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greythemed · 10 months

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𓂃 ♥︎ⴰ bloodhounds . kim gun-woo

˚ TITLE 𓂃 ♥︎ⴰ polymyxin b. ˚ WORD COUNT 𓂃 ♥︎ⴰ 9005 (i am so sorry).

“stop pressing it, you dumbass!”. you exclaim in discomfort, but shamefully not because of you.

“it’s just a bruise, some nebacetin will do it”. your boyfriend’s reaction was pissing you off more than his colleague’s grunting behind you.

“it’s not just a bruise, that was metal they were hitting you with”. your angry tone left space for your saddened one and gun-woo did not like it at all. “why did you guys agree on that anyway?!”.

“it was his idea”, they both said it simultaneously, pointing fingers at each other that made you roll your eyes.

“ya, y/n”. woo-jin called you. “don’t be so mean to him, he dodged almost every punch wonsuk-subaenim threw at him”.

was that supposed to calm you down? a middle finger was pointed at the older man next to your boyfriend, gun-woo laughing and woo-jin reaction was to scold you.

"aish-", he gets up to grab a towel and you laugh a little seeing woo-jin's response. "i miss when your girlfriend wasn't a professional doctor, gunwoo-ya". gun-woo smiles shyly and you return to your job on your boyfriend's abs.

"shut up, old man". you ignored him.

"see?! she doesn't respect me!". it was your turn to laugh, ignoring him completely once again.

“i can’t work properly without some soothing paste, gun-woo, look at this mess”, the frustration was evident in your voice, manicured hand tracing his right side carefully which made the boy a little sad and impatient.

“it’s okay jagiya, don’t worry too much”. he turned to you after throwing a nasty looking at his best friend for not helping and held your face in his hands. he hated to admit that he could see tears forming in your eyes. “we can take a look after napping today, what do you think? you must be exhausted”.

the brutal difference between your little hand and his almost pierced skin shamefully stole his attention for a couple of minutes. without even noticing, your other hand grabbed his shorts so tightly it was starting to color your knuckles white.

worriedly, gun-woo laced his fingers with yours and made him eye-level with you, damp hair and sweaty armpits ticking his brain saying you should shower after a training session that long but his mind was nowhere near worrying about himself.

“hey, look at me”. his voice sounded lenient enough that even woo-jin got quiet on the other side of the room. "it's okay, baby, i'm gonna be fine".

“you’re the one that should be exhausted, not me”. you complain about his kindness, starry eyes becoming glossy minute after minute, making the man in front of you almost panic.

“don’t think i don’t know you’ve been working the whole day”. he says brushing your hair behind your ear. “mr. seo said you’ve been taking your colleagues' shifts too”.

your pout only grows like a kid being caught stealing candies at a party. it was so frustrating dating a boxer when you built your whole life around saving people's lives, choosing the most efficient predicament to help someone on the verge of dying, or physically taking matters into your own hands to avoid any nasty side-effects that could change a person's life forever.

leaving patients behind to suffer wasn't an option for you, let alone postpone the pains and unattended injuries of your loved ones.

“the skin, gun-woo”, you return to ramble and point at the purple bruise on his body. “it needs bacitracin and polymyxin b otherwise it’s going to get pretty ugly. imagine the metal pierced your skin? that would be the end, god".

“baby, stop thinking about it”. he lifts your chin so you’d stop looking at the bruise. “i won and that’s what matters, right? just one more week and we’re going to the finals half, it’ll be over soon”.

a pout was formed and your lips quivered. honestly, you’ve never cried in front of gun-woo before and his reaction was pure terrific. you didn’t know what got you so worked up after the match against his stupid coach and that stupid ugly machine, but you winced every time his grunts on the ring got louder and louder.

a couple of minutes into the last round, you regretted coming to see his training, he kind of forgot to tell you that it wasn't the usual gym sessions anymore, and now they were approaching a more realistic season of monthly fights coordinated by his coach.

you hated his coach from now on and that was final.

gun-woo’s eyes were round and full of stress when you cleaned the first tear that have fallen on your left cheek, averting your gaze to the table behind him and trying to distract yourself.

“people with skin infections have a higher risk of low immune responses and vice-versa”, you continue, “they can vary from mild to serious”. gun-woo grips your arm.

"jagi".

"are your vaccines up to date?". you asked him and he nodded. "god, that could've turned into a fucking lockjaw or something, gun-woo". he looked at you with pity and panicked.

"i'm okay, see?". he points to his sweaty chest. "we came to the doc appointment last week and we were all good, right, hyung?". gun-woo glances at woo-jin silently asking for help.

unfortunately, gun-woo was inexperienced in this dating thing and sometimes needed the help of his dramatic hyung.

"oh, yes, yes, yes. the doctor said we were new as a baby and wonsuk-ssi even congratulated us". the boxer held his thumbs up in an exagerated sign and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "the diet has been doing good for us! stop worrying too much kid, you're sounding like his mom".

why did he have to be so drama queen-orientated?

you looked at your boyfriend with glassy eyes and a red nose, turning your back to woo-jin so he couldn't see your crying expression and hopeless state. you trusted the man with your life just as gun-woo did, but something about the ugly-looking bruise on your boyfriend's side was starting to look too scary for you.

"neomycin, compression, elevation, and a bruise-healing diet can also help speed up the healing process, but that looks scary". breathing deeply, you point to the injured local and grimace. "15—20 minutes of ice packs for 3—4 days will do it unless the skin is pierced". you pause, talking to yourself. "we better get going or you'll start bleeding soon".

"jagi".

"arnica gel is useless here". you take a step forward and breathe deeply again. "fuck it, i'm applying vaseline if it gets worse".

"y/n". gun-woo called you but none was working.

"tell me if it starts bleeding, please? do not press it or else the blood will fuck everything up".

“woah, she is a stress-talker i can see”. on the other side of the changing room, woo-jin's comment makes you think he deserves death, you were sure of it.

“aish-, will you stop?”. gun-woo hugged your head in his chest and grimaced at his best friend next to the door. he was starting to get frustrated with your state and didn't know what to do.

woo-jin also came to see the fight but it turns out he was only making things worse in this moment.

“what? i am too!”. woo-jin defends. “i get all talkative when i’m stressed, but just not all of that smart stuff she sayin’”.

“jagi, we’re going home yeah?”. gun-woo patted your shoulder, dismissing his friend and looking at you. “there you can take a closer look and then we order food, hm?”.

your boyfriend was waiting for your response when he got a change of plans.

“sounds good!”. woo-jin exclaimed and you could feel your boyfriend rolling his eyes.

you swear to god woo-jin wasn’t usually this persistent.

gun-woo ignored him, which you found a little cute in your opinion, and even laughed a little.

“okay, but you’ll have to promise me to rest tonight”. you look up at his eyes and your boyfriend smiles. it was different to have someone other than his annoying best hyung or his mother worrying about his well-being, and for sure it was the first time someone this 'brainly' took care of him.

after being alone for so long, gun-woo appreciated your nurturing nature like no other and wanted to stop the negative feelings blooming in your chest right now.

“okay, i promise”. he presses a quick kiss on your lips, which was accompanied by a little wince since he had to bend down to your height to reach your face.

"aigoo, i'm sorry". you grimaced apologetically.

he smiled and turned to reach for his shirt beside you, putting it on while waiting for you to pick his things up. gun-woo had to admit that was the most intense fake match his coach had put him into. maybe you were right and he should rest tonight.

"i met him first". gun-woo can hear woo-jin's voice threatening you at the door. he only went to wave his coach goodbye and came back for a bickering woo-jin and a pouty y/n. "he was just fine when it was only me and him".

"you smell like belly pork and not in a good way". you replied.

"aish-, respect your elders, kid". woo-jin's eyes were round and menacing. "i saved his life more than once, okay? we are brothers at heart, we even share our clothes!".

"his mom loves me, she even cooked me bulgogi when we first met!". that was you on your tip-toes beckoning woo-jin to the door, a man at least seven inches taller than you. his face was frightened and his hands were defensively in front of him. "and i know exactly when to turn the grill on when we're going out!".

gun-woo's shirt was too tight for him to keep listening to your argument, and he definitely was starting to feel his right side itching when the tissue came in contact with the bruise.

"aish-, that was one time!". woo-jin defended. "and you'll never know how a boxer's spirit works because we invented it".

"liar! you said you preferred mayweather when you guys first met, and i know this because he told me himself".

"oh please i am a manny pacquiao enthusiast at heart and forever will be. and! i've also seen his d-".

"ya, would you both stop?". gun-woo interrupted his friend with a glare, warily pulling you back so you wouldn't hit his friend across his face. "i'm tired and it's getting late".

"he started". you pointed at the older man. "and i've seen more than his dick, you old".

"ya!". gun-woo looks at you affronted and woo-jin starts laughing, hiding his mouth when gun-woo pretends to hit him.

"she gots quite the temper, bro". woo-jin had to point it out. "woo, i'm excited! finally someone who matches my energy".

"you both should stop". your boyfriend tsks and you look at him smiling. "and you shouldn't listen to him". he says.

"don't say it like we're finished, boxer". you threaten woo-jin with your eyes and gun-woo has to stand between both of you so you wouldn't jump the man scaringly.

"ya, take good care of my lil bro for me, yeah?". he taps gun-woo's shoulders and they both smile at each other intensively.

"aish-, it looks like you're both exactly in love, stop that".

"yes! she's getting jealous!". woo-jin exclaims.

"hyung, you're wife is waiting for you, just go". gun-woo whines at the man and he smiles, seeming to finally remember he has his own real lover. "woah, that's true, i'm going!". woo-jin starts running down the hall and waving at both of you goodbye, finally letting your boyfriend go smiling like an idiot.

gun-woo takes his bag from your shoulders and you both start walking down the hall hand in hand. for now, you choose to silence your concerns about the big boy and just plan a peaceful ride back to your home.

"take your clothes off". your voice sounded a little too low for gun-woo's liking and he couldn't suppress a smile. glancing at you, he couldn't help but find his all-black gym set a little out of place in your all-pink bedroom. to no surprise, you perfectly fit in the pastel colors you were wearing.

"buy me a dinner first, sailor". he had to joke looking at you and taking his tight gym shirt off. instantly, he felt his side ache. something damp ran down his ribs and gun-woo cursed when he spotted blood in the rem of his shorts.

well, wasn't that just great?

looking at the bathroom mirror, he grimaced pressing the purple and red spot with his other hand.

"don't". you came from nowhere, taking his bigger hand off of him and analyzing the situation with - what your boyfriend liked to call - doctor face. a first-aid kit was on your arms the instant you glanced at the little blood accumulating on the bruise. gun-woo attentively stared at your facial expressions worried about what you were going to do.

to his surprise, only a sigh escaped your lips, and the boxer was guided to sit on the bathtub behind him, your little hand holding two of his fingers so he could follow you. it was funny how larger his frame was compared to yours in the small white bathroom.

"does it hurt a lot?". you ask worriedly wiping his skin.

"no". he wasn't necessarily lying, you both knew how pain tolerance worked for gun-woo. "just itchy". he made a face and clicked his tongue boringly.

you looked attentively at the injury while avoiding your hands on the more reddened area.

gun-woo thought your size was the perfect complement to your cute personality. when he first met you, your height was the first thing that he noticed after your soft hair. of course, accompanied by your scary father he didn't dare to even look at your way properly, but his first impression of you was something the boy held dearly in his heart.

your smart brain was when everything became blurry to the boxer. for a recently graduated student, gun-woo knew your knowledge was freshly put into place, and added to the great things he had heard about your intellect before meeting your father, he knew you were smart. but imagine the surprise when he first saw you dealing with your father's disease from up-close, admiring your basically perfect approach and ripeness to everything handed to you.

it didn't click him. how could someone so delicate-looking be so splendidly clever and loveable at the same time. he thought it was unfair the fact that you were so effortlessly sexy in his eyes. and that was a first for the boxer.

you were his first everything.

