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freedomfireflies · 1 year

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Love Me*

Summary: The fifth and final part to Teach Me*

You and your best friend Harry have a few things to figure out.

So, why not figure them out while you're riding his face?

Word Count: 8.1k

*Contains Mature and Explicit Content. Take care of yourself first, only consume what you feel comfortable with!*

“Watermelon.”

Instantly, you go deathly still, muscles straining as the word echoes around the walls of your mind. Repeating itself over, and over, and over.

You attempt to sit up, but he doesn’t let you. He keeps his arms around you like a vice, caging you against his chest as his heart races beneath your cheek.

“What’s wrong?” you whisper, a certain ringing in your ears that won’t quiet. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

Somehow, his touch constricts even tighter, snaking around your ribcage as if to suffice as his reply.

“Harry?” you ask a bit louder, and you feel him stiffen at the sudden volume. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

He’s quiet. Far too quiet as his chin meets the crown of your head.

“Harry,” you stress for a third time. “What happened? What is it? If you’re gonna use your safe word, you have to tell me—”

“Nothing,” he breathes, fingers digging into the skin on your side. Bracing himself from the truth. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“Never mind?” you nearly gasp as he finally lets go, allowing you to scramble upright. “Harry…you can’t say that and then never mind—”

“I didn’t mean to say it,” he mumbles, meeting your eye for only a moment before his lashes flutter and he looks off into the bedroom. “I just…I forgot. It’s nothing. Everything’s fine, okay? Just forget it.”

He pushes himself up as you climb off the bed, but your attention never leaves him. Studying his expression closely to find the real answer.

“Harry…” you venture cautiously, and again, you catch the way he hesitates. “If I did something—”

“No.” His answer is instantaneous, head shaking once before he looks up. “No. I told you, it’s fine. Really—”

“It can’t be fine if you said it—”

“Well, I didn’t mean to—”

“How can you not have meant to? What were you trying to say? Nothing else really sounds like watermelon—”

“Just…forget it, okay?” he sighs as he stands up and reaches for his boxers. “What’s the opposite of watermelon? I’ll say that.”

“Harry,” you huff for the hundredth time. “You…look, if there’s something we need to talk about—”

“There’s not.” The conviction in his voice is final as he proceeds to slip his shirt back on.

You’re slow to do the same, shimmying back into your clothes while also trying to maintain his focus. “We agreed that this only worked if we talked to each other. If we trusted each other—”

“This has nothing to do with trust, Bee,” he insists as he glances over at you. “I told you, it’s fine—”

“It’s not fine.” You nearly want to whine at his stubbornness. You’ve known him long enough to understand his little tricks. His tells. The way he avoids confrontation.

The way he avoids how he really feels.

“It is,” he says again, now brushing past you toward the door. “Okay? So…please. Just forget it.”

“I can’t forget it,” you argue as you follow him to the kitchen. “It’s a safe word for a reason. It means that you can say it and feel safe. That you can tell me what’s wrong, and what you’re thinking—”

“I don’t—” he begins before his eyes squeeze together and his jaw clamps shut. “I’m thinking I don’t wanna talk about this anymore. Okay? I just…I wanna drop it. So let’s drop it.”

You watch as he braces himself against the kitchen sink, hands gripping onto the tub as he leans back and aims his glare at the floor.

And it hurts. It hurts to go from happily content in his arms to anxiously dejected a few feet away.

It hurts to know that there’s clearly something wrong that he refuses to share. Hurts to know you can’t help. Even after everything.

You taught him how to touch you.

But not how to talk to you.

You straighten up. “Fine,” you agree. “Fine, we’ll drop it.”

“Thank you.”

The small space falls quiet as you do your best to ignore the ever-present ringing in your ears.

Dropping it doesn’t fix it.

But you don’t know what else to do.

“I think…I think I’m gonna go,” you whisper, already taking a step back.

His head lifts, lips parting as he watches you move away from him. “Oh…okay.”

Despite it all, you wish he’d ask you to stay.

After retrieving your things from his room, you head for the door to his apartment, your heart dragging behind you on the floor.

He doesn’t move from his spot. He doesn’t chase after you or try to explain. He watches you walk away from him as if he always expected you to.

You pause to glance over your shoulder and find him. To offer him one last chance. “Harry?”

“…yeah?”

You take a deep breath. “Do you regret it now?”

You half expected his answer to come as quickly as the others.

But this one doesn’t.

This one seems to catch in his throat as his expression falls. “…I don’t know.”

And that tells you everything.

You don’t hear from Harry for three days.

He doesn’t text you. You don’t text him.

He doesn’t call you. You don’t call him.

You’re not trying to be petty. You’re not even trying to punish him, you’re just…

Confused.

You and Harry don’t fight. Not once in the fifteen years that you’ve known each other.

Sometimes you’ll get into spats. Or heated arguments. But you don’t ice each other out. You don’t resort to games and the silent treatment.

If that’s even what this is.

You knew opening this door in your friendship would make it impossible to close.

And now, it’s letting in a draft.

And after everything you felt with him, after everything you realized…

Having him so far away, so distant…makes you feel empty.

Incomplete.

As if there’s a missing piece to your puzzle.

You allow yourself to wonder if he’s simply learned all that he’s needed to learn from you. If he’s ready to be a good partner for Tina, and ready to resume just a platonic, non-sexual friendship with you.

Which you’d be more than okay with.

Really.

You would.

You’d have to be.

Because you don’t want to know what happens…if you wouldn’t.

So, you shove all thoughts of Harry and his lessons away. You reject each memory of his hands, and his lips, and his body, and his cock.

And you continue on with your life. You revert back to the way it was before, when it was just you and your vibrator.

But nothing is ever that simple, and you should have anticipated that even before there was a frantic knock on your door.

Confused, you toss your throw blanket aside and stand from the couch.

And when you swing the door open, you find Harry. Standing in your hallway. Slightly out of breath and wearing a curious expression on his face.

Kind of like the day he asked to eat you out.

The rush of deja vu almost overwhelms you as you blink at him. “…uh, hi?”

“Hi.” His greeting is as rushed as his gasp for air, as if he ran all the way up the five flights of stairs.

“What…are you doing here?” you ask hesitantly, letting your eyes trail down his body, cautiously looking for an explanation.

There’s a pause as he seems to study you back before he straightens up and takes a step forward.

“I’m finishing the list,” he exhales before seizing your face between his hands and kissing you.

You don’t have time to grasp onto the concept of his lips as he walks you backward toward the wall, kicking the door shut on his way in.

And he takes. Exactly the way he had before. He takes and he savors, and he owns. He says everything with this one kiss. Everything you know he can never say aloud.

Everything.

You don’t fight him on it. You probably should. Should probably stop him and ask him what he’s doing. Ask him what happened, what changed.

But maybe you don’t wanna know what’s changed. Maybe you’re just grateful it did.

So, you kiss him back. You kiss him, and you whisper his name, and you let your hands scratch down the back of his neck.

And you revel in the way he groans. In the way he drags his teeth down your throat to freshen up the already fading marks from the time before.

Then, his fingers trail down your arm to latch onto your wrist. And he tugs. Tugs you away from the wall he had pressed against so he can drag you toward your room.

“What are you doing?” you murmur as you scramble after him, an excited shiver traveling down your spine.

“You’re gonna sit on my face,” he declares, practically slinging you toward the bed. “Gonna sit on my fucking face and let me taste you.”

Your ass meets the mattress as he towers above. And despite how enthralled the idea has you…you pause. “Harry…I don’t know if that’s—”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he interrupts, leaning down to press his palms to the bed, caging you between his arms. “I don’t wanna talk, I don’t want to overthink…I just want you to sit on my face.”

Your lashes flutter. “Harry—”

“No,” he repeats. He offers a single shake of his head. “No. You said this is about trust, right?”

“Right, but—”

“So trust me,” he whispers, dipping closer until the tip of his nose brushes against yours. “Trust me when I say it’s fine. Trust me…when I say the only thing I want…is to have you ride my tongue.”

And right now as you stare at him, and feel him, and inhale him…you have no other choice but to trust him, too.

“Okay,” you breath, already desperate to have him touch you. Hold you. Remind you why it felt so right in the first place.

“Okay?” he checks, the corner of his mouth curling up in a pleased smile.

You nod. “Okay. I trust you.”

And he’s overcome with exhilaration as he grabs onto the back of your neck to bring your mouth to his.

It’s only been two minutes—tops. But you’d missed his kisses. Missed having his lips on yours. Missed the way he completely owned you.

Missed the way he made you his.

He guides you onto your back, laying you against the mattress comfortably while allowing him the room to crawl on top of you.

And his frantic touches follow you all the way down, his nimble fingers dancing up your shirt until they can find your bare chest.

You gasp into his bottom lip as he takes you into his palm, effortlessly and expertly caressing you until you’re arching into his touch.

He groans when he feels you. Takes pleasure in having you. Getting to hold you the way he is now. Explore you.

His knee makes a home against your cunt, pressing into you subtly, as if to jumpstart the process. And you squirm against it, lungs aching for air as you tangle your hands in his curls.

And for a moment, you both simply enjoy. Enjoy this rather innocent connection. This innocent sensation of your bodies finding a rhythm together. This harmonious link between your body and his.

Then, he scoops his arm beneath your hips and rolls you both over.

Your knees meet the bed, one on each side of his waist as you brace yourself against his chest.

He grins lazily but he’s far too focused on the task at hand. So, he curls his fingers around your sleep shorts and begins to pull them down.

There’s a bit of awkward shifting and rearranging that follows as you help him toss them aside.

But once they’re off, his palms wrap around the backs of your thighs, and he brings you closer.

You’ve ridden a face before. Have quite enjoyed it, in fact.

But Harry…Harry isn’t just someone. Harry is…Harry.

And riding Harry’s face is a lot different than riding his thigh.

But he doesn’t give you a moment to think about that. And you’re almost positive he knows you are.

Because he shoots you this look of warning before tugging you closer to him, forcing your knees to scuffle a bit closer until you’re exactly where he wants you.

You take hold of the headboard to brace yourself, already tingling from where his fingertips are pressing into your skin.

And you can feel him breathing against you. Soft, chaste kisses being trailed along your inner thigh as he travels his way up.

He might be new at this, but he knows exactly what he’s doing. At least when it comes to you, and you could almost smile at his attention to detail.

“Relax for me, Bee,” he instructs, nose bumping your clit as your breath hitches. “Come on, it’s all right. Just relax and let me taste you.”

You try to do as instructed, allowing yourself to sink down a bit closer.

But the moment he drags his tongue through your arousal, you suck in a sharp breath and straighten up.

“Bee,” he growls, hands already pulling you back down. A bit harder than he had before.

“I’m sorry,” you gasp, lids growing heavy as the lust-induced haze begins to wash over you. “M’sorry, just don’t…don’t wanna hurt you—”

“And what did I fucking say about that?” he nearly snaps. “Hurt me. Fucking suffocate me, if you have to. Sit on my goddamn face until I can’t breathe.”

“Harry,” you whisper, eyes screwing shut as he repeats his previous action. “I don’t…I can’t—”

The sharp smack to your ass makes your head drop back. It’s loud, and it’s firm, and it stings more than his previous spanking.

But it’s fucking amazing.

“I’m not gonna tell you again,” he warns. “You’re gonna ride my fucking tongue until I’ve had enough. Is that understood?”

You feel yourself clench around nothing from the dominant tone of voice. Nails already scratching down the wood of your headboard as you try to find the strength to speak.

There’s another zealous slap to your skin, his palm painting your body red with salacious intentions. “Answer me, baby girl.”

“Yes,” you whine. “Yes, I understand.”

“That’s my girl,” he hums, lips ghosting your cunt as he speaks. “You do what I say. Go where I tell you to go. Let me put you exactly where I fucking want you.”

And to prove this point, he tugs on your hips until your pussy meets his mouth.

And suddenly everything makes sense.

It’s fucking magic the way he treats you. The way he tastes you. The way he covers his tongue in your need for him.

He sucks and he swallows, and he pulls you so far down onto him that you’re surprised you don’t disappear into him.

But it’s…

Everything.

The only concept you truly understand in this moment. Him and his mouth and this endless desire to take. To have.

And you let him. Let him have you. Let him roll you over his tongue as he laps at you like he’s an animal.

“Harry,” you breathe for a second time, legs shaking from beside his head. “Fuck…please—”

Another spank lands firmly against your outer thigh. You can’t tell if this is to please you or to punish you, but either way…you enjoy it.

You swallow another curse as you surrender to his instructions, allowing yourself to be guided even further down.

“That’s it,” he says before nipping at your clit with his teeth. “Knew you liked it. Knew you needed me to take care of you, didn’t you?”

Your whimper comes from deep in the back of your throat as you let one hand travel down to his hair.

And when you scratch at his scalp with bliss, he smiles.

“Oh, you did,” he answers for you. “Needed someone to make it better. Needed someone to do it right.”

And those stories you used to tell him about Eric come rushing back as you’re reminded of all the ways he’d never been able to get you off.

And the way Harry has done nothing but get you off since the moment you started.

“Don’t you?” he pushes, clearly wanting to hear your confirmation, and you’re not surprised he has a praise kink. “Fucking needed me—”

“Yes,” you tell him. “Yes, always needed you—”

Another slap. “That’s right. Know you do. Know you need someone to make you feel so fucking good. Make you come the way you deserve. Make you see fucking stars—”

You cry out something resembling his name as his fingers begin to scrape down your legs. Forcing you impossibly closer. Forcing you to give him everything.

And he’s relentless. You truly cannot fathom anything besides the feel of his lips on your pussy or the way he holds you over his face or even the way he speaks to you. The low vibrations dancing right up the back of your spine.

Your mind is blank. Filled with nothing but images and feelings and ideas. Of the pleasure barreling toward you at an alarming rate. At the way he’s been working on you for only a few minutes but already you’re at the mercy of his objective.

“Please, please, please.” The word drips from your mouth like falling rain. Over, and over, and over. You can’t do anything else but beg. Beg him to keep going, beg him to go harder, beg him to never stop.

“So fucking good,” he murmurs, tongue driving inside before curling. Beckoning your release closer. “Aren’t you, baby girl? So fucking good for me—”

You nod, lip between your teeth as you chew.

“Make me so happy,” he says, nails clawing at the base of your spine. “Don’t you? Make Daddy so proud—”

“Shit—” Your forehead finds the headboard as you tug on his curls. It’s almost too much. Yet somehow not enough. “Harry—”

“Uh-uh,” he tuts, guiding you up as your chest just about caves in. “No. Try again.”

“Har—”

“Try again.”

Your eyes roll, half from the pleasure but mostly from the pain of his annoyance before you oblige. “Daddy…please.”

He doesn’t answer with words, instead forcing you back down to continue his ministrations.

He knows you’re close. You know he knows. And his desire to get you there is power in itself.

Because even after everything, even after fighting, even after years of friendship and dad jokes…he wants to take care of you.

Wants to give you exactly what you deserve.

So…he does.

The sound of his name on your tongue is dissolute and depraved. Needy and pathetic and filled with the kind of yearning you yourself don’t even understand.

But you welcome the relief with open arms. Welcome the way he holds onto you as he swallows the rush that follows.

And he fucking groans. In a similarly desperate way that nearly doubles the length of your orgasm.

He’s never sounded so content. So satisfied and pleased. And you do feel good. Feel so good to have made him so proud. To have been the reason for this eager agreeance.

But then…he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t stop, even after you’ve attempted to squirm up and away from his continued attempts. Even after you’ve whined, “Harry,” and scratched a little harder on his scalp.

He keeps going.

“Har,” you sigh, already too sensitive to form a cohesive thought. “Har…s’okay…I came—”

“I know,” he says simply, palms pressing into your side to keep you exactly where you are. “And you’re gonna come again.”

“Harry,” you gasp, almost as if shocked by the very idea. “Har, I…s’too—”

“What?” His tongue flattens against your cunt before dragging up toward your clit. “Overstimulation was on your list, right?”

Your lashes flutter rapidly as you rest one hand back on the headboard. “I’m…yes…yeah—"

“Then you’re gonna come for me again,” he informs you. “And again. And again, until I’ve decided you’re done.”

And you want to argue. Wanted to tell him that you’re exhausted but you can already feel the next one on its way.

Because he’s speaking to you in that familiarly aggressive way that makes your heart pound. That makes your skin erupt into goosebumps and your brain turn to mush.

God, his voice. His voice alone could do damage. Could tip you over the edge a hundred times. He could be whispering the fucking alphabet and you’d be putty in his hands.

And maybe it shouldn’t be so easy to turn you so submissive, but you’ll happily do as he asks as long as he keeps asking you in that voice.

As long as he keeps telling you that your pleasure is his. That you…are his.

Nobody else exists outside of this room. Not Eric. Not Tina. Not any future lovers or partners.

Not even any consequences.

Right now, in this room…it’s just you.

The second one doesn’t hit as hard as the first, but it still knocks you off-kilter, forcing you to shake within his hold.

But he keeps you steady. In more ways than one. He makes sure you don’t have the room or space to crawl off him, or even think about takingyour pussy away from his greedy search.

