (where normally it’s only a dinner spot the rest of the week) and it was slammed. Mimosas, eggs benedict, fancy French tarts, and pastries, huge parties of people, music, guests nursing hangovers… The restaurant was well known for its weekend breakfast and brunch with bottomless mimosas and Bloody Marys. The clientele were usually upper-class folks who didn’t mind spending $35 for their mimosa and then only ordering 2 when they could have had as many as they wanted. A local creamery provided butter, yogurt, and milk for your special breakfast dishes, and a bowl of fancy yogurt and some in-house granola was $15. The cheapest food item on the breakfast menu. The cheapest item on the menu was a cup of black coffee, refillable. Unless you ordered the free tap water.

You got lucky to eat anything while you served breakfast. It was typically too busy to take a bite of anything. But the tips were excellent because everyone was usually in a great mood.

You were startled awake by your phone vibrating in your back pocket. You’d fallen asleep without even realizing you’d closed your eyes.

Pulling the phone out from under your body you realized it was Harry calling you (he normally didn’t call unless it was prearranged).

“Hello?” You sat up as you answered.

“Baby! I was worried. Are you okay? I didn’t hear back from you.”

Harry had a thing where he wanted you to text him when you got home from work to let him know you made it safely, even if it was a morning shift. He was always so worried about you but you kind of loved it.

“I’m fine. Sorry! I fell asleep as soon as I sat down on the couch. God, I’m so exhausted. Fae was here late last night and then I had the breakfast shift so I only had like four hours of sleep…”

“Hey, it’s okay. I was just worried. I texted you and then never heard back. Just started to panic. Have you eaten?”

You smiled and his soft deep voice made you feel so comfortable and safe, “I haven’t eaten yet. I had a bit at work but just passed out as soon as I got here.”

“So you’ve only had something to eat at work? It’s already dinnertime, Y/n.”

Harry did have a tendency to sort of scold you like he was your dad. Maybe it was ingrained in him in some ways. To try and take care of you and remind you to do things like eat.

“Geez, Dad. I’ll get right on it,” you teased.

Harry was silent for a moment, which had you worried. Perhaps calling him ‘dad’ had been unwise.

But then suddenly his voice broke through the line, “I’m coming over. I have a feeling you don’t have any groceries and I’m gonna make you dinner. Something to eat.”

You scoffed, “I mean… I have food here. I will eat. You don’t have–“

“I’ll be there within an hour,” he interrupted and you nodded to yourself.

“O… Okay. Um… yeah. In an hour.”

. . .

You quickly showered and tossed your dirty clothes into your clothes hamper so they weren’t strewn about your bedroom floor. You tidied up and kept yourself busy until he finally arrived. You were getting all worked up knowing he was coming over.

You didn’t know what he had been telling Mrs. Styles about why he was leaving or when he’d stay with you overnight, or spend hours in your bed every week. Though there were times he could only come over quickly, most of the time he stayed with you long enough that he’d need a good cover story. You kind of hoped you could have him for the night.

When he knocked at your door and you opened it up for him you saw he had his hands full. One arm around a sack of groceries and in his other hand the bag he normally packed for when he was staying the night.

You smiled when you saw his handsome face and ushered him into your small apartment. He leaned in to kiss you quickly, “Just showered?” He asked.

“Well yeah,” you spoke as you closed the door and followed behind him to your kitchen, “I didn’t have the chance earlier because I fell asleep as you know,” you laughed.

“Mmhmm…” he grunted affirmatively as he began to remove the grocery items from the bag one by one.

You saw tomatoes, fresh basil, flour, mushrooms, cheese…

“What are you making?” You picked up the container of buffalo mozzarella and then looked at Harry.

“Margherita pizza. One of my favorite little recipes my mom used to make.”

You placed the container down, pulled his arm to drag him toward you, and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him.

He immediately paused what he was doing and wrapped his arms around you, deepening the kiss and then giving you a taste of his tongue.

But then he pulled away with his signature teasing smirk and went back to his task.

“You brought your bag. Gonna stay the night with me?”

He nodded as he folded the paper bag up neatly and then looked at you, “If that’s okay. Have to leave early, though.”

If that’s okay.

You laughed to yourself and nodded, “Of course, it’s okay, Harry. God, what I wouldn’t give to have you with me every–“ You stopped what you saying when you realized how suddenly serious that thought was. You did want him every night. You wanted him to yourself but you hadn’t discussed that with him before.

Harry placed the neatly folded paper bag down on your little counter and then pulled you back toward him with his hands on your hips, “Yeah? Every…? What? Every night? Want me every night, baby?” That same sneaky, devious smirk on his face had you melting and warm.

“I just meant, you’re always welcome,” you slid your hands up his chest and bit your lip. You were a little embarrassed that you admitted that but it was obviously too late now.

“I’m always welcome or you want me every night? Which is it?” He gripped you harder so you couldn’t escape his questions, his gaze.

You puffed a breath out through your lips with a laugh, “Both.”

He loosened his grip and brought a hand to your face, his eyes fixed to yours, “Both. I’d much prefer to be here with you every night too. Would if I could.” The thumb that trailed over your cheekbone and to your temple was soft and loving. You knew he meant what he said.

Harry’s pizza was superb. Your oven wasn’t quite right, he kept saying as he baked it but to you, it was the best thing that had ever come out of that cheap appliance.

“Usually like to make this in a brick oven. The one I’ve got in my backyard, but this will do in a pinch I suppose.”

Your mouth was full as you nodded, “So good.”

Harry laughed at your stuffed cheeks and the way you were gobbling down what he’d made.

“Aren’t you going to eat more?” You asked him finally when you’d swallowed your bite. He’d only had one slice.

“Already had dinner. But I wanted to feed you. Make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

For some reason with a tummy full of Harry’s pizza and the kind gesture of his cooking to help take care of you had you reeling and needing more than just food.

Of course, it would have been impolite to just abandon cleanup but you were suddenly aware of how his sleeves were pushed up his forearms and how his dimples were extra deep accompanying his attractive smile. And his hair looked too tidy, you needed to get your hands in it. Needed to get him out of his clothes. Get those long fingers around your neck and touching your body immediately.

You set your plate down on the small kitchen table you were both sitting at and slid your hand up his thigh, “Oh is that why you came over here? The only reason?” You grinned and he leaned back into his chair and looked at you, keeping his own grin in check.

“Need to make sure my girl is healthy. Has everything she needs.”

“Yeah? And sometimes I need more than just food too, Mr. Styles.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and spread his legs slightly as you continued moving your hand upward, “Oh I know, sweet girl. You need a lot of things, don’t you?”

You nodded, “What about you? Do you need things too? From me? Anything I can help you with?”

Now his grin was breaking out over his face but it was cheeky, playful, “Of course I do.”

But he wasn’t giving in to your little game. He liked having you be the one to ask for it. You didn’t know why but he loved hearing you beg him. You always resisted begging. At first anyway. Sometimes he’d give in without you needing to.

“And what do you need from me?” You stopped short of putting your fingers over where you knew he was tucked under his pants. The obvious natural bulge he sported giving away where he normally liked to position himself.

“Whatever you’re willing to give me, love. But I’m here because you needed to eat first and foremost. And you needed some groceries.”

You laughed and skipped over his lovely cock and put your hand up to his chest, scooting your chair in a little closer, “I’ll give you anything you want, sir. All you have to do is ask.”

Harry smiled and licked his lips slowly, “I’m as content as I can be here with you right now. Could sit here all night listening to you talk. S’that what you want? Want to touch my chest,” he flitted his eyes down to where your hand was before looking back into your eyes, “and my thighs, and chat all night about my pizza making skills and your lack of healthy food?”

You folded your lips into your mouth to keep yourself from laughing. He was playing a game of chicken with you. You really wanted to win this time.

“Well, that does sound really nice. You’ve filled me up so good with your yummy pizza. Guess I don’t need anything more than stimulating conversation with you if that’s all you’re interested in.”

Harry swallowed and breathed a laugh out of his nose, “Fine. Pizza and conversation it is.”

You wanted to huff in frustration. He still had his arms crossed over his chest, just under where your fingers were toying with the buttons on his shirt. He wasn’t giving in. But you had a thought.

“I’ll be right back.”

You hopped up from the chair and pranced to your bedroom. If he wanted to tease so would you. Stripping off your sweats you dug out your thin white Hey Lover t-shirt and tied it up just under the center of your breasts, and black cheeky boy short panties. You’d pretend you were only getting comfy since it was already late in the evening. He’d know what you were up to but you could play it off like you just wanted to get into your comfy house clothes.

When you got back to the kitchen Harry was already cleaning up.

“Hey, let’s do that later. Wanna sit and talk a bit.”

Harry tsked you, his back still turned as he wrapped up the rest of the pizza in foil, “I worked hard on this. Don’t want it to go bad. You can go sit–“ when he finally turned his full gaze back to you he stopped mid-sentence. You saw his jaw clench and his nostrils flair.

Not fair. That was not fair of you.

You knew your top especially was going to drive him mad. It was thin and your nipples were poking through the material and he could certainly see the shadow of the deeper color of your areolas popping through.

And he did. You noted where his eyes roamed, pausing over your tits for a good few seconds before licking his lips and turning back around to finish his job.

“Go sit.” He said without a single note of sweetness or desire.

You smiled to yourself as you walked into the living room and sat on your couch. Putting on a little music you selected a good little playlist that you knew he’d like.

Trying to act as unbothered as you possibly could you found a comfortable position on the couch and leaned into your cushions as you waited for Mr. Styles to join you.

It wasn’t long before he was casually strolling into the living room and sitting on the couch, leaving a few feet between you two. He draped an ankle over his knee and sat back, looking totally cool and unbothered.

You stretched and gathered your hair into your hands to expose your neck as you spoke, “So, how was your day today, Mr. Styles? You already know all about mine.”

Harry nodded slowly as he looked at you, keeping his eyes on your face, “Normal. Woke up and worked out, read an article, and played some golf with a colleague. That’s it really. Now here I am feeding you and entertaining you with conversation,” he grinned and you saw his eyes quickly take in your neck.

You smiled and sighed, “Sounds nice. I’ve played golf a few times. I’m terrible at it, though. Once a guy who took me tried to straighten out my stance but it did no good. No matter how many times he helped me adjust my grip or pushed my legs to spread them out properly it just didn’t work,” you chuckled. It was true. You’d gone with a guy a couple of years back on a date. He was flirting with you when he tried showing you the proper way to stand and hold the club but it turned into making out in the golf cart and a quick fuck in his car before he dropped you at home.

“S’that so? He probably wasn’t a good player either if he couldn’t give you any tips to help you improve your game.”

You shrugged, “I don’t know. I think he was more interested in getting my clothes off than anything,” you kept your eyes on his to asses but there was nothing there that indicated jealousy.

You had to amp it up. Do something to make him lose it. Wanted to watch him thicken up in his pants.

Dropping your hair you tucked your legs under yourself and turned to face Harry. You knew he was trying his hardest not to let his eyes drop below your neck. He knew he’d be fucked if he took in the way the soft cotton stretched over your breasts.

“Anyway. Are you any good?” You allowed your own eyes to take him in fully. His composure was sure to falter at some point.

“Yeah. I’m all right. I can hold my own.”

His short answer was not exactly what you were hoping for but you didn’t let it deter you. For some reason, his standoffish behavior was getting you even more worked up.

“Bet you can hold your own. You’re just so naturally good at everything you do,” you moved your finger over your tummy, keeping your eyes on his, “I know first-hand.”

Harry raised his brows and the movement of your hand over your torso and then down toward the top of your panties had him dropping his sight to where you were softly ghosting your fingers along the elastic band. You tugged at the knot on your shirt before moving your hand back up toward your chest, your thumb pressed between your thin cotton t-shirt-covered tits.

He watched your fingers and then looked back up at you, “Do you? And what do you know of my skills?” He smiled softly. Still appearing totally unbothered.

You sighed and tilted your head, keeping your eyes on his before stretching your arms over your head and allowing your shirt to lift the tiniest bit, revealing the bottom of your breasts. You only put your arms down once you were satisfied that Mr. Styles had gotten a good look, “Well, for example, you just made me a pizza that was to die for. Also, you recently got promoted at work and now you’re some big shot,” you unfolded a leg from underneath your bum and stretched it out, pressing your bare foot onto Harry’s thigh, “And I’ve seen you work out,” you nudged his muscled thigh, “You put men half your age to shame. You’re so athletic…” you began to pull your foot away but Harry gripped your ankle and pulled your leg to drape over his thigh making you smile in triumph. Though you’d not yet won this round, he was clearly giving in to you bit by bit.

“Hmmm…” Harry nodded and hummed quietly. He kept his hand on your shin and his eyes a safe distance from anything below your chin, “I know I’m good at a lot of things. Can make you dribble all over your chin by just pulling my pants down,” he licked his lips, “Feel like that’s a great skill of mine. What else…” his hand began to brush over your leg softly and you scoffed at him but of course, he was right. You both knew it. He made you drool and whiney and hot. He didn’t even have to do anything.

“That was one time. And you had your fingers in my mouth. It wasn’t because of your cock,” you lied. Well, his fingers in your mouth did have you drool down your chin and when he pulled his pants down, he teasingly pointed out how your chin was shiny and you’d dripped saliva down your neck and to your chest.

“No? Hmmm… but you were so desperate to get it in your mouth that you tried grabbing me and when I told you to be patient you whined and drooled all over the floor. You can pretend all you want, little girl. I see what you’re trying to do.”

You watched as his hand traveled up your leg and past your knee to your thigh, “Wearing this little getup… trying to seduce me. So desperate for me. But you’re gonna have to try a lot harder than this, Y/n. You can lie to yourself and pretend you're not bothered and change the subject and show me your pretty tits all you want. S’not gonna change the fact that you’re gonna wind up a messy little puddle begging me for anything I’ll give you. Isn’t that right?”

Your mouth dropped open in faux shock. He was right. But you weren’t ready to give up yet.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Styles. I know you like having your ego stroked. So go ahead and keep telling yourself that you’ve got the upper hand. We both know you’re already folding. I can sit here all night and chat with you like this if you want. Doesn’t bother me one bit.” You folded your arms across your chest with a grin.

Harry laughed quietly and shook his head. You were fun. He loved these moments with you. Loved giving you a hard time. Loved when you gave him a hard time. He softly pinched the inside of your thigh and you laughed, attempting to pull your leg away but he held you in place, large palms keeping your leg over him, fingers digging into your skin.

“Darling, you forget who you’re dealing with. I’m not the one resorting to skimpy clothes and trying to hide how turned-on I am. I see you trying to keep your legs pressed together. Hiding something,” he jutted his chin toward you and looked over the spot between your legs where he knew your panties covered up a tiny secret.

You wore black panties on purpose. Any wetness would be easier to hide, but keeping your legs pressed together could ensure he didn’t see the wet patch that had begun to spread. However, the way he was holding your leg over his lap made it quite difficult for you to not open your thighs a little.

“You just love to imagine that you’ve got me all bothered. But you’re wrong. I’m totally fine.”

Harry smiled and pulled at your leg further, causing a small yelp to slip out from your mouth followed by a tiny bit of laughter at the way you lost balance when you were pulled toward him, your other leg being tugged at to drape over his thigh.

“Good. Then we can just sit here and talk about the weather and maybe politics if you’re into that. Or is there another topic you had in mind since you’re so keen on just sitting chatting all night?”

You steadied yourself, back against the cushion as you pressed your legs together again and looked up at him innocently, “Randy called me the other day. Said he missed me. Apologized for being rude when we were together. That was nice to hear. The apology,” you wiggled your hips to fix your seating so you could appear more casual, despite having your legs in Harry’s possession over his lap.

Harry’s large palms ran up the outer sides of your thighs slowly before dragging back down to just above your knees, keeping his eyes on yours, “Oh really? Thinking about getting back with him then?” He spoke trying to tamper the playful smile on his face.

You snorted a laugh and grinned teasingly, drawing your fingers across your breasts, “Nahh… I can do better. I mean… maybe if I’m desperate and just need to scratch an itch. You know? Being a single girl gets hard at times. My dildo is only gonna give me a small taste of what a man can. Even if he’s not great in bed.”

Biting the inside of his cheek he nodded with dark eyes, “Would be such a shame to waste a good fuck on Rudy like that when you’ve got me at the helm. Of course, you're too stubborn to admit it. All you have to do is ask.”

You sighed and dropped your hands to your lap with a pout, “Randy. His name is Randy. But anyway… I don’t have to beg Randy to fuck me. He’s never pretended he was unbothered by me. Always quite straightforward really. If he wanted sex all he had to do was tell me. You on the other hand,” you poked your finger into his arm, “like making it hard for me, which is quite impolite. So I’m okay with not having sex if you just aren’t up for it.”

Harry pushed a laugh out through his nose at your tease, “Rudy sounds like a fucking bore. And he never gave you an orgasm. Either you have really bad taste or you’re just a tease. I have a feeling I know which it is, too. Little girl likes to play games. I can play games if you want. But you know I’m gonna win.”

You knew he was right. You wanted his cock but he wasn’t budging. All you had to do was admit it. Ask him politely. And you would when you couldn’t handle it any longer but you were having fun and the back and forth was like foreplay for you.

He kept one hand grasped around the outside of your thigh while his other smoothed inward, fingers pushing your thighs apart the tiniest bit and then gently dancing upward. If he moved his fingers too far up he’d feel how damp you were already.