"this has to have knocked the air out of your lungs". you state while kneeling on the floor in front of him, making the boy gulp and avert his gaze suddenly embarrassed.

“hm, yeah”. he gulped even harder. “but just for a moment, though. coach didn’t want to stop”.

between his parted legs, you were insinuating things he had trouble forgetting, and with one more glance at you, he had to part his lips surprised because jesus christ, why were you tying your goddamn hair?

"i'm talking to wonsuk-subaenim about this no matter what". you looked up at him and he quickly averted his gaze. "that stupid machine has to go away".

two weeks ago. in this same bathroom. you were wearing your pink PJs late at night and he swore he had never seen your lips that glossy. the position was the same. he remembers it all too well and has to shake his head to not make things harder for him.

"jagi-".

"i'm serious, gun-woo". now was his turn to sigh. why were you pretending this didn't do anything to you? was he the creepy one? oh god, he definitely was the creepy one.

his eyes were as round as a golf ball as he looked at your innocent expression and silently cursed his inappropriate thoughts.

gun-woo swore he wasn't like this before meeting you. he was a decent young man with respectable beliefs and a proud mother that admired and trusted him blindly.

being an athlete, gun-woo was often proclaimed for his self-control and disciplined routines. now, only a glance at your smooth skin without too much clothing was enough to have the man spiraling and sweating.

four months ago he wasn't like this.

"it's the second time this happens. remember that day in your mom's apartment? you told me you'd take more care of yourself". you continue to speak nonchalantly, rambling your frustrations to the man.

"it was a snap kick i wasn't ready for". he clears his throat hoping to not sound too raspy. "coach didn't tell me on time". you suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

"i am going to need an elastic bandage for this". you say more to yourself, warm hands inspecting the swelled area while your boyfriend examines your face panicked. because why were you so close to his fucking crotch? "and also a heating pad to clear up the trapped blood. will you hold it for me?". you ask him to hold the warm cloth while you searched for more things for help in the first-aid kit.

"baby, could you work on this side first?". he shyly asked, thick thighs trapping you in place to gather your attention. the boxer had to summon all the courage in the world to politely ask you this. the little yelp you let out because of the sudden touch made him blush involuntarily. "s-sorry".

his voice was so low and raspy that made you question what the hell was going on. even involuntarily, his voice always gave him in.

"oh my god, did i hurt you?". you worriedly questioned, getting up quickly so you could examine him from afar.

"no, no". he waves it off, gulping a few times so the embarrassment could pass.

it wasn't working.

"it's just that... that position". he pointed to the floor where you were previously sitting and saw exactly the moment your expression changed.

"what?". your confusion was clearly shown by your knitted brows and opened mouth.

"the position you were in... you know...". he gulped more times than he could count and could feel the fire his cheeks were on at that moment. only when his hands fled to his crotch area as if trying to hide something that your brain finally clicked.

"kim geun-woo, is that a boner? oh my god". he grimaced embarrassingly. "how could you think of things like that when your skin is basically peeling?!".

"c'mon, baby, i was trying to be discreet". he interrupts you, dying to pull your hands so he could properly apologize to you but you kept getting away. "i'm sorry, it's just that it triggered a memory of us a while ago and you tied your hair and everything and my brain stopped braining".

"you need to go to church, you pervert". his pout was something you were accustomed to, and his shy whines were a great reminder that, even if your boyfriend looked like a war trunk and sculpted by the sky itself, he still was stupidly timid when it came to things like this. "i'm joking". you laugh and he rambles.

"i'm not asking for anything! just s-stay here". he points to the floor next to his right leg, a different space from where you were before. "please".

"how long have you been like this?". a shit-earing grin was starting to adorn your face, almost forgetting about the important task you had at hand.

"i-i'm not asking anything, i swear". he repeats in despair. "i don't want you to feel uncomfortable, please".

"uncomfortable?". you approach him laughing. "baby, you're my boyfriend for a reason, you could never make me uncomfortable. that happens sometimes, no need to feel embarrassed about it".

"well, i'm just worried sometimes because of... you know what". instantly, your heart grew all soft.

"oh my god, are you talking about what i told you the other day?". your round eyes were glued to the man in front of you, hands swiftly caressing his sweaty hair while you fought the urge to kiss his forehead.

"you said you didn't have great experiences in the past and, even though i wonder sometimes, i don't feel like it would be nice to ask you which ones. so i try to just avoid situations like this so you won't think of me as just another dirty-minded creep". he explains and you kiss him.

you wanted to cry. and suck the life out of him. at the same time. because that's just how dating kim geun-woo makes you feel.

"i'd never think of you in that way, oppa". you hugged his head on your chest and he nosely laughed, finally relieved for not completely fucking things up. "i would suck you anytime, anywhere you want, you know that". you say and he looks up at you seriously.

"ya, stop teasing".

"i'm serious, i literally am in love with you and your co-".

"oh my god, you need church". he closes his eyes and breathes deeply, trying to take control of his own body.

"you're like the most romantic and sweetest guy a girl could ever want. and then your dick had to be big too!".

"ya!". gun-woo looked serious and you smiled at that. what he didn't notice was that he was gripping your ass unconsciously in his nervous state.

"pervert". you whispered in his ear and he immediately stopped.

"i'm going to go, woojin-hyung is not so mean to me as you are". he pretends to start getting up and you hold his arms laughing. his whiny tone was so cute you could die.

"i'm sorry, sorry! it's just so easy to mess with you". he glared at you and you smirked. "i can't let an injured man run around the streets alone, especially an uncontrolled one".

"just wait for this fucking thing to heal, y/n". you opened your mouth in shock. was that veins popping on his temples?

"language!".

"sorry, sorry, can you please do your job?".

you laughed at that and kneeled at his side, sensing that he was starting to become frustrated. you weren't sure why, but at this beginning of your sexual life, you found yourself often giving in to his wishes afraid that you are stepping into a hole with no way up.

gun-woo made you feel safe - not uncomfortable in any way. but sometimes you doubted the man was engaged in this type of thing at all because he seemed to skip any opportunity he has to rock your world daily. you trusted him and respected his slow pace.

you made the order in your head, soothing the area with some polymyxin b and nebacetin, soothing oils for the itchy feeling to go away, and vaseline to keep the wound moist. after that, you wrapped the bruise with an elastic bandage and gently pressed the heated cloth there for a few minutes.

too tempted, you sneaked a glance at your boyfriend's shorts.

"oh my god, it's huge".

for one second, you thought you were flying across the bathroom and the other you realized gun-woo had got up so fast you fell backward and hit your head on the marble floor. the pain shoots straight to your neck and ear almost instantly.

"omo!". gun-woo came to the rescue in panic, seeing what he has done. "are you alright?". he asked worried.

"it was a compliment, idiot!". you screamed at him, grimacing at the new feeling in your head. "what is wrong with you?".

"so now it's my fault?". he defended. "you're not supposed to be saying things like that when is not sexy time!".

“don’t say ‘sexy time’!”.

“you can’t keep doing this, i’m trying to be polite here!”.

"i was just teasing you!". you glanced at his stoic face and got up with his help, patting your head where it hurt most, thankful to find no blood in the area.

"it turns me on!". he confessed and for a minute you were glued to the ground. "it makes me want to take you to bed and have sexy time when you're all bratty and mouthy". his raspidly voice said and you had to grip the counter behind you so you wouldn't fall again.

what did he just tell you?

"oh". it was your turn to feel the fire on your cheeks. "i-i didn't know, i'm sorry, i thought...". you guiltily gulped staring at gun-woo's chest before looking him in the eyes.

"i'm trying to take things slow but you don't help, y/n". the sincerity in his raspy voice made you almost want to shy away. forwardness never looked so sexy in someone like it does to him. "i'm not that experienced, you know that, so i don't know what you like and don't like and that makes me scared to fuck it up. and, god, that makes me fucking insane because all i can think about is you all the time".

your sweaty palms gripped the bloodied rem of his shorts and you closed the gap between the two of you, steading your wobbly feet with gun-woo's help. the proximity made him crazy and you could see the mental battle he was going through in his head. you pecked his lips three times before whispering.

"why be scared?". your starry eyes locked him in place and gun-woo swore he couldn't move, your question making him confused. "i also want you all the time, oppa. i think of you all the time, that's why is so hard for me to see you getting hurt and i want to cry my eyes out when it happens. you drive me crazy, oppa".

"i'm sorry". you didn't know he was talking about what have happened in the ring or about what he was going to do to you because suddenly his expanded pupils made his eyes get darker and darker and you were almost crying from the anticipation of feeling him anywhere.

"i'm worried you'll get more hurt". one of your hands traveled to his injured side, never leaving his gaze. "you should... i'm sorry, gun-woo, we shouldn't-".

"you promise to tell me if anything feels wrong?". he cuts you off by arching your back and locking his eyes with you, entirely invading your personal space. "if you don't like something, do you promise to make me stop? because i swear to god i can't take it anymore, y/n". he whispered the last part on your mouth and you swore the cat got your tongue for a minute.

"uhum". you nod your head and gun-woo stayed still, arching his brows as if challenging you not to finish the sentence. "i promise, oppa". you said breathly, eyes focused on his and nowhere else.

you could feel all of gun-woo's desire pulsing deliciously beneath him, hard and voluminous, inciting your intimacy to slowly release lubricant.

you were curious. his face was cute and his body was a sin, but not all of the morals and good mannerisms in the world could hide the true desire of a person. you knew he always wanted more and you were so curious to find out what exactly his innocent brain had conjured in all these months of dating you.

gun-woo panted softly, having complete control of your body now that your toes were barely touching the ground, back arching even more while he took a deep breath next to your ear. and then he started teasing his own body as he rocked back and forth, slowly, in search of relief. and using you.

you kissed his neck, and there was when you worked him up with little kisses and shy licks, making him more and more susceptible to pleasure. gun-woo was such a selfless person that he felt scared of taking instead of giving and you wanted to prove him wrong. you wanted to prove to him that sex is good regardless of your position.

you didn't count on his strength in moments like this, but he was a boxer, after all, so you were silly to think he would take it easy on you. only one minute in and his grip was so strong on your skin that you were certain your ass was battered, squeezed, and still under the fabric of your slacks.

you knew his body all too well, you saw him naked countless times and so did he with you in the last 4 months. but never he did what he wanted with you. too shy, too aware, too scared to ask you. because that's just what gun-woo was.

selfless.

he pulled your face away from his neck so that he could bring his full lips to yours. you were kissed at the pace he dictated, in the way he wanted, fast and wild. both of your tongues collided in a hot, pleasurable slide.

you swore this wasn't the same man who had blushed at remembering you sucking him off minutes ago.

gun-woo sucked hard on your voluminous lips every time he withdrew his tongue, which you insisted on sucking in the most erotic way possible whenever he invaded your mouth. meanwhile, your hips were manipulated by the boxer's hands, which made them rise and fall slowly on his still-covered cock.

your hips were placed on the counter and you finally realized you didn't have much place to run after that. you were trapped between your sink and a 6ft tall man in front of you with sirened eyes that could kill you.

your pants gradually gained moisture, and the moan you let out when gun-woo gripped your ass with more force maddened the boxer even more, making him stop the kiss and go down with his stimulations on your neck and collarbone, seconds later capturing one of your clothed nipples between his lips and sucking it.

you bit your bottom lip and intertwined your fingers in gun-woo's hair, with his head tilted up, eyes closed and lips parting as he let out gasps of pure delight. the moan you let out when he invaded your pants with his hands and started unbuttoning your jeans and unconsciously scraping your clit was so purely erotic that even he grunted.