“Harry,” you mewl, pulling so hard on his curls that it has to hurt. “Please…please—”

You aren’t sure if you’re asking him to stop or let you come again, but either way, he pursues the third one.

And this time…he adds his hand.

After repositioning you just so, he easily slips two fingers inside, meeting your g-spot almost instantly.

You nearly go blind from how good it feels, how hard it hits you. From how happy you are to find relief in his arms.

The third is kinder to you. Shorter but much more intense. Like a burst of pure adrenaline and euphoria.

It almost hurts when you finally begin to unwind, and his movements start to slow. He must be able to tell you don’t have too much left to offer and you appreciate the way he eases out of you with great care.

He helps shuffle you back until you can collapse onto the bed beside him. But he doesn’t let you go too far, one arm wrapping around your shoulders to help cement you into his side.

Your leg tangles between the two of his while your face buries into his neck. You’re spent. Physically and emotionally. But he allows you a moment to rest, fingers stroking your skin gently to help bring you back to him.

“You okay?” he murmurs, turning his head so his lips can meet your forehead. “S’it too much?”

“No,” you breathe, eyes falling closed as you inhale the comforting scent of his cologne. “No, it was good. A little confusing…but good.”

And you know he knows what you mean.

But still, he chooses not to respond. Chooses not to offer any sort of insight into what happened that day in his room.

Instead, his arm pulls you closer. “Well…did we cover everything? Is there anything left to check off?”

Your head rolls back so you can see him, the idea already taking root in your mind. “I can think of one more thing…if you’re up for it.”

His eyebrow raises.

You smile. “Pegging.”

He leans back, eyes growing wide. “Really?”

“Yeah. But…only if you were actually serious about that,” you correct as you begin to sit up. “Most guys are a little hesitant about it, and I guess I get why. So…if you don’t think that’s something you’d really be—”

“I’d be honored if you’d fuck me.”

You blink. “Really?”

“Really.” His hand comes up to brush a fallen hair behind your ear, touch lingering on your cheek as he studies you. “I know you’d do it right.”

You grin. “I’m flattered you have so much confidence in me.”

“I do,” he agrees softly, thumb sweeping across your jaw. “Of course I do. You should know that.”

But you don’t know that. Not after what he said last time.

And the reminder of your previous argument makes you hesitate. “You need to really think about what you’re agreeing to, Har. Because if you don’t like it, and you want to stop…I need to know that you’ll tell me. I need to know that you trust me enough to tell me what you need.”

His brows pull together, lips quickly falling into a frown as his hand drops to his chest. “You know I trust you—”

“Do I?”

His tongue comes out to run over his bottom lip. “I promise. I trust you. I want to do this. I want to try it. With you.”

“Har—”

“If I don’t like it, I’ll say something. I promise,” he continues. “But I won’t know if I like it or not until I try. And you should always try everything at least once, right?”

You huff. “Yeah, but—”

“Come on…don’t you wanna fuck me?” he teases, gingerly nudging you with his elbow. “I’ll be such a good boy, I swear.”

And you groan at the playful way he speaks, already feeling much better about the proposition. “God. See? This is why I think you’re annoying.”

“You love me,” he declares as you stand from the bed.

And for some reason, your stomach tightens. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You gonna sit there all day or are you gonna strip?”

Instantly, he perks up, watching you closely as you rummage through your nightstand. “What, I have to take my clothes off by myself? You’re not gonna help me?”

“Nope.” You glance over and nod your chin at him. “Go on. Be a good boy.”

This time, he rolls his eyes as he laughs and begins to undo his pants.

As he begins to undress, you begin to gather what you’ll need. You locate the bottle of lube and the dildo, heart in your throat as you allow yourself to imagine what’s about to happen.

You don’t know if he’ll truly like it or not. You want him to. Want to give him as much pleasure as he’s given you. As much pleasure as he deserves.

But…guys are weird about this. And this kind of intimacy goes far behind missionary.

You know what you’re doing. This isn’t your first time exploring the pleasures of a strap-on with a guy. You know you’ll be able to take care of him for as long as he lets you.

You just…don’t want it to change anything else. You don’t want him to retreat into himself the way he did last time.

You don’t want to lose him.

You can’t.

Once you’re ready, you return to the bed just as he’s peeling his shirt off his chest and tossing it toward the floor.

And you let yourself admire him. Let yourself drink in each tattoo, each scar, each dip of his muscles.

He is beautiful.

You notice the way he smiles at your admiration before looking down at the items in your lap. “Where, uh…where do you want me?”

You glance over the mattress. “Hands and knees should be good. Just…anywhere you feel comfortable.”

He nods once, swallowing thickly as he steps forward and begins to crawl back onto the bed.

The room is eerily quiet as you both move into position. You hadn’t expected things to feel so…heavy. But you suppose they are. Suppose neither one of you anticipated your adventure leading you here.

But…you don’t exactly mind.

He stills when he’s gotten into position, head dropping as he stares at your duvet and waits for your next instruction.

You clear your throat and reach out to smooth your palm down his spine. He jolts when he feels you but relaxes quickly, exhaling an anxious sigh.

“You okay?” you call softly, continuing the gentle caress to loosen him up.

He nods again. “Yeah. Promise. Just…nervous? I guess?”

“I know,” you whisper, settling onto your knees as you dip down to press a kiss to his bare hip. “You still trust me?”

And you can feel the way his entire body goes rigid from your mouth on his skin, his chin meeting his chest. “Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Fucking promise, Bee. Just…”

“Just what?” Your fingers dance toward his ass, ghosting over the curve as you move your kisses toward the middle. “Tell me.”

You’re happy to put him under the same duress he put you earlier, and the way his fists curl around the blanket beneath him makes you smile.

“Bee,” he attempts to warn, but you aren’t having it.

You simply trail your lips down the back of his thigh, and hum, “Come on, Daddy…wanna take care of you. But I can’t until you tell me what you want.”

You can see just how badly he wants to comply, his cock swollen and red. You know that’s mostly thanks to him eating you out and you feel your cheeks warm at the knowledge that it did that to him.

That you did that to him.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” you coo, reaching around to slide your palm down the tip as he hisses and lurches forward. “Poor Daddy…bet it’d feel so good to come, wouldn’t it?”

“Bee…please,” he respires. “Please, just…god, please touch me. M’gonna lose my fucking mind.”

You smile again as you straighten back up and reach for the lube. “See? Was that so hard?”

“Yes.”

Your head shakes. “Mhm. Okay…I’m gonna start with a finger. But I need you to really be—”

“I know,” he whispers. “I know, I’m sure.”

“Okay,” you repeat, equally as soft before you squeeze the liquid into your hand. “Take a deep breath for me.”

He does, the muscles in his arms tensing as the tip of the bottle meets his ass. And when he feels the gel begin to drip down, he reels.

“That’s just the lube, Har,” you tell him, biting back a laugh.

“I know, but it’s cold,” he grumbles as you finish and toss the item aside.

You give him another moment to unwind before you bring your pointer finger closer…and gingerly slide inside.

You’re more than careful, listening closely for his reaction. It sounds like…relief, but you can’t be sure.

“Har?” you call again, other hand smoothing along his hip to give it a squeeze.

“M’fine,” he mumbles, once again fisting your duvet. “Promise. Go.”

“Are you—”

“Go,” he stresses before sucking in a quiet breath. “Please, baby. Go. Keep going.”

So, you do. You ease in a bit further until you’re about halfway in, pausing to let him adjust.

He seems to be doing pretty well, despite the way his stomach quivers and his cock twitches.

And after pumping him once or twice with great care, you push in to the knuckle.

He likes this, a particular groan emitting from his throat as he subtly shifts back into your hand. “Shit, Bee.”

“How’s it feel?”

He takes a moment to think. To find the right words. “Good. Full…I guess.”

“Yeah, and that’s only my finger.”

You hear him make a noise that resembles a laugh before he groans again. “God…please don’t stop. Please…I promise, I’m fine. I just…I…”

“Need more, don’t you?” you answer for him, working the lube in and out as he nods quickly.

“Yes. Yes…more.”

And who are you to say no?

You pump him a few more times before bringing a second finger into play. Again, you go slow. Making sure to gauge each sound and movement he makes so as to not hurt him. Or catch him off guard.

But he’s growing desperate. Mindlessly following your thrusts as he grows accustomed to the feeling. As he becomes familiar with the pleasure it brings him.

His jaw drops, hand coming up to his cock to stroke it lazily, needing some sort of friction.

But you reach around and slap it away, tsking as you warn, “Not yet. Not until I’m ready—”

“Bee,” he whines, and the desperate waver in his voice almost guts you.

“Shh. Just one more minute, okay?”

“Please…"

“I know. M’almost ready. Promise.”

He does his best to comply, nodding weakly as he lets his hand drop back down to the bed.

And you feel bad for him, you do. But seeing him so unhinged just about ruins you, and you can feel the way your cunt aches. The way it practically yearns for him, dripping all down your thighs as you continue to work your fingers into him.

And once you’re sure he’s ready…you reach for the dildo.

You’re more than generous with the lube, making sure to keep the experience pleasurable and easy.

And the dildo itself isn’t all that intimidating. Not nearly as big as he is. Average, at best. Perfect for a beginner.

The lack of stimulation makes him restless, and your heart clenches for him as you secure the strap-on around your hips and finally bring the tip back to his glistening hole.

The faint brush of it makes him whimper, and the sound of this confident man coming undone by your hand is what changes everything.

Everything.

It’s music. A goddamn symphony, and you chase the sound by slowly easing the dildo in.

An easy enough task, exactly like you’d hoped.

But he loses it.

The moan is deep and vulgar, echoing off the walls of your bedroom as you squeeze your legs together and press your fingers further into his hip.

“Good,” you hum, dipping down to kiss the base of his spine. “So good, Har. Promise. You okay?”

“Fucking shit,” is his reply. “Shit, shit, shit.”

You smile. “Give me your hand.”

He sluggishly reaches back for you, fingers intertwining with yours when you find him. And it makes your stomach flip but it’s not what you had in mind.

You bring your hands over to his cock, guiding him along the swollen shaft as he instantly ruts into your palm.

“Bee,” he gasps, squeezing both your knuckles and his tip. “Please—”

“I know,” you say again, continuing to work the dildo into him. Slowly at first before you find a steadier rhythm. “I know, doing so good—”

“Shit—”

“That’s it. Just like that. Like when I play with you, don’t you?”

He nods as you both begin to pump him, now matching the pace you've set with your thrusts and the dildo. "Yes...yes. Please don't stop—"

"Won't. Promise," you whisper, kissing down his hip.

His squirming increases, the one arm holding him up now shaking as he does his best to remain upright.

But it feels too good. You can see the pleasure written all over the side of his face, and it does fucking wonders for you.

You've never felt more proud to be responsible for his pleasure. To be responsible for making him fall apart the way he is. For showing him exactly what he deserves.

And he takes it. Takes it so fucking well, clutching onto you as you continue to work him closer.

And he feels so good. So good in your hand. So heavy, and needy, and ready for the release you've promised him.

You want to give him that release more than anything. Want to show him how good it can be. Want to show him the fucking stars.

He yells when he finds it. Your name and about a string of curses, all falling from his tongue one after the other.

He covers your hand, and your bed, and his stomach. And when he collapses, he takes you with him, pulling you down until your chest meets his back.

You imagine this can't be all that comfortable for him, especially with the dildo now halfway out, but he doesn't complain.

He continues to hold onto your wrist as he works to catch his breath.

And you don't fight it.

A minute or two passes before you gently ease the object out, unclip it from your body, and toss it aside.

He hisses at the loss of contact before settling once more, fingers still cemented to your hand.

You know you’ll need to clean up, but he doesn’t seem to have any future plans to do so.

It makes you smile, your cheek pressing into the space between his shoulder blades. His skin hot and slightly sweaty.

For some reason…it feels good.

“Bee?” he calls quietly, as if not to disrupt the tender moment.

You hum.

“Thank you.”

You let your eyes flutter shut. “Hey, what are friends for?”

A beat.

He tenses. “Yeah…”

Then, the silence returns.

But this time, it’s different.

This time…it’s heavy.

And when he lets go of your hand, you realize it’s not just in your head.

Things happen quickly. You barely get the chance to roll off of him before he’s sitting up and climbing off the bed. You don’t even have time to ask what changed as he begins reaching for his clothes to re-dress, your heart instantly dropping to your stomach.

“Har…?” you stammer as you awkwardly reach for your underwear. And this rush of deja vu is much more unpleasant than the last. “What…what’s—”

“I gotta go,” he mumbles under his breath, his back to you as he slips his hoodie on. “I forgot. I’ve got…something I’ve gotta do.”

“Oh…” Your chest deflates as you watch him step into his shoes. “What…um, what do you have to do?”

Once he straightens back up, he stills, and you wish you could see his face. “S’not important.”

With that, he heads for your living room, leaving you behind.

And you watch him go, a dumb founded look on your face as he makes his way for the front door.

A hundred and one things instantly run through your mind, from explanations to unpleasant realizations.

But the moment you watch him disappear into the hallway without so much as a glance back, you realize none of it fucking matters.

Just him.

You chase after him, scrambling toward the lobby in hot pursuit as he pushes through the double doors and disappears into the parking lot.

And you’re right behind, slipping out as well as he strides away from you, when you’re suddenly forced to a screeching halt the moment you’re met with a downpour of rain.

The sky is dark, the only smattering of light coming from the few street lamps placed along the sidewalk.

You hadn’t realized it was so late, or so rainy, but you don’t let it stop you.

Instead, you plant your feet onto the steps of the building, and shout, “Watermelon!”

It echoes across the parking lot until you see him freeze, his drenched back still to you.

Then…he turns.

Only about halfway, the hood on his head allowing just enough light to catch the side of his face.

But it’s enough.

“Watermelon,” you repeat as you take a step closer, water trickling down your hair, your body, your clothes. But you don’t care. “I call watermelon.”

He frowns. “The hell are you doing? Go back inside—”

“No.” Your teeth grit, fingers squeezing into fists by your side as a rumble of thunder rolls across the sky. “No. I want you to talk to me.”

His hands disappear into his pockets as he tosses a glare your way. “I told you, I don’t wanna talk—”

“Tough shit.” You take another step. “’Cause I do. And you owe me that.”

The frown deepens. “Bee…don’t.”

“No, you don’t.” Another step. “After everything we’ve been through…you really think you can’t talk to me? You really think I’m not trustworthy enough to hear what’s going on?”

He scoffs and glances away. “God, you never fucking listen. I told you, it’s not—”

“No, you didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell me anything,” you remind him, volume raising ever-so-slightly as you continue closer. “Something is wrong, Harry. I know you. And I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me—”

“I don’t want you to fix it,” he seethes. “I want you to drop it.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because we don’t do that. We work it out.”

“We can’t work this out.”

You hesitate as the first clue slips free. “So there is something to work out?”

He sighs, eyes falling shut. “Bee…please go back inside—”

“No.” Yet another step. “No. What is it? What happened? What did I do—”

“Nothing,” he nearly growls, whirling around to face you as if to really nail in his point. “I fucking told you. Nothing—”

“Then what?”

“Bee—”

“What? Is this about Tina—"

“For fuck’s sake—”

“Seriously, did she say something—"

“Bee—”

“Is she mad about this—”

“Can you just—”

“What? Do you feel guilty—”

“No, I just—”

“If you wanted to stop, all you had to do was say something—”

“I didn’t—that’s not—”

“Then what, Har? What happened? Why won’t you fucking—”

“I can’t do this.”

You stop.

He stops.

But nothing else stops. Not the rain. Not the lightning. Not the thunder. Not the racing in your chest as your heart beats against your ribcage like a goddamn drum.

I can’t do this.

You don’t think you heard him right. “…what?”

He scrapes his teeth together. “I can’t…I don’t wanna be friends with you. I don’t wanna be just friends with you, I don’t…fuck.”

He looks down at the wet cement as your lashes flutter and you work overtime to figure out what he’s saying.

“I—for fuck’s sake,” he hisses, almost more to himself before his eyes snap back to yours. “Look, I know that all of this was just…you helping me out. Okay? I know that. I know it meant nothing.”

A crack of lightning strikes the sky and somehow, it’s still not as intimidating as what he’s about to stay.

“But then…it did mean something,” he continues, a bit softer. “It meant everything.”

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know what he wants you to say.

“Don’t fucking look at me like that,” he grumbles, frowning once more. “I know, okay? I know. And that’s not…we agreed that it would just be…this. Just this. Nothing else. ’Cause we don’t do anything else. We don’t do…whatever, okay? I know.”

He looks back out into the dark city, leaving you to stare blankly at the side of his face.

“But it’s you,” he says, hands nestling further into the hoodie. “It’s you, and it’s always been you. Fucking always, Bee. Ever since we were kids. And I didn’t…I didn’t know why. Didn’t even know what it was, but it’s never felt like this with anyone else. Only you.”

Only you.

“And I don’t wanna…fuck, I don’t wanna lose you,” he just about sighs. “I can’t fucking lose you, Bee. But it just…I don’t think I can do this and not fall in love with you.”

You suck in sharp breath, and he looks back.