“I’m not playing games,” you spoke matter-of-factly, watching as his hand traveled over your skin, “I can just tell maybe you’re tired Perhaps you’ve had a long day and it’s almost bedtime for you. I mean I get it,” you laughed in preparation for what you were about to say, “When you get to be your age things just slow down a little. It’s okay if you’re not up for it tonight, sir.”

Harry pulled his lips into his mouth and closed his eyes as he laughed at your attempt to provoke him.

When he looked back at you his expression was serious as he pried your legs apart, swiping the pad of his pointer finger right over the wet material of your panties and raised his brows as if he was shocked. Though you knew he was goading you, “You know goddamn well that my age has nothing to do with my libido. Difference between me and you is that I have incredible willpower and I know that you’re gonna be begging me to stuff your pussy before the night is over.”

You laughed and shook your head, “Nope.”

Harry pressed his thumb right over where your clit was already aching and grinned, “Yep.” Popping the p for emphasis. “See I’ve already got you soaking your panties. Goosebumps on your legs. Your nipples are hard. Your face is warm. I bet your heart is pounding too, just wishing you were getting the life fucked out of you right now. And you could be,” he spoke lowly as he slid a finger under the fabric of your panties and smoothed it over your skin, but not touching your crease or your clit like you hoped, “If you just admit it.”

You noticed that his cock had plumped under his pants. A good sign, you figured, “Nothing to admit. I might be turned on but I can hold out. In fact, I’d bet you’re not in much better shape with your cock swelling up like it is. You need this wet pussy to soothe that big dick, don’t you?”

Harry’s undisturbed body language was a concern because even though his prick was growing harder by the minute, you were starting to boil while he still seemed unphased.

“Oh, honey…” Harry smiled at you like you were a pitiful thing, “I’m doing just fine. In fact, probably just gonna fuck my own fist before we go to bed since you’re so stubborn. Maybe I’ll let you watch me too. I’ll be just fine. Just love being here with you. We don’t always have to have sex.”

You clenched your jaw and huffed imagining that scene. Having Harry yank his cock with his big hand until he was coming on your floor. You’d want to lick it up off the floor too. Scoop it all up and swallow it down. He had you obsessed with his come. Well, with him in general.

You tried to think of something to say but your brain was stuck on the image of him slowly stroking his fat cock and saying filthy shit to you while you tried to hold it together and not give in to your own urges.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Harry lifted a hand to your face and brushed his thumb along your jaw and up over your cheek, “Need to tell me something?”

Your lips parted and you breathed out a small whimper and squished your eyes closed. Your determination was crumbling with his soft touches.

“S’okay. If you don’t mind,” Harry pushed your legs off of him and quickly began to unbutton his pants, “S’getting tight in there…” he pulled his pants down just a touch so that the bulge under his briefs was now poking out and he had a bit more space to breathe.

He pressed over his erection and straightened himself out and suddenly the tip of his cock was peeking out over the band of Calvin Kleins. You closed your eyes again and tried to will yourself to not give in to him. But what was fair was fair. You were teasing him with your body and now he was returning the favor.

When you heard Harry chuckle you opened your eyes to look at him and your head was fuzzy. He was literally mouth-watering. He’d unbuttoned his shirt so you could see his tattoos and the large erection poking out from his briefs was like an actual cherry on top of it all. You licked your lips and swallowed down your saliva as you stared at his swollen head. It looked like something you could just pop into your mouth and suckle on if you weren’t so stubborn.

But Harry loved how stubborn you were. You really did make him work for it. You were exciting and sweet and he loved the way you teased him.

“If you want some you can have some, sweetheart. I know you’d like a taste. S’right there for you if you just ask politely.”

You groaned and looked away from him but your eyes were burning and all you could think about was straddling his lap and pushing his briefs down so you could fuck yourself on him. You were actually vibrating and pulsing you were so turned on.

And when you thought about it all… how this was all just a game anyway. How you both knew you’d end up with his come dribbling out of your cunt and satisfied and fucked out before you went to bed you laughed, “Fuck it…” you said as you crawled yourself over his lap and Harry’s hands found your hips, “I want you. Okay? You win.”

He had a pleased smile on his face when he felt you press your soaked panties over his briefs and plaster your lips over his in finality.

He would have laughed and teased you for giving in but he was thankful you did. Because he was aching for you.

You were desperate too. You pulled away from the kiss and put your hands down to his briefs and pushed at the material before sliding the crotch of your panties to the side and letting your wet hole kiss his tip softly as you looked into his eyes, “Can I please have it?”

Harry’s smirk fell from his face the moment you began to lower yourself, coating him in your slick arousal, “Yes. Take what you want. Fuck…”

The music was soft and you could barely hear the lyrics as you began to work yourself down and up along his length. You moaned as you felt him poke deep and keened, sucking in a sharp breath, “So thick…” you panted.

You were wetting Harry’s briefs and the tops of his pants but he didn’t care in that moment. He’d take care of the issue after you were done, “Yeah? Needed to stuff yourself with my cock didn’t you darling? Feels good?”

You nodded and held onto the back of the couch as Harry moved his hands from your hips up to the bottom hem of your top and pushed the material up so he could finally look at your pretty breasts. His favorite. He leaned in and suckled your tit into your mouth and you gasped softly.

You began to ride him a little faster, sticky slick noises coming from between your bodies as you writhed up and down his cock.

“Harry!” You shouted his name in a desperate plea. You didn’t know what you were pleading for but you just wanted more. His tongue and lips and teeth on your tits and his heavy, hard dick inside of you were really all a girl could ask for.

Harry moaned and licked over the spot he nipped next to your nipple and moved his lips over your soft flesh as he spoke, “Poor thing… so needy for me. Should have just given in the first time I told you to, baby.”

The couch under you squeaked gently as you rose and fell over him. The relief of having him inside of you had you tearing up.

Harry tilted his head back to look at your face. And just as he expected you were completely insatiable. Your expression was hungry and lusty with your lips parted, a pained look across your features.

Harry cooed at you and slid his hands up from your soft breasts to cup your face and make you kiss him. Your mouths moved together slowly as you shifted over him, slowing down a little now that your mouths were connected.

Harry pulled away, keeping his hands at your face, “Slow down a little bit. Here…” he dropped one hand to your hip and stilled you, pushing you down all the way over his shaft until you were firmly seated in his lap and his tip was stuffed so far inside of you it hurt making you whine and quiver.

“Like that. Just sit and feel me. No need to hurry. Gonna always take care of you. Okay?” His lips pressed over yours again and you moaned into his mouth.

You acted as if you were starved. You canted your hips slightly to glide your clit against his pelvic bone and he gasped and pulled away again, “I know you need it, baby. Just slow down. You were so desperate weren’t you?” He thumbed at your cheek and wiped your tears with a grin, “Always my good girl. Aren’t you?”

You bit your lips and whimpered as you nodded. You felt like a pathetic girl. It was like the moment his cock was inside of you all your good sense flew out the window and you were a melty, needy puppy in despair, deprived of attention and love. You needed more and more and more every time he entered you. It only got worse as the months crawled on and your affair got more serious.

“I wanna be your only good girl. Please…” You slid your shaky fingers into his hair and smoothed your lips over his with a tremulous breath.

Harry rocked upward, dipping into your sensitive insides and you gasped again, parting your lips from his.

“Look at me, Y/n…” Harry spoke as he moved a hand to the back of your neck.

You locked eyes with him and your sad little pout had him leaning in to give you a soft kiss at the corner of your mouth before he looked back into your eyes, “You’re my good girl. No one else. Just you, baby. Understood?”

You nodded and sniffled, “But I’m not,” You jutted your bottom lip out like a child and felt ridiculous. You didn’t know what had you so emotional suddenly. Maybe it was the build-up and all the teasing. Or the way you always gave in to him and he was so cool and secure in himself while you were shaky and desperate.

Harry moved a hand down your back and kept his other hand brushing softly over your cheekbone, “Yes you are. You’re mine. You’re my only.”

You didn’t want to say it. Hated to bring it up but you couldn’t help it or you thought you’d explode if you didn’t tell the truth, “But you’re married. I might be yours but you’re not mine.”

He hadn’t quite expected it. You knew the situation. He couldn’t just leave his wife of 20+ years. It didn’t work that way. But to hear you say it was… well it gave him pause.

“Okay. I am married. But I’m here with you right now, Y/n. Because I’d rather be here with you. Wish I could be here every night. And I would if I could.”

You nodded. You knew he’d prefer to fuck you rather than his wife. That part was understood. But he’d never actually choose you over her when it came down to it. “I know. I’m sorry for bringing it up. I just… I’m starting to…” You swallowed the words your heart wanted to reveal but you stopped, “Just want to see you more I think. Once a week or every other week isn’t good for me. Need you more. I think that’ll make me better. I’m sorry… I don’t know –“

Harry shushed you and stroked your back softly, “I want to see you more too, baby. Should we think of a way to make it twice or three times a week even? Will that make it better?”

You smiled and nodded, “Three times a week? Oh my god…” You kissed him and squealed at the idea of having him three times a week.

Harry laughed and nodded, “If it makes you happy. Didn’t know you needed more, honey. Didn’t want to make you sick of me.”

You laughed in return and shook your head, “I could never be sick of you, Harry. I’m…” You stopped yourself once again. The words on the tip of your tongue but that wouldn’t be fair. To you nor to him. “I’m happy you want that too.”

Harry’s fingers on your face felt soft and comforting, “Of course I want that. I want you happy. And that would make me happier too.”

You felt dizzy with love and excitement as you pasted your lips to his and began to rock your hips slowly again.

You knew you were selfish. Knew you were getting in too deep but you didn’t care. Maybe down the road one day it would hurt but for now, you would be happy with anything he gave you.

Suddenly Harry shifted and brought his arm to cradle you close as he laid you down flat on the couch, his thick cock still inside of you. But now he was hovering over you with a dark smile on his face, “I need to fuck you like you’re mine. Show you I mean it,” he said as he pulled your legs up, calves pressed over his shoulders, and began to roll his hips into you. The springs in the couch cushions danced under your back and creaked as he picked up the pace.

You coughed out a moan and squished your exposed tits together. You still had on your shirt, tugged up above your tits, and your underwear, and Harry still had his clothes on, while his shirt was unbuttoned and his pants were down past his bottom. You were both the picture of neediness, not even bothering to take the time to undress fully.

Harry held onto the back of your thighs as he plunged in and pulled back to his tip, before plowing his cock into the hilt again. Every time his hips met the back of your thighs the sticky sound of your arousal on his cock was unmistakable.

He swatted at your thigh when you began to slip from his hold, your leg wobbling free from his shoulder, “Stay put. Keep your legs up,” he grunted.

You gasped and nodded, “Yes, sir…”

Every dip of himself into you felt divine. His cock pushing into your insides and slipping into your guts repeatedly was noisy and delicious.

Harry moaned, unable to hold back how good it felt to be inside of you.

You looked up at him and saw how gone he was. His soft raspberry lips were parted and his eyes were dark as he gasped and panted. His thrusts were becoming harder and sloppier and he was breathing hard. You wanted his come.

“Need it, Harry. Give it to me…” you whispered as you brought a hand up to his jaw and he kept his eyes on you. He was shaking with desire you could feel it.

“Fuck, honey…” he groaned and clenched his jaw. He wanted to make you come first but his own emotions were getting him keyed up and he was already leaking a steady stream of pre-come into your pussy with each stroke.

He stopped his motions and sucked in a sharp breath as he lowered a hand to your clit, “Need you to come first, okay? Then I’m gonna fill your pussy like you need, baby.”

With his thumb on your clit you cooed in ecstasy. You had no idea what you were saying as you felt electricity begin to thrum through your body, winding its way around your ribs and down your spine, and into your tummy where sparks began to turn to fire as he began thrusting into you again.

“Want you to fuck your come deep into my womb. Breed my pussy, sir…” You moaned your words unable to stop it.

Harry grunted and he popped his eyes open to look down at you in shock. He knew you were on birth control and knew it was highly improbable but still, your words had him reeling and feeding his breeding kink, something that had been dormant for many years. You tended to awaken old feelings he once relished in.

And he wasn’t sure if he actually want to get you knocked up but just hearing that fed into something deep and instinctual that had been pushed down. Something primal. You had unleashed a tsunami of emotions and now this?

He began to hammer into you and your legs fell from his shoulders as he fucked himself down into you so hard you saw stars and you gurgled as you came around him, unable to voice your dirty thoughts as your pussy pulsed and squeezed around him.

“Fuck!” Harry barked loudly when he felt you come and he allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy that you’d tapped into, “Gonna knock you up. Fuck you til your all bred and full with my cock and my babies. That what you want? Stuffed full of me in every fucking way?”

Harry throbbed as he finally poured into you, pushing his cock into you as deep as he could manage, balls tucked up against your bum as he whimpered with each tight roll of his hips upward. Imagining his come seeping into you and having it stick. Getting you pregnant. Making you his forever.

He collapsed over you and slid his tongue into your mouth as you brought your arms around his back to keep him close.

Pure hedonistic, rapturous oblivion.

Your heart pounded as he kissed you and you felt him trembling in your arms just as you were in his.

You longed to speak the words you knew you felt but it wasn’t right. You’d want him to say it first. Wanted him to admit it. Wanted him to want you.

But Harry was feeling it all heavy and deeply just the same. His own longing to show you exactly what he felt and that even though he’d play off those words he spoke as he came inside of you, he meant it in a way. He’d love to see you pregnant with his babies. Have you as his own for good. Tell you what he felt deep down.

You smiled into the kiss and Harry pushed himself up to look down at you.

“Just what I needed, Harry. Always know how to make me feel so so good.” You pushed your fingers into his hair and gazed into his pretty eyes and watched as his grin widened.

“Mmm… Ditto. Need you more than just once a week, baby. I did mean that you know.”

You bit your lip and closed your eyes to let that idea sink in a bit. Harry grunted as he moved and you suddenly felt a pinch at the back of your thigh and you laughed, opening your eyes.

“Did you hear me?”

You nodded, “Yes, sir. Three times a week is what you said. That sounds like as close to perfection as I could ask for.”

Harry nudged his nose to yours and let out a soft breath, “Just want more of you, baby.”

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formula-nyoom · 14 days

Text

Rookie Reflections | LS2

Platonic! Logan Sargent x Rookie!Reader

Summary: Being the only new addition to the grid, it may seem intimidating to try and introduce yourself to the other drivers. Logan remembers exactly what it's like to be the new rookie and doesn't want a repeat of what happened to him to happen to anyone else.

A/N: Pronouns weren’t specified so I tried to keep this as gender neutral as possible. I still haven’t decided if I want to write in 2nd or 3rd person, it really depends on the fic/request. Previous reader inserts I have written have been done in 2nd person so I defaulted to that with this fic, but do let me know which one you prefer. Logan, my favorite driver, I’m glad my first request is for him. Also I have no hate towards Daniel, it just made a lot more sense to me for the reader to take his seat.

Silly season didn’t come with a lot of shake ups like people expected it to. The only team to switch up their driver line up for the upcoming season was RB, with Daniel being replaced by the newest Formula 2 champion after not delivering the results Red Bull had wanted from him.

You had met Yuki for the first time during the car launch before pre-season testing, but with all the cameras, interviews, and excitement surrounding the new car launch, you were unable to find the time to properly get to know each other. You had hoped to get a chance to maybe sit down with Yuki and get to know your new teammate, but now in Bahrain with all the drivers in one place it seemed that all of them had already split off into their pre-established friend groups that had been built up over years of racing alongside each other, Yuki included.

That’s the thing with being the only new driver for the season: All the other drivers already knew each other well enough that you felt too intimidated to approach any of them. Going to Formula 2 where you knew almost all the drivers to Formula 1 where you knew no one, it was like being the new kid at school. And that seemed even more evident during the pre-season photoshoot.

Yuki still had some last bits of data to go over with his engineer so you arrived at the photoshoot without your teammate. While you did arrive early, most of the drivers were already there, either talking with each other or members of their team. A few gave you curious glances, maybe an awkward smile or two, but none felt the need to approach. Not wanting to risk bothering anyone, you decided to find a spot secluded from the various groups of people while you waited for either Yuki to show up or for the photoshoot to start. Maybe when the photographer started to position people for the photos, you could possibly strike up a conversation with whoever was placed near you. But for now, you felt content standing off to the side where no one would really approach you. Or so you thought.

Logan had forgotten something in the Williams garage, making him arrive at the photoshoot after Alex. And while he could have walked over to his teammate, who was currently chatting with George, he noticed you standing off to the side. You were away from everyone to where you wouldn’t get in the way as you scrolled through your phone.

Logan knows that move. He did it many times during his rookie season because of how out of place he felt. But he also wasn’t the only rookie during his season, unlike you who was the only new person to the grid. He can probably guess how nervous or out of place you may seem. Logan knows that feeling. He hates that feeling and wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

Maybe that’s why he had decided to approach you. Or maybe it was because he didn’t have anyone else to talk to since Alex was busy talking to George, and Oscar was busy talking to Lando. Either way, he thought it was a good idea to introduce himself.

“Hey,” Logan said, getting your attention. “You’re the new RB driver, right?”

Logan already knew the answer to that question, but he thought that was a better question to ask than pointing out the fact that you’re the new rookie.

“Yea, I am.” You said. Guess you were wrong about people not approaching you as you looked at the man standing before you.