"sorry". his gruff voice was rushed as if he felt bad for you but at the same time didn't actually give a shit and was only trying to be polite - trying not to lose his complete sanity.

which was slowly faltering.

you pushed his head against your chest in response, undulating your hips over his hard prominence and the boxer's reaction was to feel a painful twinge in his pelvis and moan.

he raised his head, eyes even darker, then glared at you. he touched your chin with his thumb and slid it across your lips while breathing deeply.

you reached into his pants and touched him, initiating continuous movements along his entire length. gun-woo's lips parted and his brows furrowed, giving you the most obscene view you've ever seen of his face.

hot scar glowing in his sweaty skin and cutting the right side of his entire cheek.

his body was getting hotter, your body was getting hotter, his cock getting harder and your pussy getting wetter. it was painful to repress his own urges.

"fuck". you brought his dick out of his shorts and jerked it off, hands almost trembling with so much tenseness your crotch area was feeling. getting him off made you want to cry.

gun-woo closed his eyes and gasped when you massaged his glans wet by pre-cum.

"oppa". you called him in such a whiny tone that made him go crazy, hiding his face on your neck and biting his lips until it draw blood to his mouth. "i c-can't". you tried to say and his ears perked up. "i'm too wet, i d-don't know what to do". it was embarrassing for you to confess something like that, but hearing gun-woo's grunts and quiet moans was making you wetter and wetter. and you weren't lying, you actually didn't know what to do because you've never been this turned on before.

what the hell?

"fuck, don't call me that, baby". he breathed on your neck and for a second you were afraid he could smell your fucking pre-cum pooling on your panties.

"stop moaning in my ear, for fuck's sake". you didn't know where the strength to say a full sentence came from suddenly but you were afraid a simple touch of the man was going to make you fucking cum.

is this how you feel when you fuck someone you love? mighty skies above, you'll have to do this every day now.

"what do you want me to do when you won't stop squeezing my fucking dick, princess?". his voice sounded more like a growl than an actual human sound and you whined even louder in return.

you arched your body as he trailed his fingertips along your back, intensifying the contact of his thigh against your intimacy. you parted your lips and let out a high moan in response to his touches.

suddenly, you were so sensitive you could cry.

gun-woo felt your grip on his dick falter as if giving him a break. finally, the man could breathe properly again.

the next second, you felt your lips numb with such force that gun-woo sucked them, your body limp as he ultimately took control of your body.

not platonically, but literally.

"fuck, gun-... please".

like a ragdoll, he manhandled you in a position where your cunt was pressed directly on his flexed thigh, making you cry. frustratingly kicking your pants off of you, gun-woo helped you strip the rest of your clothes off before positioning you in the same place as before and teasing your bare pussy lips with his muscles.

you felt him capturing your left nipple and massaging it with his thumb, hearing your sighs between the kiss. as he stimulated the areola, he felt it getting rigid. gun-woo introduced his tongue into your mouth and played with your whiny moans.

your body was tactful to the boxer's touch, and when you felt the digits tightening around your areola, you couldn't help but dig your toes into his butt and moan muffledly, with gun-woo's tongue entering and leaving your mouth, slowly.

a trickle of saliva ran down the corner of the man's mouth. he closed his eyes to focus on the sensations. your excited pussy continued to be stimulated by his thigh, as well as your chest. he was still sucking your tongue when he felt his member pulsate painfully, brushing on your other thigh and moving a little farther to the left, bringing both of your crotches together and beginning a slow rub, undulating his hips in such a way that you stopped sucking his tongue and gasped in delight, squeezing his biceps tighter.

"gun-woo".

he kissed your lips and bit the bottom one, slowly pulling it away from your teeth.

his mouth moved down your jaw and onto your neck, where he could hear your gasps more audibly as he tongue-kissed the warm, milky skin of your throat, careful to leave pretty marks in his travel. his fingers were sadly no longer playing with your nipples, now they were on your bent thigh, holding it firmly as he rubbed himself shamelessly against your body.

gun-woo was using you to get off.

sensing what your boyfriend was finally doing, you cocked your head and with heavy, fluttering eyelids, watched your boyfriend's unholy face in pure delight. parted lips, messy hair, and one of your legs wrapped around him.

you watched, full of lust, as the boxer rubbed himself on you. kissing your neck ardently to the point of trembling eyes.

you already felt your opening releasing natural lubrication and wondered why haven't this man done this to you before.

"i can't anymore, gun-woo. p-please".

"please? do you need something, princess?". he spoke softly but with full of warning.

"fuck... you. need you".

"yeah right, you do". his comment was so lowered that you wondered if you had imagined it for a second. "need you too, princess, don't worry".

in a swift moment, your torso was thrown directly in his chest, your arms circling his neck for purchase while gun-woo hugged your body and finally walked towards your bedroom. when you said you were a ragdoll was because you felt like one, being tossed in the bed without an ounce of strength in your limbs and you weren't even fucked yet.

he then grabbed your waist again and kissed you, meanwhile, you took his shorts off completely, admiring the messy state he made with his liquids. gun-woo grabbed your ass once again and squeezed them, sliding his fingers through the partition between them and smearing all over your ass with his own lubrication.

oh my god. this man was sick.

"oppa". you called him whiny.

he climbed off the bed and pulled you to the edge simultaneously, manhandling your body as he wished. when both of your feet hit the floor, he tore his lips from yours and looked at you.

"do you mind?". for a second, his old innocent eyes shined in the pink light your bedroom had on. sincerely, your mind was too sex-hazed to even process he was talking to you in the first place, so you just tried to focus on his face and smile. "turning around?". he motioned with his fingers a cute circle and your eyes rounded dangerously.

"back?". you pointed to the bed and then at you, voice hoarse from all the torturous moaning.

"uhum". his smile was so pure you wanted to punch him in the face, nodding his head excitingly as if he wasn't asking you to expose your cunt in the air for him.

"a-all f-fours?". you asked him again, surprised and feeling your brain all fluffy inside.

"if you don't want, that's okay". for a moment, you felt his uncommon confidence falter and you were quick to reassure him.

"no, i want to". your doe eyes held all the stars in the sky, gun-woo was sure of it.

"ok". he smiled like a kid.

"ok?". you were too stunned to form coherent sentences.

"ok?". he asked confused, waiting for you to turn around with expectant eyes and arched brows.

"ok". you nodded your head finally.

again, he grabbed your waist, pressing his pelvis to your ass as you turned around. gun-woo started attacking your nape with chaste kisses that made their way to your neck, where he left hickeys and bites. you cocked your head to the side, leaving your neck completely free for the man to make as many purple and red marks as he wanted.

quickly, gun-woo left you to search for his shorts on the floor. when he came back, he surprisingly handed the condom to you, a silent request for you to put it on him which almost made you choke.

upon receiving it, you opened the package and took your hands back, touching the boxer's length. simultaneously, gun-woo slid his hands along your curves and massaged your breasts, making you fail on the first try of putting the condom on. a low moan escaped your mouth, but you didn't stop concentrating on holding your boyfriend's cock and positioning the condom on the glans, then holding the tip and unrolling it completely to the base.

you positioned the glans between your heat and thrust it into yourself, having to bite your lower lip to contain your murmurs due to the burning sensation. gun-woo hugged your body and let himself slide in slowly, with his forehead pressed against your shoulder. you opened your mouth and a breathless groan left your mouth painfully.

"opp-".

gun-woo's eyes opened slowly, just to enjoy the view from below, where his cock slowly came out of your hole, and seconds later, it went back inside a little faster.

"fuuck". his voice was gruff, head empty, and only the feeling of your walls gripping his member inside of you running through his mind. "fuck, princess”.

you threw your head up and brought your right hand back, tangling your fingers in his hair. your brows shaped like your entire face in a set of pained and pleasurable expressions. you felt the heat every time gun-woo entered and exited, but it also felt wonderfully good to feel his cock opening you.

"fuck you". you couldn't help but curse, vaginal canal struggling to keep his member inside as he slide out of you every time. "gun-woo, please, i c-can't". you felt your cheeks wet, confirming to both of you that you were crying over a man's cock.

gladly.

"breathe for me, princess, fuck". he stopped inside you, letting you accommodate him calmly. your moan when he pinched your clit was feral.

"big, big, big". was all you could say and the boxer started to want to laugh.

"hey, princess, you're hearing me?". you breathed deeply. “c’mon, don’t be so cock-dumbed already”.

“fuck you”. was all you could say, twitching around him like crazy.

"we can't stop if it's not what you like-".

"i swear to god, i'm going to kill you. don't stop!". you screamed. painfully.

"hey, you're too tight, jagiya. you need to breathe for me first, yeah?". gun-woo himself was struggling to contain his urge to fuck you relentlessly, but he wanted you to enjoy this as well. "fuck, you're squeezing the fuck out of me, prin-".

"i c-cant. too fucking stretched, gun-woo".

"we've done this before baby, remember? i know you can, now relax for me. i'm feeling a bump on your stomach here". he pressed the bulge and you keened, juices leaking everywhere between your legs.

“i’m so wet”. you didn’t know who you were talking to anymore if it was to him or yourself.

again, you were crying and involuntarily relaxed your lower half, turning limp in your boyfriend's arms and arching your back more making him hit a new angle.

"shit-". you moaned and he felt his member twitch because of the contraction. "that's it, that's it, good girl". he breathed deeply when he could move again, relieved to have some breathing space.

without warning, gun-woo penetrated you fast and rough, making your small body propel forward, and the only thing that kept you from falling was his firm hands on your waist.

a moan escaped your lips and the rest of them died on your throat when your eyes rolled back and gun-woo hit a new angle.

the boxer smirked. gun-woo knew perfectly well how to tease you.

he then squeezed your hips and wrapped his digits in your hair. for the next moment, he withdrew from inside you and came back again, fast and hard, eliciting moans from your drooling mouth. as much as your eager moans were constant, gun-woo continued to fuck you mercilessly, without chastity, inserting himself completely without stopping. the erotic noise of your bodies colliding became frequent, echoing throughout the room and almost moving your bed from its place multiple times.

the moans became louder and more constant, and if it weren't for the firm touch of gun-woo's hands in your hair and hips, you would certainly collapse on the mattress. a trickle of lubricant ran down between your legs, and the excess made gun-woo's cock penetrate more easily into you.

you let out a high-pitched moan, the loudest yet.

gun-woo smiled happily, almost proudly, starting to thrust in the same place, which generated a sequence of loud and tearful moans coming from you.

"fuck". he cursed once, twice, and countless times with how good your pussy felt. gun-woo was losing his mind with no restraints and overthinking.

you moaning his name was beautiful, too wonderful not to be heard and appreciated, and gun-woo wished you would call his name louder and louder so everyone would know you were his.

as much as he was yours.

"princess, you there?". he worriedly asked, sensing your lack of words and quiet whines while he fucked you.

"hmm". you couldn't speak, that was on period. it didn't matter how much you tried, your eyes were too rolled back in your head for you to make sense.

and gun-woo being the wonderful boyfriend that he was, started kissing your shoulders and the back of your neck, silently saying to you that it was okay to feel so good you turned completely non-verbal.

you bit your bottom lip and, glancing over your shoulder at the worried boxer, you threw your hips back and forward, repeating the same movement signaling you were okay.

gun-woo, on the other hand, had to tightly close his eyes and suppress a growl at your hips undulating while he was still inside. the veins on his neck, arms, and hand were surely evident while he hold his breath.

somehow, you sped up your movements, and little by little, the noise of both of your bodies colliding became louder, more frequent, hotter. you whimpered when gun-woo's glans hit your sensitive spot again, and it didn't take long for your orgasm to threaten to come.

you stopped bouncing and rolled slowly, contracting, the boxer's entire cock inside you.