“Because I will,” he whispers, despite the rain. But you hear it, clear as day. “I will fall in love with you, and I don’t know what I’ll do if you won’t have me.”

He stops now. Allowing the words to sink in. Allowing the truth to make a home in your mind.

And you work to understand. Work to find a response…but the only thing you manage is:

“What about Tina?”

After all, this started with her. It’s only fair that she play her part now.

His expression twists. You don’t know which way. “I like Tina. She’s nice. And she’d probably be really good for me.”

A pause.

“But she’s not you,” he finishes, and for some reason…you’re filled with relief. “It doesn’t feel like this with her. I don’t think it ever will.”

“You don’t mean that,” you blurt out, head shaking quickly. “No, it was just the sex. It’s throwing you off, it...it screws everything up and makes people think they feel one way…when they don’t.”

“Bee…” he begins, almost as if tired, but you barrel on.

“No, you said it yourself. Remember? Endorphins and shit?” You brush some wet hair from your face. “You just…it’s not me. It’s just the sex.”

“No.” He sounds so sure. So confident in his decision. “No, it’s not. It’s you. Always you, Bee—”

“Har—”

“You don’t have to like it. But that’s how it is—”

“Harry…you just…you don’t—”

“But I do.”

“Harry.” You want to stomp your foot. “You can’t…you don’t mean it. You’re confused.”

His eyes soften. “I’m not. I mean…I am, but not about why. Not about this—not about you.”

A pause settles between you as more thunder echoes across the dark sky.

And you look at him. Really look at him. Look for the truth, or the deception, or for anything that will help you make sense of all this.

“You said watermelon,” you remind him, blinking the droplets of rain from your eyes. “Why did you say watermelon?”

Another sigh as he glances back down at his sneakers. “’Cause…I knew. I knew I was starting to…need you. More than I should. And it fucking…it fucking scared me. It scared me how fucking…real it felt.”

Truthfully, you’re a little surprised that the man who has never once before admitted defeat would now confess his fear to you.

But it makes your head spin.

“And I just…it was a lot,” he continues. “Seeing you. Seeing what I’d done. I mean…the marks. On your neck. I did that. I’ve never done that to someone before. But then I did. And I liked it. I liked getting to be that way with you, and it fucking terrified me. Because what if I hurt you? Actually hurt you somewhere down the line? I’d never fucking forgive myself.”

Your lips press into a quivering line. “…why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because it didn’t matter,” he huffs, stepping back. “It doesn’t matter. None of it fucking matters because you don’t feel that way, and we’re finished with the list anyhow.”

You instantly follow after him, bridging the gap he made. “Don’t. It always matters with us, Har. Always. I mean…do you really think I haven’t wondered the same thing? Do you think it’s been fucking easy to do this with you and then just go back to watching Schitt’s Creek? It’s killed me. Fucking ruined me from the inside out to watch you walk away from me.”

His teeth grit once again, as if steeling himself from the truth.

“You mean everything to me, you goddamn twat,” you just about shout. “Sex or no sex, it doesn’t change that. I agreed to do this with you because I knew it was us. I knew we would be okay. Because we had to be okay. I can’t lose you either, Har. So stop trying to make me—”

“Then, what do you want me to do, huh?” he bellows. “Just wait around for you to believe me?”

“I…I do believe you, I just…I—”

“You just don’t feel the same way—”

“No, I didn’t say that—”

“Then what—”

“I…I—”

“What? I have to tell you, but you don’t have to tell me—”

“That’s not…that’s—”

“What do you want, Bee? What do you want me to do, what do you expect me to—”

“I love you.”

He stops.

Suddenly, and all at once, his eyes going wide.

But you don’t stop. “I love you,” you repeat loudly. “And I’m fucking terrified, too. Because I don’t want it to be just about sex. I don’t want it to be just the endorphins and shit. I want it to be real. I want us to be real.”

The silence seems to span an eternity as the rain continues to beat down around you.

Then…he surges forward.

He grabs hold of your wet cheeks with his drenched hands and yanks you closer.

And he kisses you.

He kisses you until you’re more him than you. He kisses you until you no longer have the strength to stand or the power to fight him.

He kisses you until it makes sense.

After a moment, he pauses to allow you a minute to breathe. But he doesn’t go very far. He presses his forehead to yours and he keeps you.

And it’s fucking…everything.

“What if we’re not?” he whispers. “What if we’re not real? What if we aren’t…us?”

You shake your head. "We'll always be us."

He exhales a gentle laugh before brushing his thumbs across your skin. "What if it changes everything?"

You wish you could assure him that it won't. Or even that it will, but in the best way.

But you can’t.

So, instead, you squeeze your fingers around his wrists and smile.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Thank you so much to everyone for reading, following along, and offering me so much support on this series 😭 I will never be able to thank you enough for all the kind comments and wonderful feedback, but please know I appreciate you all endlessly 🥹💞💞💞💞

Also, I suppose I did kind of lie. This will probably be the last part of the “main” series but I’ve actually got a few more ideas for extra blurbs and parts about other kinks and situations they might get into. So, if you’d like to follow along, I would be so honored to have you back!

And if you’d rather leave their story here, that is absolutely okay, too! Thank you so much for being here!

Now…I’m gonna go cry HAHAHA ♥️

Next Part:

~ Find Me* (A Teach Me Extra)

Previous Part:

~ Feel Me* (Pt. 4)

~ Full Teach Me Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Tags: (I have no idea if you all wanted to be tagged in each additional part, and if not, please let me know and I am so sorry for dragging you here! And if you did...then welcome back!!)

@onlystylesss28 @winterrays @jessitpwk @aslugforharry @allthelovehes @straightnogayhs @adoringhrry @harrysxcarolina @lillefroe @avasversion @littlelunamoon @harrysgf01 @indierockgirrl @lexiecamposv @spinningoutwaiting4ya @hs-tpwkrry @vyctorya @b-reads-things @thiyaabs @buckybarnessimpp @whoreforjamesbuckybarnes @cherryluvhobi @mybabyh @xellybellyx @harrysxcarolina @reneemunson @juliatpwk @wolfmoonmusic @buckyssbestgirl @wandasbae616 @straightontilmornin @imavirginhoe @nuggetdean @tiaamberxx @chubby-cheek-calum

#harry #harry edward styles #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles request #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fan #harry styles smut #harry styles concept #concept #smut #harry styles angst #angst #best friend!harry #harry styles best friend #harry and bee

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xbellaxcarolinax · 9 months

Note

miguel + "you can take it" please 🤭

Crazy

Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

Word Count: 1.4k+

Warnings: Fucking filthy. P in v, biting, oral (f receiving), pain (he's big, as we all know). It's late for me, sorry for any mistakes.

Pls enjoy and let me know what you think!

MDNI

...

It was a new position.

He’d never taken you from behind before, ass in the air and completely exposed—entirely at Miguel’s mercy.

He ran his large hands down your sides and over the smooth globes of your ass, giving them both a little slap. You moaned, knees pressed into the mattress and face buried in his sweet-smelling sheets. Your back was impossibly arched as Miguel ate from you, keeping a large hand flat against your shoulder blades to keep you exactly how he wanted.

His expert tongue swirled over your sensitive nub, sucking on it gently as he listened to your gentle pants and mewls. You could feel him smiling against your cunt, a little puff of air released from his nose in amusement.

“W-what?” You panted, raising your head just a bit so he could hear you properly.

“Nada,” he chuckled, giving your ass a messy kiss, “you sound cute.” You huffed, ready to retort with a slick response but cut yourself short when Miguel began to flick his tongue in a way that had your toes curling, your hips moving to chase his eager mouth.

He dragged his tongue through your swollen folds, his mouth making obscene noises as he sucked all your juices, dipping into your hole and thrusting inside every so often.

“M-Miguel.” You whined—not for the first time that night—your hands extending outward to fist his sheets, nails biting into your palms through the thin cotton fabric.

“Feels good?” He murmured, his words muffled by your glistening cunt.

“M-mhm.”

Your legs were spread so far apart you thought your pelvis would snap in half if it weren’t for Miguel stabilizing you. His hands held your cheeks open as he devoured you ravenously—like a starved man. He began licking so viciously that you were reaching your peak, legs trembling and hole twitching around his tongue.

"Fuck, Miguel, I'm gonna—"

"Come for me."

That did it. You cried into his sheets, tears welling in your eyes as your cunt convulsed, filling Miguel's waiting mouth with your essence. He groaned, feasting on your tangy juices with powerful sucks and long licks with his flat tongue.

“You fuckin’ taste amazing.” Miguel hummed into your swollen pussy, giving it a messy kiss, his nose buried deep in your folds and taking in your heavy scent.

He gave you about thirty seconds to catch your breath, getting on his knees and pressing his hips against your ass. He lowered his head to spit over your hole, watching it drip down your crack and flow over your puckering cunt.

You gasped, squeezing your eyes shut, his fingers skimming through your tender folds to spread the mess. Your muscles tensed at his touch, not because you didn’t like it, but because you knew that soon his cock would be breaching your walls, splitting you open.

“Relax, baby,” Miguel cooed, bringing a hand to the nape of your neck and lightly dragging it down to the curve of your spine in comfort, “I need you to relax. No quiero lastimarte.”

You knew it would hurt. It always does at first, no matter the position. Miguel was just so big—and equally smug about it.

He glided his hard cock through your folds, completely coating the underside in your slick before lining himself up. You could feel his swollen head right over your sensitive cunt, teasing it a bit.

“¿Estas lista?” He asked, not daring to move until you gave him permission to do so. You nodded your head, bracing yourself for impact.

“Lemme hear you say it.” He said, slapping your ass gently.

“I-I’m ready.” You breathed, gasping when he carefully notched his tip into your entrance, griping your hips, and pushing in a few inches. You let out a pained moan, your pussy being stretched raw in the new position.

Miguel paused, letting your walls adjust to his girth, petting your hair in an attempt to soothe you.

“I know, baby, I know. ¿Te duele?“ You sniffed with another simple nod of your head, because yes, it did hurt, but you were tough, and it wasn’t the first time you were taking his cock. You could do it. You would do it.

Miguel continued to soothe you in the way he knew best, draping over you to place kisses on your bare shoulders, mindful of not shifting his hips too much. You felt your cunt flutter around him, fighting to accommodate his massive size. You panted, squeezing his cock, catching his slight intake of breath.

“Miguel.”

“Mm?”

“Move, please.” Miguel wasted no time, gripping your hips again and continuing to push forward, pressing in a couple of inches more. You cried out, shoving your face into the sheets as you fought against the pain.

Maybe you couldn’t do it.

“Miguel, I can’t—pull out, I-I can’t do it, you’re too fucking big.” Miguel was panting above you, fighting with every nerve in his body to not ram into you. You were so tight and wet and so fucking inviting.

“Don’t give up on me yet,” he groaned, “you can take it, baby, si puedes.”

“Fuuuuck,” you whined when he slowly pushed his cock deeper, “y-you’re so fucking big.”

“Almost there.” He reassured you, pressing firmly until he was balls deep, hips pressed snuggly against your ass. “Fuck, you see? You did it.” His praise went straight to your core as he pressed another kiss to your shoulder.

He began to gently grind into you, taking his time before slowly pulling himself out and pushing back in. He did it again, and again, and again, picking up speed until he had you mewling beneath him, your cunt providing him with the juices needed to easily fuck into you.

It felt good, so fucking good. The sheets were damp with your tears and drool, your mouth open as he repeatedly hit your sweet spot. Your eyes fluttered, your throat dry from your screams, and pussy squelching around him so loudly, it was the only thing he was really focusing on.

Miguel started getting mouthy, groaning, and whimpering, telling you how good you felt, how wet you were, how tight you gripped his cock. The stretch was unbelievable in this position, his cock seemingly reaching past your cervix and straight into your stomach—utterly stuffed to the brim.

“Feels good, mama?” He grunted, suddenly lifting you up so that your back was against his chest. He pressed his mouth to your ear, one arm holding you around the waist while the other searched for your swollen clit, circling it with the pad of two fingers. “This cock making you feel good?”

You wept, cheeks wet with tears as he rammed into you violently now, your pussy creaming all over him.

“I’m s-so close,” you cried, feeling your climax approaching rapidly, your hips moving in sync with his to meet his thrust. “F-fuck, Miguel, I’m coming.” As soon as you said the words he latched on to your neck, sinking his fangs into you with a moan. You were overstimulated, your body trembling in his arms as you came over his cock, your sticky juices covering his toned abdomen.

“Mmm, fuck, you’re squeezing me tight,” he panted in your ear, his thrusting growing sloppier and uncoordinated before a vicious moan ripped from him, holding you in his trembling arms as he came, and filling you up with rope after rope of his cum. “Goddamn, you’re gonna kill me.” You could feel his chest heaving on your back, his breathing erratic as he slowly calmed himself down.

“Not before you rip me in half with that massive thing you call a cock.” You answered weakly. Miguel buried his face as deep as he could into your neck, chuckling softly, tongue darting out to lap at the tiny wound he inflicted.

“Mi muñequita,” he mumbled sleepily, “you took me so well, hm? Knew you could do it. You're a champ, baby.” His cock began to soften just enough for his spend to leak out, coating you both in sticky cum and sweat.

You hummed, reaching back to run your fingers through his sweaty hair, turning your head so that he could meet you in a kiss. It was sloppy, like everything else, noisy in the silence of Miguel’s bedroom.

“Wanna go again?” You felt his lips pull into a grin, cock slipping out but hardening once again. You scoffed, lightly tapping his face.

“You’re crazy.” You yelped when he pushed you down against his bed in the same position you were in only a moment ago—chest flat against the mattress and ass up in the air to reveal your sopping cunt.

“Yeah,” he whispered, dragging his cock through your aching folds before pressing in, “I am crazy.”

...

Nada- Nothing

No quiero lastimarte- I don't want to hurt you

¿Estas lista?- Are you ready?

¿Te duele?- Does it hurt?

si puedes- yes you can

Mi muñequita- My little doll

#caro's 2k #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara reader #atsv #spiderverse

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naughtyneganjdm · 7 months

Text

Back Pain

Summary: After you find Negan on the floor of his cell in pain when he hurt his back, you offer to give him a massage. With how touch starved Negan is, you find yourself taking advantage of the moment and make Negan feel good in other ways.

Characters: Negan & the reader (OC, second person)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50901724

Warnings: 18+, Swearing, smut, little to no plot, hurt/comfort, submissive Negan, dominant reader, praise kink, p*ssy job, begging Negan, etc.

Notes: This is pure filth. Not gonna lie. I thought I would make it innocent at first, but that's not how this story wanted to be written. I hope you enjoy it.

You would never admit this to the rest of the people in Alexandria, but days like these were your favorites. Getting to be the person to go and spend some time with Negan when you gave him his meals for the day actually was something you looked forward to. Many people hated the job, but you took it whenever you could. Talking to Negan was something you enjoyed. Even though people didn’t really give Negan credit, he was quite intelligent and knew a lot about books. You always enjoyed having conversations with him. Sure, he was a bit of a smart ass and was always very inappropriate at times, but you liked it. You liked him. So any chance you could take to do this, you would. And people wouldn’t often fight you on it when you offered. Negan rubbed a lot of the people in Alexandria the wrong way, but you felt like you saw more to him than everyone else did.

Heading down to the cell that they kept Negan in, you clutched tightly to the tray that Negan’s food was on when you didn’t see him sitting at either in the corner of the room or on the cot that they had for him, “Negan?”

“Oh, hey,” Negan’s voice responded raspier than normal causing you to drop your head to see that he was laying on the center of the floor face first on the ground. His head turned toward you and he let out a small groan. “I’m…here.”

“Are you okay?” you wondered noticing that he wasn’t moving much and he let out a hesitant breath.

“I think I pulled out my back,” Negan was honest, his words coming out in a slow slur. His eyebrows bounced up and he let out a groan when he tried to push himself up but let out a hiss when he braced his hands on the floor. “My tennis ball went underneath the cot. I bent down to grab it and well…the rest is history.”

“Oh,” you chuckled, setting his tray of food down on the ground to slide it under the bars for him. “Do you need some help?”

“You trust me enough for that?” Negan managed to pull himself up to his knees, his hands still bracing on the floor when he winced. “Getting older sucks. My back has always been shit, but this fucking cot doesn’t help any.”

“I trust you,” you assured him pulling out the keys to his cell. Opening up the door, you closed it behind you when you entered it and headed over to Negan. Wrapping your arm around his waist, you reached for the other arm and wrapped it around your shoulders. Using your strength, you helped pull him up from the ground and heard him grumble under his breath. “Let’s get you seated.”

“If people could see me now,” Negan winced, his left hand reaching behind him to press over the small of his back. “Big bad Negan pulls out his back and he’s in agony. I’d love to say I hurt it doing something incredibly wild, but nope. Just reaching for a tennis ball.”

“It happens to the best of us,” you cracked a smile and thought about it for a moment. “Do you want me to massage your back for you? Try to help you loosen things up?”

“I don’t know,” Negan began looking toward the window in his room letting out a long sigh. “They really don’t like you in here with me.”