“I’m Logan.” He said, holding out his hand for you to shake. You already knew his name before he introduced himself. Hell, you knew all drivers names on the grid but that was another intimidating reason why you hadn’t tried to approach anyone.

“I’m (Y/N).” You said, shaking Logan’s hand.

“So, are you excited for the upcoming season?” Logan asked.

“Yea. The car seems to be a good contender with the testing we’ve done so far. Hopefully I’ll be able to score some points by the end of the season.”

“What makes you think you won’t get points at the beginning?” Logan asked.

“Well I am the rookie this season. I’m still getting used to the car, it’s a huge difference from the F2 car I was driving last year. Plus everyone else has been racing longer than I have. It's gonna take me a while to catch up.” You explained.

“Oh come on, don’t doubt yourself this early. Trust me, it doesn’t help.” Logan said. You shrugged.

“I guess you’re right. I mean, I’m gonna try my best no matter what, but the highest I can see myself getting for the first race is P15.” You told him.

“That’s a good start. “ Logan said. He smiled and you couldn’t help but smile as well. The two of you ended up talking about what you both did over the winter break and your expectations for the season until the photographer called for the photoshoot to start. You hadn’t even realized Yuki had arrived until the photographer positioned you two next to each other.

“I saw you and Logan talking earlier. I hope it was a good conversation.” He whispered as you waited for the photographer to take a picture.

“He was just introducing himself. We talked about our expectations for the season.” You told him. Yuki smiled a bit.

“Logan’s always been nice. I’m glad you’re getting to know some of the other drivers.”

~~~

“Come on Yuki, pick up!” You mumbled as the call went to voicemail again. After pre-season testing had wrapped up, you had finally managed to get to know Yuki by going out to get dinner together with the rest of the team. He had promised that the two of you would walk together through the paddock on the first day of the season, but after arriving at the entrance you saw no sign of your teammate. And the fact that he wasn’t answering his phone didn’t help either. But looking around towards all the cars pulling in towards the entrance, you did however see Logan arriving.

“Logan!” You quickly walked over to him as he got closer to the entrance.

“Hey. What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be with your team?” He asked, noticing the lack of anyone from RB with you.

“Well me and Yuki were supposed to walk in together, but I can’t find him anywhere and he’s not answering my calls.” You said. You looked past the turnstiles at the entrance to the paddock. “I don’t really want to walk in by myself.”

“Do you want me to walk in with you?” Logan asked. You looked back at him.

“If it’s not too much to ask.” You said. Logan just shook his head and smiled.

“It’s no bother.” He said. He gently ushered you towards the entrance and the two of you walked through. It was an understatement to say that you were nervous to greet the cheering fans that stood by the barriers with things to sign. But knowing that Logan was right next you signing things as well and taking pictures with fans made you less nervous. You even got to take some pictures with him and fans as well.

“If I wore all these friendship bracelets in the car, I think I would add an extra pound.” You joked as the two of you walked past the various team garages.

“Soon you’re gonna end up having a full storage closet at your house just full of stuff that fans have given you.” Logan said. You smiled at that idea.

“Hopefully I won’t develop carpal tunnel from all the stuff I’m gonna have to sign over the year.” Good thing being a Formula 1 driver consists more of driving cars than signing things.”

“You say that now, but just wait until the RB merchandise team sits you down in a room filled with driver cards you have to sign. Your wrist is going to be so sore afterwards.” Logan said. You let out a chuckle.

“(Y/N)!” You turned to see Yuki, coming from the RB hospitality, running over to the two of you. “(Y/N), I’m so sorry. They put me in the press conference at the last minute. I had to come early.” Yuki explained.

“It’s ok Yuki. Logan walked in with me.” You said. You turned back to Logan. “Thank you, by the way. I should probably go see my team.”

“Like I said, it was no bother. I’d be happy to walk the paddock with you anytime.” He said. “I’ll see you two on the track.”

He waved goodbye and then headed to the William’s garage as you headed with Yuki back to the RB hospitality to get ready for the upcoming practice sessions.

~~~

“Ok (Y/N). We’ve been knocked out of Q1. You are P17.” Your race engineer said through the radio as the qualifying session ended and you slowed your car down for a cool down lap.

“Not the result I had hoped for, but it’s something I can improve upon. Did Yuki make it to Q2?” You asked, making your way into the pit lane.

“Yes, Yuki did make it into Q2.” Your engineer said.

“That’s good. Hope he can make it into Q3.” You pulled into your designated pitlane and flipped up your visor to let some air into your helmet as the pit crew pulled your car into the garage.

After changing out of your race suit and fireproofs, you put on a pair of headphones and joined the crew in watching Q2. You were happy to see that Logan made it into Q2 as well, and was secretly hoping he would make it into Q3 along with Yuki. Both of them did good laps during Q2 but Yuki unfortunately was only able to place P11. Logan barely managed to get by into Q3, but couldn’t place any higher and ended up in front of your teammate, placing P10 for tomorrow’s race. After congratulating Yuki on his placement, you left the RB garage to go look for Logan to do the same thing. You didn’t have to look far, as the American driver was exiting the William’s garage as you approached.

“Hey, nice driving today!” You said, giving Logan’s shoulder a congratulatory pat.

“Thanks. I’m shocked I was able to make it into Q3. I thought I was going to get knocked out in Q2, I didn’t expect Lance to get his lap time deleted.” Logan said. “Where’d you place?”

“P17. I wasn’t able to gain enough speed on my last lap to get myself to a higher placement.” You said. “But that’s ok. I just need to overtake the 7 cars in front of me to get to P10 and get into the points. How hard can that be?”

You laughed, your last sentence meaning to be a joke. Logan let out a small chuckle, but he was taking what you said seriously.

“I think you can do it. But only do it after I’ve overtaken a couple cars myself. I’d also like to get some points during the race.” He said.