"i'm cumming". you exclaimed. "can i cum? fuck, gun-woo".

he then grabbed your hair again and put the side of your face against the mattress, and in that position, you were able to see the reflection of your bodies in the wardrobe mirror. and when you thought that your pleasure could not increase, the opposite was proved when you watched gun-woo's hips investing quickly in yourself, while his face was a mixture of pleasure and lust.

your small doe eyes rolled back and your vision became more blurred, your fingers dug hard into the mattress, pulling it and squeezing it between your hands. your eyes water and you mentally asked him not to stop.

"so good". gun-woo grunted in your ear and that was your last thread, squirting everywhere your pussy reached and making a mess of gun-woo's legs. the heat you felt on your cheeks was so intense you started to feel embarrassed.

panting for air, your body couldn’t stop twitching and your muscles couldn’t stop contracting around gun-woo’s member. for a moment, your brain was only white and you were certain you were crying for fuck’s sake.

"jesus christ, what was that?". the man was marveled and lust-hazed, too surprised to notice you were almost passing out.

"baby, please". you whispered weakly, gun-woo slowing down his movements and reaching for your face.

"princess?". his tone was worried for a minute too long. "are you good?".

"squirt". you try to say, feeling your brain too hazed to work properly. "i just s-squirted".

"oh", gun-woo's face was too innocent for someone who had his cock deep inside you, in your opinion, and you hated it. "you gripped me so tight, i thought i was dying". he laughed meaningly and you glanced back at him through the mirror with horror. how could he react like that?

the next thing you know your eyes were as round as your mouth and your lungs were burning with the lack of air. you moaned uncoordinated, finding it hard to distinguish when your pussy stopped spasming and gave him room to move again.

"what do you think you're doing, gun-woo-!?". your scream was cut short by the man thrusting into you again. with full force.

your legs trembled with pleasure, and then they failed to hold themselves together. seeing that you would collapse on the bed, he laid down on top of you and held both of your closed fists, accelerating the penetration even more, which, due to the position, made you tighter.

your clit pressed against the mattress caused friction that only added to the maximum overstimulation. gun-woo took your hands to your pussy lips and made you pull the bands one on each side.

"keep it open for me please, princess?". he asked menacingly, another orgasm starting to build inside you.

"gun-woo!". this man was sick.

"cum with me this time, yeah, jagi?". he whispered in your ear, face turned to your reflection in the mirror and staring right back at your eyes.

"i'm gonna cum-". you affirmed.

"c'mon baby, just a sec, will ya?".

you closed your eyes and tried to hold back, however, gun-woo continued to fuck you deliciously. couldn't hold it anymore. that was final. having your clit constantly hit and neck kissed was too much to delay your orgasm any longer.

the overstimulation was killing you.

"gun-woo, i can't".

"i'm cumming, baby". he grunted out of breath. "cum with me, princess".

and as if it were magic words, you reached your orgasm right when he closed his mouth, followed by a slick and louder moan, making your whole body tremble with the wonderful spasms. breathing was frantic, and his hands were lying at your sides. gun-woo was still fucking in search of his own orgasm.

you contracted around him, squeezing him and, consequently, increasing his pleasure, and that was the climax for the boxer, who finally came deliciously inside the condom.

he was in heaven. searching for something to hold his sanity onto.

his nonexisted sanity.

you kissed him, in an attempt to distract both of you from the thoughtless state of mind. gun-woo turned your body with one hand and collapsed on top of you just after. your yelp was soundless to the boxer, head too pleasured for not stuffing his nose on your hair and trying to compose his fucking mind.

"you there?", gun-woo's voice was muffled by your skin, body too subtle under his.

"everything burns". you admitted in a whisper, throat flaming for moaning so loud.

"i think your neighbor will have complaints tomorrow". the man on top of you smirked and nosely laughed.

"don’t laugh, it’s your fault. you're crashing me, oppa". you whined trying to pull him off of you but not being able to move one muscle.

"omo, 'm sorry". he got off of you and smiled looking at you, almost shy to see your flushed face.

you smiled weakly in return and gun-woo took the condom off of him, making a knot and throwing it on the floor, next to the bed, to throw it away later. he settled on top of your body again and leaned on his forearms, and after facing you and smiling tenderly at your disorientated state, he kissed you tenderly.

you cupped his face and returned the kiss, calm but as delicious as any other one you both had. your hands were shaking while holding his chin and the man seemed to notice. his breathing was still labored, and because of that, he stopped the kiss but continued with both of your foreheads together, noses brushing against each other and lips open.

the two of you were sweaty, you were tired.

"you were amazing, oppa". your raspy voice came in contact with his ears and gun-woo tried to hide his burning cheeks on your neck again, you stop him and stared right back into his eyes.

"really?”. you giggled and he laughed at your hazy gaze. he then started sliding the digits of his right hand by your waist. "you're the one to blame".

"i love you". gun-woo smiled widely and you followed suit, without much exaggeration.

gun-woo tilted his head down and stared at your face; rosy cheeks, closed eyes and chest rising and falling with some frequency. he smiled small and kissed your slightly sweaty forehead, starting to stroke your damp soft hair.

"thank you, princess. i love you too". he whispered drowsily. "can't believe you squirted yet".

"stop". it was your turn to feel shy.

"it was hot".

"you sex beast. i am afraid of not being capable to get up to change your bandage". gun-woo almost choked.

oh god. the bruise.

"a-ah y-yes, totally". he looked down on his side and made a face at the kneaded band-aid.

you could not see that now.

"it's okay, though. i'm okay".

"are you?", your hazy doe eyes glanced at his sirened ones and gun-woo was quick to nod his head dramatically. "'kay". you replied tiredly, eyes almost closing. "can i take a nap, oppa?".

"of course, babygirl". the boxer keened, worried about your dimmed state and praying that he'd have the time to fix your bandage before you woke up.

his high pain tolerance scared him sometimes too, but gun-woo was sure that when the adrenaline left his body, he would feel the consequences of his actions the next day.

"want to shower with me first?". he asked before seeing your eyes completely closed.

"'m tired". you murmured.

"i'll be quick, okay? you don't have to do nothing, we can use the tub", gun-woo suggests.

you surprisingly laughed, and your eyes reduced to two tiny lines. it was so admiring the unique beauty of your joy that, spontaneously, your boyfriend also smiled. it was infectious and refreshing to see your smile so huge and genuine.

"are you suggesting that you shower me like a kid, sailor?". your voice was filled with happiness and the man next to you was quick to reply.

"no, no, no, that's creepy". his brows were arched and his eyes round, you wanted to laugh because of his pure reaction. "i just wanted you to rest... to not be tired and sticky".

"okay, baby. you can take care of me".

gun-woo opened a huge smile and left your body on the bed so he could turn on the bathtub and quickly come back to you.

staring at you sprawled in your element, kim geun-woo realized that he had never been more happy in his entire life than right now.

and he didn't give a fuck if his right side was completely numb when he had you.

don't normalize arguing with your boyfriend's best friend while he is injured and horny ! that might have consequences... hope you guys enjoyed and i'm so sorry for any misspelling 🥺 (this is how sex with kim geun-woo post ep.6 would be and you cannot prove me otherwise)

#this took me 3 days to write #ignore if its bad pls 🥺#woo do hwan #kim geun woo x reader #kim gun woo #bloodhounds kim geun woo #bloodhounds #bloodhounds netflix #smut kim geun woo #fluff kim geun woo #bloodhounds smut #smut bloodhounds

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fandom-imagines-stories · 18 days

Text

You Can Talk to Me

Matt Murdock x Reader

Words: 5730

Summary: A night of drinks becomes something else when the reader reveals what’s been bothering her the past week. Matt tries to not be blinded by his feelings for his best friend as he comforts her, but this heartbreak may be just what she needs to see what’s right in front of her.

Notes: Yet another Matt comfort imagine, surprise surprise. I guess the thing about heartbreak, is it gives you plenty to write about. I don’t really have much else for this one, other than I’m just writing whatever I need right now. And fuck it, if that means combining smut with a comfort imagine, so be it. This is a lot, but I loved every minute of writing it.

Warnings: Angst, 18+ SMUT (choking, oral, unprotected, the works)

More Matt Imagines Here

Karen checked her watch again, head peeking over the growing crowd at Josie’s to try and spot the fourth member of their get-together.

“She’s never late,” Karen said, frowning. She turned to the two men waiting with her. “Maybe I should call again.”

Matt listened. Old rock hits played over the speakers and a group of men bickered by the pool table, but past the buzz of the neon and slight muffling through the window pane, he heard it. Quick, shallow breaths and a hurried heartbeat paired with the sharpness of salt in the air.

Matt stiffened.

You were crying.

He heard as you took a few deep breaths and hastily wiped your cheeks.

You pushed open the door to the bar with a strained smile and searching eyes.

“She’s here,” Matt said, his tone turned solemn.

What happened?

Foggy beamed, spotting you by the entrance. “How does he do that?”

Matt’s head tilted, analyzing your movements as you made your way through the crowd. Karen and Foggy were still looking for a table, but he could practically feel the effort it took to keep up your sunny demeanor.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said, finally reaching them. “I got an unexpected call from work.”

Your heart skipped.

Matt’s worry deepened.

You’d never lied to them before.

Karen waved it off. “Well, you’re here now.”

“Let the party commence!” Foggy cheered.

Matt gave you a small smile. You did your best to return it. The other two left to get more drinks.

“Work, huh?” Matt prompted.

Your heart skipped again. “Yeah, they just needed to run something by me. No big deal.”

“Right.”

You noticed the twitch in his smile, the gentleness in his tone. You should have known he’d be able to tell something was wrong. He always did. It didn’t help that you’d been avoiding your friends these past two weeks. Especially Matt- because you knew this would happen. Somehow, he just saw you.

“How are the cases coming?” You asked, hoping to get the attention off of you. “You guys just won the worker’s comp case you’d been working so hard on right?”

Matt’s smile returned. “Yeah, we did.” He motioned in the direction of his partner. “Foggy’s closing statement really sealed it for us. You would have loved it.”

“Well, I unfortunately had a civil case across the hall.” You flexed your hands. “God, they talked so much I thought my fingers would fall off.”

The two of you chuckled.

“You should take some of that vacation time you talked about.” He cleared his throat, shifting almost uncomfortably. “Maybe go somewhere with Sam.”

You stiffened and glanced down at the table. “Yeah, Matt, about that-”

“Your elixir of drunkenness, milady.” Foggy set your bourbon down with a flourish.

You laughed, grateful for the interruption. “Why thank you, sir.”

Matt sighed lightly and sipped his beer, gripping the bottle a little tighter.

What the hell did Sam do?

You took a long, slow drink and let the burn wash away any other feeling. It worked… if only a little bit.

Karen led you all to a booth she’d picked out towards the back of the bar.

“So,” she said, taking the seat beside Foggy, sticking you beside the human lie detector. “What have you been up to? It seems like it’s been forever since we’ve actually seen you.”

You gulped and slid into the booth, Matt following after you. You almost stammered when his knee bumped against yours.

“Um, it’s been okay.”

Matt raised a brow at your hesitation, nudging you again. It wasn’t like you to hide things. Not from him.

You took a deep breath and ripped off the bandaid. “Sam and I broke up.”

Foggy’s eyes widened, Karen’s softened, and Matt took another drink.

“I’m okay though,” you quickly followed up.

Lie.

“I’m sorry,” Foggy said. He paused, then perked up. “Do you want another drink?”

“Foggy,” Karen scolded.

“What? Break-ups are the perfect reason to get wasted!”