“I could care less what they think. Lay down,” you instructed, getting up from the cot that you were sitting on together. Pushing into Negan’s shoulder, you could see the resistance in his movements before he finally lowered down face first on the cot. Adjusting the pillow under his head, Negan wiggled a bit until he found himself in a comfortable position. “Do I have permission to touch you?”

“Yes ma’am,” Negan grumbled when you carefully lowered down onto the cot with him. Crawling in over him, you rest your knees at his sides. A loud exhale fell from his throat when you lowered your hands to start caressing over his lower back. Watching his body language, you wanted to make sure that you weren’t going to hurt him while you did it. Carefully you caressed further up the length of his long back and then up toward his shoulders. Taking your time, you paid attention to him learning what areas seemed to affect him by his breathing changes. Putting a bit more pressure into your touch had Negan groaning out. “That’s good.”

“Are you sure? You’re shaking,” you noticed, pulling your hands away from Negan when he looked back at you over his shoulder. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No, it’s not that. I just…” Negan turned on his side, visible pain in his face when he stretched his back a certain way. There was embarrassment flooding into his features, when he forced himself to look away from you. “I haven’t been touched in a very long time. Never by someone being gentle or kind at least…”

Frowning, you reached out to palm in over the side of Negan’s face. You were tender in the way you touched his face and Negan let out a tremoring sound. His eyes came to a close, his lips parting when he leaned into your palm showing how much he missed simply just the touch of another person. Cuddling his face in against your palm, you felt your heart rate quicken with the way his short beard tickled at your flesh.

Using your free hand, you outstretched it to drag your fingertips over the top of his hand hearing his breathing getting louder. Stroking tenderly at his flesh, you took your time noticing the way that his shaking got more intense. Hooking your fingers with his, you leaned forward to place a faint kiss over his temple.

“Lay back down,” you commanded and he did as you asked of him. Going back to the original plan, you continued to rub his back. The knots that you had worked on started to loosen up and you noticed that it made Negan much more relaxed beneath you as well. Sliding your palms down Negan’s back, you reached the back of the gray t-shirt that he was wearing. Tugging faintly at the material, you managed to sneak your fingers in underneath it for your fingers to come in contact with the warmth of his flesh. The sound Negan made showed you that he was alright with it. A breath caught in your throat as your touch raised up toward his shoulders. There was no question that he was enjoying what you were doing by the sounds that he was making. “Feeling better?”

“So much,” Negan breathed out, his head cuddling in closer to the pillow. Dragging your hands down Negan’s back, this time you slid your hands down over his sides and toward his lower abdomen. That had his back arching up and you repeated the motion up again. Multiple times you did the same thing and what sounded like a moan fell from Negan’s throat. “Stop.”

“What’s wrong?” you questioned almost losing your balance over him when Negan pulled himself from underneath you and toward the opposite end of the cot. Almost instinctively he reached for the pillow that he had been laying on and covered the center of his pants with it. An amused sound escaped your lips when Negan’s face flushed over with red.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Negan looked ashamed and you knew what he was insinuating was going on. “I wanted this to be as innocent as possible, but the way you were touching me…”

“That’s okay Negan,” you hushed him, reaching out to place your hand in over his and he seemed to tremor. “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?” Negan confirmed with you, his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat. Dropping his head, Negan looked toward the pillow that was covering his lap and he shook his head. “If you want to leave, I will understand. Shit, I wouldn’t blame you.”

Nodding, you stood up from the cot. The expression over Negan’s features showed that he was disappointed at the thought of you leaving and it made your heart flutter in your chest. Stepping forward, you reached for the pillow that was over Negan’s lap and he clung tightly to it. Shaking your head, you hushed him and grabbed the pillow. Setting it beside Negan, your eyes lowered to see the bulge that was at the center of his pants showing that he did get a hard on from what you had been doing.

“Lift your arms,” you instructed with Negan’s hazel eyes locked on yours. At first, he seemed nervous and like he didn’t want to listen, but when your fingers grabbed the bottom of his shirt he obeyed.

“Yes ma’am,” Negan’s tongue dragged out over his bottom lip lifting his arms for you. Pulling his shirt up and over the lengths of his slender abdomen, you tossed the shirt aside and heard him breathe out shakenly. Dragging your fingers across his shoulder had his pupils dilating. His lips parted and he didn’t take his eyes from yours. Teasing your fingers further down over the center of his chest had Negan leaning back against the wall. Stroking over his slender abdomen, you circled your fingers through the dark curls of hair that covered his flesh. It had Negan breathing unevenly and he was trembling again showing how much this was truly heightening everything for him. Sliding your fingers down further, you reached the belt in Negan’s pants and heard him whimper. “What is this?”

“Relax,” you ordered once more not giving him an answer when you started to pull apart the material of the belt. Once you got the material separate, you went for the button in his jeans and unhooked it. Leaning forward, Negan’s lips hovered in over yours. The warmth of his breath lingered, his eyes narrowing with how close you were to him. “You shouldn’t have been treated like this Negan. You deserve better than you were given.”

Negan’s hazel eyes fell to your lips as you dragged the zipper down in his jeans. Faintly your lips dragged over his and it made him let out what sounded like a whimper. Pressing forward, his lips claimed yours in a hungry, passionate kiss. One that surprised even you. Negan’s fingers curled around the back of your neck while the kiss lingered. There wasn’t much time to separate from Negan because he was eager to keep kissing you over and over again. Purring against his lips, you went to pull back, but he was eager to meet you again, his tongue brushing between your lips causing you to place your hand over the center of his chest to stop him.

Tugging at the material of Negan’s jeans, you got them down his long slender legs and tossed them aside after pulling off the boots that he was wearing. Curling your fingers around the back of Negan’s calf muscle, you caressed over his body and watched hm tip his head back. The vein at the side of Negan’s neck was bulging while you squeeze and caressed at the flesh of Negan’s thighs.

The large bulge at the center of Negan’s gray boxer briefs was very evident and you felt your mouth go wet at the sight of it, “We’re going to finish your massage.”

“But…” Negan’s head lowered back down, his lips parted and he looked disappointed to hear you say that. “I thought…”

“We will, just not right now…” you whispered making him frown when you admitted that. “Lay back down on your stomach.”

Following your instructions, Negan did as he was told laying back face down on the cot, getting comfortable again. This time you crawled in over him again and caressed over the planes of his back. Your touch was more sensual making sure to slide over his shoulders, down over the side of his torso, toward the front of his lower abdomen and back toward his lower back.

Adjusting your weight, you moved down lower and allowed your palms to drag down over his small bottom caressing over the flesh. Sliding further down, you squeezed at the back of his thighs and heard him moaning. Sliding your hand between his thighs, you cupped his balls through the material of his boxer briefs and it had him moaning out.

Reaching for Negan’s boxer briefs, you tugged the material down and heard his shuddering exhale that followed. Unhurriedly you exposed Negan’s small ass to your sight and smiled. Caressing at his lower back had his hips arching slightly and you caressed lower.

“Lift,” you instructed sliding your hand around Negan’s side around to the front. Doing what you asked, he arched his hips up slightly allowing your fingers to connect with his rigid manhood. The moan that followed from Negan drew chills to fill your own body. At first your strokes were slow, taking the time to test Negan’s flesh in your grasp. Lowering further in over Negan, you pressed kisses over his earlobe and felt Negan lazily bucking his hips up toward your caresses. “Are you being a good boy or a bad boy?”

“A good boy,” Negan panted, his head stealing a glance back over at you. His eyelids were heavy, his hazel eyes locked on you while you continued to take your time jerking him off.

“You are such a good boy,” you praised him, kissing over his jawline. Another deep, raspy moan fell from his throat when you nibbled at his flesh. “But when I need you to be, you’ll be my bad boy, won’t you?”

“Yes ma’am,” Negan nodded his head, whining when you pulled your hand away from his cock. “Please…please don’t stop…”

Snickering, you caressed over the lengths of Negan’s back and sighed, “Get on your back…”

Shakily he moved on the small cot and stretched out beneath you, his hands settling in over your thighs when you rest yourself on your knees over him. Your eyes fell to his swollen cock and it made you suck at your bottom lip. There was a vulnerability in Negan’s eyes and it was such an interesting thing to see. You weren’t used to this idea of Negan, but you loved it.

“Just lay back, relax and be my good boy,” you praised Negan caressing over the lengths of his lower abdomen and it had him licking his lips again. Curling your left hand around Negan’s girthy shaft, you started to stroke over him again and watch his abdomen sink in with his deep breaths. “I want you to come for me. Do you think you could do that for me?”

Nodding his head, Negan looked down toward your hand watching it pump away at his flesh. Outstretching his hand, he stroked down over the side of your face in a gentle sweep. Turning your head toward his hand, you kissed over the center of his palm before taking his index finger between your lips. Nibbling at the tip had his faint moan filling the small cell and when you took it further into your mouth you had him hissing out.

Sucking at his finger had him panting when your other hand joined to help stroke over Negan’s body. It was throbbing in your grasp and you knew that Negan’s body was eager to come. Hell, he wanted it so bad.

Pulling your mouth away from Negan’s finger with a wet sound, you allowed your grasp to get stronger while you jerked Negan off and felt his hips arching up toward you. Rocking your hips forward had the denim of your jeans rubbing up against the ridge of the tip of his cock and it had him grunting loudly.

You hated to admit it, but this turned you on more than you planned on it doing. Getting up from the cot had Negan whining and you saw his cock twitching with the anticipation of not getting to finish. When he saw that you were undoing your pants, he let out a shuddering breath. The way his eyes ate you alive when you pushed your panties down with your pants and then crawled in over him brought an incredible amount of confidence to you.

Eagerly Negan pushed up onto his hands, his mouth claiming yours again in a passionate sweep. Pressing your hand into the center of his chest, you forced him back down onto the cot. Huffing out, Negan’s hands settled in over your hips giving them soft sweeps with his thumbs. Lowering his left hand, Negan grabbed the base of his erection in attempt to lead his cock to your entrance, but you pulled your hips back and shook your head.

“You’re supposed to be my good boy, don’t be bad…” you warned him watching Negan pout and he nodded his head. “You’re not allowed to enter me. I told you we’ll have sex and you can be in me however you want, but right now it’s just a massage.”

“I don’t understand,” Negan’s hands brushed up and under your shirt, his rough fingertips caressing over your torso. Pushing up the material of your shirt, Negan lifted up enough to pull the cup of your bra down. Taking your breast into his mouth, Negan’s tongue circled your nipple before sucking faintly at the flesh. Pulling back with wet lips, Negan allowed his thumb to circle the bud. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

“You’ll start to understand,” you hushed him, using your left hand to caress over his length. Bringing the tip of it to your wet folds, you traced the swollen head between them. His moan vibrated against your lips and you bit faintly at his bottom lip. “Lay back…”

Pushing into his chest, you forced Negan back on the bed again. Reaching for his hands, you put them over his head and allowed his cock to rest against his lower abdomen. Hovering your hips over his length, you started to rock your hips over Negan’s shaft allowing your sensitive folds to rub up against his cock again and again. Every roll of your hips would have the tip of his cock rubbing against your clitoris and it was giving you the right amount of friction to make this just as pleasurable for you.

“Does that feel good?” you demanded an answer, your free hand reaching to grab a hold of Negan’s jawline to get him to stare up at you. “Do you like this kind of massage?”

“So much,” Negan growled against your lips when he lifted up enough to kiss you again. You put a lot of power into the rolls of your thrusts and you hoped the sounds the two of you were making wouldn’t draw the attention of those outside. “You’re teasing me.”

“I am,” you hushed him sucking at his bottom lip, dragging your tongue out over his flesh. “I’m going to let you do whatever you want to me, but we’re going to give that back a rest for today. Let it heal and then tomorrow, this pussy is completely yours.”

“You could ride me,” Negan begged against your lips, his breathing broken with his eyebrows furrowing while you continued to rub up against his cock. Shaking your head, you felt your heart hammering inside of your chest and this was doing wonders on your sensitive bundle of nerves. You were so wet and you could hear it by the way you were rubbing up against Negan. “Please.”

“No,” you shook your head, keeping his hands forced above his head. Hot, wet kisses were pressed over his lips while his moans grew louder.

“I’m begging you,” Negan huffed against your flesh, his hazel eyes rolling back to a close while you used his cock for both yours and his pleasure.

“You want to come inside of me?” you inquired watching Negan desperately nod his head. His dimples were prominent, his eyes full of lust and want for you. “You want to be balls deep inside of me?”

“I do,” he whined, lifting his head to see that there was precum developing at the tip while you continued to rub your pussy up against the length of his cock. It was a wet sensation and he loved it, but he was so desperate for more. “I promise it will feel so good.”

“This already feels good,” you corrected him cooing out with the friction it caused against your clit. “I promise you, tomorrow you can fill me with your cum you beautiful, gorgeous man.”

“I can’t wait until tomorrow,” he whined once more and you tsked against his lips, pulling your hips up and away from him. Your own body hated that move, but you were trying to make a point of who was in charge. “Maybe just the tip?”

“If I get the tip inside of me, I’m gonna want the whole thing beautiful,” you licked at his lips drawing Negan to moan once more. “I can stop all together if you want. You’re being a bad boy Negan.”

“No. No, please,” Negan begged once more, his expression growing more upset. “I promise to be a good boy.”

“Of course you do,” you smiled using your hand that wasn’t holding his wrists above his head to drag your fingers through his wet hair. Adjusting your hips over him again, Negan was eager to arch his hips up toward you to have you rubbing yourself over his throbbing manhood. “You have such a pretty cock. You know that?”

“I do?” he breathed out and you smiled. You didn’t realize you had it in you to be such a dominant in a situation like this, but Negan was so touch starved that it was easy for him to be your submissive. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

Lowering yourself closer to him, you released Negan’s wrists and felt him wrapping his arms around you while you upped the speed of you rubbing your pussy up against his erection. Your cries grew louder, matching the sounds that Negan was making. Between kisses, Negan would steal quick looks to see what was happening between the two of you. There were chills flooding your body, your pulse jumping in your throat when you cried out.

One over exaggerated roll of your hips with him arching up led the tip of his cock to enter your wet and ready entrance when you slid back. It immediately made you moan out against Negan’s mouth when his thick cock stretched you on your rock back. Digging your nails into his shoulder had him hissing out and you lifted your head to stare into his desperate hazel eyes.

“You bad boy,” you shook your head feeling the ache with having Negan’s cock inside of you. Your movements stopped and Negan threw his head back.

“I’m so sorry. It was an accident, I swear,” Negan pled with you, seeing that you were unhurriedly sinking down over his cock. Once you had him filling you to the brim, you rocked your hips in a circular motion over him. You told yourself you wouldn’t let this happen, but fuck it felt so good with him inside of you. Neither one of you were going to last much longer. But hell, you were going to take advantage of it. Starting to bounce your hips over his length powerfully had his moan raspy and his eyebrows furrowing. “You feel so good. So wet…so tight…”

Your movements were strong and steady setting a pace between the two of you that had the cot squeaking with the motions. You were still laying over Negan having his hips bouncing up toward your movements eagerly. The wet sounds of your bodies moving in unison grew louder. Negan’s left hand was caressing over the back of your neck, urging you to his lips while his right reached between you to allow his thumb to caress over your clitoris. With your motions, you helped aid to that friction and fuck it felt so good.

“Negan,” you panted his name, tossing your head back feeling your thighs start to tremor and shake against him. Burying your nose against the side of his neck, you paused your movements over him when you felt your walls clenching tightly to Negan’s cock after you orgasmed with him inside of you. Panting against his flesh you were in awe of the way he caressed over your neck and his other hand slid around to palm over your bottom.

“Permission for me to come?” Negan requested and you laughed, gaining enough strength to bounce your hips over him repeatedly. Winces became more frequent from his throat when you felt the first twitch of his cock inside of you. The warmth of Negan’s release was felt and you looked down between the two of you to see his cum dripping down the base of his cock and your mixed fluids pooling at his groin. It surprised you how Negan clung to you when he came, desperate to kiss you and hold you close while you milked him completely of his release. Falling in over his chest, you stroked your fingers over the center of it and heard him breathing loudly. “If you don’t punish me and you still want it, I promise I will make tomorrow perfect. It will be all about you and only you.”

“This wasn’t all that bad Negan,” you slurred, tracing your fingertips over his wet lips noticing that he was nervous about how you would respond to things. “It actually felt pretty nice, didn’t it?”

“Yes ma’am,” he growled, rolling you over onto your back with him over you. A thick rumble of a moan fell from his throat when he pulled his hips back allowing his cock to pull from you.

“You filled me up good, didn’t you?” you stroked your fingers through his wet hair and he gave you a single nod. “Maybe you should clean up your mess. Don’t you think?”

“Yes ma’am,” Negan smirked kissing your lips one final time before peppering kisses down over the lengths of your body. In this moment you found yourself thankful that Negan was so touch starved to begin with because you were certain now after everything you could tell Negan to jump and he would ask how high.