“Deal!”

~~~

It was officially race day and your nerves seemed to be bouncing as fast as the cars that would be on track soon. You had felt confident throughout the week, being on the track and going over data with the team. But with the race starting in a couple hours, the fact that you were about to debut in your first Formula One race was starting to become very real.

“You squeeze that water bottle any tighter, it’s gonna explode.” You were brought out of your spiraling thoughts by Logan as he approached you from the side. Looking down, you did see that the water bottle you were holding was almost ready to burst from the steel grip you had on it.

“Sorry, I’m just thinking about the race today.” You said, loosening your grip on the bottle.

In a similar scenario to pre-season testing, the two of you were waiting to start the drivers parade.

“It’s ok to be nervous about your first race. Every driver is.” He said.

“What if I crash the car?” You asked. Logan shook his head.

“You won’t.”

“What if I can’t overtake any cars and finish last?”

“You won’t finish last.”

“What if-”

“Hey.” Logan placed his hands on your shoulders and made you look at him. “You’re going to be fine. You drove well during testing and practice. You can overtake the cars in front of you. And even if you finish last, so what? It’s your first race. You’re going to make mistakes and that’s ok.” Logan said. His hands on your shoulder and the speech he just gave you seemed to steel your nervous a bit as you took in what he said.

“Just try to have fun. Can you promise me that?” Logan asked. He held up his pinkie and you almost laughed at the childlike implications. But the serious look on Logan’s face stopped you. You linked your pinkie with his and nodded.

“I promise.”

The two of you ended up staying next to each other during the drivers parade, waving to fans as the truck drove by. Interviews were also happening during the parade, and with you being the new rookie, you had to be interviewed.

“So (Y/N), you're about to make your Formula 1 debut in your first Formula 1 race. How are you feeling?” The interviewer asked.

“I’m both very nervous and very excited. I’m starting at the back of the grid, but I’m gonna try to do my best.” You said.

“I know, with being the newest addition to the grid, you may feel like you stand out. Besides your teammate Yuki, have there been any other drivers that you’ve gotten to know during pre-season testing or this weekend?”.

“Logan actually introduced himself to me during pre-season testing and we’ve gotten to know each other a bit.” You told the interviewer. “It feels a bit intimidating being surrounded by these great drivers that I’ve always hoped to have a chance to drive alongside, so I’m really grateful to Logan for being someone on the grid that I can talk to and get to know, besides Yuki of course.”

“Have you guys talked about anything in particular? Any expectations for your first race?”

“Logan actually gave me a really good pep talk before the drivers parade. It really helped calm my nerves down a bit. I’m gonna take Logan’s advice and try to have fun.” You said with a smile. The interviewer thanked you for your time and moved on to interview a different driver as you made your way back over to Logan. After waving to a bunch of fans, the parade concluded and you and the rest of the drivers got off the truck.

“What are you going to do during this race?” Logan asked you before the two of you departed to get ready for the race.

“Have fun!” You said.

“That’s right.” He gave your shoulder a reassuring pat and left for the William’s garage while you headed back to RB, your nerves seemingly having lessened.

Logan’s pep talk seemed to be exactly what you needed. You ended up finishing the race in P11, just out of the points but only two spots behind Yuki.

“(Y/N) that was a fantastic first race! Well done!” Your engineer's voice came through the radio as you waved while driving around the track.

“Oh my god! Thank you so much! That was so much fun! I couldn’t have done it without you or the team!” You said enthusiastically as you pulled into parc ferme. You sat in the car for a couple seconds, taking in the feeling of making it through your first Formula One race. Then, you took the wheel out and stepped out of the car.

Some of the pit crew workers gave you pats on the back or the shoulder, congratulating you on making it through your first race. As your eyes scanned the pit lane, looking for your team, they landed on the familiar America-decorated helmet of Logan.

“Logan!” You called as you jogged over to him. His eyes lit up at your approach and met you halfway.

“Nice one champ! P11 on debut!” He said, raising his hand for a high five before bringing you in for a brief congratulatory hug.

“I was so close to getting into points but I couldn’t catch up. You drove amazingly though! Congrats on P5!” You told him.

“Hey, don’t put yourself down for being “just” out of the points. Next race, you and I are going to be in the top 10.” He said. “Did you have fun?”

“Yea!” You exclaimed. Both your smiles seemed to grow.

“I told you! Come on, let’s go get weighed and you can tell me everything about the race.” Logan slung his arm over your shoulder as he led you over to the weigh stations.

The two of you spent the rest of the night recounting each of your guys' events of the race, every overtake and every mistake either of you made. Eventually exhaustion started to hit both of you and the two of you decided to head back to your hotel rooms.

“Thank you.” You said to Logan as you stood infront of your room after Logan offered to walk you back.

“For what?” He asked.

“For introducing yourself to me during pre-season testing. I honestly didn’t think I would be able to get to know anyone on the grid this season. All the other drivers seem to know each other really well or are just really intimidating.” You said, fidgeting with your fingers for a bit before looking back up at him “But I’m really glad to say that you're the first friend I’ve made on the grid.”

Logan’s smile seemed to lower and you grew concerned. But he noticed this and quickly change his expression to reassurance.

“I know how hard it is to make friends in this sport and I also know how isolating it can be. I didn’t want what happened in my rookie season to happen to you.” He told you. “I’m glad that you’re my friend too.”

You smiled, touched by what he said and happy that he considered you a friend as well. You held up your pinkie towards him.

“Promise that we’ll both be in the points next race?”

He linked your pinkie with his and matched your smile.

“I promise.”

#formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #logan sargent x reader #platonic grid x reader

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tenseoyong · 2 years

Text

Give It A Try | e. m

Ko-Fi | Masterlist

virgin!reader, sex toys + lube, implied previous drug use, praise, very little verbal dominance, probably over use of “princess”, squirting, some hair pulling

requests are open

“What is it?” You eyed the box nervously.

“Open it, then you’ll know.” Eddie shrugged, sat beside the suspicious package on his bed,relaxed against the mattress while you hovered in the middle of his room. “C’mon, it’s not that bad, princess, I promise.”

It wasn’t exactly uncommon for Eddie to bestow you a gift or two. Though, usually, you could see what was coming your way immediately, it was hardly ever hidden. Like Eddie appearing with an already rolled joint to share “free of charge, for my girl”. Or a set of dice he’d managed to find at the bottom of his drawers to include you in one of his DnD campaigns. Or even showing up with a fist full of flowers he’d obviously ripped from some upper class person’s lawn.

But, the semi-neatly wrapped box was a strange sight. Especially, the pink colored paper and matching bow, that looked so out of place in Eddie’s messy, darker room.

Plus, the mischievous glint in Eddie’s warm eyes made you all the more suspicious.

“C’mere, baby, s’not scary, I swear.” Sensing you weren’t too convinced yet, Eddie threw his ring-clad hand out towards you, for you to take. “We’ll open it together, then, yeah? Don’t you trust me?”

Even though he used a mocking tone, and you knew he wasn’t serious, Eddie questioning your trust in him made your lip quiver ever so slightly; and you placed your hand in his larger, warmer one and allowed him to pull you towards him until you were situated on his lap, sat sideways and faced with the box again.

Of course, you trusted Eddie. With your whole heart, actually. He’d never done a single thing to make your safety with him in the year or so you’d known him, or the barely two months you’d been officially-unofficially seeing each other. He wasn’t at all the scary and intimidating man your peers, friends, and even parents thought Eddie to be. He’d never made fun of you, or teased you anything beyond a light hearted joke between the two of you—he hadn’t even looked down on you or laughed when you shyly admitted to being not only a virgin, but embarrassingly inexperienced—haven’t even had your first kiss prior to Eddie.

How could you not place your trust in him?

In truth, that embarrassing admission had Eddie rather excited. The idea of being your first everything—from kissing, to dates, to anything and everything sexual—had the most degenerate parts of his brain racing. Since then, Eddie has taken great care to be slow in his advances, carefully exposing you to new and intriguing forms of romance all while soaking up every sweet, innocent, virginal reaction you’d given him.

And, he was more than excited to join you on another new experience.

Still hesitant, you eyed Eddie’s failed attempt at hiding his glee and grasped the box, bring it towards you. Curiously, you shook it, hearing its context shuffle around a bit. The sound alone wasn’t enough to make a good guess, but it did have a decent bit of weight, not that that fact helped you either.

“Well, if it had been alive, it’s not now.” Eddie snorted, one hand smoothing over your back patiently, trying to relax you a bit. “Go on, open it.”

The casual change of tone sent a small shiver down your back, no doubt felt by Eddie as his grin grew just a bit—that subtle shift of dominance always rocked you to your core, and now was no different. You bit your lip and shuffled in Eddie’s lap, pinching the soft ribbon between your thumb and pointer finger—and pulled.

The ribbon fell away easily, floating to rest on your lap as you focused on the wrapping paper next. Taking care to not just rip it apart and make a mess, you peeled the tape holding the edges together, fidgeting under Eddie’s intense gaze. Fold by fold, the paper too, fell away, pushed off the side of the bed and forgotten by Eddie while you held the now bare box. Only a cardboard lid separating you, from his present.

You held your breath, and inched the lid off the box, blinking longer than necessary to avoid looking inside.

Eddie pinched your side.

You jolted against him.

Eyes popping open and finally seeing.

Oh.

“What’dya think, princess?” Eddie’s whisper is hot against your ear. Your throat dry, feeling like sand paper as you swallow back a surprised noise. “D’you like it?”

It wasn’t what you expected. Though, how could you have begun to suspect it?

A relatively small, flesh colored dildo sat in the box you clutched like it was your lifeline.

Oh.

“I don't—well, I think—um—it’s, uh, nice?” You stumbled, all while Eddie’s amusement was obvious. Your flushed face, and sudden stutter, unsure how to respond to such a gift, was the highlight of Eddie’s day, let alone week. “Th-thank you, Eddie?”

“You’re welcome, princess.” Eddie hummed against your hair. “Why don’t you take a closer look? Pick it up.”

Fumbling over the command, your shaky hand curled around the cool silicone, dropping the box it once laid in over the side of the bed so it too could join the rest of the chaos of Eddie’s bedroom floor. The toy felt odd, and foreign as you turned it over in your hands, quietly inspecting it—somehow firm and soft at the same time—the rubber only having enough give to squish in a small bit before the firm middle held firm. Mock balls at the base, along with a suction cup bottom. And a bright, nearly cherry red, mushroom tip.

While your focus was on your new and intriguing toy, Eddie supposed this wasn’t far off from torture—watching you experimentally squeezing and caressing the fake cock, all while his own was beginning to stir in his pants. Your weight on his lap didn’t help any, either.

“I want you to do somethin’ for me,” Eddie swallowed, unable to tear his eyes from your hands wrapped around the toy. “D’you think you can do it for me, princess?” “What is it?” You asked, barely above a whisper. Twisting in his lap, you didn’t miss the low hiss Eddie let out when you wiggled around on his crotch. Feeling the growing bulge beneath you had your body warming from head to toe.

“I need you—t’fuck yourself with your new toy.”

Shoving his hands beneath your thighs, Eddie all but folded your knees into your chest as he held you until he could scoot back on his mattress until his back hit the wall, manhandling you until you laid against his chest, legs thrown over either side of Eddie’s lap; your legs spread, skirt doing a terrible job at keeping your decency covered.

Even in the privacy of Eddie’s room, you couldn’t fight the flush in your cheeks and you instinctively went to knock your knees together, pulling at your skirt hem before Eddie gripped your wrist, “Don’t cover yourself, s’ok, baby. Lemme, just, play with you a bit, ok?”

This wasn’t entirely uncharted territory, not anymore.

Eddie was taking his time with you, pacing himself before doing a little more, going a little further each time. Trying to ease his sweet, innocent, virgin princess into his world without scaring or hurting you. It was only a couple weeks ago that he’d decided you were ready for a little over-the-panty touches, guiding you to grind into his denim-covered thigh in the back of his van, and finishing with experimentally sinking two fingers into your warm heat. You’d been startled—and impossible tight—and Eddie took note of the surprised and not at all pleased sound you’d made that day and knew it was going to take a lot of work to get you ready to actually take his cock one day.

So, he’d start again, exactly where he’d left off those weeks ago.

Eddie’s hand dipped below your skirt, hidden from either of yours’ view and seemed to just ghost over your pussy. Tickling you, more than touching, yet you reacted all the same. The soft sign, a small buck of your hips before you settled again. The second stroke, Eddie laid on a more firm touch—the soft fabric of your panties being the only barrier keeping two of Eddie’s fingers from actually plunging into your core—instead making him brush his fingers past your already leaking hole, feeling your plush lips before pressing harshly against your clit.

You jumped, nearly knocking the back of your head into Eddie’s jaw, all while he laughed. “Still so sensitive, aren’t’ya?”

Digging your nails into the rubber still clutched in your hand, you teethed your bottom lip and nodded, “Feels good, Eds...”

“Good, that’s good,” Eddie whispered, voice so much lower and gravely, heavy with lust. He continued stroking your cunt through your panties, savoring every whimper and offering his own quiet groans with each shift of your ass against his cock. “S’good, my good girl, now, I’m gonna take your panties off, ok?”

“Okay, Eds...”

His hands curled around your thighs again, encouraging you to put your feet on his thighs to lift yourself, giving Eddie room to yank your panties down to your knees. You turned to bury your face against Eddie’s warm neck, and gave an embarrassed whimper at how the cotton clung to your wet cunt, having to literally be peeled away.

“Now that’s a sight,” Eddie whistled, “Barely even touched you, an’ you’re fuckin’ soaked.”

“Eddie, don't be mean.”

“Not bein’ mean, princess,” Eddie promised. “It’s a good thing. Gonna make the next step easier.”

You’d need it, anyways, with what Eddie had planned. Although, he did plan for the event you wouldn’t be wet enough, and with one hand he blindly reached for the half used bottle of lube he kept wedged between his mattress and the box spring. With his experience hands, Eddie managed to pop the lid with one hand, while grabbing your wrist, pulling your hand—and the toy—to the side, and more in his view so he could drizzle a generous amount of lube onto the silicon.

“Now, rub it in.” Eddie demanded, releasing your wrist and collecting another glob of lube onto two fingers, that quickly disappeared between your legs again and painting the slippery liquid across your cunt, mixing it with your own arousal. “Get it nice’n’wet for me, princess.”

You obeyed, smoothing your palm from the base to tip of the dildo, slicking up its length.

Eddie thought the way your nose scrunched, displeased with the sticky liquid, was adorable. But you listened to him, regardless. And that, deserved a reward.

With the aid of your arousal and lube mixture, it couldn’t have been easier to slip two fingers into your throbbing core; Eddie waited, not moving an inch when he felt you tense—probably remembering the last time he’d tried fingering you—but with the lube, the slight stretch was barely noticed. With your pleased whimper sounding as loud as his amps as you moaned against his ear, Eddie was more than happy to take that as a sign.

Eddie immediately began curling his fingers, stroking your inner walls while searching for that magic button within you. Enjoying every shriek of pleasure you gave, Eddie huffed a small laugh. thumbing at your clit.

“D-don’t laugh at me...” You whined, teething at the skin of his throat.

“’m not laughing at you, princess, I’m happy,” Eddie swore, feeling your pussy clench around his fingers at your favorite pet name. “Fuck—just happy, you’re doing so well for me—taking my fingers so well. Gonna make you cum, then you’re gonna take that toy just as good as you’re taking me, right, baby?”

Eddie’s voice, rumbling deep in his chest and vibrating against your back. His fingers buried in your cunt, he was ridiculously quick to abuse your g-spot the second he felt the tip of his fingers brushing the soft nerves inside you.

It was all too much, way too fast.

“Oh god—” You breathed out, sloppily trying to thrust your hips in time with his fingers.

Eddie’s lips pressed against your temple, “Feel good, princess? You like my fingers? Hm? Feel me, deep in your sweet, little pussy?”

A strangled moan, and your ass grinding back against his bulge was the only reply you could manage.

“If you like this,” Eddie mused, “Just wait until I’m actually fucking you—I think you’d be dick drunk so quickly—you won’t know what to do when you’re not under me, being stretched open, fucked out...”

It was almost amusing, watching you cum. He’d always figured you’d be a loud, sputtering mess. Eddie was surprised, how quiet it actually was. The only real sign, the way your pussy suddenly tightened, spasming around his fingers while you tossed your head back against his shoulder—a final gasp before your mouth fell open in a silent cry, legs twitching as a fresh gush of liquid met Eddie’s fingers.

Eddie continued to gently finger you through your high. Slowing his pace until you fully relaxed against him; withdrawing his fingers with an audible squelch.

You wrinkled your nose against when Eddie used the same hand covered in lube and your cum to slick your hair back from your sweaty forehead before curling it around your jaw, tilting your face so he could claim your lips. Smothering you in a sloppy, heat filled kiss.

“How d’you feel, princess? Feel as good as you looked?” Eddie panted against your lips, giving your bottom lip a teasing nip. “Looked like somethin’ out a damned porno, pretty little thing...”

“Feels amazing,” Your throat was dry as a desert, all your open mouthed panting didn’t help you any. Regardless, the smile you gave Eddie, could have lit up the night sky as far as he was concerned. “C-can we do it again?”

Eddie snorted.

“Again? Already? I can tell you’re going to be insatiable, but—” Eddie smirked, and smoothed his right hand down your arm until his palm enveloped your hand, that still clutched your new toy so hard your knuckles were turning white. “I think it’s time for this.”

Eddie led both your hands back to your core, and guided you to rub the tip of the dildo against your opening.

You jumped, still so sensitive from recently cuming. Eddie’s left hand curled around your hip, fingers digging into the soft skin.

“Just breathe, princess.” Eddie told you, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your hip as he encouraged you to put a small amount of pressure at the end of the dildo. The mushroom head disappearing between your puffy lips. He wanted for you to suck in a chest full of air, before pressing on.

With some effort, Eddie could quite literally feel the pop! of the head slipping through your tight opening for the first time. Coupled with the sharp cry you gave, your free hand clutching at his arm, Eddie was sure he was close to just busting in his pants.

But tonight wasn’t about him, Eddie had to take care of you first.

“Good girl,” He cooed, “How’s that feel?” “Tight.” You whined, fighting to wiggle against the odd feeling. “I don-I don't know how to say it, just feels...tight.”

“Tight is okay,” Eddie nodded, feeling the shake in your hand and made sure to keep your hold steady, as to not move the toy again before you were ready. “But it doesn't hurt, right?”

You shook your head.

“Good, good, that's what I need’a hear.” Eddie smiled. “D’you think you can take some more for me?”

With another lung full of air, you nodded, “Yeah, I can do it, Eds.”

Eddie continued to guide your hand, feeling your fingers clenching the silicon, digging your nails into it as he eased more of the dildo inside you. Every inch that disappeared inside, Eddie pulled it back out slightly, reciting the rubber in your fluids before easing it further.

Your moans, strained and breathy, filled the air again. Eddie continued to whisper small praises and encouragements in your ear.

Finally, Eddie had the base, and your joined hands, pressed against your core; every inch of the silicon now hidden within you. He let you get used to the feeling, getting accustom to the length splitting you open that, hopefully, would soon be replaced with Eddie’s actual cock.

All of a sudden, Eddie knocked your hand off the dildo and took complete control. No longer trapped, you let yourself reach back, loosely twisting your fingers in Eddie’s wild hair.

Now, Eddie began the real fun. Fully withdrawing the dildo until only the tip was resting inside you, he still so carefully thrusted it back in.

You moaned together—you, at the dildo bottoming out once again, and Eddie, from your fingers twisting in his hair yanking at the pressure in your core.

Your hips rolled experimentally, moving in time with Eddie’s thrusts.

“Just imagine,” Eddie said, “How good it’s going to feel when I’m the one filling this pretty pussy. Warm, soft—not like this cold, hard, rubber—I’ll be the real deal.”

Another yank on his hair had Eddie hissing, softly grinding into your ass as best as he could from his position underneath you. “You like that, right? Want it to be me inside you right now, don’t you? I don’t think you’ll ever use this thing again after me.”