You snickered and downed the rest of your whiskey. “I wouldn’t say no to another round.”

Foggy turned to the others.

Matt shrugged, still listening intently to your uneven breathing. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

Karen leaned, reaching a comforting hand toward yours. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

“No, I couldn’t,” you shook your head. “We’re celebrating you guys tonight.” You took the drink Foggy handed you and raised your glass. “To Nelson and Murdock.”

Matt clinked his whiskey to yours. “And to being there for friends,” he added pointedly.

“Here here,” Karen cheered before you could shoot him a glare.

The next hour was filled with drinks and laughter. It helped you feel a little more like yourself- something you’d been trying to do for weeks. Every time Foggy made a joke or Matt “accidentally” brushed against your arm, the hole in your chest felt a little smaller.

And then you saw him.

Matt heard his voice first. His tense shoulders were why you looked up.

Sam had his arm around a pretty girl with dark hair. You’d seen her at his office before. His head turned, eyes meeting yours.

It was like you weren’t there.

Sam waved at Foggy and went to the other side of the bar, as far away from you as possible.

“That’s just cold,” Foggy said, shaking his head.

You finished your third drink. If you had anymore here you’d start crying and you were not going to let that happen. Not in front of all of them. Not til you were home. If Sam could not care, so could you.

“Do you want to leave?” Matt asked softly.

You swallowed back the panic attack rising in your throat. “No. We should finish our drinks.”

“Do you want another?” Karen offered.

“I’ll just get water to end the night, thanks.”

Matt knew what that meant. You’d finish the night at home, by yourself, drinking until you fell asleep numb. A coping mechanism you had only ever confided in him about. It was easier for you to face everything alone, or at least you convinced yourself it was. He could relate to that.

You couldn’t stop your gaze from shifting toward the couple across the bar, no matter how hard you tried. You watched Sam’s eyes glisten every time he looked at her. He laughed loud enough for the sound to reach over the crowd.

God, you felt so stupid.

Matt couldn’t do it anymore. Even if he hadn’t been able to sense the way just sitting there was eating at you, the idea of you hurting was enough to break him.

“Hey, I’ve got some leftover enchiladas from the Galindo case,” he said, leaving closer to you so his breath was against your ear. “Want to help me get through them?” Before you could make an excuse, he finished with. “They’ll go bad if you don’t. You know how often I forget dinner.” He playful bumped his shoulder into yours.

You rolled your eyes. “And I keep telling you that one of these days you’ll keel over and I won’t run to help you.”

“Yes you would,” he teased. “You like me too much.”

“Maybe,” you laughed.

He could always do that. And the idea of going home alone…

“Alright, you’ve convinced me.” You held up a finger, “but only if I can go through your record collection.”

Matt grinned. “Deal.”

Karen saw your gaze flit back to where it was before and leaned to whisper to you.

“I know this isn’t much help now,” she said, “but you’re better off without him.”

“Yeah, I never liked the smug sonofabitch anyway,” Foggy added a little too loudly.

“Shhhh,” you and Karen both hissed.

You thought you saw Sam glance over and ducked to hide your face in Matt’s shoulder.

Karen looked between the two of you, but kept her comments to herself, though her smile grew.

Matt chuckled and took your hand, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb in a way that said ‘it’s gonna be okay.’

Foggy and Karen got a cab but both you and Matt felt okay enough to walk back to his apartment in the warm New York spring air. There was still a bite in the breeze, lingering from winter. Only wearing a nice tee, you shivered.

“Are you cold?” Matt asked, already taking off his suit jacket. He put it around your shoulders without you even having to ask.

Karen shot you a smirk.

You mouthed ‘Seriously?’

She snickered and closed the cab door.

You quickly turned to Matt, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks- not knowing he could sense it, of course. “Ready?”

Matt smiled and held out his arm. “Lead the way.”

His easy demeanor helped to calm you a little and when his arm hooked through yours, it felt like he was the one guiding you. Maybe he was, in a way.

“It’s really nice tonight,” you said, trying- and failing- not to sound awkward.

“Are you talking to me about the weather?” Matt teased.

Your face reddened even more. “Leave me alone, I’m-” you searched for a word, flustered. “Fragile.”

He snickered. “Fragile, huh?”

“Yes,” you nudged his side with your elbow. “Fragile. Which means you have to be nice to me.”

“I’m being very nice,” he said in mock offense. “I’m feeding you Seniora Galindo’s enchiladas and letting you rummage through my records. I’d say I am your knight in shining red glass this evening.” He poked you right back.

“You have certainly been chivalrous,” you smiled and fell into silence, the weight on your chest sucking the energy out of you.

This was how it had been. One moment, you were okay, and the next…

It was like you only had two true modes of being.

Angry.

Or empty.

There was much in between. It was getting harder and harder to remember that any of it had been good to begin with.

The way his eyes just slide past you at the bar.

The way he practically ignored you in the conversations at work.

The way he wouldn’t even talk to you about what happened.

Like you weren’t there.

Like you were nothing.

The word hit you. It struck you in the chest like someone had put their hands around your ribs and pushed.

But you kept walking.

Matt sensed the shift- the hitch in your breath and the hesitation in your step. He wanted to stop you right there and pull you into his secure embrace to block out the thoughts that plagued you. The hurt. He wished he could stop it.

But he waited.

You were grateful for the jacket wrapped tightly around you because the night had turned colder by the time the two of you reached Matt’s apartment building. Still pushing down that dark empty ache, you climbed the stairs with your eyes trained on the ground.

Matt opened the door, ushering you in with a gentle hand on the small of your back.

The touch made you flinch, not because it was uncomfortable, but because the gesture brought out more feeling than you were prepared for. Every nerve was set on edge.

“Sorry,” you murmured, seeing Matt pull away.

He shook his head, still giving you that small smile. “You don’t have to apologize.”

He let you go first into the living room, where you took a seat close to the window. Staring out at the bright, shifting lights of the billboard, you breathed out for what felt like the first time since you saw Sam in the bar.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” you mused. You felt Matt take a seat, the cushions shifting beside you. His arm grazed your back as he draped it over the back of the couch.

“Y/N,” he started softly.

You blinked back tears, a pleading in your voice. “Matt…”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He put a finger under your chin and gently turned your face toward him. “I know you’re holding something back. Why?” There was a desperation in his voice, a need to do something- anything to make it better.

“I can’t.” You still tried to fight against the emotions trying to choke you.

Maybe Sam had the right idea when he stopped speaking to you altogether. And you still didn’t know why.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Matt whispered, moving closer to you. “You can talk to me.”

Those five words were all it took. Two weeks of being blamed and ignored and confused and devastated hit you all at once.

Matt felt the break before the first tear fell. He felt your lips tremble, still trying to hold back the words that were tearing you apart. It shattered him. Matt wrapped his arms around you and this time you didn’t flinch away.

You crashed against him like the waves inside your chest.

“Tell me what’s been going on, sweetheart,” Matt urged, his tone as sweet as the endearment he called you. “Just talk to me.”

“He won't-” You sucked back a sob. “He won’t talk to me. I thought, when he broke up with me, that things were okay between us. That we could be friends like we were before. But now, he won’t even look at me.”

Matt thought about Sam’s quickly shuffling feet, his spiked heartbeat when he saw them there. Like he couldn’t get away fast enough. But why? The last time Matt had been around the two of you, Sam seemed fine. Matt didn’t particularly like the guy but he made you happy. Or he used to, anyway.

“It’s not like I thought Sam was ‘the one’ or anything,” you said, calming yourself down. “But I thought these past two months at least meant something. He’s acting like they didn’t even happen.” You wrapped your arms around your legs, tucking yourself into the corner of the couch. “And I feel like an idiot because we weren’t together for long but… I guess he’d become one of my best friends and now it’s like I’m not… anything, anymore.”

Your last statement struck Matt, but he didn’t push it. Not yet.

“And he hasn’t told you why? He just-” Matt sighed. “Disappeared on you?”

More like he made you disappear.

You curled up more.

“And there’s nothing I can do about it.” There was no hiding the defeat in your tone. You wiped a stray tear. “I just wanted something to work out for once.” How many times could your heart break again and again and again before it gave up?

Matt kept an arm around your shoulders. He moved closer so you could lay your head on his shoulder and blew out a breath. “I know.”

His soft touch set you off again. Your cries were quiet, your tears slow. You didn’t have the energy to sob.

Matt tucked you in his arms, waiting. It wasn’t his place to push, not when everything was so raw. Not when part of him wished he could kiss your tears away.

He’d always wondered if his dislike of Sam came out of jealousy. Matt felt he had waited too long and he lost his chance when Sam came along.

He felt horrible, thinking about that now, but it lingered nonetheless.

“Thank you,” you sniffed, sitting up again. “I really didn’t want to go home alone again.”

You’d counted every crack in your ceiling three times already.

“You can come over whenever you need to, okay?” Matt smiled. “You liven up the place.”

You snorted.

“I’m serious,” he said. Matt leaned over and kissed your forehead. “You warm every room you’re in.”

You weren’t sure who leaned in first, but when your lips brushed against his- just for a moment- Matt pulled away.

“Wait,” he said. The kiss barely lasted a second, but he sounded breathless. His smile almost seemed nervous. “You haven’t picked a record yet.”

You swallowed hard. “O-okay.”

While you walked to his crate records, Matt tried to force his heartbeat to slow down. Just the brief touch had his head spinning. But you were vulnerable and hurting. He couldn’t bear the idea of taking advantage of that. To keep himself busy, he got up to go to the kitchen, getting you a glass of water.

You picked a soft 90s alt album and put the needle on. Quiet drums filled the space but did little to silence your mind. You went back to the couch but didn’t sit down. You took the water but didn’t drink.

Neither of you said anything for a while.

Finally, the guilty part of you took over.

“Sam’s going through a lot,” you reasoned. “Between his caseload and things going on with his family…” God, maybe you were being the selfish one here.

Matt held onto the back of the couch, unfocused eyes trained on the carpet. “That doesn’t mean he gets to treat you like this.”

You turned away. “I know.”

Matt let go of the leather and walked to you. “You deserve better than this, Y/N.”

“I know.” Your heart faltered again. Another lie.

Despite the voice in his head telling him to stop, Matt put a hand on your arm, fingers squeezing gently to get you to face him.

“What is it?” He asked.

You found yourself leaning into his touch again. At least it made you feel something again. When you spoke, it was almost too quiet. If it hadn’t been Matt, he might not have heard you.

“I’ve never had someone make me feel like I was…” The words cracked inside you. “Like I’m nothing the way he has.”

Matt’s heart broke completely.

How could anyone make you think that? How could anyone not see how incredible and important and- he couldn’t even think of enough words to capture the growing need in his chest. A need to not have you feel this way anymore.

“Y/N, no,” he said, taking your face in his hands. “You aren’t nothing. You mean so much to so many people. To Foggy and Karen. To me-” he took a deep breath. “Y/N, you’re everything.”

Suddenly you weren’t thinking of Sam or the girl he was with. You weren’t thinking about your emptiness or your anger. All that mattered, all you felt… was him.

“Matt,” you breathed him in, shaking with your next request. “Please.”

Matt’s lips ghosted yours. He was standing so close you thought you could hear his heartbeat.

“Are you sure?” If you said no, he would step back and you would never have to worry about him not speaking to you. He could never leave you like that, no matter how he felt. But if you said yes-

“I need you, Matt,” you whimpered. You didn’t know how true it was until you said it.

Until he closed the space between you, capturing any other words with his lips.

Matt wished his kiss alone could show you how much you meant. He tried to convey every feeling with the movement of his lips, the sweep of his tongue, his hand moving to cup the back of your head.

A soft moan escaped your throat as his tongue explored your mouth. You tilted your head back, giving him better access.