----

Tags: @slutlanna976 @fuckthis-and-fuckthat @jennydehavilland @de-gabyconamor @ibelongtonegan @smallsadjellyfish @labyrinthofheartagrams @msjamesmarch @thebeautysurrounds @hotfornegan @redmercysugar @caprithebunny @tuttifuckinfruitty @emoryhemsworth @a-girl-interupted @akumune @stoneyggirl2 @xsarcasticwriterx @insertneganhere @haleygreen23 @xhannahbananax03 @sanctuaryforthelost @burningredaffair @killaweiser @dead-of-niight @ayumi-wolf @hollyismentallyillhelp @promiscuousbarnes @tone-stark @lanadelnegan

#Negan #Jeffrey Dean Morgan #Negan fanfiction #negan x reader #The Walking Dead #Negan smut #negan x you #twd fanfiction #negan imagine #Negan Smith

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darkacademicvibes · 5 months

Note

Hellooo! So I know you haven't posted in ages and you're probably busy or maybe not writing anymore but if you are and your requests are open... can you maybe do something for Theodore nott? If you don't write for him then maybe Barty Jr. Or Regulus or something?

Basically fem!reader is insecure and brings it up and he doesn't understand so she asks is they even love her anymore and they somehow propose right then and there? Like really tearful, and he's so hurt but he's also kind of blank about it idk and she says yes obvs, but he just doesn't know how to feel about what she asked?

Thankyouthankyouuuuu and if you aren't writing anymore that's totally understandable 🩵🩵🩵🩵

AHHHH YESSS I TOTALLY CAN BABES!!!

I'm always gonna write on this blog, lately I've really been trying to figure out my page and stuff and I just got done with exams so I've been busy, I'm sorry!!! I HOPE this lives up to expectations, I've never written an argument/yelling that turned to a proposal lmao <3

Look At Me

tw: cursing, idk I like it, he's very much sweater Theo lmao, nothing really to be honest with you

"-God, Theo, it's like you're never here anymore!" You huff, busying yourself with the dishes of a dinner you ate alone, again. The sound of his name instead of the nickname you'd always called him made him flinch. Theodore Nott had been your boyfriend since the beginning of your seventh year at Hogwarts, and you'd fought together in the war on Harry's side. Or, McGonagalls side, as Theo preferred to call it.

After Hogwarts, you'd moved in together which you'd defended to your parents as convenience. And his, well, his mother got ill quick, and then got better, and then ill again, and she'd eventually found out after he'd invited her over to make sure she was okay, and you'd come home to your boyfriends mother on the couch having tea. You'd easily slipped into comfortable conversation with your loving boyfriend and his (absolutely wonderful) mother and she'd guessed it by morning when you'd made everyone pancakes as you'd been woken up early by Theo on his way to quiddich practice.

Lately, however, he'd been home less. In fact, it began at the beginning of the year, while it is now November. You celebrated your third year anniversary of fully owning the house (thanks to his family money's help) and as that morning when you woke up, he was gone, he came home giddy, and then that night, went to bed nervous. And things hadn't been the same. You'd marked that night on your calander once you realized that was the last afternoon before anything changed.

April 4th.

Since then, he'd barely be at home, which isn't saying a lot seeing as he was a professional player for the Montrose Magpies and sometimes was forced to be away for day practices that led well until you'd gone to bed and weekend games that you always made sure to see.

He'd started getting up earlier, and going to bed either well before, or well after you. When you were wide awake, or fast asleep. Sometimes, he'd sleep in the guest room downstairs, instead.

He'd stopped with the casual kisses everytime he left the room, no longer pressing kisses to your temple, cheek, nose, shoulder, or head, and started passing by in silence, answering requests with hums, grunts, and nods. Your brother had joked he was finally going through the 'I hate my girlfriend' phase, but quickly shut up when you'd choked out a strangled breath that sounded like you'd taken a bludger to the stomach.

The thought hasn't left your mind since.

"I'm here now" Theo presses, standing behind the kitchen island, his hands braced firmly on the edges of the bench, gripping tightly. You scoff, scrubbing the pan harshly. Who invented pans that weren't non-stick? You wanted to hit them with your pan, your pan that now had bits of food and grease stuck to it.

"Theo this is the eighth night in a row I've had to put your dinner in the microwave" you give up on the pan, abandoning it on the bench and moving on to the pot you'd made the potatoes in. It was your day off, and Theo was supposed to be home at four, so you'd made a full dinner for you to eat together. A mistake, you now realized, as you didn't eat until seven when your food had already gone cold, and he hadn't come home until nine, when you'd usually do the dishes. He did them right after dinner for some unexplainable reason you didn't quite understand. Through, you were the one who grew up with supper. So you always made it and did dishes after.

"I told you not to count on me being home on time, bambino" he breathes, and you sniff, wiping your nose on the back of your wrist. He had, yesterday, but not today. "I wrote it down and left it on the kitchen counter-" a soft mew interrupts him, and you listen to the sound of him scooping up the neighbors cat.

"Pie, you shouldn't be here, your mama will be looking for you" you coo, glancing back at the soft, light brown cat. "She can stay" Theodore murmurs, cuddling the cat close. A pang of anger flashed through your stomach. That cat was getting more affection from your boyfriend then you'd gotten for most of the year. "No, she can't" your voice is snappy, and he sighs, kissing the top of Pies head and opening the back door, placing Pie outside and closing the door again before leaning against the wood, watching you.

"I don't understand what I've done to make you so upset, amore" he murmurs, and you snap, tossing the potato pot and the rag into the sink, taking off the ridiculous yellow gloves and tossing them onto the bench.

"You are never here, Theo" you insist. "And you go god knows where, because you weren't at practice tonight" you continue, when Theo opens his mouth to argue, you glare at him. Your voice shakes, and that makes you angrier. "No! You weren't, I called Peter, he was at home with his wife and baby son at four fifteen" you snap, and hurt flashes in his eyes. You want to apologize, but you haven't done anything wrong, not that you're aware of. You have suffered, for months, wondering what you'd done wrong. You didn't understand. You don't understand.

"So where were you? Were you with someone else, someone you can stand? Because it's pretty clear you can't stand me anymore" you toss your hands up, abandoning the gloves as you return to cleaning the dishes as Theo makes his way closer, returning to the island counter as you ramble on.

"If you were then just tell me and be done with it, because this wondering, the guessing, the hoping you aren't, the subconsciously looking for proof that you have been, is killing me" you ramble on.

"It is absolutely tearing me apart to think you don't love me anymore, trying to find reasons that would have you pulling away because surely, if you don't love me then you'd leave me, right? Except, I don't know, I don't know what I did-" you place the pot aside and start working on your plate. His is still in the microwave. "-I can't figure it out. Tell me what I did wrong, because I can't keeping going like this for much longer" you sniffle, and the sound has the guilt already drowning him shove him down deeper.

"I mean, do you even love me anymore? Because it really just seems like you're sticking around for convenience" You manage to mumble, your voice shaking as tears prick harshly at your eyes. You try blinking them back, but you have to harshly wipe your cheek with the back of your arm as the feeling of a few hot tears warm your cheeks.

A soft click sound from behind you and in your confusion, you turn, pausing at the sight. Theo is leaning heavily against the counter, his shoulders tense as the small dark blue velvet box sits open on the table.

A delicate gold ring, with agate as the stone sits undisturbed in the box, and you can feel your breath escape you because it is beautiful.

"I was afraid you would say no" he admits, gazing at you through his dark lashes you'd frequently voiced that you were jealous of. "I was afraid you'd say no, and I pulled myself away from you, and I'm sorry for not noticing how it affected you" he breathes. Almost as breathless as you.

He slowly rounds the island, gently stopping to stand beside you.

His hands land on your waist, delicate. "ragazza dolce, how could you ever doubt my feelings for you?" He murmurs, his thumbs rubbing gently over the skin of your hips. The touch makes you pause and, slowly, you melt against his chest. "You haven't touched me like this since April fourth" you start softly, gaze still on the ring, and he tenses beside you.

Fuck, you'd actually remembered the date he held you last? He knew it had been a while, he had felt horrible about his nerves pulling him away from you, but you'd memorized the fucking date he'd last touched you, and it was so much longer then he'd thought.

"You barely answer me anymore, I start every conversation, and it's either tense, or it falls through so fast i-" you hesitate. "It makes me feel like you don't see the point in talking to me anymore" his heart shattered, he could hear it, feel it- you'd felt so horrible, miserable even, and it was his fault. He'd been so wrapped up in how he felt that he hadn't even noticed you'd been miserable. Lonely.

"I'm sorry, mio caro, I'm so sorry" he murmurs, pained, his lips brushing the crook of your neck gently.

His hands gently guide you to face him, and you allow him to lift your hands, drying them off gently. "C'mon sunshine, I'm sorry, look at me" he murmurs, gently tucking his forefinger under your chin to guide you to meet his eyes. "I have been so nervous that I started pulling away, and I am so sorry you felt this way, sweet girl, I promise I love you" he assures you gently, watercolour eyes gazing into yours deeply.

"There has never been, nor will there ever be, anyone else. You are it for me, you are my Andromeda, I'm your Perseus, remember?" He pleads softly, reminding you of the last time you'd been in Hogwarts.

The astronomy tower would probably crumble if you stood in the wrong spot, still, you (almost) fearlessly ventured closer to the calm figure leaning against the wall of the castle, not for one second, caring that he was sitting in rubble. Gazing at the stars. He smiles at you as you stand beside him, and he offers you his hand, which you take as he helps you to sit beside him safely.

"Feel up to stargazing, my love?" He murmured, and you smile softly, leaning your head on his shoulder as his hand rests easily on your thigh, rubbing gently despite the dust-covered fabric in the way of your skin. "Always" you hum. He huffs a soft laugh and sighs warmly. "You remember those stars?" He asks softly, pointing out the constellation, and you nod against his shoulder. Andromeda and Perseus, the chained maiden and her lover. Her savior. Her husband, in entirety. They'd been so in love they were placed in the stars so their love would never end.

"Yeah, I remember, it's your favourite myth" he smiles, and he presses a soft kiss to your head, smiling himself. You'd remembered it was his favourite.

"If I was Perseus, you'd be my Andromeda" he murmurs, and you smile softly, melting into him. "If I was Andromeda, you'd be my Perseus" you retort gently, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder as shouts of names, and calls of joy fill the night air.

The war is over. All is well.

"My father is dead" Theo hums. The way he says it was almost as if he'd simply noticed the time and pointed it out. He found more empathy for the roadkill the two of you had come across two weeks ago, a rabbit that had been hit by a carriage.

"I saw. Are you okay?" You ask gently.

"Yeah, I'm okay, as long as I have you, I'll always be more than okay" he hums, chuckling softly. "My mother will be okay now, she's safe" he sighs, the tension leaving him slightly.

"She is, Teddy" you smile, and as he wraps his arm around you to pull you impossibly closer, you both gaze at the sky and you do what you do best together.

You talk, and you stargaze.

You nod slowly, tears slipping down your cheeks, and he sighs softly in relief, his thumb swiping the tears away gently.

"I love you, so much. I'm sorry I let myself get in my head, I should've realized I was hurting you" he murmurs, his lips pressed against your hairline as he tucks a few strands behind your ear, his fingers trailing down your neck, then your shoulder, all the way to your hand, where he links your fingers together.

"Teddy, are you asking me to marry you?" You murmur softly, eyes gazing softly at the ring again. He hums, "will you say yes?" He murmurs softly, his thumb brushing against yours.

"I can't imagine a world where I'd consider saying no" you breathe, and you can feel his lips tug into a giddy smile against your temple. He pulls away, only enough to reach the ring, and gently hums.

"Look at me, bellissimo"

Your eyes meet his and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, the familiar softness of it almost making you swoon.

"Will you, the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on, make me the absolute happiest man alive, and do me the honor of making me your husband?" He asks quietly, his lips brushing yours gently.

You smile, and nod softly, "that's a yes from me" you hum, "a big, fat, yes" you laugh, and he chuckles along with you, gazing softly at you as he slowly slips the ring onto your finger. "Good, now give me a big, fat, kiss" he demands playfully "I miss kissing my fiancé" he murmurs, and it sets off fireworks in your stomach.

You lean up and press a big, fat, kiss to his lips, just like he asked.

You giggle as he wraps his arms around you happily, tugging you closer and tapping your hip in the all too familiar signal to jump. You wrap your legs around him and he kisses you harder, his hands under your thighs.

"I have a lot to make up for" he mumbles, making his way into the living room and dropping you gently onto the couch, pulling a giggle from you.

"Remind me to tell Draco not to sit on this couch next time he comes over" you tease, and he laughs, loud, and happy, and the sound has you melting.

You have your Theo back, and he's not your boyfriend anymore, he's more, and you couldn't be happier.

#theo nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott imagines #theo nott x y/n #theo nott #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #second wizarding war #slytherin boys #slytherin #fem reader #female reader #femreader x Theodore Nott #proposal

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luveline · 2 years

Note

i need a ride with bodyguard!steve?

(he also awoke something in me……..)

join luveline’s halloween party <3

ty! he is double boyfriend shaped <3 hurt/comfort bodyguard!steve x fem!reader

Your vanity is cool under your cheek.

You scratch at the wood and listen to the sound it makes. The lights are off and everything is cold, your open window forgotten and ignored. You’d get up and close it if you had the energy, but you don’t.

It must be nearing 1AM. You current bodyguard shifts restlessly outside the door, likely aching from standing for so long without break. You’d listened to him open a pack of gum an hour ago, and his stomach has rumbled ever since. Poor guy, you think.

Because you’re assumed to be sleeping — you’re supposed to be sleeping — Passover is no more than a bunch of silently exchanged whispers. You know it’s Steve because today is a Friday, and you always wake up on Friday’s to see him standing outside your door, smiling and waving.

He does as he always does. He waits for your other guard to leave and then he cracks open the door to check you’re in bed. But you’re not.

“Y/N?” he whispers.

You try to get up. You’re tired now even though you hadn’t been when you first sat down. Sadness feels heavy as lead behind your shoulders.

“Y/N, I’m coming inside,” he says, worry turned to his more official tone.

He opens the door and flashes his torch in your eyes a half-second later. “Oh.” His torch clicks off. He switches on the light. “What are you doing?” Now he’s whispering again.

“Steve,” you mumble.

He crosses the stretch of carpet between you both as you straighten out, whining under your breath at your hurting neck. It’s obvious Steve doesn’t like that, as he starts to assess you in his annoyingly proper way. Hands chaste on your face, your neck, your arms.

“Why are you at your vanity, huh? Fell asleep admiring yourself?”

You blink at him. He blinks back.

“Babe?” he asks softly.

You don’t really have an explanation for your behaviour. You’re tired and sad and a little bit sick, what’s left of last weeks cold transmuted into a runny nose and a headache. Yesterday had been a really shitty day that you can’t stop thinking about, and had lead to you, as he so elegantly put, ‘admiring yourself’ until you got too drained to move.

“Want some help into bed?”

“S’that part of your agenda tonight?” you mumble.

“Oh yeah, right there between staring at the ugly painting of a dog at the end of your hallway and pretending I’m not tired. I’m double booked, but I’ll always make time for you.”

You laugh, lips closed and the sound smothered. Still, it’s infectious, and Steve laughs himself as he offers you his forearms. You brace yourself and he pulls you up into his chest, hand immediately moving to the nape of your neck.

“You can’t sleep sitting up, Y/N. You’ll ruin your back. C’mon, let's go. Easy girl.”

“I’m not a horse.”

“No?” Steve guides you by the shoulders back into bed. He pulls back your sheets and urges you under them. “Why the long face, then? You look more than tired.”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing happened?” he asks, pulling the thick, heavy weight of your quilt up to your neck. It grounds you quickly, eyes slipping closed of their own accord.

“Nothing,” you repeat, a murmur.

Steve clearly doesn’t believe you. You can feel him hesitating, his lack of movement a silence. You peek at him through barely parted lashes, watch his hand scrape through long, silky hair.

“I’m gonna sit down, alright?”

You move your legs away from the end of the bed and he sits in the gap.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing."

"Nothing, nothing, nothing." He drops a hand onto your calf. You grow still, feel the heat of his palm emanate slowly down toward your skin. "Hearing a whole load of nothing but me and you both know it's something, don't we? Something is eating at you enough to keep you up, which in turn hurts your health, which I am directly responsible for. So, I guess if you're okay with me losing my job, then sure. Don't tell me."

You hide your face in the pillow so he can't see your smile. "Manipulative little bitch."

"You have a dirty mouth, princess."

His word choice stops you dead. Your laughter tapers off, and his hand feels more than warm. It feels like it's right there on your skin.

"M'just tired, Stevie."

Your confession prompts a sympathetic squeeze of his hand. "Then sleep."

You worry he's going to make you ask. That he's gonna stand and you're gonna have to swallow all your pride and say, "Stay," but Steve stays right there at the end of your bed, hand moving up and down the length of your leg. The only sound in the quiet his gentle touch.

Thankfully, sleep hurries forward. One second you're thinking about his smell — you swear you can smell him, his bergamot, his cedarwood — and then you're asleep. There's nothing.

He stands and, in what might be his undoing, the straw to the camels back, he holds your cheek in his palm.

"Goodnight," he wishes. Your lashes twitch.

He closes your open window on his way out.