“Please,” You begged, choking on your moan when Eddie started setting a new pace, quickly pulling the dildo from your body only to force it back inside you. You could feel and hear the slap the fake balls made against your weeping core.

“What, princess? Are you close, already?”

“It just—I—it feels s’good—I feel weir—dont stop!”

“I’m not stopping, angel, don’t worry.” Eddie’s grip on your hip tightened, attempting to push and pull your body—desperate for some form of release—he half-rocked you against his bulge while half-pushing your body in time with the dildo pushing back into your aching cunt.

The small amount of pleasure on his hand almost had him rolling his eyes back into his head, but Eddie would rather die than miss any second of this—of you—the way your stomach clenched, Eddie was certain your pussy was doing the same and he yearned to be inside you to feel it instead of this toy.

Eddie wrapped one arm around your waist, trying to stabilize you as your back arched against him. Your hips bucking wildly as a new, blinding heat spread through you as a cord you’d never felt before curled around itself before suddenly snapping—a quite literal flood gate bursting in you.

Collapsing back against Eddie’s chest, your heavy breathing the only thing you could hear over the ringing in your ears as Eddie slowly pulled the soaked toy from your used core, dropping it against his mattress. He instantly missed your quiet whimpers and breathless moans but that was immediately overshadowed, absolute awe painting across his face, “Holy fuck.”

Blinking through the aftershock, you became aware of the mass amount of wetness beneath you.

Your panties, pushed down to your knees, see-through.

Thighs so wet, you looked as if you’d just come from a shower. Eddie’s black pants somehow a shade darker, completely wet from the waist to his knees.

Eddie’s hand literally dripping with your release.

"Jesus, fuck—” Eddie swore. His eyes darted all over—from his fingers, to your fucked out pussy, to you—who had pulled the neckline of your shirt over your chin in an attempt to hide from his eyes. “That was—princess, you just squirted--that-that was so fucking hot.”

“H-hot?” You gasped, looking from your mess to Eddie’s glazed over eyes. “That was hot?”

“Princess, you can’t imagine how hard I am right now.” Eddie sucked in a shaky breath through clenched teeth. “Can’t wait for next time, I’m gonna make you squirt just like that—but on my cock, instead.”

aka how those stains got on his bed

#stranger things #Eddie Munson #stranger things x reader #stranger things scenario #Eddie Munson smut #eddie munson x reader #Eddie Munson scenario #x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month

Text

Follow You Anywhere 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: back again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting 'part 2?' is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You sit at the dining table with your laptop, hiding behind the screen as you try to figure out what to do. How do you get this man to leave? Better, how do you do that without making him angry?

You stare at the unfinished project in front of you. You're not going to get paid for blurry pixels. Work is the least of your worries.

You peek over the top of the laptop and blanch as the subtle movement catches his eye. He grins and sits up, “need something, sweetie?”

“Uh, nope,” you put your eyes down and the screen goes fuzzy.

“Hm,” he hums into a grunt and heaves himself up, “you haven’t made any videos yet. What about your shopping trip huh? You gonna edit some of that.”

“Erm, maybe later, I have work stuff–”

“You know,” he nears and stands across the round table, looming menacingly with his hands on his hips, “you could probably quit all that if you committed to your streams. Lotsa people wanna watch a sweet girl like you.”

“That’s nice but I don’t even have ten followers,” you chuckle.

“Mm, maybe, but… I could help you,” he offers.

“Really, it’s fine,” your voice trembles, “it’s… it’s just a way to get my thoughts out, that's all.”

He clucks and clears his throat, looking around, “well, I guess I’ll go get my stuff.”

“Um, sure,” you look at him again then peek at the keys hung by the door.

He whistles, “Aika, come, you probably needa go.”

The dog rises from beside the couch and follows him to the door. You get up, heart flipping. You need to just lock the door. As long as he doesn’t–

He grabs the keys and shoves them deep in his pocket. He hooks the leash onto Aika’s collar as she stands obediently before him. He grins over at you, “don’t worry, sweetie, won’t be long at all.”

He turns and unlocks the door, swinging it inward as he lets the German shepherd lead the way. You deflate and fall back onto the chair. Holy shoot! What are you going to do? Nothing you can think of makes sense. He doesn’t make sense. It’s as if he really believes you know each other. That this is his home.

You bend over your lap and hold your head, rocking as you let out a drone. The panic is so bad you can’t hold it in. The noise escaping you is inhuman. You know you’re too weak, too afraid to do anything. So what? You’ll just let him take over your home?

You quiet and stay as you are, hunched over your legs. Are you going to let him do whatever he wants? To you?

Your blood runs cold and you sit up slowly. You’re dizzy as the silence rings in your ears. You stare across the room, only able to see a glimpse of the door frame.

You don’t know what you’re going to do.

You’re paralysed. You hardly believe it yourself, you don’t think anyone else will either. The thought of explaining it is embarrassing on its own.

You’re being stupid. You need to tell someone. Anyone.

You hear him before he enters. He opens the door, pausing as he lets Aika off the leash. She sniffs around as the door shuts heavily.

Sy appears, a large bag of kibble balanced on one shoulder as he carries a military duffle in his other hand. He drops the latter and brings the former into the kitchen. You stand, hollow as you make yourself move. You go to the doorway to the kitchen and watch him search your cupboards.

“Ladybird needs a bowl,” he says, “she’s hungry.”

“Oh,” you utter dumbly and blink. You’re stuck where you are.

His cheek dimples and he returns his attention to his search. He takes out the pink plastic bowl you use for salad and he uses a measuring cup to scoop out the kibble. You just watch as he puts it on the floor for Aika as she sits patiently.

He stands and she does too, eagerly scarfing down the food, flicking slobber all over your salad bowl. Sy faces you and you flinch as he comes near, reaching for you. You back away.

“Sweetie?” He says, “what’re you doing?”

“I… I…” you rub your arm, “how long are you planning on… staying?”

He scoffs, “what? Ah, come on, sweetie, you’re funny. “

“I’m… I’m serious,” you quaver, “I didn’t… we just met.”

His face falls and so does your heart. His expression turns dire and he crosses his arms. Aika seems to notice his shift and quits her loud chomping. She raises her nose, letting out a low growl. You gulp. He has that same glint in his eye as in the truck when he nearly rear-ended that other driver.

“Sweetie, I told you, I've been watching you all this time. You know, I was your first follower,” he takes a step closer and you take one back. “I know you.”

“Right, uh,” you push your hands together and bend your fingers back, “I understand, it’s just…” you can hardly breathe, “I guess I misunderstood. Of course you can stay, but… you know, I only bought enough groceries for me and… and it’s a small place.”

He considers you. He runs his hand over his beard and exhales loudly. He drops his other arm and tilts his head side to side, cracking the bones, “so we can get nice and snuggly, sweetheart.”

He nears you again, quickly, before you can elude him. He catches you around the back of the head and urges you close. He leans in and kisses your hairline. You freeze and let him. He purrs before he draws away.

“Right, I’ll get cleaned up,” he lets you go, “you can finish your work or… get cozy.”

You nod and stare past him. Aika once more chews loudly as your eyes settle on her straight back. You’re trapped. Your home is now a prison.

You stay like that until you hear the pipes whine and the shower buzzes to life. You glance over, the bathroom door slightly ajar. Mortified, you retreat to the table and sit behind the computer. You know the excuse won’t hold up much longer but you can at least pretend to be busy.

Aika’s claws tap on the tile as you hear her lay near the door. You can’t even run. His loyal guard dog isn’t just keeping people out, she’s keeping you in.

You put your hands on the laptop as you hear the faucet crank off. The scented steam seeps out and dampens the air with the scent of your strawberries and cream soap. You shudder and minimize and maximize the window.

You listen to him. He opens and closes the cabinet several times as he lingers in the bathroom. The door opens and your ears tinge as you focus on the laptop. He steps out as you swirl your fingers on the touch pad.

“I feel better,” he sighs, “how about you, sweetie? Maybe you should have a nice long bath?”

“I’m good,” you utter dully.

“Hope you don’t mind, I used your hairbrush,” he crosses the room.

“No, it’s f–” your eyes flick up on instinct. You swallow as your eyes round. He has only a towel around his waist, the rest of him brazenly bare. “Fine.”

You rip your gaze away and accidentally exit out of the editing software. You try to wipe the image of him from your mind. His thick muscles, the dark hair across his chest and stomach, and over his thick thighs. There’s little left to the imagination or doubt. The sight of him confirms his unbeatable strength.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“N-nothing,” you insist.

“You’re being all shy. What’s going on, huh?” You shake your head as he comes around the table. He presses the laptop shut until you retract your hands. You sit back and look at your hands. “You’ve been working long enough. Come on, sweetie.”

“I… I have a project to finish–”

“And that’s more important? How long have I waited to be with you? Over there in the sh– in the chaos?” He says, offering his large hand, “I got you something. I wanna show it to you.”

“I…” you rasp and peer up at his face, too afraid to look anywhere else. “Okay.”

You give in. Your surrender. He’s a soldier and he’s won the battle. You take his hand and stand up.

He takes you into the front room and leads you to the couch. He stops you in front of it and gestures you to wait. You do and he disappears around the other side of you.

He returns with his duffle bag and puts it in the chair. He keeps his back to you as he unzips it. You peek up and your eyes cling to the scars along his burly back. Just beneath his shoulder and another along his side. Through the fear, you feel a pang of sympathy for him. He must have been through a lot.

“I bought you something,” he says, “when I was driving up.”

He turns and shows you a dainty piece of fabric hanging from his index fingers. You gape at the pale pink bodysuit; flowers in a darker shade trim the corset and the tops of the cups are subtly scalloped. You love the colours but you would never dare to wear anything like that.

“Uh, wow,” is all you can get out.

“Just you know for a special occasion,” he smiles, “it’ll look real nice on you. It’s your colour.” He steps closer as he holds it out to you, “I showed the lady your picture and she said it would be nice on your skin tone.”

You feel like you’re going to faint. Is he really giving you a piece of lingerie? You take it and examine the thin material.

“Obviously, not tonight since we’re settling in and all that,” he chuckles, “but you know… if you wanted to…”

“I’m… I’m going to put this away,” you croak.

You move past him, slowly as if wading through water. You go to the bedroom and cross to the dresser. You stand before it as you stare at the fabric. Your chest aches as you hold a breath inside.

“Ah, still pretty tidy in here,” Sy comments from behind you.

You pull open the top drawer and hide the bodysuit. A shiver rolls through you as you shut it and turn to the intruder. You watch helplessly as he invades every inch of your life.

“You did such a good job, sweetie,” he praises as he nears the bed and plops his bag on it, “watching you clean… it’s admirable how determined you are.”

He reaches in his bag and takes out a stack of folded clothing. You blink as he strides over to the dresser and pulls open a drawer. You sway as you resist the urge to ask what the heck he’s doing. He makes room beside your clothes and shoves his inside.

As he stands, he adjusts the towel hanging lower on his waist than before. You turn away. As much as you don’t like him touching all your things, his nakedness is even more off putting. Most disturbing is his lack of self-awareness. Frankly, it’s frightening.

He unpacks, bit by bit, and rolls open the closet to put his empty bag inside. He goes back to the dresser to shut the top drawer he left open but his hand curls around the top. He dips inside and lifts out a pair of your panties; the ones speckled with printed on bows.

“I like these,” he says, “they’re cute, like you.”

“Thanks, I…” you murmur. “I…” Your mouth is dry and chalky, “I need some water.”

“Aw, sweetie, you look faint,” he drops the panties and approaches you. “Why don’t you sit down?”

He urges you onto the edge of the bed, his hands on your shoulders. He looks down on you as you tilt your head to peer back at him. He looks so big. He keeps his hands on you, gripping tighter, and for a moment, you’re not sure what he’s going to do and you think he is even less certain.

He pulls his hands away and shakes them out, “I’ll get you some water,” he says, “you had a long day, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hum and lower your chin, your hands shaking in your lap.

You did this. You welcomed this man in. More than letting him drive you home or cross the threshold of your apartment, you put yourself online, exposed yourself to the public. You heard the horror stories before, the true ones, but you just never thought it would happen to you.

#captain syverson #dark captain syverson #dark!captain syverson #captain syverson x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #sandcastle #follow you anywhere

308 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 5 months

Note

hi love! could I request reader having a nightmare and Remus comforting her?

Hi gorgeous, of course you can! Thanks :)

roomate!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

You wake when your own fist hits the window beside your bed.

You’re not sure if it's the feeling of the cold glass hitting your hand, the loud banging sound it makes in your silent flat, or the terror that’s been building as your dream reaches a climax, but you gasp as you wake, flinching away from the window.

For a few moments, you just lie there. Staring into the darkness and listening to the pounding of your heart. You’re okay. You’re in your room, at home. There’s no one here.

Until there is. Remus busts in your door, wild-eyed and rumpled, and you flinch back towards the window you’d been so eager to get away from a few seconds before.

“Shit!” Your eyes fill with tears as your brain plunges from the treacherous peak of adrenaline for the second time in a minute. You squeeze them shut, covering your face with your hands. “I’m so sorry, Remus. I woke you?”

“That was you?” He stops just inside the doorway, fisting a hand in his hair and blowing out a harsh breath. “Christ, I thought someone was breaking in.”

“Sorry,” you say pathetically, sitting up and wiping under your eyes. “I think I was breaking out. I hit the window in my sleep.”

Remus’ eyes flit to the window (you don’t think you came anywhere near damaging it, thank god), before landing back on your face. His eyebrows draw together. “Well, that’s a reaction. Everything okay?”

You swallow. “Yeah, just sorry I woke you. You should go back to sleep.”

“Why are you crying?” He ignores the suggestion and comes to sit on the edge of your bed. You make room for him automatically, drawing your knees to your chest.

“I guess I spooked myself,” you laugh wetly. “It was just a dream, though.”

The space between Remus’ brows puckers. “Bad dream? Must’ve been pretty terrifying for you to jerk your arm like that.” He’s looking at you thoughtfully. “I’ve never known you to do anything like that before.”

You shrug, feeling your face heat from the attention. “Hopefully it’s the only time.”

“Do you think it might help to talk about it?”

“I’ve already forgotten most of it,” you say, but give him a small smile for his efforts. He really is the best roommate you could ask for, kind to a fault. “I woke up pretty freaked, but I’ll get over it. Thanks, though.”

Remus watches you with those warm, caramel eyes of his. You get the impression he’s sizing you up. “Do you think you’ll be able to get back to sleep after that, love?”

You’re sure he’s tacked on the endearment to imbue the question with extra sweetness (as if his voice isn’t enough), wanting to make it clear that either answer is alright. But even Remus’ special brand of tenderness can’t convince you to inconvenience him any more than you already have. Your heart is still half-stuck in your throat, and there’s no way you’re going to let yourself fall back asleep when you’re in this headspace—that’d just be asking for another nightmare. He doesn’t need to worry about that, though.

“Yeah,” you fib. “I’ll be fine, thanks.”

Remus looks dissatisfied, but nods. “Alright.” He reaches up, giving your knee an affectionate squeeze as he stands. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“Sorry again for waking you,” you say, voice pitched high with shame.

“Don’t be,” he says, plodding sleepily out of your room. “It’s no problem.”

You’re positive it was some problem, considering he’d been roused by your noise in the early hours of the morning and come charging into your room looking half-crazed, but you’re done arguing about it. Maybe if you still haven’t fallen asleep by six or seven, you’ll get up early to make him an apology breakfast.

You track the sound of Remus’ quiet footsteps as he goes into his room, waiting for the click of the door closing. A few moments, and it doesn’t come. His footfalls have stopped, until they change direction, shuffling back across the hall.

His head pokes into your room. “You’re not going back to sleep, are you?”

Your shoulders begin to curl towards your ears. “No,” you say in a small voice, “but it doesn’t need to be your problem.”

He gives you a disapproving look. “Would it help to sleep in my room?”

You startle. “I could never ask—”

“You’re not asking,” he says, seeming to have got his answer. “Come on.”

“Remus, thank you, but I can’t stay in your room.”

“Sure you can. My bed’s bigger, and the longer you argue the less time either of us gets to sleep.” He levels you with a hard look, and for a second, your quiet, polite roommate is nearly intimidating. “Come on.”

You comply this time, slipping out from beneath your blankets. “Sorry,” you say, and then, unable to choose, “thank you. You’re seriously too nice.”

“I’m not,” Remus mutters, waiting at the door until he’s sure you’re coming before leading the way into his room. “The problem is that you’re too nice, and so I can’t ignore you when you’re upset like I would anyone else.”

You sincerely doubt that. You’ve seen Remus rush off at the drop of a hat whenever any of his friends needed him. He’ll give every scrap of himself to anyone he cares about, without hesitation.

But instead of that, you say, “I’m not upset.”

“That’s good,” Remus replies, lying down and propping himself up on one elbow. When you hover on the edge, waiting for permission, he gestures to the other side patiently. “It’s alright to still be a bit frightened, though, you know?”

You gnaw on the inside of your lip as you crawl beneath the covers. It feels like such an invasion. “I think it’s more just the aftershocks of fear,” you tell him. “I’m still panicking a bit, but I can’t even remember what about.”

He hums, his watchfulness making you squirm as you lay your cheek on his pillow, facing him. His sheets smell like him, cinnamon and clove and something heady that you’ve never been able to place. “That doesn’t mean the panic isn’t still scary, yeah? How’re you feeling now?”

He asks like he really wants to know, and you believe him. There’s a particular sincerity to Remus. He likes to hide it behind gruffness and feigned insouciance, sometimes for so long that you can trick yourself into thinking you imagined it was there in the first place. He’s not hiding it now.

“Better,” you answer honestly. “Kind of getting tired. Did I startle you awake too badly to sleep?”

The smile he gives you is small for all the fondness it contains. “No, I’m getting tired too. Ready to try sleeping again? If I notice you stirring, I can wake you if you like.”

You feel like you could cry again, but for completely different reasons. “I’d really appreciate that. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” He sets his head on the pillow next to yours, the backs of his knuckles resting gently against the side of your hand. “Goodnight, love.”

You let the weight of your eyelids win, the darkness behind them more welcoming with Remus beside you. “Goodnight.”

You don’t wake again until morning.

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lizard-on-a-window-pane · 19 days

Note

candle light with remus lupin for your eclipse event! maybe something where he's mean but also does good good aftercare? LUV UR WRITIING <3

thank youuu, and thank you for requesting! really hope you like it!!

pairing: Remus Lupin x reader tags / warnings: established relationship, smut (NSFW, MDNI), fluff word count: 3k part of my 1k celebration!

You are exhausted. You’re tense; you’re tired as you come home after what’s felt like a week, not a day. Too much to do, too much pressure, too many decisions. You feel them in your body, weighing you down. The first thing you do as you enter your bedroom you share with Remus is strip down to your knickers. You toss your bra away with perhaps a little bit too much resentment and find your favourite of Remus’s jumpers you like to borrow. It’s too big on either of you.

You head to your kitchen, putting on a record so sad it’s somehow consoling as you do. As you start making yourself a comforting cup of tea, you hear the door behind you.

“Hi, lovely.”

It’s his voice that’s lovely, and just the sound of it has already begun thawing your tension.

“Hey,” you say back as you feel him approach behind you, his arms coming around your middle. They’re warm and firm, and you sink back into his body. You feel him breathe in your hair, kiss the side of your head. “Remus,” you whine into him. He hums into your neck in response, placing a soft kiss there. His squeezes you tightly, his hands bunching up the jumper you’re wearing. “Hmm. Sad music, cosy jumper, earthy tea, whiny voice,” he lists sympathetically. “Someone’s had a long day.”

“You’ve no idea.” His large hands come to your shoulders, kneading deeply. You squirm at the intensity, pain and pleasure dancing inextricably. At a knot a bit too sensitive for his ministrations, you flinch out of his grasp and step back, turning to face him. You expect to be met by his beguiling brown eyes, but they’re look down. His head cocks to the side appreciatively. You realize he’s admiring your bare legs and chuckle. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.” “Doesn’t mean I like it any less,” he retorts, voice gruffer. He looks you up and down with an intensity that dissipates any playfulness in your mood. You realize how badly you want him to take you, to make you leave the day behind you and completely envelop you in the here and now… and the pleasure it could hold.