The sound ignited through Matt. He held you tighter, hands falling to grip your waist while his mouth moved to your ear.

“You’re everything,” he repeated, breath on your skin.

You moaned again, fingers gripping his button down, pulling him back toward the couch.

Matt’s hold tightened, keeping you in place. He chuckled and shook his head. “If we’re doing this.” He lifted you up in his arms.

You yelped.

He wrapped your legs around his waist. “We’re going to do it right.”

He carried you steadily to his room and laid you down on silk sheets. Matt hovered over you for a moment, letting his senses take everything in.

Impatient, you tugged on his hair.

Again, he just chuckled, using one hand to grab your wrists and hold them over your head.

You raised a brow. This was a side of the snarky lawyer you hadn’t entirely expected. Not that you were complaining.

“I need you to do something for me,” he said, a smug smile spreading across his face. There was the Matt you knew. “I need you to be patient.” He kissed along the collar of your shirt. “And let me make you feel good.”

“That’s two things,” you teased.

He nipped at your collarbone hard enough to make you gasp.

“O-okay, Matt.”

“Good girl,” he said lowly. From how your body responded, he kept that in mind for later.

Matt pulled his shirt over his head, not bothering with the buttons.

You admired the curves of his torso, leading downward to the waistband of his pants and what lay beneath.

“Matt,” you said, a slight whine in your voice.

He smirked.

Bastard.

You pulled those smug lips back to yours, kissing him with just a smidge of defiance.

Matt’s hand made its way to your throat, squeezing just enough to hold you down.

“Be. Patient.” He growled again with a deeper tone.

He removed your shirt and bra in two swift motions. Matt didn’t waste any time roaming his hands over your body, committing every touch to memory.

Your breathing hitched as his fingers each ran over your peaked nipples. Rough yet gentle hands massaged your breasts. Matt rubbed his thumbs over the sensitive buds again if only to hear that lovely little gasp again.

He took a moment to remember how this all started. As one hand teased its way down your stomach, the other took hold of your chin.

“You are not nothing,” Matt said firmly. His fingers dipped beneath the fabric, undoing the button of your jeans. “I want you to say it.”

You bit your lip and tried to turn away, but his hold wouldn’t let you.

Matt kissed your lips then trailed his way to your chest, listening to your heart.

“Please?” He kissed the skin in the valley of your breasts.

You breathed out a sigh. “I am not nothing.”

“I know you can do better than that.” Matt trailed his kisses over the slope of your skin so that his lips hovered over your nipple. “Come on, sweetheart. I need you to believe it.”

“I am not nothing,” you said a little more confidently despite the hitch in your words when the tips of his fingers grazed your clit.

Matt nodded before taking your nipple into his mouth. Your jeans and panties were quick to join the rest of your clothes on the floor and his fingers pressed down on your bundle of nerves.

You had to bite back another whine. Between his teeth tugging on your nipple and his fingertips beginning agonizingly slow circles, you were already coming apart at the seams. Each swirl of his tongue matched the motions against your clit. It ignited every one of your senses, enveloping you in him.

Matt sucked a little harsher, eliciting the moan you were holding back.

And he reveled in it.

While Matt switched his attention to your other tit, he accelerated his circles on your clit.

“God, Matt.” You finally moved your hands from where he’d placed them above your head and tangled them in his hair.

He could hear your heartbeat quickening, hear the unevenness in your breathing as he wound you tighter and tighter with just the tips of his fingers.

“That’s it,” he cooed, replacing his nipping and sucking with soft licks and kisses across your chest. You knew you’d have several marks in the morning, which excited you even more. Matt rubbed harder and faster. “That’s it, baby.”

Your climax crashed into you before you could prepare. Your hands pulled on his hair, loud whining gasp escaping your lips. Matt caught the sound in a kiss, letting it vibrate through him perfectly. He kept up his flicking, figure-eight motions to help you ride out the high.

You tugged his bottom lip between your teeth, draping your arms around his neck. Closer. You needed him closer.

And yet, he pulled away. Matt smiled at your whimper, laying one hand on your cheek and bringing the other to his lips, licking your glisten from his fingers. You turned your head, taking two of his fingers in your mouth, sucking sweetly.

Matt felt something snap inside him. With a deep rumble from his chest, he moved to stand at the foot of the bed, yanking you down to the edge.

You sat up, hands reaching for his belt. You needed him.

Matt pushed you back on the bed quick enough that you bounced on the mattress.

“Not yet,” he smirked, laying an arm across you to hold you down. There was something different about his smile. Something devilish.

Then he knelt in front of you.

Your head fell back against the silk sheets as he bit your inner thigh, soothing the spot with his tongue. He did this up and down your legs, all the while holding you to the bed to keep your hips from bucking and giving you more friction than he allowed.

“Ma-ah-” You gasped as his tongue finally swept up the length of your core.

Matt’s head swam with every detail his heightened senses were taking in. From the taste of you to the way his name fell from your lips fueled his movements. He closed his lips over your clit, spelling your name into the sensitive nerves with his tongue- then spelling his own.

Your core pulsed around nothing, tightening the more wrecked you with his mouth.

“Fuck, Matthew,” you moaned.

Matt lapped at your center, completely taken by the overwhelming burning inside him that you stoked with your noises and your scent and your taste.

You almost screamed with the coming of your second climax, even more intense than the first. The ache inside of you just got worse as you gushed, still empty and needy.

Matt drank in everything you gave him, pushing you as far as you could go.

As he crawled back up to you, your limbs trembling and your heart racing, he kissed you gently, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, afraid he’d gotten carried away.

“I need more,” you pleaded, gulping down breaths. “Please, Matty?”

He smiled that devilish smile again.

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

“Matty.” You keened, hands trying to reach again for him, but he held you firmly. “I need you inside me.” You pouted your lips. “I need you to hold me.”

Matt kissed you again, this time softer, trailing down your neck as he backed away to take off the rest of his clothes.

You got just a glimpse of him before he laid you on your side and it was enough to have you aching even more.

He laid beside you, holding your back to his chest.

“Okay, baby.”

Matt pushed inside of you, arms locked around your middle. He bit down on your shoulder to contain his moan while your breathless cry rang through the room.

“So good, sweetheart,” he murmured, bringing his hips back. “You feel so good.”

“Just for you, M-Matt.” You laid your head back in the crook of his neck.

Matt snapped his hips back, plunging his cock deeper inside your pulsing walls. “Atta girl.”

You rutted back against him, every movement inside of you bringing a whimper with each brush of his shaft against the blinding spot within.

Matt held you as close to his body as possible, making it harder to tell where he ended and you began. He slipped a hand up to wrap around your throat, turning your face to kiss you. His tongue claimed your mouth while he continued to rock in and out of you. In and out. A perfect, steady rhythm that stayed deep inside your core while being just slow enough to keep you wanting more.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” Matt whispered, saying your name like a sacred prayer.

“God, Matty,” you said, feeling his hand around your throat. “Matt, I’m-” You were cut off by a loud moan when he hit that spot that made you see stars even harder than before.

“I know,” Matt cooed. “I know you want to give me another one. I know, sweetheart.” He gripped your neck a little tighter. “But I need you to wait a little longer.”

“But Matty…” The hot coil inside you constricted more and more.

“I know, baby,” he smirked against your jaw. “Here, I’ll count with you, okay?”

You tried to think past the haze of him. “O-okay, Matt.”

“Alright.” His free hand returned to your clit, making it even harder for you to hold back. “Count with me and I’ll let you come. One.”

You took a shaking breath. “One.”

“Two.”

“T-two.”

This continued his thrusts, getting faster, leaving you both panting by the final count.

“Ten,” Matt growled, nipping the back of your neck, having been struggling to hold on himself.

“Ten,” you exclaimed. “Ten ten ten. Matt please.”

He wicked a line up to your ear, biting the soft flesh there.

“Come for me, Y/N.”

You reached up to tangle your fingers in his hair again as overwhelming shocks of pleasure burned through you like wildfire. As Matt spilled into you, his hips stuttering against your ass, you stopped feeling anything else. Everything was this moment.

Neither of you even had a moment to say anything, completely overcome by pleasant exhaustion.

Matt cradled you to him and you fell asleep tangled with his body. He breathed in your scent, smiling as he let sleep take over him as well.

You woke up to a warm sun and an empty bed. A moment of confusion clouded your tired mind before memories of the night flooded your senses.

Seeing Sam at the bar.

The emptiness in your chest. The nothingness.

Then coming here with Matt…

Matt.

“Oh God.” You sat up, silk sheets slipping over your skin.

You had sex with Matt. Your best friend. Amazing, mind-blowing sex, but at what cost? Was one night worth screwing up years of friendship? And where was he? Was he so disgusted by what you’d done he couldn't bear to be around you anymore?

Those fears consumed you as you scrambled to gather your things and get dressed. You found the living room empty, making your stomach sink even more. The thought hit you like a punch to the gut.

You screwed up the most important relationship in your life… all because you saw your ex at a bar.

How you felt about Matt- feelings you were realizing you had- didn’t matter. You’d fucked everything up.

Matt was climbing the stairs with coffee in hand when he heard the racing, panicked heart in his apartment from a floor down. One thought leaped to the front of his mind.

You regretted everything.

With every hurried step, Matt grew more furious with himself. What was he thinking? He’d let his feelings for you get in the way during a difficult time and now you hated him for it.

He would apologize. He had to. He couldn’t risk the relationship you already had. Even if it meant ignoring how he really felt.

He opened the door with sorry on his lips, but you beat him to it.

“Oh thank God, you’re back,” you sighed. From your tone and the lingering salt in the air, he knew you’d been crying. His fault.

“It is my apartment,” he teased. If he could just get things back to how they were-

“I know, but when I woke up you were gone and-” You took a deep breath. “I understand if this makes things too complicated and you don’t want to speak to me again. I promise I didn’t plan any of this and-”

“Y/N, wait.” Matt interrupted, finally understanding.

It wasn’t regret.

It was fear. Like his. Only, you had just gone through something similar with Sam, which made everything even worse.

“I know you have a lot going on,” you said, trying to hold it together. “I won’t add to that. Not over a-” The words stung as you said them. “Over a pity fuck.”

And just like last night, Matt’s heart broke for you.

“Is that what you thought it was?” Matt asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” You fell back onto the couch and stared at your lap, unable to look at him anymore. “First everything with Sam now I’m going to lo-” You couldn’t finish, sucking in a breath to keep from crying.

Matt crossed the living room and sat beside you. Slowly, carefully, he took your hand in his. He laid it on his chest so you could feel the steadiness of his heart.

“You’re not going to lose me,” he said.

You focused on that heartbeat.

Matt moved his hands to cup your face.

“Last night wasn’t about Sam or the breakup or the bar.” He wiped a tear away with his thumb. “Last night was about us. You and me. And we can make it mean whatever we want it to or nothing at all. But Y/N,” he sighed, “you are not going to lose me.”

You let his words sink in and made yourself believe them, at least right now.

Matt pulled you closer, gently pressing his lips to your forehead.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment before you glanced at the table, finally taking in the scent of the coffee.

“So that's where you disappeared to,” you laughed a little at yourself for panicking.

Matt nodded, his hands falling to his lap. “Yeah, I was out and I know how you get without your caffeine.”

“Hey,” you snickered, poking his side.

“I knew I could get a smile.”

You blushed. “How do you even know?”

“Trust me,” he beamed. “I know.”

The two of you decided that you would figure it out at whatever pace you both needed. He was your best friend and you loved each other. And you would no matter what. Still, the prospect of being together, of taking your relationship a step further, excited both of you more than you admitted.

There was, however, a promise Matthew had yet to keep…

So you had enchiladas for breakfast.