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #luveline's halloween party #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #bodyguard!au #bodyguard!steve harrington #stranger things imagine

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ericsprincess · 11 months

Text

down for your love

You take your car to a car shop for a repair. Your mechanic fucks it up even more.

~~~

“Hello,” you open the shop door and walk in. There is just an older guy sitting behind a desk. He looks up at you, with a questioning gaze.

“My name is Y/L/N, I got a phone call today about my car? Something about some unexpected issue? I think it might have been you on the phone, we made an agreement that I would come later today to assess,” you introduce yourself and see his face light up as he remembers.

“Ah, yes, miss Y/L/N, yes I remember now. I am Mr. Kim, and I am the owner of this shop. I deeply apologize to you, but there has been an unexpected issue with your car,” he shakes your hand and even bows a little. He looks really apologetic, so you already start bracing yourself for whatever unexpected trouble is awaiting you today.

“What happened? I think it was just some routine fix? Did you find something wrong with the car?” you worry.

“Uh, no, you see, uh, it’s just that our mechanic that was working on your car, you know, he’s just an apprentice, and..uhhh…he accidentally broke the replacement part, I am really sorry for that,” the old guy babbles and his face is red. You fight the urge to close your eyes and pinch your nose. Great.

“B-But, don’t worry,” continues the old guy. “We’re gonna order a new part and you won’t be charged for it. It will just take some time again to arrive and I also needed you to come here to sign the additional order paper,” he concludes and you just sigh. Awesome, another at least a week without a car, just Uber with its sleazy drivers.

“Ah, okay, where do I sign?” you ask, and he hands you the papers.

“Here, miss. Also, Eric will show you the car, just a second- ” the old man says and turns towards the back to yell “ERIC!!!! Come here and show miss Y/L/N your fuckup!!!” he turns back to you with an awkward laugh. “I’m sorry. He’s a good boy and actually good with cars, just sometimes he gets a bit airheaded and spaces out. I guess he thinks about girls too much, or something,” grumbles the old man, when a man appears in the door leading to the back of the shop. He’s very young, early twenties at most - an adult, but still with a lot of boyishness around him. He’s wearing his black uniform overalls with the top part off and tied around his waist, and just a white muscle shirt tucked in, all smudged in oil stains. Actually, he’s dirty everywhere, even on his face and nice, muscular arms. He’s not very tall, but seems nicely fit and his face is cute too, even despite being currently crumpled in anxiety.

“Uh, hello? Miss Y/L/N?” he asks awkwardly. You open your mouth to reply, but the old guy cuts in.

“Eric! Take miss Y/L/N to the back and show her everything. Also,” he turns to you. “Eric can also drive you home in one of our cars, as an apology from us for causing you trouble today, if that’s okay with you?”

“Yes, sure, thank you” you reply. That’s actually nice of them, you came straight from your office and your feet already hurt a lot from your heels. The pencil skirt you’re wearing is also not very comfortable. So you just say goodbye to the owner and go after Eric to the back of the shop, where your car is parked in a big garage amongst all of the tools and spare tires.

Eric leads you to your car, opens the hood of it and leans forward. “Soo..uhh see this part right here?” he points to something. You have barely any idea about the car internals beyond what you learnt in driving school, but you still lean forwards next to him.

“Uh, which one again?” you asked, confused.

“Right here, see?” Eric points out and looks back at you, checking if you got it now. Except - his eyes slide right down your face and end up on your cleavage. And today, his eyes can feast - the weather is getting too hot, so you’re wearing the thinnest blouse you could find that is office-appropriate, and while leaving work you unbuttoned the first few buttons, leaving your cleavage and a bit of a bra exposed.

It takes you a second to notice him looking and another second for him to collect his sight and look back at your face. He’s blushing. Awww, you think, you find it a little adorable that he was not able to help himself and stares, but still is innocent enough to feel embarrassed about it.

“Ah, I think I see it now,” you reply with a smile and he turns back towards the engine and continues, a bit nervously.

“Yeah, so, this is the part I had to replace, and..uh, when I was tightening the bolts, I, I guess I was distracted, and I tightened it too strongly and part of it snapped, so..uh, I really apologize for that,” he stutters. You feel a little bad.

“That’s okay, I guess,’” you smile kindly and straighten up. “At least you’ll know for the next time to keep your focus and not get distracted.”

He nods and you can really see his inner fight to not stare at your tits again and also the moment he loses. You can feel your nipples getting hard under the weight of his look, and you know that he must see it too, they are probably showing through your thin bra and blouse.

You can’t help it but you feel really flattered by the effect you seem to have on him. Especially since he’s so young. It’s not that you’re old, the age difference is just a few years, but you have never gone for younger guys before. Now you can see the appeal.

“Are you getting distracted again?” you tease him and he gets immediately red. “Your boss said something about driving me home, would you be okay to do that?” you snort and he hurries to assure you.

“Yes, miss, no worries! Let’s go, I’ll show you the car,” he takes you to the outside parking lot and leads you to a quite nice car. Even awkwardly hurries to open the passenger’s door for you. How cute.

He jumps to the driver’s seat, buckles up and turns the engine on while you’re telling him your address. He nods, apparently he knows where that is and off you go.

The drive is somewhat silent and awkward. You notice that he’s a good driver, he has the style of someone who grew up around cars and was never afraid of driving. But in spite of that, he’s clutching the steering wheel tightly and keeps peeking at you, as if your presence made him nervous.

And once he notices you’re actually unashamedly looking at him, he gets nervous even more.

You stretch and let out a sigh, on purpose and his breath hitches. His ears are red now and you decide that it was enough of a tease.

You put your hand on his thigh. He jerks and almost swerves the car off the road.

“Stop the car somewhere on the side before you make us crash, would you?” you lean to whisper to his ear and he just nods and does exactly that.

He picks a nice, semi-hidden spot next to some trees, so you take the opportunity, quickly unbuckle your seatbelt, hop over the console and sit straight on his lap.

“One question. Do you want this?” you ask him.

“Yes,” he doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes, please,” he breathes out, looking at you as if he’s scared that if he even as much as blinks, you will change your mind.

You don’t waste time and you unzip his overall pants and pull out his cock. He’s already hard and leaking, the tip almost purple. You raise your eyebrow. “You’re already so hard?”

He laughs, embarrassed. “I’ve been hard since I’ve seen you in the office,” he admits.

You raise yourself up a little on his lap to move your panties to the side, your pencil skirt is already bunched up around your hips. You’re also already wet, so you just slide his cock into you and sit back down comfortably. He’s a decent size and thick enough so you can feel him in you nicely and you slowly start to ride him, your holding his shoulders.

He looks like he’s summoning all of his strength to not cum on the spot and keeps staring at your tits that are right in front of his face.

“You can touch, you know,” you breathe out, and he hesitates “I’ll get you dirty.”

“I don’t care,” you reply and unbutton your blouse. He takes your tits into his hands and squeezes and kneads them while you keep riding him and sighing from pleasure.

He pulls your bra down to make your tits pop out and squeezes them like that, leaving oil prints all over.

“Suck on them,” you order him and he doesn’t waste a second to latch on one, you lean a bit forward and almost suffocate him while he’s sucking on your nipples in a complete bliss. He puts his hands on your ass, guiding our movements and tempo.

You’re riding him quicker now and you can hear the squelching noises from how wet you are, together with the sound of Eric sucking on your tits. You’re close and you speed up and he whines and moans.

He’s close too and your tempo is almost frantic when you finally cum and in a few seconds you can feel him pulsating in you. You fall forward, tightly hugging him while you’re both spasming in your orgasms. He whines, sweaty face nuzzling to your neck as he’s cumming inside of you.

When it’s finally over, you take a moment to relax and take a few deep breaths, and then you’re slumping back to the passenger’s seat, trying to get a hold of yourself.

Eric is just sitting with a blank stare, like his world was completely flipped, so you laugh and wave your hand in front of his eyes, until he snaps out of it.

“Let’s go?” you smile.

He hurriedly tucks his cock back into his pants, not caring about all the mess on his crotch from his cum and your juices and starts the engine.

The rest of the way to your house doesn’t take long, and suddenly he’s pulling up to your driveway.

You turn to him. He’s still completely messed up, messy hair, oil stains everywhere, now with added cum and other sex-related mess. He’s still dazed. So cute.

“Do you wanna come up for a shower?” you ask mischievously.

He looks at you, blushes and smiles. He turns off the engine.

239 notes · View notes

fbfh · 8 months

Text

curiosity is a wonderful thing - ch. 3

wc: 3.1k

pairing: slow burn childhood best friends to lovers ben x reader, audrey x reader

warnings: ben is stressed, audrey is a bad gf, mild claustrophobia/dark spaces/being under ground warning (description of falling down the rabbithole into twonderland but it's fun and you love it so it's not scary lol), mild exposition dumping

summary: ben prepares for the arrival of the Isle kids, and gives audrey the benefit of the doubt a little too much. you have time to sneak away to your favorite place in the world, and the only thing that's missing is ben.

song recs: in a world of my own - kathryn beaumont, welcome to wonderland - scarlett rose, wish you still felt this way - sophie meiers x 90sflav

a/n: i love this fic. i love this series. this started as a comfort daydream and now it's a thing and I hope yall are ready for the next chapter cause it's gonna be good. I hope this brings yall the comfort it brings me <33

tags @yesv01 @magcon7280 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sunshineangel-reads @strawberry-cake1 @dustyinkpages @kiara7777

After about a week of constant meetings, arrangements, and press conferences, a week of even less sleep and even more coffee than usual - something Ben didn’t know was possible to achieve - it’s finally the day he’s been working tirelessly toward. It’s the day the kids from the Isle are finally on their way to Auradon. He rushes back to Auradon Prep with you at his side after a very stressful, successful press conference. Even though he seems totally composed on the surface, you can tell he’s a bundle of nerves. You walk quickly beside him as he goes over the agenda for their arrival.

“Their rooms are all set up, Fairy Godmother said Jane can help them get settled into their classes - god, what am I forgetting?” Ben rambles, fumbling through all the papers in his bag. His eyes land on his copy of his press conference note cards, and that jogs his memory.

“Right,” He continues as you look up at him, and he knows he has all your attention. “I don’t think I’m going to have time to write a new speech for their arrival…”

He pauses for a moment, seeing if there’s some little pocket of time he can find to make this date extra special for them.

“Ben, you’re more jam packed than a tea cake. You can’t overwork yourself and run into the ground, not when you’re this close.”

Ben considers for a moment, realizing you're right.

"You have a point…" he agrees with a reluctant chuckle. "I'll use the same speech I used for the press conference." He decides. You’re silent for a moment.

“...Alright.”

“What?” Ben asks, able to read your expression like a book.

“Nothing, just-” You hesitate, then give him an earnest look, like you don’t want to hurt his feelings. He chuckles and braces himself, knowing whatever you’re about to say will be a necessary - albeit, hard - truth.

“You don’t think it’s a bit much?” You ask gently. “Too formal, given the circumstances?”

He considers for a moment. He thought it did great at the press conference, but maybe there are a few parts he can revise for the arrival of the Isle kids.

“Uh… yeah. I- I can cast eyes over it, we still have a little over an hour. That should be enough to make any tweaks.” He finishes.

You nod as you follow him into the conference room that he’s turned into a makeshift headquarters for all of his first proclamation business. He sets down his bag and pulls out all his paperwork and his planner. He hears you set your stuff down a few seats away from him and looks up. You’ve been working so hard and helping him out so much with all of this. He couldn’t possibly have accomplished a fraction as much without you. He walks over to you, gathering up your stuff.

“Look bunny, why don’t you, uh,” he starts, leaning over slightly to make sure no one’s about to walk through the doorway. “Why don’t you head down for a while. You have enough time if you go now.”

Your eyes light up at his words. You’ve been keeping your Wonderland visits to a minimum to help Ben and support him as much as you can, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“Really?” You ask softly.

“Yeah, I’ll cover for you.” Ben lets out a soft grunt as you tackle him with a hug. He chuckles lightly, giving your back and shoulders a gentle pat before you pull away a moment later.

“I’ll run my speech by you when you get back-” He begins, then cuts himself off, remembering something. “We got your watch fixed, right?”

You’re glad he remembered, and you fish around in your tea pot bag for a moment before pulling out the weathered bronzy pocket watch. Time works differently in Wonderland, and it’s hard to keep track of. You've tried everything you can think of, and your pocket watch is the only thing that seems to keep you from constantly being late. Granted, you're still late or nearly late a lot, but it’s much better than it used to be.

“Yes,” you nod, showing him the little ticking hands, currently resting at the words ‘on time’. A fresh bubble of excitement pops inside you and you let out an excited giggle, hugging Ben tightly one more time.

“Thank you!” you exclaim in a soft whisper before he sends you off. You run over to the corner of the room to summon a rabbit hole. Ben watches in fascination as the tile floor begins to crumble in front of you, giving way to grassy dirt before continuing to crumble, going down, down, down. It’s a large, vaguely irregular circle about half as wide as your wingspan. You look back at Ben with another silent thank you, before jumping straight down into the hole. As soon as the last of you is out of sight, the tiles rebuild themselves without leaving a trace of you. Ben stares at the spot where you disappeared, feeling vaguely melancholic, but mostly happy that you’re getting to spend time doing what you love. That you’re happy.

“There you are, Bennyboo,” Ben whips his head around at the sound of Audrey’s voice, and he’s relieved she hadn’t shown up sooner. It’s not that sneaking off to Wonderland is a bad thing, but most people tend to discourage you from visiting too often. Wonderland is a timeless domain, like Neverland, and it and all of its inhabitants are much different from those from Auradon - usually referred to as Overland or the Main Land by people from Wonderland and Neverland.

Wonderland runs on pure, neutral chaos and nonsense, which is a very hard concept for people from Overland to grasp. Overland runs on a fundamental structure of good vs. evil, so it’s easy for people to perceive things from Wonderland as good or bad when they’re really just made up of madness. The reason people try to keep Wonderland contained is because you can’t fight nonsense with sense, you can’t fight chaos with logic. If something powerful from Wonderland got into Overland, like the Jabberwocky, or any number of powerful plants, animals, or magic, Auradon would be practically defenseless. That’s one of the reasons that Belle and Adam decided to reach out to your mother, and continue to form such a strong bond with her. If Wonderland nonsense managed to get out into Auradon, it would be uncontrollable chaos, and the only person who could stop it would be your mother - and now, you.

It took Ben a while to understand Wonderland, to understand you. You and your mother are very special cases; Alice was from Overland, but adapted to be part of Wonderland, and Wonderland became a part of her. You, however, were born in Wonderland and raised in Overland. You’ve adapted as well as you can, but you always do much, much better when you can sneak away for regular little trips. Ben has asked to join you before, but it’s too dangerous. People from Overland rarely adapt to Wonderland nonsense and usually end up going mad, which is why your mother is such an asset to the Auradon government - she’s actually able to serve as a liaison between Wonderland and Auradon, and keep an eye on things.

Unfortunately, there are still a lot of stigmas surrounding Wonderlandians, stigmas Ben has grown to resent more and more over the years, but most of it boils down to Wonderlandians being weird, crazy, dumb, and volatile. The more Ben has come to understand you, the more he hates the small comments and little stares directed toward you. Luckily Ben has been able to protect you from a lot of it. People very quickly found out that if they said anything bad about you or Wonderland, it wouldn’t end well for them. He can’t get rid of the stigmas, but he can protect you from them as much as possible.

Audrey flounces over, sitting next to him.

"You are never going to believe what Arabella just told me at cheer practice."

“Uh-”

“She said-”

“Um, Audrey.” Ben finally manages to interrupt. She looks confused about why she’s not the one talking right now.

“I want to hear all about this, I really do,” Ben says, “but we’re going to be greeting the kids transferring from the Isle soon-” Audrey huffs, already disinterested.

“And I wanted your feedback on my speech.” He finishes, handing her the papers.

“Oh, sure. There’s that…” Audrey says, pretending to read it over for a moment. Before she finishes, she sets the papers down on the table, and gives Ben a chipper look.

“I’m sure it’s fine, Bennyboo. You never disappoint.”

She sits on the table in front of him, continuing to tell him all about what Arabella said Herkie did. Ben tries his best to listen, he really does. He just can’t keep his mind off his speech, and he can feel himself beginning to spiral and overthink. He has so much riding on this, he can’t afford for his speech to be fine, he can’t afford for anything about this whole ordeal to be fine. Her words keep echoing in his mind, you never disappoint, Bennyboo. He knows she meant it to be supportive, but he feels like all the pressure he’s been convincing himself he can handle is just reinforced. He was hoping to get some real feedback from Audrey, maybe a little encouragement, but-

He stops himself before the thought can go any further. Audrey is his girlfriend, and Ben should be able to trust her word. You would never lie to him about something this important, so he chooses to trust that Audrey wouldn’t either. He tries to shut up the worries clouding his mind and tries to pay attention to what Audrey is saying. She’s probably just trying to distract him from worrying, give him something else to think about for a while. You can always tell when he’s overthinking, so Audrey is probably trying to show him that she cares, that there’s nothing to worry about. That if she’s talking about something like cheer team gossip at a time like this, when Ben is getting ready for one of the most important days of his life, then everything must be under control. Besides, if he needs to he can look his speech over by himself after Audrey leaves. He might have time to. It will all be fine.