Remus can’t read your mind, though, and being the doting boyfriend he is, he comes to hold you gently again, stroking your back, trying to comfort you. “Let’s get you relaxed, huh, baby?” he says, kissing your forehead. “Yeah,” you whisper.

“What do you want to do? Want to go straight to bed? Watch something? We could read together? Same book or different, you choose.” He’s already taken over preparing your tea, seemingly completely distracted away from your body.

His suggestions and demeanour make you think maybe he’s not in the mood, Remus never being shy to tell you when he is, so you worry maybe it’s not the best moment to voice your honest desires.

“I don’t know, whatever; you choose.” You sound a bit defeated, and he looks over at you at your tone. “No, you should. I’m happy with anything if it’s good for you, really,” he says as he turns back to the easy work of pouring the hot water. He’s always this sweet, almost always defers to doing whatever you feel like doing.

It’s no fault of his, but your looming tiredness, your sudden heat, it all makes you snappy. “I said I don’t care, Rem. Why do I always have to be the one to choose everything? Sometimes I’m tired, okay? And I already said you can choose.” The mugs are forgotten, his attention fully on you at this. “Woah, what’s up?” He leans back on the counter, arms crossed a bit defensively, but eyes all concern.

“Nothing,” you sigh. “Nothing, I’m sorry.” You turn away and busy yourself with anything you can find, tidying up mindlessly. “Hey, c’mon, love, what’s up?” His voice is slightly harder, and as he asks, he turns you to face him, his hands firmly holding your shoulders. His eyes look searchingly into yours, but your eyes flutter closed at the feeling of his hands on you and the sound of his deep voice. You bite your lip and whimper very very softly.

His hands immediately leave you, and it’s urgent when he rushes out, “Woah, did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to, baby; I just wanted to talk. You alright?”

You nod and whine “Remus” again, stepping toward him and looking into his eyes. You grab his hands in yours and place them back on your body. You bring one to your face and lean into it, put the other on your hip and squeeze your hand over his.

He’s watching you closely, letting you guide him.

His proximity and his touch, even like this, heat you up, and your body pushes you to honesty.

“I don’t want to sleep, or read, or any of that. And I don’t want to choose anything or think about anything else. I want you, Rem. I just want you. Please.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and ever so slowly he starts moving his own hands on you, yours still hovering above them.

His touch makes you melt, and your eyes shut. You exhale loudly as his hand grabs your face a bit harder. His thumb strokes, pushing into the skin of your cheek. You open your eyes and meet his. They’re looking at yours searchingly, but upon seeing the look you’re giving him when they connect with yours, something clicks in Remus. You register it in his eyes as they shift in what seems like one blink from keen observation to piercing intensity.

He pulls your face to his forcefully, devouring your mouth. He’s eating up your immediate whimpers, tilting your head with his hands on either side of your face, pushing your tongue with his and licking into your mouth. You surrender completely and let him guide your ardent kiss.

Soon, his hand juts your head back with no warning, tugging your hair, and his mouth moves from yours to your jaw, kissing sloppily until he reaches your neck, where he plants a cruel bite. You yelp, and he licks over it soothingly, but his voice is rough as he asks, “This what you want?” His mouth sucks your neck harshly, and his hands push under your jumper and grip the flesh of your hips so hard your body sways with his motions.

“Fuuuck, Rem, yes, pleeease.” “Yes what?” he snaps. “Yes, I want this. I want you to touch me like this.”

“Good,” he utters matter-of-factly.

He tugs the jumper over your head and throws it aside then maneuvers your body with his strong hands on your hips.

“Turn around,” he commands. And you do, though his hands flip you without your having much say in it.

His arms wrap around you, and he kneads your breasts roughly. He handles you so harshly that you yelp again in pleasured pain.

Remus presses his body up behind your now almost completely naked one. You feel his breath on your neck and shoulder, and you shiver as sensation shoots down your spine. You’re very pleasantly surprised to also feel his already hard cock on your arse even through his trousers. You push back into it and grind. He groans in reaction then chuckles gruffly into your ear.

“Fuck, you’re desperate, huh?” He squeezes your tits and thrusts his hips. His voice low and ominously even, he tells you, “You know, baby, all you had to do was tell me you wanted me to fuck you.” You whimper; he chuckles again. “Yeah? You want to get fucked, pretty girl?” You nod wordlessly. “I wanted to fuck you as soon as I came in here and saw your gorgeous thighs.” Never breaking contact with your skin, his hands slide down your body and squeeze the outsides of your thighs. Then they cup your arse and squeeze even tighter, jiggling it in his rough grip. “You looked so fucking sexy. But I thought you were tired. Silly me, huh, not realizing how you wanted me to take care of you. This how you want me to take care of you?”

“Yees.” “Hmm.”

Your head is lolled back on his shoulder, but he pushes you suddenly forward. “Bend over.” You do. The kitchen counter is cold on your tits; his hand is hot on your back, pushing you down.

His other hand yanks your knickers down and rubs roughly through your folds. You’re soaked. “Dirty girl,” he chuckles. “Wanting to get fucked this badly.”

Without ado, he pushes two fingers into you. You scream at the breach, at the first hot graze of your inner walls. He rubs them around then curves them toward your sweet spot. His pace is immediately punishing, and it’s not too many thrusts later that he adds a third finger. Your cunt is squelching as his fingers fuck you. His hand on your back moves up toward your neck and massages your shoulder as he holds you in place.

He keeps going, pushing so hard the fronts of your thighs smack the counter with each thrust, so fast that it’s hard to discern the increasing shaking of your thighs from the motions of his hand.

You whine, and turn your face into the counter to quiet it. His hand at your neck yanks your hair to lift your face. “Uh-uh, pretty thing. I’ve had enough of you being quiet tonight. If I’m going to fuck you this good, you’re going to let me hear how I make you feel.” You whimper involuntarily, doing nothing to filter your loud reaction. “Better.”

Your thighs are seriously shaking now, and you’re tightening deliciously. You’re getting close.

His hand stops and pulls out of you, the other also releasing his grip on your hair. Your resulting whine sounds almost like you’re crying.

“Fuck, baby, relax,” Remus laughs. You hear the zipper of his trousers, hear the soft pat of clothes falling to the floor. His foot kicks yours into a wider stance suddenly. Then you feel his hard cock prodding at your warm, wet entrance. One of his hands grips your hip harshly as he guides himself in. He’s slightly slower as he does, but he pushes all the way in without stopping. When he’s completely inside you, you whimper again at the fullness and barely hear him whisper “fuck.”

Just a second later, he’s thrusting; a few seconds later, it’s already rocking your entire body from the intensity. His grip tightens, and you know you’ll admire a bruise there tomorrow. His other hand grabs your shoulder for better leverage as he pistons in and out of you.

You’d already been so close that at the fucking he’s giving you, you feel close to the brink before even adjusting entirely to the position. Your hands flat on the counter, uselessly attempting to grip something, give you some stability as your body spasms jarringly.

“Fuck, already?” Remus pants. His tone seems sincerely surprised, not teasingly so.

He moves his hand to your other hip, vice-like grip pulling your arse onto his body in time with each fast, forward thrust of his hips.

He’s the one to moan loudly this time as your walls clench him. His prolonged moan sounds like it’s strangled in his throat as you clench again and again, but though it’s clearly wrecking him, the only effect on his pace is its increased brutality.

You start cumming in earnest, crying through it, shaking hard. Remus fucks you through most of it, but toward the very end, you feel him pull all the way out quickly, the absence jarring and gaping. His fingers pick up what his cock was just doing, and the sudden re-intensity gives you a second peak. He keeps going until your clenching cunt has mostly relaxed then slowly removes his fingers.

Your body feels heavy and limp, its only movement the harsh up and down of your heavy panting. When Remus’s hands maneuver you to lift your torso and turn you around, you’re very little help. You feel unstable on your legs, but Remus safely holds you up. “Why’d you —” you start, your voice an exhausted whisper.

“Shut up,” he says, words hard, tone soft. He’s panting too, looking sweaty and spent. “Jump.” You’re confused, but your body heeds his command as his hands lift your arse up till you’re sitting on the counter. His hands grab the backs of your thighs and lift them up and out. You fall back slightly at the shift and end up resting on your forearms looking up at him. You rest your foot on the counter when his hand drops your leg so he can use it to guide himself back inside you.

He slips in easily but takes a moment to settle once he does. His eyes closed, chin lifted, chest rising and falling heavily. He looks so beautiful.

When he’s gathered himself, he shifts as close to you as he can and guides you up toward him too. Your legs wrap around his waist, your arms support you as you hold on to the counter’s edge. His support you, too, wrapped around your waist.

His forehead comes to yours, and he kisses you sloppily as his hips start thrusting again, more slowly this time. One arm still anchoring you, his other hand comes to your face, holding it as he keeps kissing you. His breathing picks up again as his hips do.

Face still close to yours, he confesses, “I know you wanted it rough, but I really felt like looking at you when I came this time.” “Fuck, Rem.” You kiss him hard and clench him harder. He groans and picks up his pace, clearly getting tired but chasing an approaching high.

His hand slips between your bodies, pushing you the slightest angle away from him so he can rub at your clit. Your cunt spasms at the sensation, and you hear his breath catch.

He presses harder, establishes a rhythm, gradually making it faster. You’re close again at his adept touch, and you chant his name desperately as you shake your hips and push over your edge. His strangled moan tells you he’s cumming before the feel of it between your legs does, his dark, aching eyes on you the whole time. Once he starts slowing down, you wrap your arms tightly around him and nestle into his neck. He kisses you everywhere he can reach: your cheek, your neck, your shoulder.

When he pulls apart from you, you shiver. You’re covered in sweat, and as he pulls his softening cock out of you, the wetness there is even worse. You wrap your arms around yourself and clench your thighs together.

“Here, baby,” Remus says, running for a clean towel, dampening it before standing in front of you again. Very gently, he pushes your thighs apart again, stroking one soothingly as he cleans between your legs. When he’s done, he wraps you in a hug to bring you down off the counter, supporting you while you find you balance after your legs being rendered jelly.

“C’mere.” He holds you as he walks you to your bedroom. “You want to shower?” “‘M too tired. Can I shower in the morning?” “‘Course, lovely. Whatever you want.” “Ugh.” “What is it?” “I need to pee.” Remus giggles at you as he guides you toward the bathroom instead of the bed.

“I can’t pee with you staring at me like that,” you complain when he just leans on the sink as you try to go. “I’m not staring; I’m admiring.” “Ok, I can’t pee with you admiring me like that.” He laughs again and turns around dramatically. He takes the opportunity to clean himself up.

You do what you need to do but stay sitting on the toilet even after you’ve finished, feeling too tired to get up. Remus dampens your hand towel and squats in front of you. He dabs at your face gently, freshening it up. You close your eyes at the soothing sensations of being cleaner and of being doted on. When he’s done your whole face and neck, he pecks your nose before getting up. “You planning on sleeping here or what?” he teases. “‘M tired,” you moan. “C’mon, lovely girl,” he chuckles, yanking you up. You finish cleaning up then follow him to bed, plopping down onto it. He hasn’t stopped giggling at your antics. “Want clothes?” “Just knickers please.” He tosses you a clean pair, slips into his own pants, then falls into bed with you. He shifts your body into a reasonable position and pulls the covers over you. Resting on his side, propped up on his elbow, his other hand starts stroking your bare skin lovingly. “You okay, sweet girl?” “Hmmm.” He kisses your forehead. “I know you’re sleepy, but just tell me if you’re okay. Nothing hurts or anything?” “No, Rem, I feel great.” You smile up at him without opening your eyes. You can’t see him looking down at you like you’re the most precious person in the world. To him, you are. “’S like my whole body is sinking and floating at the same time.” He chuckles adoringly and kisses you again, cuddling up beside you. “Good.” “Hmm.” You’re sinking into sleep but whisper giddily, “Thanks for fucking me.” He barks a full laugh. As it quiets to back to his giggle, he brings his face to yours. He nuzzles your nose with his and kisses your cheek. “Always happy to take care of my girl.” He kisses you again. “It was fun. Good for you? What you wanted?” “Mmhmm,” you nod. “Just what I wanted.” You use what little energy you have left to shift closer to him. “Now I want your cuddles.” “Always happy to take care of my girl,” he says again, more softly this time, as he wraps his arms around you snugly and kisses your forehead.

You settle into each other, and the rise and fall of his breathing, the graze of his petting fingertips are the last things you feel as you drift into sleep.

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #remus lupin x you #remus x you #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin smut #remus lupin fluff #marauders #marauder x reader #marauders fanfic #harry potter fanfic #ria1k

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tomriddleslove · 3 months

Text

For the best.

✩Theodore Nott x Reader P2

Summary: The one where Theodore’s decision was clear, and he had to do the thing that pained him the most, to keep you safe. Alternatively: Theodore has to grapple with losing you to save you. If only it were that simple.

A/N: P2 of the Theo request ‘ I’m here’ ! I hope you enjoy it because its angst and more angst! Proof read like once but if there are any mistakes i’ll correct them over due course 😭😭

The human intuition is a remarkable thing.

Despite the countless mathematical proofs, scientific findings and books upon books of logic and reasoning, intuition formed the basis of most things. Even the most foolproof of arguments in philosophy can be countered by human intuition.

With it being such a powerful thing, it would be foolish to ignore it.

But the day after your run-in with Theodore’s father, when you had woken up to an empty bed, your intuition screamed at you.

Something isn’t right.

You, rather stupidly, had chosen to pay it no mind. After all, it was Theodore you were talking about. The same boy who would cling to you and refuse to let go after the Holidays. He wouldn’t have any ill intentions, surely.

That was what you had thought 5 days ago.

5 days of not seeing or hearing from Theodore.

He had cleverly managed to avoid you in the school halls, and due to your conflicting lessons, you never saw him in Class either. You had checked the room of requirement, the library, and the hidden alcove between the divination tower and the hospital wing. You had even ventured onto the quidditch pitch during the matches in search of him but were met with a replacement chaser instead. When you had questioned the captain about Theodore's absence, he had merely shrugged and told you he simply stopped turning up.

Your initial thought was fear. Perhaps his father had taken it out on Theodore anyway. What if Theodore was hurt, or injured?

Your worry sept into your nights, now restless and in distress. You couldn’t bear laying in the bed you had shared with him mere days ago when you had absolutely no idea where he was. Fear gnawed at your insides from the moment the sun rose till the final rays of sunshine escaped the now bleak horizon, and Theodore was still nowhere to be seen.

You had rather bravely cornered his friends on the second day, stopping the platinum-haired boy in his tracks as you spoke.

“Malfoy. Have you seen Theodore anywhere?”

“And why on earth should I know where he is?” He responds, rather sassily as he eyes you, disdain evident on his face.

The anxiety that you felt in Theodore's absence overpowered the hate you had for his friend's obvious prejudice towards you, and you let out a sigh of exasperation as you stormed off. It had seemed as though everyone else had been seeing Theodore regularly, aside from you. You couldn’t fathom why you couldn't see him if everyone else said they did and why he hadn't sought you out in that period.

In pursuit of Theodore, you had completely forgotten about your own most basic needs, neglecting your sleep, amongst many other things.

Perhaps the first indicator that Theodore was very much still here, was when you were sitting in the common room, 4 days after he seemed to have simply vanished.

A girl with sleek black hair cut into a bob with thick bangs, one who you knew was part of Theodore’s friend group, had come up to you.

Pansy Parkinson - rather well known for her gossiping habits and association with some of the most popular Slytherin boys.

You had never really spoken to her before, but you had heard far and wide about her beliefs in pureblood supremacy. Simply put, a person like her would not associate with someone like you.

You look up in confusion as she approaches, and she eyes you for a second. She tosses something onto your lap, and you look down, the confusion etched further into your features when you see it's a sandwich, wrapped up in clingfilm. You look up at her and she speaks as though it pains her to say so.

“You haven’t eaten.” She says, before turning to walk away. You go to protest, but your stomach rumbles and you quickly realise you indeed hadn't eaten, and you were quite hungry.

You can't comprehend why someone like Pansy would have noticed that, let alone bothered to give you something, and your eyes linger on her retreating figure as you slowly unwrap the sandwich and take a bite.

“She had some,” Pansy says as she exits the common room, and Theodore lets out a sigh of relief.

“You can't run from her forever, Theodore. You’d have done well to listen to us when we told you it couldn’t ever possibly work out, with someone of such high status as yourself. You have me almost pitying the poor thing.” Panys mocks condescendingly, before waking off. Theodore lets out a sigh of frustration, rubbing a hand over his face. He catches a small glimpse of you sitting on the sofa, looking oh so tired as you sit alone, mindlessly chewing on the sandwich as you stare off into the fireplace. He yearns to reach out and unfurrow your brows, to kiss your cheek and draw you in. But he yearns even more to keep you safe.

Muttering a disillusionment charm, he slips through into the common room as someone else exits, and makes his way up to his dorm. He has to refrain from going to you, and he knows what he’s doing is for the best. He knows he can’t do this forever, and at some point, he’ll have to stop evading you. From then, he’d have to start ignoring you, treating you badly in the hopes you’d no longer want to associate with him. It would kill him to have to do so, but knowing he could guarantee your safety if he did, he was willing to pay the price.

He can only pray you’ll understand.

It came 2 weeks later when you were walking down the corridor on your way to Arithmancy. You had been navigating through the crowded hallways when a glimpse of a familiar head of hair had you whipping your head back. Sure enough, walking amongst his friends, was Theodore.

A mixture of relief, happiness, anger, and confusion all wash over you as you begin pushing through the crowd.

“Theo. Theo!” You call out, shouting the boy's name.

He turns around, looking over as he spots you. A glimpse of an unreadable emotion flashes in his eyes for a second, before his gaze hardens. His jaw clenches ever so slightly, and you notice - of course you notice. He looks away and walks straight past you.

You stand there, frozen. Your jaw twitches with a mix of frustration and hurt. How could he just walk past you like that? After two weeks of worry and sleepless nights, he acts as though you're a complete stranger.

Anger bubbles up within you, fueled by the rejection and confusion. You want to chase after him, demand an explanation for his disappearance and his cold behaviour. Unease and fear bubbling inside you, you clutch your bag ever so slightly tighter as you make your way back to your lesson.

You have no focus throughout your lesson, staring down at your paper as you grit your teeth. Was it because his Father found out? Were you really just a passing fancy to Theodore? All those tender words, his acts of love. Was it simply an act of rebellion from him?

Insecurity and doubts gnaw at you throughout the lesson, rendering you unable to focus or engage. You're so in your own head, that you don't even realise that the lesson is over till the sound of students packing up rouses you from your mental path of self-destruction. You hastily cram your belongings back into your bag and with a steely resolve, head straight for the common room.

Perhaps to your luck or dismay, Theodore is sitting there, nestled amongst his group of friends.

The familiar warmth of the common room feels suffocating as you draw nearer, your heart pounding in your chest with each step.

"Theodore," you say, your voice trembling slightly despite your efforts to appear composed. "We need to talk."

The group falls silent amidst your arrival, and Theodore looks up at you, his expression unreadable as he takes in your presence.

"I don't see why we would need to do that," he replies coolly, a hint of arrogance colouring his tone.

Confusion swirls within you like a tempest, mingling with the hurt and anger bubbling just beneath the surface. "What do you mean, we don't need to talk?" you demand, your voice rising with each word. "You disappeared for two weeks without a word, and now you act as though nothing's happened. Do you have any idea what that did to me?"

Theodore's friends exchange knowing glances, their smirks filled with thinly veiled amusement.