#matt murdock x reader #charlie cox #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil imagines #marvel #matt murdock smut #comfort #hurt and comfort

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toomuchracket · 4 months

Note

Mads I have this concept in my mind. I see it with d word Matty. I think beginning of the relationship, maybe Matty is supposed to be away for a couple of days so girlie is having a self maintenance night. I imagine her with her hair up to have heat less curl, self tan, maybe some pimple patches. And then Matty surprises her by coming back early, maybe she's waiting for her food, she opens the door and it's Matty. She's super embarrassed/self conscious but of course he's super chill about all of it.

this inspired me to write a lil fic! seeing it as set after candlelight, but before any d words or l words were used lol. enjoy! <3

i've been dying to meet you (d word matty x reader fluff)

the doorbell rings just as you're applying your under-eye patches. you don't rush to get it, though - the drivers know to just leave your food order at the door to your flat once you've buzzed them up. god forbid anyone sees you like this, after all, in the midst of your thursday night routine; you probably look insane, wandering around in your dressing gown and slippers, hair wrapped around a pair of tights and clipped up, face covered in sheet mask and pimple patches, respectively.

but you feel good. and you'll look good tomorrow. which is imperative, given that you’ll see your boyfriend (it still feels weird being able to say that, honestly) for the first time in 20 days.

the thought of that has you slightly giddy. humming happily, you dance through the flat towards the door, only pausing in the living room to click play on the next episode of sex and the city and have a sip of your wine. the mouthwatering scent of your dinner seeps into the hallway, growing stronger as you near the door - it's never quite been so potent before, but then again, you’re fucking starving.

still humming tunelessly, you open the door to grab your food, and come face to face with matty.

your breath catches in your throat in horror - he can't see you like this, so soon into the relationship! - but your heart swells at the sight of your boyfriend in his hoodie and sweats, your (open!) takeaway in his hands. he grins when he sees you, eyes lighting up as he takes in your appearance; you tense up in preparation of him taking the piss out of it.

he doesn't, though. “hi, baby,” matty says softly. “stole one of your prawn crackers - hope you don't mind.”

you blink. “how- how did you get up here? you didn't buzz.”

“offered to hold the door for the delivery guy and just came in after him. and then i offered to bring this up when i asked if it was for your flat and he said yeah. felt like i was 22 again, honestly, in my old job,” your boyfriend smiles. “although i can safely say i never ever delivered a takeaway to someone as hot as you back then.”

“don't make fun,” you groan, stepping to the side to let him into the flat - he kisses your temple as he passes you - and kicking the door shut. “nobody was meant to see me tonight. s'why i asked them to ring the doorbell and just leave the food without me answering.”

“i did wonder why it took you so long to get to the door, darling,” matty calls over his shoulder as he wanders into your kitchen. he furrows his brow when you walk straight past and continue into your bedroom, laying the food on the counter and following you - well, until the door closes before him. “babe? are you… annoyed at me?”

“no, i'm just putting underwear on,” comes your muffled reply, followed by the sound of a drawer opening and closing.

“don't feel you need to do that on my account, sweetheart, i insist. actually, i'm more than happy to also get naked, if you prefer.”

despite your lingering shock at seeing him, you giggle at your boyfriend’s eager tone. “no, it's alright, matty.”

“you're sure? i've already got my shirt off.”

the speed with which you open your bedroom door at that phrase is almost embarrassing. matty - shirtless, as promised - smirks when you do. “i can't believe you had no pants on when you answered the door.”

you frown, flicking him on the stomach; he just laughs and follows you into the kitchen. “shut up, i couldn't put clothes on, i had just moisturised.”

“what, your arse and all?”

“mhmm.”

“interesting,” matty smirks again. “wouldn't mind seeing that process, to be honest.”

“for fuck's sake, matthew.”

“sorry, darling, couldn't resist,” your boyfriend grins. his face softens into a more tender smile. “just missed you, s'all. hope you don't mind that i came over early and interrupted your pamper night - couldn't settle at home, knowing you were only a few miles away for the first time in weeks.”

the sweetness of his revelation goes straight to your knees; you wrap your arms around his neck to hold yourself up, and press your lips to his in a tender kiss. it deepens when matty runs his tongue across your lips, slipping it into your mouth when they open, but that's as passionate as it gets - the overwhelming emotion behind the kiss is just sheer affection.

“i missed you too,” you kiss matty's nose when you pull away. “and you're not interrupting anything, really, s'just my usual thursday night routine,” you pull the little containers of food from the bag and turn to get a plate from the cupboard. “d'you want to split this with me? i ordered too much.”

matty nods, taking the plates from you and grabbing a fork from the drawer to dish the food up. “thanks, sweetheart. so, tell me more about this thursday night thing. you do this every week?”

“yeah, whenever i'm home, just to prep for the weekend. haven't you ever noticed i always look better at work on fridays?” you grin, pouring your boyfriend a glass of wine.

“not really. i think you look beautiful every day,” matty smiles, kissing your hand after you pass him the wine. “although i have noticed your hair is usually really curly during friday meetings. i like it.”

you point to your head. “blame this.”

“serious? i thought you were going to get a blow dry after work or something.”

“nah,” you giggle. “i just go to sleep with this in. feels a bit weird, but i like the end result.”

“so do i,” matty smiles. “you're so pretty, baby.”

your cheeks burn, and you smile bashfully at the floor. “well, when i take all these weird stickers off my face, maybe.”

“no, even now,” matty gently tilts your chin up so he can look you in the eye. “you’re beautiful. my perfect girl!”

he leans down to kiss you again; you giggle as he pulls away afterwards. “oh, you're down bad bad for me, aren't you? still thinking i'm pretty even when i've got pimple patches on.”

“well, yeah, i have eyes.”

“pretty ones, at that,” you rest your hand on his jaw, and he turns to kiss it. “i'm glad you came to see me tonight. would you like to stay over?”

“if i say yes, do i get to be pampered a little bit?” matty giggles.

“oh, i'll take care of you, don’t you worry, baby.”

#mads muses #mads does writing #d word matty #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fluff #matty healy x reader #matty x reader #mads answers asks #matty asks #fluff asks

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allthegothihopgirls · 10 days

Note

Hc that Jason really resonated with Frankenstein’s monster after he came back from the dead and his terrorization of Bruce is, in part, inspired by the monsters terrorization of Victor

ok i'm gonna preface this by saying what the fuck anon (/pos). i've been talking about this concept since it popped into my inbox i'm actually OBSESSED.

clawing at the insides of my enclosure foaming at the mouth etc etc

anyways, 1000% YES. the whole thing of jason being put back together not only at the hands of another, but also in a way which is so so unfamiliar to the him he knew before death, soooo extremely frankenstein's monster-coded.

both brought to life by impossible circumstances, and neither feel as though they own their autonomy. searching for some kind of redemption, needing to feel complete or avenged.

both having a sense of justice, shunned by society, one which doesn't earn them praise but instead punishment and disgust. both resenting the decisions of their creators/mentors. torn between worlds, neither of which they feel accepted in. oh my GOD.

i'm a huge fan of the whole idea of jason coming back and feeling displaced and in an entirely foreign body, and that's just oh so frankenstein's monster..

like IMAGINE that being his frame of reference for his feelings. put together what feels like piece by piece, messily, with only second-hand scraps. all with no regard for the person he was before, only with the intentions of being 'repurposed'.. AHHHHH

(as well as the fact that it's ALL mental for jason, he comes back 'perfect', unscathed and replenished. he has no physical justification for feeling the way he does, second-hand and hand-sewn. his feeling of 'monstrosity' stems from elsewhere; the feeling he gets walking around in this body which is simply not his, or the look in bruce's eyes when he sees him again for the first time, seeing a monster not a son.)

also the conscious knowing that his make-up is no longer his own, he's composed of parts which are unrecognisable to his old body, the one he owned and hand-carved through age. having to walk through days, feeling his actions as his own, but having a body which warps the intent behind them to all onlookers.

god imagine, blaming your creator for your fate, and needing the answers of your inadequacy to come from him himself.. and no other source can explain your imperfection in a way you can accept, it has to be him. jason NEEDS bruce's validation, to confirm or deny that he is irredeemable and a lost cause.

as much as i don't think jason would take pride in relating so much to frankenstein's monster, it's definitely a lingering thought in the back of his mind, something that determines his own story and outcomes.

he thinks of him when he loses control, and knows that he can't use it to justify the way he acted. he cannot tell the monster that his actions were okay, and that the people just did not understand, although as much as he wants to.. because he knows that isn't the case. he knows the monster was always a monster, and grows to feel the same way about himself.

he resents the way he acts, because all he sees is the monster. the one who acts according to his moral compass, but is always wrong. always clouded by his monstrosity. he decides he really should never trust himself or his intuition, because it's always disgusting and ugly, and even he'll be able to look back in retrospect and be repulsed by the way he carried himself, and not hate the way everyone punished him for it.

he wants so desperately to get himself back, morph back into the boy who knew his rights and wrongs and was never looked at funnily for acting how any normal person would. but the only part of his past self that still exists is in his mind, he wants to rip it out and show people that it's still him inside of there, but he simply can't do that.

his body changed without his permission, he never asked to be an abomination, a scientifical anomaly. he wants to scream about how it's not his fault, how he's not what the world paints him to be. how he can just be normal. but he's never really going to feel that way, as long as his mind and body remain two separate entities at war.

i feel like he clings onto the humanity of frankenstein's monster, and uses him as an anchor, something that shows him it's possible to remain acceptable and human.

i also think he analyses the character oh so deeply, to try and latch onto all the relatability he can find, the things he doesn't get from real people.

maybe he has a copy of the book, annotated in such a personal way. perhaps someone else stumbles upon it, and is just so distraught by the conclusions drawn from the scribbles and highlights, the way jason seems to view himself.

the way that although jason's always seen himself like the monster, unloveable and unacceptable, everyone else was always ready to accept him.

that maybe the real downfall of jason and frankenstein's monster is that the way they viewed themselves was too focused on the displacement they felt, assuming automatically that everyone else must feel the same way about them, if not worse. not taking the moment to let people learn to love them all over again.

anyways, unreliable narrators post resurrection!jason todd and frankenstein's monster, who were always seen with at least an ounce of humanity, but were both overridden by self-hatred and the disgust of their form, which led them to total exile and isolation.

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slaybestieslay946 · 2 months

Note

can i request luke trying to get dionysus reader who’s close with their dad to join him and kronos? :3

thanks for your request! This one was kinda short coz i just focused on the scene where he tried to convince her, so i hoped i added enough like stuff about reader being close with her dad for your liking!

Betrayal

word count: 1100

pairing: luke castellan x dionysus!reader

warnings: angst! not a cute happy ending

MASTERLIST

You were woken up from your peaceful night's sleep by Annabeth Chase, standing by your bunk and shaking you quickly awake.

“You need to come with me.” She said sharply, her voice urgent.

“Wha- Annabeth? What are you doing here? What’s going on?” You asked, immediately concerned.

“There’s no time to explain right now, you just have to come with me.”

Of course, you trusted her implicitly. She was the little sister of your boyfriend, after all. And so, you immediately threw your cargo pants and camp t-shirt on, and followed her out of the Dionysus cabin.

It was only as she began to lead you into the forest at the edge of camp that you began to wonder what she had called you out for. Annabeth was smart, and no-nonsense, so you couldn’t imagine that it was some kind of dumb prank. And she seemed pretty on edge, her breathing and walking pace both faster than usual.

It could be something to do with Luke. He could be in trouble.

No, it couldn’t be. He could handle himself perfectly fine on his own, he was the best swordsman in 500 years. No, it must be something else.

You decided to probe her a bit further, “Annabeth?” You called softly.