The moment you let yourself fall into the dark rabbit hole, your stomach flips as you begin free falling through the darkness. A little dirt sprinkles down on your head from where it closes up above you, and you narrowly manage to avoid some roots snagging in your hair. After a few moments, your descent slows. You spin slowly as you glide down, and in the pitch black darkness, you can feel your internal gyroscope going crazy. You breathe in the heavy, earthy air, and for a few moments, you don't know which way is up or down. You have absolutely no sense of direction for those few beautiful moments, and you don't want to. Soon, your descent speeds up again, and you find yourself tumbling through tree branches, eventually landing on a rough surface in the dark.

“It should be here somewhere…” you mutter, feeling around for a doorknob. After a moment you feel it, cool aged metal in your hand. You twist it, revealing a beam of light through a doorway. It’s going to be a close call, but you think you’ll just be able to fit. You manage to squeeze through the entrance, exiting out of the door - which is situated in a large tree trunk, and into Wonderland. You crawl forward, taking it all in. You take in a deep breath of the still, earthy, floral air. It’s heavy in your lungs, like a deep dream. You fully exit, and the door slowly closes behind you.

The world is quiet.

There’s an almost suffocating stillness in the atmosphere of Wonderland, one that would be uncanny and unnerving to you if it weren’t already so deeply comforting. It’s the same grounding sense of peace and stillness you get when you’re young and walk carefully through your dark house at night in search of a cold glass of water. There’s that feeling in Wonderland, everyone is asleep except for me. I ought to be asleep too, I best not wake them. The world around you is still, still, still. It’s as still as a stone, or a lake made of glass. You soak up the familiar surroundings, and you feel like you’re finally visiting an old friend.

In spite of the pitch black sky, which is barely visible through the treetops, you can see what’s around you just fine. But if you look too far, there’s a darkness off the beaten path, one that stays just at the edges of your sight no matter where you go. It always looks to you like those hazy dark shadows around the edges of old photographs. You look down at the beaten path - this one being made of black and white irregularly shaped checkerboard tiles nestled right into the dirt. They twist and turn, splitting out and reconverging haphazardly into the darkness. They’re a bit worn and dirty, but you suppose any outdoor tiles would get that way eventually.

You follow it back the way you came, spinning around as you do, and notice the way it splinters into little shards, cracking and fragmenting into a mosaic of sorts before petering out at the base of the tree, with grass and dirt poking up in between. You feel yourself begin to settle, at home with the lack of time flowing around you, and you take in another breath. Your nose and lungs are kissed gently with the smell of damp, freshly turned earth, plant life, and that unmoving sort of smell that shows up after it rains, but still before any birds and animals come out from their hiding. The type of smell when flowers are wet, and have not yet opened themselves back up.

Reaching into your trusty teapot bag, you fish around in there until you find your camera. It’s old, very old, and completely obsolete ever since the boom of technology that appeared around the time you and Ben were born, but you love it nonetheless. A year or two before you and Ben - and most of the other kids your age - were born, Auradon successfully made an alliance with Atlantis. They traded their protection of Atlantis and a promise to leave them alone, in exchange for a little bit of their technology and power sources. Adam also promised to make sure Rourke never saw the light of day again, a promise Queen Kida was happy to accept. The trade led to light speed innovations based in Atlantean tech; smart phones, computers, video games, and countless other innovations that brought Auradon into its new age. Flash forward to now, Atlantis is the tech capital of the world, and magic is obsolete. Your camera can’t give directions or tell time or backup to cloud storage, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You snap some pictures of the tiles before you begin exploring. You never know what entrance to Wonderland you’ll fall through, and you love documenting each one. You walk carefully through the forest of dense trees, looking at flocks of haughty looking dodo birds and peonies that gossip to each other, whispering with a laugh as you pass them by. Soon you stumble into something very interesting. You thought it was a cluster of blue bushes, but were surprised to find out they’re really birds. The bird bushes (or maybe bush birds) startle at your presence, squawking and leaving feathers (leaves?) in their wake before they fly off.

You manage to get a few pictures of them too, and you’re excited to show Ben. You’ve tried taking pictures with your phone before, but Wonderland makes technology… unreliable at best. Plus, there’s no service down here anyway. That’s why you took to journaling, drawing pictures and taking photos and writing down everything you see. This way you can share it with Ben, this way it’s almost like he’s here in your favorite place with you.

You follow the blue speckled bush birds - as you’d dubbed them - until you lose track of them. It’s no matter though, since you soon hear some lovely singing coming from under a sparkling berry bush growing fruit shaped like bells. You crouch down, lifting up the leaves, and find a choir of inchworms practicing their harmonies. The leader looks up at you in a huff.

“I’m terribly sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt.” You say. He huffs, and turns back to his choir, conducting with a little twig. You decide to sit and listen for a while as they rehearse under the coverage of glistening pink leaves. You find some oversized, brightly colored mushrooms growing nearby, and sit down on a comfortable one. You pull a teacup out of your bag, trying to decide which tea to drink while you watch the inchworms and listen to their masterpiece slowly come together.

You zip the lid closed, and pour the spout to the cup, settling on some raspberry tea. With honey, you think, and lemon. You smile as a lemon wedge falls from the spout, plopping gently into your cup. You take a sip, and it’s perfectly brewed as ever. You go through several cups of tea, growing more and more invested in the drama between the inchworms. One is insisting on taking the high harmony, even though it’s obviously out of his range. You’re half way through… one of your cups of tea, you lost count rather quickly. By now the inchworms have perfected their harmonies for the chorus, and the first verse. Your attention is ripped away from the inchworms when your bag starts ringing. You open it up, digging out your pocket watch. The bronze hands have spun all the way past most of the little notches, and you nearly drop your tea when you see where they are. Your eyes follow the hands, which are nearly pointing to the word Late! in fancy script.

“Shit!”

#curiosity is a wonderful thing #ben florian #ben florian x reader #daughter of alice!reader #descendants #descendants x reader #OOF #ya bitch is going through it #but it okay #it ony a movie #pls tell me smwn gets that reference #i say it ony a movie about 30 times a day #oh and i got the 'i thlammed my penith in the car door' song stuck in my head again #i sang it for i think 15 is minutes straight at the end of my shift at work today #silently ofc

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beanswrites · 9 months

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Who I Should've Been

ya'll the idea for this popped into my head as i was writting the first chapter of my Peter B. Parker fic (soon on ao3!!) and i just had to do it immediately

i know it's just like a drabble but lmk if you want a whole, one-shot version, i think this has some VERY GOOD angst, second-chance romance potential

also brace yourself this is ANGST angst, i know there's no like major death or anything but it still HURTS😭😭😭

pairings: Peter B. Parker (from Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse) x fem! reader

tags: angst, regret, hurt/no comfort, kind of a cliff-hanger??

summary: Peter is your ex-boyfriend, which you broke up with because he never put in much effort into your relationship. Seven months later, you find Spiderman on your rooftop after one of his patrols.

requests are open!! | masterlist | rules for requesting

It was a cold night in NYC, usual for November. You had just gotten off from work and were in a desparate need for some fresh air, so you made way to your building's rooftop.

It wasn't particularly nice - nothing that would get people to come regularly. Especially you. This place was your secret place with Peter, that jerk of you ex who didn't bother once to call and ask you how you've been in the last seven months. Seven fucking months since you got in a fight and broke up, and he never even asked you how you've been.

Yet, it seemed like the only option, so tonight, it wouldn't matter. He wouldn't matter.

There was another figure out there - one of your neighbors, you assumed, sitting on the edge of the rooftop with his head in his hands, looking over at the city lights.

Wait, was the figure... Wearing a mask?

"Oh, Mr. Spiderman, hello! What.. are you doing here? Any villains? Oh, god- Should I leave?"

Spiderman seemed equally as surprised and starstruck to see you as you did him.

"No, uh, no! Just, on patrol.."

You didn't believe a word he said. You knew very well how to spot a man in despair - and he looked like one.

"Could I.. sit here?"

"Sure."

You sat next to him, wallowing in the beauty of the many lights. The silence between you two was uncomfortable, since it was obvious he had something weighing heavy on his mind.

"Are.. Are you okay?" You ask, unsure whether you should try and pride in.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm.. I'm gonna be okay."

"You don't look fine to me..."

Spiderman bit the inside of his cheek, like he was struggling to say whathever was wrong.

"I, just... Going through a break up"

"Yikes. Bad one?"

"Yeah. Pretty bad."

"Me too. I know it sucks, but it'll get better over time"

He chuckles sarcastically, shaking his head. If only you knew...

"No, not really. Not for me, at least"

"Aww, come on! It will get better, it always does-"

He cut you off sharply, a stern look in him.

"No, it never does. Not when you fucked up as bad as I did. Not when... Shit, not when you lose as much as I did."

An uncomfortable silence reigned. You felt bad for him, but in the end, you could relate. You, too, were trying to heal from a break up that broke you.

"You love her?"

He looks at you. His eyes are covered by the mask and yet, you feel how he's looking at you: full of regret and sadness.

"More than anything... But I fucked up. She won't take me back."

You nodded, your gaze returning to the city skyline.

"What about you..? You miss him?"

Please say yes. Please say you've been a wreck without me like I've been without you.

"Well, it's... Complicated. He was the greatest love I've ever known but.. He just wasn't there for me. Ever. And it eventually got too much for me. His abscense, his lack of attention, everything. It's been a long time, and I think I moved on pretty good. But.. But I still miss him sometimes."

Spiderman smirks.

"He must be an idiot"

You chuckle sweetly, enjoying your time with the superhero.

"Yeah, I guess he kinda was. It's one of the things I loved most about him"

He smiles sadly, suddenly getting up.

"I should go now, got some bad guys to catch. You take care of yourself, alright?"

All you could do was nod before he swung from your building onto another, and then another, and then another....

Maybe it was just your imagination, but the sound of Spiderman's voice sounded awfully comforting. Awfully familiar.

that's all for this one (or is it???)!! thank you sm for reading, follow for more! and lmk if this should be a one shot!! <33

#spiderman #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #marvel #sony #peter b parker #peter b parker x reader #female reader #hurt/no comfort #angst #breakup #regret #second chance romance??#maybe??

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suckerforcate · 1 year

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AGHHH ure literally my favourite writer on here right now!! u write so amazingly!!

could i request a brienne x reader where it’s a long while after what happened with jaime and reader comes into brienne’s life -u can decide how- and reader is sweet and really really likes brienne which is why reader is a bit clingy. brienne is understandably a little cold and has her guard up and one day lashes out at reader because they’re just gonna leave her too anyway. later she sees reader crying to pod and she feels bad and instead of her apologizing reader apologizes for pushing things and brienne feels even worse and brienne explains her actions so reader promises to never leave her. That’s all. Thank you so much!!

Picnic?

Pairing: Brienne of Tarth x Reader

Word Count: 1080

Warning: None, hurt/comfort

A/n: Thank you so, so much!! I really liked the idea and I hope I did it justice.

Brienne had been part of Bran Starks Kingsguard for nearly two years now, and she was very happy that Podrick had been knighted and taken in the Kingsguard as well. Even if she would never admit it she would have missed him terribly. Other than her, Podrick was really open towards new people and always found new friends.

And one day he introduced Brienne to you. She felt that she was instantly drawn to you, but she forbid herself to ever feeling something like that. She didn't want it to go downhill, just like it did with Jamie.

You however, also felt drawn to her and acted on it. A lot. You loved spending time with her. Watching her fight was your favourite thing. Whenever you saw her walk around you accompanied her. Grabbing her arm and happily telling her about your day.

Sure you had noticed her coldness and that she had her guards up at all time. But you didn't take it personally and thought she just needed some time warming up. You never knew how she was treated in her live. Not just the Jamie-thing but also the general resentment people had against her. For you it was unthinkable that anyone could not like her.

You tried everything to warm her up and to look through her guard. You gifted her flowers, you invited her and Pod for dinner, you asked her to accompany you in the city. Most of the time she said no, but sometimes you felt you broke through to her, and she said yes. Still you wouldn't tire and try again and again.

You really thought you were making progress until one day everything went wrong.

It was such a beautiful and warm day, and you had woken up with the idea in your head to ask Brienne put for a picnic. Who could say no to a picnic?

So you prepared everything and went to search for her. Your heart made jumps as you saw her, as an exception not in armour. So you happily approached her and looped your arm through hers. You felt her tense at that, so you respected the boundary and took a step back. But the smile didn't fade. You still beamed at her.

"Brienne, I thought it would be the perfect day for a picnic? Would you like to accompany me? Pod could also come if you'd like." You saw her look annoyed at that and already braced yourself for the coming rejection but what came next was something you never expected.

"No, (Y/n). I do not want to go on a picnic with you. Could you please stop annoying me all the time? I know you're just going to leave me anyway. So stop bothering and let me be." You had never heard her getting so loud and harsh. For a second you didn't even know what to say. But as you felt the tears prick in your eyes you mumbled out an apology and turned around on the heel. So no picnic.

---------------

You didn't even know where to go. The tears were now streaming down your face like a waterfall. Your first thought was Pod. So you went to find him.

"(Y/n), what has happened?" Podrick pulled you into a hug and sat you down next to him. You cried his whole shirt wet. But he didn't care.

"I- I thought I was breaking through with Brienne. It seemed like she wasn't as cold anymore, but I just asked her out on a picknick, and she completely lashed out. What have I done wrong? Why does she hate me Pod?" Pod looked at you empathically.

"I'm sure she doesn't hate you. She's just been hurt a lot and doesn't trust easily. It's hard for her to express her feelings."

"No, I pushed her too much. I'm sure she hates me now." You clung to Pods shirt and cried even more. What neither of you knew was that Brienne had also wanted to talk to Pod, and she had heard your conversation. She felt bad. Really bad. She didn't hate you, and she never wanted to be so harsh. She was just scared.

"(Y/n), I-" She came around the corner and in less than a second you were on you feet. Starting to ramble an apology.

"I'm sorry, Brienne. I shouldn't have been so pushy. You clearly aren't interested, and I should have accepted that." More tears fell down your cheeks, you couldn't even stop them.

Brienne took a step forward and against all her instincts she grabbed your hands and sat down with you. Podrick slowly left you to alone, knowing that you really needed to talk. Alone.

"There is no need for you to apologise, (Y/n). I am the one who should apologise. I had no right to shout at you and get so loud. I don't hate you. I really don't, please never think that. I just... In the past I have been hurt, a lot. From my childhood on people have called me names, made fun of me, bullied me or called me 'Brienne the Beauty'. Of course that was a joke. But because of that I have always been very reserved and, quite frankly, alone. But a few years ago I fell in love. For the first time ever I trusted someone, and I was instantly hurt. He left me for someone else and died protecting the Queen. After that I swore myself to never trust anyone again. I would be hurt sooner or later." To be honest, you were shocked. It had never occurred to you that Brienne could not be liked, that she could have even been bullied and called names. To you she was just perfect. And you told her that.

"I'm so sorry, Brienne. I didn't know any of that. I can't believe people are so cruel. But I can promise you: I will never leave you. To me, you are perfect and amazing. There is nothing about you to make fun of. Each little part and thing about you makes you special. Every flaw, every imperfection, every insecurity." You warmly smiled at her and stroked over her hands. Your tears long forgotten.

"Thank you, so much." Brienne tightly hugged you and even though it still took some time for her to fully grasp it all, she started to trust you more and more. And she even learned to get used to the physical touch.

#brienne of tarth #brienne of tarth x reader #brienne x reader #game of thrones #gwendoline christie #gwendoline christie x reader #wlw #got

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greghatecrimes · 2 months

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Usually I aim to keep my autistic Thirteen headcanons about 85-90% based on things I've seen in canon and as close to realistic as possible. However right now I am in the trenches a little bit, so today's autistic Thirteen headcanon is brought to you by a combination of canon observation, guilty pleasure/wishful thinking, and yeah, a bit of projecting.

Autistic Thirteen & hypermobility

So. I think I established in another post that autism & hypermobility are highly correlated (current estimate is that up to 80% of autistic people experience some type of hypermobility, I believe?), so in the hypothetical of Thirteen being autistic, there's a pretty good chance she'd be hypermobile as well. Hypermobility has a whole range of different ways it affects the body, one of which is decreased internal stability (basically feeling like your body isn't supported enough when you're just standing on your own). As an autistic person with (extremely probable) hypermobility, I've dealt with this my whole life, and there are a whole host of creative ways to work around it and get the body some extra support. I actually see a decent amount of them from Thirteen in canon.

1. Leaning against a chair