Theodore's jaw tightens, and for a moment, you catch a glimpse of something resembling remorse flicker in his eyes. But it's quickly replaced by a mask of indifference as he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms defiantly.

"Why should I care about your feelings?" he retorts, his voice dripping with condescension. "You're nothing to me."

His words hit you like a physical blow, and for a moment, you're rendered speechless, the sheer audacity of his cruelty leaving you reeling.

"How dare you?" you seethe, your voice trembling with righteous indignation. "After everything? Was I just a way for you to rebel against your father? A little fling?” You snap, tears in your eyes as you stare down at him. He swallows harshly, but he doesn’t say a word, looking up at you.

“Fuck you.” You spit, unable to say anything else. The hurt weighs heavy on you, lodging your words in your throat. It all of a sudden feels harder to breathe, and you're sure the room is spinning.

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you turn on your heel and storm away, refusing to give Theodore the satisfaction of seeing your pain. Behind you, you can hear the hushed whispers of his friends, their laughter echoing in the air like a cruel taunt.

You slam the door to your dorm room, slumping against it as you dissolve into tears. Your body heaves as you sob, and your throat feels raw.

Mattheo’s eyes linger on the spot where you once stood, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he breaks the awkward silence that had fallen over the rest of the group amidst your departure.

“Reckon that was a bit harsh,” He says, a hint of amusement lacing his voice as Pansy snorts.

“Well, I don't know what else he expected. It’s for the best he got over this silly little relationship and focused on the fact that they’re due to be here any day now. Someone like Theodore should not be wasting his time on someone as insignificant.” Draco drawls, feet lazily propped up on the coffee table in front of them.

Theodore pushes up, tossing his book onto the table with force. The group all look up at him suddenly, and the anger is evident on his face as he stares at Draco for a second.

“Speak another word about her, and I’ll rip your tongue out.” Theodore threatens, his voice strained. He grabs his bag and shoves past Blaise, who’s leaning against one of the armchairs as he makes his way up to his dorm.

He wants to chase after you, to apologize and beg for your forgiveness. But he knows that doing so would only put you in more danger, and he can't bear the thought of causing you any more pain than he already has.

Hours pass in a blur of restless pacing and tormented thoughts. Theodore tries to distract himself with his studies, but his mind keeps wandering back to you, to the hurt and confusion etched on your face as you confronted him in the common room. Every time the image of your tear-filled eyes pops up in his mind, he has to clutch at his chest, willing to find a way to remove the physical ache that plagues him.

It's a few hours later when the sound of muffled screams and shouts rouse him from his inwards spiral. He frowns in confusion, straining as he wonders whether he is imagining it. He was met with silence and assumed that the emotional and physical toll that the past few days had taken on him meant he was simply imagining things.

A few minutes pass, and he hears it again.

A loud boom, followed by more screams.

No, he’s definitely not imagining it. He gets up, but just as he does so, Pansy bursts into the room, her eyes wide with excitement.

"They're here," she gasps, her voice filled with a sick exhilaration. "The Death Eaters are in Hogwarts."

Theodore's blood runs cold at her words, his heart pounding in his chest with a mixture of dread and apprehension. He knows what this means, and knows that he's expected to join them, to fight alongside his father and his allies.

But more than anything, he's filled with a paralyzing fear for you. His father now knows who you are, knows that you’re a Muggle, and Theodore knows that he’ll harm you if he’s to see you.

Theodore fumbles for his wand, clutching it tightly in his hand as he slips on his shoes, following Pansy. As he steps out of the now abandoned common room, the smell of smoke and the sound of frantic footsteps echo through the corridors. Panic grips the school as students and teachers alike scramble to find safety amidst the chaos.

Blaise and Mattheo run over to Pansy and Theodore, panting as they regroup.

“Draco is round by the bell towers. The fighting is heavy there.” Blaise says, but Theodore couldn't give two fucks, for his mind was consumed with worries about your safety.

Theodore knew you extremely well, and it's as if he knew you’d be in the midst of it all, trying desperately hard to fight amongst your peers against the very people Theodore was meant to be allied with. The image of his father spotting you enters his mind again and he clenches his jaw, ready to go. He looks over at Mattheo, who's unusually quiet. He's sure the unease on his face is mirrored on his own, and it seems as though they're the only two worried about this.

Despite his flaws, Theodore empathizes with the boy, who arguably would be expected to do the most. As the son of the dark lord himself, who else would be expected to fight first if not him?

Theodore squeezes his arm comfortingly, urging him to get his head back in the game and go.

“We have to. Firm it.” Theodore mutters to Mattheo, who looks up at him and nods reluctantly. The group begun running over to the bell tower, the acrid smoke stinging their eyes and the distant sounds of spells and screams growing louder with each step.

Approaching the midst of it all, they’re charmed with disguisement charms ensuring no one would notice them. Flashes of green and red bounce off the walls, crackling as students and teachers alike fight back.

Though he dares not admit it, Theodore cannot help but find relief in spitting a significantly larger number of death eater bodies knocked out on the floor. He ignores his insides churning at the prospect of having to fight his classmates. Blaise, Pansy and Mattheo seem to throw themselves straight into the fight, slinging curses left right and centre. Theodore ducks and dodges, weaving through the area as he searches for one person.

You.

He stumbles as a curse skims him, sending a searing pain across his upper arm. He whirls around, brandishing his wand with unforgiving anger as he sends the person who delivered the curse flying into the wall. How dare they hinder his pursuit of you?

Theodore would kill if it meant he could find you.

But he didn’t have to look any further.

Wincing as he grasps his injured arm, his head whips up when he hears an all too familiar voice.

“Confringo!” You gasp, sending a curse hurtling towards a cloaked figure, who’s bounded back.

Theodore shields himself from the sudden influx of heat, momentarily blinded by the orange flames as he spots you. You turn around, shielding a quaking first-year student as you single-handedly fend back a death eater.

“Go!” You shout, pushing the child to one of the teachers as you fight alongside a few others.

“You!” Another voice calls out, and Theodore is sure that he is dreaming, he has to be dreaming, for there is no possible way his very worst fears could have been confirmed so cruelly.

The person who stands in front of you is none other than his father.

“I was hoping I would have found you.” Theodore's father says, a cruel smirk twisting his lips as he advances towards you, his wand raised threateningly. Theodore's heart lurches in his chest at the sight of his father's malevolent grin, his worst nightmares unfolding before his very eyes.

"No!" Theodore cries out, his voice hoarse with desperation as he moves to go to you. But as he does, he slams back, an arm wrapping around him as they hold him back.

“We need to go.” Draco grits out, pulling him back. Theodore struggles against Draco's grip, his heart pounding in his chest with a mixture of fear and rage. He knows what his father is capable of, knows the danger you're in if he gets his hands on you.

But Draco holds him back, his grip like iron as he tries to drag Theodore away from the impending confrontation. "We have to go, Theodore," Draco urges, his voice tinged with urgency. "We can't stay here. It's not safe."

But Theodore refuses to listen, his eyes locked on you as his father closes in, his wand raised to strike.

"Let me go!" Theodore shouts, his voice cracking with emotion as he struggles against Draco's hold. "[name], please!" He shouts, in despair as he sees you cornered, wand knocked out of your hand.

Draco's grip tightens, his expression torn between concern and frustration as he tries to reason with Theodore. "You can't help her if you're captured," he insists, his voice strained with urgency. "We have to get out of here. Now!"

But Theodore can't tear his eyes away from you, from the danger that looms ever closer with each passing second. He knows he should listen to Draco, and knows that staying here will only put you both in more danger. But the thought of leaving you behind, of abandoning you to face his father alone, is more than he can bear.

As his father draws closer, Theodore's resolve hardens, his determination burning brighter than ever.

“Your wand, Malfoy!” You shout, and Draco looks at you with confusion, his grip around Theodore still tight as he desperately tries to pull Theodore back.

“Give me your fucking wand!” You shout amidst the chaos, and Theodore is struggling to break free.

‘She's going to make it. She just needs a wand’

“Give her the wand!” Theodore snaps, still straining against Draco's hold as Draco tosses the wand over to you, the wooden thing clattering against the floor. Amidst the shouting, the explosions, and the screaming, Theodore aches as he hears you so clearly. You reach for Draco’s wand, and instead of using it to defend yourself, you turn to Theodore and Draco.

With one final, desperate struggle, he breaks free from Draco's grasp, his heart pounding in his chest as he charges towards you, his wand raised to defend you at all costs.

His eyes lock with yours, and a horrible feeling of dread settles in his gut, somehow feeling as though he's stuck in this position for years when it's only been a matter of seconds.

You knew the consequences Theodore would face if he were to get involved.

It was clear.

It was stupidly, and utterly clear.

You berated yourself for not having recognised it earlier. Perhaps then, you would have been able to savour what little time you had left with him. The way he disappeared, became a stranger. It wasn’t because he hated you. No, rather it was the exact opposite.

He loved you so much, he had to leave you. He would happily live with you hating him forever if it meant you would be safe.

Your eyes lock with his, and he can't breathe.

Don’t be brave. Don’t be the hero. Be selfish, he pleads

“I'm so sorry.” You mouth, and he takes a step forward, reaching out to you. You keep the wand pointed in his direction, and a sudden blast of magic sends him reeling backwards, his vision swimming as he crashes to the ground in a daze. He tries to shake off the disorientation, to push himself back to his feet and come to your aid, but his limbs feel like lead, his body refusing to obey his commands.

As he watches helplessly from the ground, his father draws closer to you, his wand raised high as he prepares to strike. Theodore's heart clenches with a sickening dread as he is simply left helpless, unable to say anything as he watches his father grasp a fistful of your hair, dragging you up.

He chokes out a strained plea as Draco hoists him up, limp body resting against him as Draco supports most of his weight, leading him away. He can do nothing but watch in utter anguish as his father, the embodiment of all his nightmares, seizes you in his grasp. The sight of your struggle only serves to deepen his agony, for he knows the danger you're in, the cruelty you'll face at his father's hands.

Every fibre of his being screams for him to break free, to rush to your aid, to shield you from harm. But his limbs remain frozen, his body unresponsive to his desperate pleas. It's as if he's trapped in a nightmare, forced to witness the person he loves most being torn away from him by the very embodiment of evil.

Theodore's heart clenches with a sickening dread as his father's cruel laughter fills the air, the sound like a knife twisting in his chest. He wants to scream, to lash out at his father with all the fury and rage burning inside him. But he's powerless to do anything but watch. As his father drags you away, your cries echoing in his ears like a haunting refrain, Theodore feels a crushing weight settle over him. He's failed you, utterly and completely, his inability to protect you is a bitter reminder of his inadequacy.

Theodore fights to keep his eyes open, in fear that by some miracle he’ll be able to open them and save you. But as darkness consumes his visions, the harrowing sounds of your sobs echo in his mind, and the bruises and scars are nothing compared to the dread and fear that fills him.

His eyes shut, and the thought of your suffering has him praying he won't have to open them again.

@mildlyuninformative @chgrch @gillyweeds @anti-hero03 @schaebickel @lillywildly @multifandom-worlds @batmandabest @always-reading

#slytherin #slytherin boys #tom riddle #harry potter #draco malfoy #lorenzo berkshire #slytherin boys fic #theodore nott #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott angst #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fic

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candyk0rn · 22 days

Note

Hey, can I request a break up with Nanami, Gojo, and Geto? I'm in a mood for angst :')

⚘Breakup⚘

Woah okay first time I’ve ever written smth like this so I’m excited! Thanks for the ask, have a good day/night!

Warnings: ummm breaking up with someone is sad y’all

Included: Nanami Kento, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru

G.Satoru:

Fights or arguments don’t really happen with Gojo

Because he doesn’t let them happen

When things get even the slightest bit heated, he avoids them

He erases them with clinginess and jokes, always brushing it off when he should definitely be serious

And this is one of many things that drew your relationship to its inevitable end

Not only was it his lack of ability to read the room, but also his dangerous job

With the privilege of being considered the ‘strongest’, that means the strongest enemies are after him as well

You cannot begin to count the amount of times he said he’d leave for a three day mission, only to be gone for an entire week with no further communication

There’s a large risk at hand with being even so much as associated with Gojo

Let alone being his romantic partner

A certain bounty has been placed on your head too, you’re sure.

And that is just dusting against the surface of the cracks that eventually took control of your relationship

And to be honest, he doesn’t take the break up that serious either

Not until you stop returning your calls and haven’t come home for a few hours

Maybe it’ll make him realize, but who knows?

N.Kento:

Nanami is tricker than Gojo.

But in some regards, I believe he’s very similar

For Nanami is perceived, at least, to be a ‘simple’ man

For someone who hates work, who would much rather go on a long vacation,

He takes his occupation extremely seriously

Both his normal income job and his sorcerer work

And sometimes you truly felt he held his job before you, his partner

And sometimes, he would openly admit to taking priority elsewhere than with you

Which, in some cases understandable, still hurts

One time, later in your relationship, he has forgotten your anniversary

Well, he hadn’t forgotten it fully

But he didn’t celebrate in anyway, needing his hours at work

Nor did he intend to celebrate in anyway, even though much earlier to the date you told him you would like to

Unlike Gojo, the breakup is rather smooth

He simply and utterly refuses to leave on a bad note

And he will not only leave in good terms, but he wants to leave respectfully

But he will be in shock for a very long time afterwards

And he doubts the feeling of deep regret will leave anytime soon…

G.Suguru:

I don’t think people really recognize how others are affected when someone begins to spiral

Not only is the person who is going through the hard time hurting and being drained, the person helping is drained too

And unfortunately, this is what happened to yours and Geto’s relationship

Seeing someone you care for so deeply begin this downward trajectory is hard

And you swore to be by his side through it all..

Until he began to do some things you didn’t exactly approve of

Once the count of dead began rising by his hand, you found yourself losing sympathy bit by bit

It’s a hard pill to swallow, it’s a difficult thing to accept

And it’s an even worse thing to end

To hang on to the hope that the old Suguru is simply trapped behind a mask of pain would be futile

It’s either accept unfortunate route his travelled down, or follow in your own beliefs

And even though you once thought you could help him wash his hands clean of blood,

There will always be a spot left unattended

And spots only grow until you no longer see skin

Only red.

He doesn’t actually believe you at first when you bring up leaving him

In fact, he says to your face he doesn’t believe you

Like Gojo, he assumes that after you calm down you’ll be running back to him

But you don’t

And there’s very few times he’s felt regret.

He has done everything in his power to make sure the word isn’t even in his vocabulary

But there’s that sting in his heart and that dizziness in his head

That can only be described as loss.

Thanks for reading!

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #nanami kento #nanami x reader #angst #geto suguru #getou suguru x reader #x reader #fanfic #fyp #headcanons #x y/n #for you page

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 8 months

Text

Sick Day

Sam and Dean Winchester x little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous (I tweaked it just a little)

Synopsis: you get sick, but you hide it from your brothers, which leads to some consequences.

You awoke to a sharp pain pulsating behind your eyes and a knot in your stomach. You pushed your blanket off, cringing when you brushed your hair back and felt your sweat-soaked face. You sat up slowly, which made your head spin and your stomach lurch before you managed a few deep breaths and some stability returned.

Your brothers were gone, probably out getting some food to bring back before the three of you left for another hunt. You got to unsteady feet, determined to take a cold shower to bring your temperature down before the boys came back.

You tried, you really did. But when the freezing water bit into your skin, you couldn’t resist grabbing at the temperature valve and turning it up.

You knew it wouldn’t help your fever, but you were shivering so bad that you couldn’t help it.

When your brothers returned you had gotten ready for the day, hoping that you didn’t look as sick as you felt as you put on your comfiest clothes.

“You ready to go?” Dean snatched up his duffel, glancing around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.

“You bet,” you jumped up, instantly regretting it when your knees almost gave out, your head pounding as your stomach twisted.

“You good?” Sam seemed to sense something was off, but his casual tone kept you from being too nervous.

“Yeah, why?”

“No reason,” he shrugged. “C’mon, let’s hit the road.”

…

You tried to nap in the back seat, hoping some sleep would bring your fever down, but it was pointless. You couldn’t get comfortable, everything felt achy, you were either too hot or shivering, and Dean’s freaking music was too loud.

“Kid, you ok back there?”

You sat up finally, giving up on your failed sleep as you answered Sam.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Ok, well we’re pulling over to get some food.”

You hid your cringe as you settled down in your seat.

“I’m not hungry, I think I’m gonna just stay in here.”

“Don’t be silly,” Dean piped up. “You haven’t eaten all day, and you should stretch your legs. Come on.”

Knowing any further resistance would raise their suspicions, you wearily followed your brothers into the fast food place.

You managed to choke down half of the least greasy thing you could find—a chicken sandwich—and you found that the fries almost sit alright with your stomach, so you ate most of those.

“Not hungry?” Dean questioned, and you shook your head. You cringed when he reached over and finished the rest of your sandwich in two enormous bites. “Alright, let’s hit the road,” your stomach lurched as Dean spoke through bites of food, and it only got worse as you made a wobbly attempt to stand.

“I’ll be right out,” you breathed, and with great effort you headed for the bathroom.

Five minutes later, what little you’d had for lunch was gone, you only felt worse, and you were once again on the road with your brothers.

After two hours, Sam insisted that you all stop at a library to “do a little more research” before you arrived at the motel, and Dean refused to let you sit in the car because it was “too hot out”, so you were forced to follow the boys inside, your body practically sagging with exhaustion. The fever had taken almost all of your energy, and you could feel yourself burning up as you continued to force yourself to do what your body was begging you not to do—move.

You found a corner of the library to hide in while your brothers researched, and after an annoyingly long afternoon, it was finally time to hit the road again.

Going out to the car turned out to be even harder than leaving it, and it was all you could do to put one foot in front of the other and trying to hold on to what little was left in your stomach.

You considered for the umpteenth time telling your brothers how you felt, but again you dismissed the thought. It wasn’t as though they could do anything, and the last thing they needed was to be worried about you while they had a monster to worry about.

“Coke on, slowpoke,” Dean groaned as he opened your door. “Get in already.”

You’d hoped that a couple of hours of rest in the Impala might help before you arrived at the motel, but you only got worse. You weren’t entirely sure you would be able to stand up and go inside on your own when you got there, but you would try. All you wanted was to crash on one of the beds, and hope that it got better by morning.

When you finally pulled into the motel, you surprised yourself with the ability to stand, and after a great effort, to walk.

Your head was both pounding and spinning, and you were certain that if you’d had anything left in your stomach, it would’ve been left in the middle of the parking lot, but you kept going. You fell into a false sense of security once you entered the motel room, and that was when it happened.

Your knees buckled under you, and the edges of your vision went from blurry and spinning to black. Blinding pain shot behind your eyes as you felt your head hit the hardwood floor.

Then suddenly, you felt nothing at all.

…

Cold.

That was the only thought able to seep through the darkness around you.

So cold.

Suddenly your consciousness returned, and you struggled to escape the cold that surrounded you.

“Hey, hey!” Strong hands gripped your shoulders, keeping you from your escape. “Just sit tight kid, just for a minute.”