This is THE biggest one for me, hands down, without a doubt. Like, literally that exact position. It makes my body feel stable more than any other position I've tried, it reduces soreness if my muscles are tight, and it's all around comfortable. So of course when I saw her doing that, I immediately thought "I wonder if that [autism & hypermobility] could be a reason why Thirteen would do that, too." Even if not for hypermobility reasons: has the vibes of general silly Neurodivergent Stance

2. Slouching and bracing arms against the table for support (while sitting down)

Pretty similar to the first one. Slouching + getting support from the table via arms or elbows gives some extra support to the shoulders, and means your body doesn't have to do all the work of keeping them properly pulled back and in position.

3. Slouching & hugging yourself for support

This one kinda just feels nice because it's like you're simultaneously relaxing (not working or straining to keep shoulders back) and propping yourself up a little extra (arm around the torso in place of a chair or table to lean on).

4. Sitting in chairs weird

Being so real here, I sit in almost this exact position all the time and always have. Knees up, feet on the chair, legs and my side pressed against the arm and back of the chair, nestled into the corner. Optimum placement and position to get the most support from the chair possible. Also just super comfy and 10/10.

Could it just be bad posture or tiredness from some other reason? Is it more than likely that? Yeah. Absolutely. (Ex: Huntington's can cause muscle pain and aches, but I'm not sure yet if that's in the early stages as well as the later stages, or only in the later stages). But, do I resonate with it as a hypermobile afab autistic person, and enjoy seeing a little bit of myself that's been called weird/unusual so casually on TV? Also yeah. And, is it hurting anyone? Nope, not at all.

I'm gonna go take an epsom salt bath and remind myself a bajillion more times that it's okay to write things I want to write, it's okay to write guilty pleasure things, it's okay to see yourself in characters and appreciate it. Sometimes when I write these autistic Thirteen posts I feel "too autistic". But then I step back and think: who am I actually writing this for? The answer is me. And if you guys enjoy it too, then it's a great bonus and I'm glad. As my roommate and I say: writing things for yourself and like three other people on discord/tumblr/etc. is the best and most fun way to write.

#autistic thirteen #headcanons #hypermobility #remy thirteen hadley #being a little more vulnerable than usual on this one but I think younger anya woild have absolutely died in the best way to read something #like this. about writing for yourself and writing whatever you want #my meta

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freedomfireflies · 1 year

Note

Ignore this if you don’t like it or aren’t comfortable writing it. Harry has been really busy lately and it’s made y/n needy so he takes care of her and admits he’s been needy too and will try to put out more time for just them🥹

“Lovie…what are you doing?”

Your lashes full shut, a soft pant slipping between your lips as your head rolls back. “I just…I missed you.”

You hear a bit of static from his side of the phone, followed by a gruff curse. “Baby…I’m at a business dinner—”

“I know,” you whisper, back beginning to arch off the bed as the tip of your finger slides inside. “I know but I had to hear your voice. I had to—”

“Lovie,” he hisses, and you can almost see him pinching the bridge of his nose. The same way you wish he was pinching your clit tight between the rough pads of his—“I’m happy to help but there’s a table full of people out there waiting for me—”

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” you whine instantly, terrified by the thought of him hanging up. “Please, Har…please.”

Another sound, one that you hope resembles that of him locking himself in the bathroom. You hear a bit of grumbling, a bit of scoffing, and something that sounds like your name, but you can’t be sure. “Are you really gonna do this right now?”

“You’re the one who called me,” you remind him.

“I called because your texts were a little concerning.”

“Sorry. S’hard to type with one hand.”

Another scoff. “Mhm. Seemed to send those pictures just fine.”

You smile lazily, head rolling to the side as you slip your finger a bit further in, curling just so. “Shit…yeah, well...I missed you.”

He snorts, seeming to think it’s all part of the act.

But it’s not, and you still your hand as you look up at the ceiling. “I mean it, Har. I really miss you. I know you've been busy and I get it, and I don’t wanna…you know, bother you, but…I miss you.”

He’s quiet for a moment and you wonder what he’s thinking. Then, he sighs. “Lovie, you never bother me, okay? And...fuck, I know, I’m sorry. The negotiations for the tour are taking longer than I expected and I don’t know how to speed it up.”

“I know,” you repeat. “I know, I just…a good morning and goodnight text can only do so much.”

You hear him let out a gentle laugh. “So, this is your payback then, hm? Calling me in the middle of a work dinner so I can listen to you fuck yourself?”

“Well, how else was I supposed to get your attention?”

“Fucking devil,” he mumbles, a bit gruffer than before, and your stomach flips. “All right. Go on, then. Let me hear it.”

You grin as you resume your work, fingers finding a steady pace of curling and thrusting before you place the phone down on your stomach so you can use your other hand. You start with your chest, kneading your tit in the palm of your hand before you move to your clit and give it the same attention you know Harry would.

You sound pathetic. Can hear it echoing through the speaker and bouncing around the walls of the bathroom he’s locked in. You wonder what he looks like. The expression on his face as he listens to you. The way he looks in the suit he sent you a picture of. The way he might be bracing himself against the wall as he encourages you.

You paint a picture in your mind. A sinful picture. The way he’ll have the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. The way his tattoos will peak through. How fucking amazing they look on his tan skin.

You picture his hair and the messy way he’ll have it parted. The way his ring-clad hands will run through the soft brown curls as he shakes them. The way he’ll pull them when he hears you whine.

The way the muscles and veins in his neck will constrict as he clenches his jaw, fighting the urge to talk you through it. Tell you how good you are. How good you taste—

“If you wanted to fucking hurt me, you’re doing a fucking fantastic job,” he seethes, and you can hear the lust dripping off his tongue with each word. “S’not fair, Lovie. And you know it.”

“Neither is missing you,” you retort breathlessly, whimpering when you hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Think I wanna do this myself?”

“I think you just like to hear me need you.”

Another whine. Softer this time. “Course I do. Cause sometimes I think you don’t. And you really should.”

There’s silence as you continue to work yourself to the edge, beads of sweat beginning to form along your hairline.

“You really think I don’t need you?” you hear him ask, and you almost lose it under the sound of your fingers fucking into you a bit faster. “You really think I don’t spend all goddamn day with the thought of your legs around me? Your nails down my back?”

God, he’s trying to kill you, and it almost works.

“Had to leave rehearsal yesterday cause I started leaking in my fucking trousers when I remembered having my cock down your throat,” he just about groans, and you moan in harmony. “Or last week. In the middle of the fucking meeting. My palms started sweating when I thought about the way you look when you come. The way you look so fucking helpless, pulling on the cuffs, writhing around on my sheets.”

You’re so fucking close, whispering his name like a promise, and you don’t have to see him to know he’s feeding off it.

“S’that what you wanna hear?” he murmurs. “Need to hear me tell you that you own me? That I get on my knees for nobody but you? You fucking own me? Can’t go two fucking seconds without thinking about you? Fuck my fist in the back of the car to the thought of you?"

That's exactly what you wanna hear and it does unspeakable things to your mind as you barrel toward what you want with each image he offers.

Then, he's quiet. "Cause I do, Lovie. I do need you. I mean it. Always fucking need you. Don't ever want you to think I don't. Okay? And if I have to prove that to you, then I will. Spend forever proving it. S'that understood?"

You're a bit too preoccupied to respond and when you don't, Scary Harry finally makes his appearance.

"I said is that fucking understood?" he repeats, the stern lilt of his voice forcing your strained reply of agreement. "Good. Now let me hear you come so I can get back to this fucking dinner and think of your punishment."

You'd laugh if a gasp wasn't already ripping from your throat, signaling your release, your entire body trembling as your eyes begin to roll back, and your mind goes blank.

Yet even still, you can hear him calling, “That’s my fucking girl. S’that easy, hm? Bet you’ve been playing with yourself all day, just waiting for me, yeah?”

And with each taunt, he sends you further over the cliff, dangling you there for what feels like hours before you finally come back down.

It’s ecstasy.

You work to catch your breath, not quite sure what to say now, but before you can decide, you hear him clear his throat. “Don’t fucking move.”

You grin, pleased with the success of your scheme as you hear the bathroom door swinging open with a determined fury. "Why?"

“Cause I’ll be there in twenty.”

This is a little more smutty and a little less fluffy, and I'm not quite sure which you were hoping for more, but if it's fluffy, send me another request and I'll do it again hehe

~ Full Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

#harry #harry edward styles #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fan #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles request #harry styles ask

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sixhours · 2 months

Text

Chapter 16 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

You haven’t been to the attic in six weeks. The radio stays silent with no transmissions in or out. As each day passes, you feel a cold steel vice inside you begin to loosen its grip. To your superiors, you are a dead woman, and that’s just fine by you.

You can almost imagine coming out of this on the other side.

~*~

You and Ellie are sitting on the floor in the living room playing a game of Boggle when Joel stumbles through the door after patrol.

“Whoa,” Ellie says, jumping to her feet at his entrance, nearly upturning the board in her haste. You turn around and see Joel’s shirt spattered with fresh dark blood, traces running up his neck, threaded through his beard.

“What happened?”

“S’not mine,” he says gruffly. He unbuttons the shirt with trembling fingers, drops it to the floor, shucks off his boots.

“Hate to see the other guy,” Ellie mutters.

“Gonna shower,” he whispers hoarsely, bypassing you without meeting your eyes, socked feet heavy on the stairs. Soon there’s the sound of running water, the pipes groan as the heater kicks on.

You meet Ellie’s eyes, exchanging a silent look of worry.

“Might as well finish,” she sighs, plopping back down on the floor, rubbing at the bandage on her arm. “Your turn to roll.”

“Don’t scratch,” you say absently. She scowls but moves her hand away.

The two of you shake the dice, set the timer, and scribble out the words in a yellowed notebook. Ellie soundly kicks your ass, but you’re both distracted. The shower stays running upstairs, and soon you put the game away.

As you’re cleaning up, she ventures a tentative remark. “Joel seemed weird.”

“He’ll be fine,” you say reflexively. “Just a hard day.”

She snorts, watching as you move to the door and pick up Joel’s shirt, examining the blood stains. You feel her eyes on you as you take it to the sink, running cold water over the fabric.

Ever since the burn, she’s been muted and withdrawn, but Joel’s appearance has shaken her. Part of you thinks you should go to her, try to comfort her, but you know you’re not the one she wants.

When it’s clear you’re not going to be of much help, she huffs a frustrated sigh. “I’m going to bed,” she says flatly. “I have my headphones so I can’t hear you doing anything gross.”

She trudges upstairs, the slam of her bedroom door echoing down the narrow hall.

~*~

Eventually, you find yourself standing in the hallway outside Joel’s bedroom. The door hangs open a crack, an arc of yellow light from the bathroom spilling across the darkened floor.

“Joel?”

No response.

Feeling like an intruder, you approach the bathroom door, easing it open. He’s standing in the shower, back to you, braced on one arm against the wall. The room is damp but not exactly warm. The shower has run cold and he’s shivering under the stream.

“Joel?” Louder this time. He doesn’t stir at the sound of your voice, doesn’t move, save for the shaking of his shoulders.

A dark thought strikes you, makes your heart skip. The blood on his clothes, his face. His unnatural stillness, the jerky motion of his limbs, the sudden lack of awareness. Your mind goes blank with white-hot fear.

He’s infected. He was bit, and he’s infected. Run get out go–gogogo–

You barely hear him over the running water and the sound of your internal panic. He’s turned to you, staring with the same haunted look he brought home. He’s naked; you can see there are no bites, no wounds, just his usual scars, and tired, hopeless eyes.

“Christ, Miller, you’re freezing,” you say dumbly.

You grab a clean towel from the bedroom closet, wrapping it around his shoulders as he steps out of the tub, shivering. He seems to wake up at this, coming back to you as you rub the terrycloth into his shoulders and back, trying to generate heat.

“We got swarmed,” he says through chattering teeth. “Eliot got bit.”

You swallow hard. “Shit.”

He doesn’t have to tell you what he did out there.

“We barely made it out. They’re gonna send a bigger team tomorrow.”

You frown. “How are there so many?”

He shakes his head. “We don’t know. Somethin’s bringing ‘em to the area. Maria says…they’ve never seen anythin’ like it.”

“Will the wall hold?”

“Yeah…yeah, it should,” he sighs, shakily sitting on the bed. “But it’s makin’ patrols a hell of a lot harder. Shit, I can’t…can’t get warm,” he whispers.

“You’re in shock.”

As if to prove the point, his body gives a violent shake. “F-f-fuck.”

“C’mon. Under the covers,” you say. “Doctor’s orders.”

He groans but doesn’t resist when you pull the quilt back and urge him under it, wincing at the iciness of his skin. “Wanna roleplay, d-doc?”

“I don’t need to roleplay,” you say pointedly. “You’ve made yourself a regular patient.”

The bed creaks softly as you lay down next to him, pressing yourself closer to share your body heat over the covers. Slowly his trembling lessens.

“Gotta tell his wife,” he mumbles. “Fuck, we haven’t lost anyone in…f-fuck.”

“Someone from the council will take care of it,” you say, smoothing a damp curl off his forehead. You know the procedures by heart. Even grief is a shared effort in this place.

Joel’s breathing slows, the shaking finally having worked its way out of his limbs. You graze a fingertip over his cheek and find it warm. In the dim light of the bathroom, you can see his eyes are already closed.

~*~

When you wake, the light outside has that dewy, moonlit look of early summer. Joel must have been up, because the room is bathed in darkness and his quilt is pulled up to your shoulders, over your clothes.

You reach out to find him. Your hand reflexively goes to his chest, checking his breathing. It’s steady, but not slow. His hand immediately finds yours and holds it there.

“Sorry…I woke you.”

“S’ok.” You edge toward him sleepily, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in. Your eyes drift shut, threatening to pull you under.

He rolls to face you, large hands cupping the bones of your cheeks, your jaw, pulling you in for a long, slow kiss. Asking, wanting. His lips pillowy and sweet under yours, his tongue teasing, stroking, until you’re both breathless.

“Please,” he whispers hoarsely, broken.

He’s gentle in a way you couldn’t have imagined, whispering soft encouragement in your ear as he removes your clothes, peeling off each layer until your skin is pressed to his . The words flow from his lips as he runs them over your body in worship.

He fits himself inside you with practiced ease, one hand splayed at your back, moving with you. His other hand slips between your joined bodies and finds your center, delicious friction coiled low in your abdomen, a sweet release that washes over you like a tide. You moan into his mouth, feeling him grow inside you, pulsing, emptying himself.

Your lovemaking leaves you boneless, sated. You’re drifting in that liminal space when you feel the rumble of his chest, the soft purring of his mouth in your hair, and you become vaguely aware that he’s talking.

“Mmm?”

There’s a deep pause, long enough to convince you you must have dreamed it until he says the words, so soft, so faint.

“She’s immune.”

“...what?”

“She can’t be infected,” he says softly. “It’s…in her brain or somethin’. She was born…with it.”

You pull away, trying to read his face. “Ellie? How do you–”

“You can’t tell anyone,” he breathes, eyes boring into yours. “You can’t…they’ll take her.”

“I won’t,” you say automatically, feeling a dark pit boil in the center of your abdomen as you try to reassure him. “I won’t, but…who will take her?”

“The Fireflies tried to…we thought…thought there might be a cure.”

For a moment you’re so dumbfounded that you don’t even know what he’s referring to. A cure? A cure for what?

“...for the fungus? That’s…not possible,” you say slowly. “Cordyceps–it doesn’t…die. It’s too widespread at this point, there’s no…”

“Not a cure, then, a…a vaccine.”

Silence, the quiet hum of the house around you as you contemplate this.

“There was a hospital. In Utah. They were going to open her up…her brain–” he breaks off, swallowing hard.

Jesus.

“...and I was supposed to just take her out there, deliver her so they could just…carve her into pieces and…”

His hand finds yours, gripping it tightly.

“An’ I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t…let them…take her…even if it meant we’d never have to do this again,” he whispers. “Never have to worry about a bite…”

Your mind fills in the unspoken words.

Never have to shoot your patrol partner. Never have to watch your loved one’s eyes go empty, their skin crawling with infection. Never have to struggle to make each day mean something as the world crumbles around you.

“I know it makes me a selfish asshole…but I wouldn’t change a goddamned thing,” he whispers fiercely.

“And she doesn’t know,” you say faintly, a statement, not a question.

I think he’s lying to me.

A shuddering in-breath. “She needed it to…to mean something. She was so fuckin’ hopeful …and I just…killed it…

“Now she wakes up screamin’ and I can’t… shoot the nightmares away. I can’t… hurt them the way they hurt her, and I can’t…I can’t…she’s been through too much because of me. And now I can’t take it back, I can’t make it…right...”

You watch a tear slip quietly from the corner of his eye and drop into the tender shell of his ear.

“I put too much on her, I know that. But if she was gone, I…I couldn’t–”

And here he is, naked, cracked open and bleeding tears, and you don’t think you can stand it. He shudders, pressing his face into the crux of your shoulder like a small child seeking comfort.

Your fingers trail absently through his curls as you try to absorb everything–his words, his tears, his confession.

It makes sense now.

The scars. His fierce protection. Her blinding anger.

FEDRA’s interest.

That last thought lands heavily in your stomach, curdling like spoiled milk. You think of how close you’d come to serving the girl up on a platter to your superiors, who would no doubt find a way to make use of her. You think of how many secrets you’ve told…and how many lies.

You, of all people, have nothing to offer. Who are you to judge the shape of his cowardice? Save the world or save his girl, there was only ever one path. So you hold him, because there are no more words, and you wait for morning to come.

#fanfic #fic recs #the last of us hbo #joel miller #ellie williams #joel and ellie #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us

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