Your eyes slowly regained their focus, and you were able to make out Dean’s face hovering above you.

“Cold,” you whimpered, only now discovering why. You were in the motel bathtub, the white porcelain covered almost entirely by cubes of ice.

“I know, I know I’m sorry,” Sam’s voice broke in, and you turned to see him standing beside Dean.

“You were unconscious on the motel floor when we came inside, you had a fever of 105,” Dean grunted and held onto your shoulder as you tried once again to climb out of the ice. “Baby please, you’re still too hot. Just one minute, please.”

You settled back against the ice hesitantly, grabbing onto your soaked sleeves as though they could offer some warmth.

“We had to get your fever down,” Dean continued. “What the heck was that? Have you been feeling sick all day?”

“I-I didn’t think it was that bad,” you offered meekly, to which he huffed but didn’t respond.

Dean helped you out after a couple of minutes, wrapping a towel around your shoulders as you shivered.

“You feel any better?”

You shook your head as you clung onto the towel.

“Jus-just colder.”

“Put on some dry clothes,” Dean tossed you a change of clothes before following Sam out the door.

Once you were dry you felt a bit better, but you still couldn’t stop shivering.

“You should get some sleep,” Dean gestured to one of the beds.

“Where’s the comforter?” You didn’t miss the grimace on Dean’s face.

“Kid, we can’t let your fever get that high again.”

“Dean, I’m freezing,” you groaned.

“Yeah, and your temperature is almost normal,” Dean argued. “It was 105, and I was about eight seconds from taking you to the ER. Now sleep.”

You collapsed onto the bed, but without a blanket it was nearly impossible to get comfortable.

“Dean c’mon, can I at least have the sheet? This is stupid.”

“What’s stupid is you going around sick all day and not telling us,” Dean grumbled.

“Dean,” Sam shot Dean a look, and he relented, tugging off his jacket and laying it over you.

“You should have told me,” he said quietly.

“I thought it would go away,” you curled into a more comfortable position.

“You should’ve told me anyway,” Dean sighed. “You really freaked me out today, baby. That’s not ok.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “Hey, shouldn’t you guys be out on a hunt?”

“It can wait until morning,” Sam pushed his backpack off of his bed and sat down on it, smiling at you.

“Guys, you can’t-“

“Uh-uh,” Dean interrupted. “We can do whatever we want. We’re not going tonight, I need to make sure your fever doesn’t spike in the middle of the night. If you’re feeling better in the morning, then you’re gonna rest here and me and Sammy will do some hunting, but not before morning, understand?”

You couldn’t help the smile that flitted across your face.

“Ok.”

“Ok,” Dean repeated. “Now how about you get some sleep while Sam gets you some food for when you wake up.”

In response, you relaxed against your pillow and closed your eyes, and soon enough you were fast asleep.

Once Sam was gone to get food, Dean dropped his playful, relaxed mask.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again, baby,” he sighed, brushing your hair away from your damp forehead.

“Dean?” You stirred, your hand coming up and grabbing onto his.

“Shh,” he soothed. “Just go back to sleep.”

“Love you,” you mumbled as you settled back down.

Dean shook his head, his smile returning.

“Love you too, you troublemaker.”

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean and sam #dean winchester x you #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #supernatural dean #the winchesters #winchesters x reader #winchesters x sister #the winchester brothers #sam and dean #dean x reader #dean x you #dean #dean x sister #dean winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x sister #spn sam winchester

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hushedlover · 1 year

Text

Screaming and Crying Part 2

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x reader

Summary: Part 2. You're recovering from the hurt Xavier caused. You've avoided him at all costs, but how long can it go on?

A/n: Here's part 2! I had so much fun writing this. Isabella is based off of one of my best friends who helped me proof read this lol

Requests are open! Send anything in!

The sun was setting by the time you made your way back to the school. Your phone had gone off multiple times with calls and texts from friends questioning your disappearance. You ignored them all. You couldn’t find it in you to care. The blood had long dried on your knuckles, not until after you had finished punishing the poor tree more. Your arm hung limp at your side, your wrist had swelled and was throbbing. Probably sprained or broken. You couldn’t find it in you to care about that either.

You were sure you looked crazy, your hair a wind blown mess, face tear stricken, and blood covering your hand. You walked through the quad and ignored the people who gawked at you. It was very few due to the late hour, dinner had passed so you just made your way to your dorm. Isabella, your roommate, would be pissed seeing as you had ignored every worried attempt she made to reach out to you. You were correct in your assumptions. The minute you swung your door open she was bolting to her feet.

“No, no she just came in. Yeah I'll call you back. Okay bye,” she hung up the phone and sighed. “That was Enid. We were worried sick about you! What happened? Oh my gosh your hand! Bitch, what happened?”

You surprised both yourself and Isabella when you broke out laughing at their outburst.It was odd, the rush of adrenaline you had gained from the situation. You felt floaty, like a huge weight was lifted off your shoulders. Isabella stood there, gaping at you. This caused more laughter to flow out of you due to them looking like the human embodiment of the stupid emoji everyone uses. She almost looked afraid of you. When you finally calmed your fit of giggles, they spoke.

“Girl, what the fuck. What is happening right now?”

“I don’t even know man. I’m... I'm so tired. And boys are buttheads.”

“You say that like that's something new. I’m telling you, women are just better. But what happened? Was it that blonde beanstock you’re always with? What’s his name? Tarzan?”

You laughed again,” Xavier. And yeah it was him. It was him and his infatuation with that Wednesday girl.”

“Oh my god,” Isabella dragged out the last syllable, “I can’t blame him girl she’s so fine!”

You just glared at her and moved to go to your shared restroom. You wanted to wash the blood off your hand and inspect the damage done.

“Way to rub salt in the wound, thank you. So much,” you muttered over the sound of the sink running.

“Listen. Here me out on this. Please, plEAaase,” they whined from the doorway.

“Just grab me some pajamas, will you? I think I need a shower to get all of this off. My plaid pajama pants please.”

You heard rustling and heard Isabella call out to you.

“Not to ruin the good mood or anything, but shouldn’t you be having a mental breakdown right now? You haven’t even told me what happened, but I feel like there should be more tears.”

“I think it’ll come later, I’m kind of-,” You cut yourself off to take the clothes she had gathered from them. “Thank you. I’m kind of numb right now. I think it’s shock. And adrenaline. I don’t know. Can I explain after my shower?”

“Fine, but hurry up. I wanna know what my reasoning is going to be for kicking Tarzan’s ass,” and with that they shut the door behind them.

You slipped into the shower, the warm water relaxing your muscles. The silence without music would usually bother you, but tonight it was welcomed. Your head was finally quiet. Thoughts of Xavier and Wednesday kissing and holding hands long forgotten. You were just looking forward to the weekend now.

—------

It had been 2 days since that night. Isabella had kept you sane and occupied all weekend. You had shit talked and stuffed your faces with all the junk food you could find. Isabella had also confiscated your phone, claiming that “We can’t risk you being a pussy and giving into your problem.” So if anyone had tried to contact you it went unanswered. Bianca and the twins, you and Isabella’s friends, knew to take her if they needed something.

It was Monday morning now. You really, really did not want to go to class knowing you would have to see both Xavier and Wednesday and all your mutual friends, but Isabella forced you. They told you to “women up” and be a bad bitch. But you really didn’t feel like a bad bitch. You felt a bit pathetic. Isabella threw a pillow at you, startling you from your thoughts.

You flipped them off and then slipped out of bed and went to get dressed. Due to the weather being so cold the rules on uniform were a bit more lenient so you slid on some leggings and your Nevermore crewneck. The sleeve stuck to the brace you had around your wrist, luckily you hadn’t broken it, but it was sprained pretty bad. Isabella was getting ready too, but when she saw you in your comfy outfit she paused.

“Tell me you are not planning on wearing that.”

You looked down, confused.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Girl! We get the chance to dress how we want, be cute!”

“Says you,” you grumbled playfully but went to change anyway.

You threw on some jeans and a long sleeve top with a t-shirt over it. Then you threw on some shoes and walked out of your closet.

“Is this better,” You raised your arms in question.

Isabella nodded in approval and then they shoved your bag and phone into your hands.

“Let’s go, Bianca is waiting and I’m hungry. You took too long.”

“What?,” You yelled as you were pushed out the door and towards the stairs. “You’re the one who made me change! I was ready!”

The two of you continued to bicker all the way down to the quad, where Bianca and the twins were standing there waiting for you. When you approached them, Bianca wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug. You laughed softly at the action. It was odd, your guys' relationship. She was Xavier’s ex yes, but before that you had all been friends. And that didn’t stop despite the conflict between the broken up couple. You had always trusted Bianca, and though it was a bit awkward at first, you remained close no matter the circumstances.

When you pulled away Bianca held you by the shoulders and smiled at you.

“He’s a dick who doesn’t know what’s good for him. You’re amazing and you’re so much more mature than him.”

You smiled at her, and kissed her cheek.

“Thank you, Bianca.”

“Guuuuuyyyyys, I’m hungrryyyyyyyyy.”

Your group all laughed at Isabella’s complaints. You all agreed to have the twins grab the food and then they’d meet you guys back at the table to eat. It was nice to laugh freely with your friends. A weight was lifted off your chest. When the twins returned you all dug into your food. You were all joking and bickering amongst yourselves. You almost forgot about your conflict with Xavier. Almost.

The thought of him still lingered in your brain. It stayed there through breakfast and while you were walking to class. You were so lost in conversation that you forgot that you had your first class with him. You remembered when you walked in the doorway and saw him sitting in his seat, the one next to him empty where you would usually be. You froze in your spot, your heart palpitating painfully. Isabella stopped next to you with a puzzled look.

“Why’d you stop in the middle of the- Oh.”

They cut themselves off when they saw where you were looking. He hadn’t noticed you yet, too enamored in his drawing he was working on. You looked up at your friend next to you, your eyes wide with panic. You didn’t know what to do.

“Hey hey hey, don’t cry please. I don’t do well with crying. Here, you’ll sit with me. I’ll be your new partner,” She was already guiding you to your new seat.

When you got there you kept your head low, afraid to look up and make eye contact with Xavier. You sat next to Isabella and they struck conversation with you easily until the teacher walked in. When you heard the footsteps walk in the room you instinctually looked up, and you wished you hadn’t. Your eyes drifted across the room to where Xavier sat, the seat next to him now occupied. The sight of him and his new partner made your stomach drop. It was Wednesday sitting next to him. Of course it was.

He must have felt your eyes on him because he glanced over at you. When his eyes met yours and widened, you quickly hardened your gaze and looked away. You didn’t want him to see the hurt you still felt. Straightening your back you focused your attention on the lecture, you wouldn’t let him get to you.

___

The lecture felt like it went on forever, so when it was finally over you were extremely relieved. You and Isabella parted ways at the door, they would go to their next class and you would go to chemistry. With Xavier. Your chest tightened at the thought. You sped up your pace as you walked towards the class, hoping if you got there fast enough you could find any seat away from him. But the universe decided to give you a huge middle finger today. When you arrived at the class there were only 2 open seats. Right next to each other.

You sighed. You were too tired for this. Maybe you could just ignore him and he’d leave you alone. That is if he even wanted anything to do with you. You didn’t have to wait long to see his reaction. He walked in not long after you, his eyes darting between you and the chair next to you. You continued to look down at your paper, refusing to meet his eyes. You heard him audibly sigh before he dropped his bag and sat next to you. You could feel him burning holes into the side of your head, but you didn’t dare look over.

Class started and things were going smoothly. The class was mostly notes, so there was no need to talk to the boy next to you. That didn’t stop him from bothering you though. As you concentrated on the board ahead of you, you felt something land on your hand. Looking down, you saw a butterfly perched on the back of your hand. It was a dark gray, clearly one of Xavier's drawings. You felt your heart pick up at the thought of him trying to get your attention. Immediately, you shook your hand, and your head, slightly to clear the butterfly and your thoughts. Xavier sighed again and then looked back at the board.

—

After that there were no incidents. The day continued smoothly and by the end of it you were exhausted and ready to flop on your bed. You did just that when you arrived at your dorm. Throwing your bag to the ground, you ran and fell face first on the plush covers. Not 5 minutes into your silence, the door burst open. In came Isabella and Bianca, talking loudly before they saw you.

“Y/n,” Isabella called out. “What are you doing? We’re going down to Weathervane in like 10 minutes?”

You grumbled back, your words being incoherent. You didn’t want to get up. But you also wanted coffee.

Slowly you rolled off your bed and to the floor, and then looked towards your friends. Isabella looked confused, Bianca looked concerned. You reached your hands out towards them and pouted.

“Help please,” You wiggled your fingers at them.

They looked at each other and sighed before walking to you and pulling you to your feet. Then they dragged you out the door, leading you on the bus that was going to bring kids down to town. When you arrived in the cafe you practically ran for the counter. No one was there yet, but you knew the boy who worked here most days, Tyler. You guys had met at one of the festivals in town before his whole argument with Xavier. You had been pissed with him over what he did to Xavier, but after he apologized and explained himself you had become civil once again. Now you were more acquaintances than friends, but you loved the way he made your coffee so you were kind to him.

You dinged the bell on the counter obnoxiously while Isabella and Bianca made their way into the shop. You heard Tyler yell something from the back before he came into your view, clearly frustrated. You gave him a sickly sweet and innocent smile.

“Hi Tyler, did you miss me?”

“Oh so very much,” he smiled back at you. “The usual I assume? You want to put theirs on your order too?”

He pointed at your two friends behind you, who he had seen come in with you hundreds of times before. They had already sat down and were chatting idly.

“Yes please, I’m treating today,” You said, pulling out your wallet.

As you fished for the right amount of cash you heard Tyler speak again.

“What about his?”

Your head snapped up, your brows furrowed. You had been so focused on the money that you hadn’t heard the door open. When you glanced behind you, you saw the last person you wanted to see. Xavier.

“No, uh. He’s not with me- us today,” You tripped over your words, hands now shaking as you tried to hand the cash to the boy in front of you.

Tyler quickly took note of the way you trembled and how your eyes were watering. He quickly grew concerned. You two may not be close, but he cared enough to know he didn’t like seeing you this upset. He made eye contact with Bianca, who had been watching since Xavier walked in, and waved her over. Then he placed his hand over yours.

“Hey, Y/n,” He dipped his head trying to make eye contact with you. “Hey, why don’t you go sit down? Bianca or Isabella can help me okay?”

You just nodded slightly, feeling Bianca take your shoulder gently and guiding you to the table. Isabella was finishing the transaction with Tyler, both of them looking over at you with worry occasionally. You glanced around the shop in panic, not being able to find the boy you were so desperately avoiding. That was until he was standing directly in front of your table, just next to where Bianca sat.

“Y/n, can I- Can I talk to you, please?,” Xavier stumbled over his words.

Your friend tensed and got ready to get up and give him a piece of her mind, but your hand on her arm stopped her. Xavier saw you whisper something in the siren’s ear before she slid out of the booth, giving you room to slip out too. You made brief eye contact with your previous best friend, before turning on your heel and walking out the door.

You continued to walk until you were in the grass across the street from the cafe. You knew he was following you. Like a love sick puppy. You scoffed to yourself. When you decided you were far enough from the shop you stopped and waited for him to approach you. You felt him stop behind you, but you didn’t turn.

“Y/n, please would you look at me? Look, I know I messed up. I was a total dick and I’m so sorry. I just was so excited about Wednesday, I mean I really like her. I haven’t liked anyone this much since Bianca and I-,” He cut himself off when he noticed your arms wrapped around yourself, your shoulders shaking.

You still had your back to him so he couldn’t see the tears streaking your cheeks, but he knew you were crying. You never cried. And he made you cry. Oh shit. Why were you crying? He rushed forward and turned you gently. Grabbing your cheeks, he made you look up at him. Xavier’s thumbs brushed along your cheeks, concern filling his eyes.

“Please talk to me. I don’t think I can handle you being quiet anymore. You’re never quiet with me and these past couple of days I've been trying to give you space but it’s so hard. I miss you. I miss my best friend.”

He whispered the last part, resting his forehead on yours. You furrowed your brows and sniffled. Then you pushed him away, hitting his chest. You punched and pushed and hit and Xavier took it all because he knew he deserved it.

“You idiot,” You yelled at him. “I have supported you for years! I’ve been your best friend, no matter how much you’ve pissed me off. No matter what you have said to me. And you know why I did that? Because I love you, you moron. I have loved you since we were kids, and I haven’t done anything because I just want you to be happy. But whenever any other girl comes along, you throw yourself at her! You ignore me! I’m tired Xavier! I’m so tired.”

Your shoulders slumped forward and you sighed. Xavier was a few steps in front of you, shock written across his face. His eyes were watering, his cheeks flushed. You wiped your face and felt that you had been sobbing the entire rant. Xavier took a step forward and you took one back.

“You… love me?,” He asked, like he was afraid he would scare you off.

You shook your head and glared at the grass below you.

“Only since we were 8.”

“Y/n… I don't know what to say,” He started.

“Don’t say anything. Go back to your girlfriend and leave me alone. I don’t want to hurt anymore.”

As you turned to walk away, Xavier’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. His mind was racing, he was panicking. He couldn’t let you walk away. Not when he found out you loved him back and every stupid this he’s done in the past year was for nothing. So he panicked and said the first thing that came to mind.

“Wednesday is a lesbian. She likes Isabella.”

You froze. You tried to process the information the tall boy had just blurted but you couldn’t. Not fully. So you burst out an incredulous laugh and collapsed to the ground. Xavier wasn’t expecting it, and with his grip still tight on your wrist he was pulled down along with you. He landed half on top of you, his arms on either side of your head to keep him from crushing you. His long hair tickled your face and you scrunched your nose at the sensation. Then you realized the position you were in. You blushed, heat rushing to your face and looked everywhere but the boy on top of you.

Xavier on the other hand could only see you. He could only focus on your eyes, the freckles that dotted your skin, the way your lips pulled into that beautiful little frown. He gently reached down and ran his thumb across your eyebrows, trying to soothe the harsh lines there. Then he cupped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. What he did next made your heart completely start and restart in your chest.

Xavier had leaned down, pressing his lips to yours carefully. He pulled away quickly, not wanting to overstep. Before you could question him, he spoke:

“I thought you only saw me as a brother. That’s what Rowan and Ajax, my parents, everyone told me. They told me I couldn’t ruin our friendship. So like the moron I am, I listened. I pushed away my feelings for you and I went after other girls because I thought it was the only chance I had at staying in your life. Sure, I liked Bianca and Wednesday. Maybe I had a crush on them. But I wasn’t in love with them like I am with you. I am so sorry, Y/n. I never should have said what I did. If I could take it back I would. But because I can't, I'll spend my entire life making it up to you.”

You were in shock. What the fuck was he thinking:? He could just apologize and confess his love and everything would be fine? No. You smiled up at him and then you slapped him. Hard. His face turned with the impact. And then you grabbed his face and kissed him. Hard.

“You owe me so many things, the list is at least a mile long,” You said as you pulled back and then kissed where your hand had met his face. “But we have all the time in the world for you to complete that list.”

Xavier leaned down to kiss you again and then pulled away with a frown.

“That hurt,” He whined.

“You deserved it and you know it,” you kissed his cheek once more before gently pushing him off of you. “Now come on, we need to get Isabella a girlfriend. Maybe she’ll finally stop making me watch anime with her.”

___

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