“Yes?” She answered quickly, not halting her progress into the woods.

“If somethings wrong I can always wake up D, y’know? I know he can be kinda belligerent, but you won’t get in any trouble, I promise.” You bargained, hoping that if she was worried about getting told off, you wouldn’t get her back up.

And it was true, as much as your father was seen as kind of a scary asshole to the average camper, you knew him better than anyone, and the truth that he was honestly a good person. Probably the best of the Olympian parents.

After all, he had taken care of you your whole life, ever since you were dropped off here by your mother at the ripe age of 5. He was a lot more caring than most would normally expect.

“No.” She snapped, her voice anxious, “We can’t get him involved, not right now. Just come with me, ok? And stay quiet.”

You didn’t press her any further after that, staying silent for the remaining duration of your walk.

Soon, you began to hear voices coming from deeper in the forest, and then, the talking ceased, and all you could hear was the louder clashing of swords.

Annabeth grabbed hold of your hand to lead you closer, before donning her invisibility cap. You followed where she led you, a sinking feeling in your stomach growing more and more painful with each step you took.

And it all came to a head when Annabeth brought you to the edge of a clearing, where Luke and Percy were engaged in a not-so-friendly looking ‘spar’.

“What’s going on?” You whispered, although you weren’t sure who to.

“Luke, he’s…” She trailed off slightly.

“He’s what.” You asked, your voice suddenly cold.

“He stole the master bolt. He’s working with Kronos to overthrow the gods” She said, and her words were like an icy bucket of water being poured over your head.

“You’re joking.” You said, a strained laugh coming from your throat.

Annabeth didn’t reply. She was serious.

And suddenly his strange behaviours over the past few months made perfect sense. He’d been so secretive, so calculated. Like he had to carefully think out every word he said to you.

You whipped your head back to the two teenagers, and you were unable to stop yourself from dashing forward as you watched your boyfriend aim a particularly harsh blow at the 12 year old child.

“Luke! What the fucks going on?!” You yelled, your face contorted in a mixture of confusion, anger, and hope. Hope that you and Annabeth had misinterpreted everything.

But as Luke turned around to face you, his face torn with guilt, you knew she hadn’t. The daughter of Athena was right yet again.

“What are you doing here?” He breathed out, partly from the physical exertion of the fight, but you could tell he was also affected by seeing you here.

“You know why I’m here. Tell me it’s not true. Please, Luke.”

He hesitated for a moment, before beginning to try and plead with you, “Sweetheart, I’m sorry, just let me explain-”

“Explain?! There’s no explanation for this! You’ve betrayed us Luke, you’ve betrayed me.”

He paused again, seemingly stunned by your reaction, your willingness to condemn him.

“I would never betray you. I love you, you know that. The gods are the ones who betray us. I’m fixing things, returning things back to the way they should be. Don’t you want to be a part of that?”

You gaped at him in complete and utter shock, “D is the only one who has never betrayed me. And I know he’s one of the few godly parents who gives a shit, and I know the rest of them treat us like shit, but that doesn’t mean whatever you're doing is right!”

His face fell, and it was like he realised appealing to your logic hadn’t worked, so he tried your emotions.

“You said you’d follow me to the ends of the earth? What happened to that, huh? I thought you loved me?” Luke’s voice was strained, taut with emotion like he was trying not to cry.

“I didn’t think that would have to include following you into tartarus to resurrect a titan lord. And I do love you, but that doesn’t mean I agree with what you’re doing!”

“C’mon, we can talk about this. Just come with me, I can explain everything, you’ll understand if you just come with me and let me explain.” He pleaded, taking a few steps towards you.

You stepped back away from him, “No. I’m not going with you.” You said, trying to make your voice sound firm, but you were well aware of the way it wobbled slightly as you spoke.

He turned back to Percy, who was still lying on the ground watching the exchange, “Last chance, Jackson. Last chance.”

The 12-year old shook his head, his face harsh and cold against the boy he had once called a friend.

And then Luke was looking at you again, as if trying to memorise your face, before rushing towards a portal Backbiter had created for him.

Then he was gone. One of the few people you never thought would betray you was gone, never to return.

#fanfic #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson #writing #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #luke castellan #x reader #ask #angst #sad ending

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ncredwolf910910 · 10 months

Text

From the old BF

My name is Cera. I'm 22 years old. How do I explain what just happened? As I lay here in my bed, trembling, my head spinning I'm having a hard time grasping the concept of what just happened let alone the fact that when it comes down to it I have to say I enjoyed it. I just can't believe it, I just had the greatest orgasm of my young life and the source of my pleasure was not a man, nor was it a woman, it was my long time companion and best friend Jake. Jake is my dog!

Jake is a 3 yr old shepherd/lab mix who I've had since he was a puppy. I love him dearly but in my wildest fantasies I could never imagine something like this would happen. I'm totally and completely stunned at my new experience. Last night when I climbed into bed I could never have imagined I would awaken to such a life changing event.

Let me explain the circumstances as I recall them. It's been unseasonably hot the last few days and my A/C is on the fritz so sleeping has been uncomfortable at best. I decided to take a sleeping aid to help me sleep through the night. Looking back maybe I shouldn't have made that decision or maybe I'm glad I did I'm not sure.

So I'm sleeping soundly naked as usual with only a sheet on the bed to cover me. Jake usually sleeps on the floor next to me but it's not unusual for him to get up on the bed and sleep next to me sometimes, which I've never had a problem with in the past and nothing unusual has ever happened until last night. In my slumber I begin to dream and I guess at some point because of the heat I must have kicked off the sheet. Unknown to me at that point and for some reason Jake became attracted to the scent of my pussy and began to lick me. The effect of the sleeping pill kept me from waking up. At some point I begin to have certain warm, wonderful feelings causing my dreams to turn to very erotic, very real feeling visions. I can't recall exactly what the dreams were about all I know is as I lay there the feelings of wonderful pleasure began to grow. It was like a continuous circle. As Jake continued to lick my pussy the more pleasure my body felt causing my dreams to become more erotic and the more erotic my dreams the more intense the feelings in my body grew. In my drug induced sleep I remember thinking this is so wonderful. I've heard of guys having sexual dreams which cause them to cum while they sleep but I've never had an experience like this. God it felt so good. I laid there thinking I should wake up but not wanting to because I didn't want the feeling to stop. As I lay there under the effects of the drug keeping me partially asleep partially awake my hips begin to move in small circles as the feelings of ecstasy from my pussy continue to pulsate through my whole body. This is such a great dream.

You know there's a moment when you are in the throws of passion when you've reached a point that you know you are going to cum and nothing can stop it. Your mother could walk in the room and scream at you and you just can't stop. You have to cum! You want to cum! That moment is now. I can feel myself climbing that unmistakable peak and just about to go over when I open my eyes and I can feel this incredible warm tongue licking on my pussy and I think I must still be dreaming but as my pleasure continues to build toward that incredible explosion of ecstasy I know I'm not dreaming cause I feel my hands caressing my perky 34-A tits and I look down between my legs to see Jake licking my pussy furiously and even though I think for a moment how wrong it is I'm at the point of no return and I can't stop. I don't want to stop. I want to cum and at that moment while looking at Jake expertly licking my pussy I explode into an orgasm so powerful my body begins to bounce up and down off the bed. It's uncontrollable almost like Linda Blair in The Exorcist. Jake just continues to lick keeping my orgasm going for what seems like an hour 'til finally, sadly the feeling starts to subside and my body begins to relax.

Jake's tongue is still licking me like there is no tomorrow but I can't feel it because I feel the exhaustion mixing with the effects of the drug beginning to overtake me and I begin to fall asleep again confused, happy, scared but unable to fight the effects of the drug as it drags me back to sleep but knowing as I drift off that Jake was still licking my pussy and eventually I would wake up again and have to deal with a repeat experience maybe even more powerful than this one but for the moment another dream is starting. mmmmmmmmm

I don't know how long I was asleep after experiencing that great orgasm with Jake but I don't think it was long. I started to become aware of those familiar feelings of ecstasy surging through my body as Jake was continuing to lick my now very sensitive pussy. I started to remember what had happened before and I opened my eyes to see my loving friend Jake's head between my legs licking me lovingly, expertly like no man had before. The feeling was so intense all I could do was lay there and watch Jake fill my pussy with such incredible pleasure. As I lay there I spread my legs wider for Jake to more easily access my pussy. After about a minute I pulled my knees up toward my chest and spread them apart holding them open with my hands to give Jake full access to my hot gushing pussy that he was enjoying so fully.

With this new angle Jake's was now able slip his tongue into my cunt hole. I shivered with incredible pleasure as I felt his long rough tongue penetrate my hot pussy and begin to lick the inside of my vag. In and out. In and out. I was in heaven. I was so wet. Jake's tongue was f***ing my pussy and his cold nose was massaging my clit sending waves of ecstasy through my 22 yr old body like I've never felt before. I've had relatively few sexual experiences other than masturbation and I thought I'd experienced great pleasure, up 'til now, but this was better than I'd ever imagined. As Jake's tongue continues to slide in and out of my tight pussy and his nose continues to rub my hard little clit I begin to feel the unmistakable feelings of an orgasm begin to push it's way from the depths of my womb. It was happening again and even though my brain said I shouldn't be doing this my pussy had total control of my body and it was determined to continue to the ultimate pleasure it felt it deserved.

My hips were thrusting up and down and my hands had released my legs and were once again squeezing my tits, pinching my very hard sensitive nipples adding to the exquisite pleasure of Jake's tongue f***ing my pussy wildly. Now my orgasm is just seconds away and I'm moaning for Jake to keep f***ing me, "make me cum Jake...MAKE MOMMY CUM!"

Then it happens, an explosion to end all explosions. I can hear myself screaming with pleasure but it doesn't sound like me. It's totally surreal. My body is twitching with such intensity I feel like I'm having an epileptic fit. My body is out of control. Jake's tongue continues to work it's way in and out of my cunt as it continues to spasm with intense pleasure. Wave after unending wave as Jake's tongue and nose continue to work their magic on my body which at this moment is a slave to his touch. I was helpless and to my surprise happy to be so.

Eventually, disappointingly the pleasure began to subside and I began to regain my senses and became more aware of my surroundings. I noticed I was soaked with sweat and my sheets were totally soaked with a mixture of my sweat, pussy juice and Jake's saliva. It was a mess but strangely I kind of enjoyed the sensation. Jake was still licking me but I couldn't take it any more so I rolled over away from his incredible, pleasure inducing tongue and I covered myself with the top sheet to keep him from seducing me again.

Jake seems a little confused and disappointed but he seems to sense my need to process the change in our relationship which I don't know if it is good or bad at this moment. Jake gets up and comes up and gives my face a lick and as he turns to go I notice the pink tip of his doggy cock sticking out about an inch and I feel that butterfly feeling in my tummy at the thought that my sweet loving Jake was actually turned on like I was. I didn't have any clue the extent my relationship with Jake was really going to change in the coming days and months.

So now I lay here wrapped in my sheet. Laying in the pool of various body fluids trying to process what just happened. It's hard for me to imagine what happened and how truly pleasurable it was. How could it be that something so foreign to me created so much pleasure? What left me so weak to fight the desires that are normally easy for me to fight with guys who would die to enjoy the pleasure my sweet Jake has been allowed to experience? I don't know the answers at this time so for now I lay here my pussy throbbing my head in a fog, trying to understand... to be continued

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my-little-delusions · 3 months

Text

To the Ends of the Universe Pt. 2 - Dick Grayson x Reader

Pairings: Dick Grayson x Reader (Romantic), Bruce Wayne x Assistant!Pennyworth!Reader, Donna x Reader (Platonic)

Warnings: Death, cursing, violence, talk of self harm, talk of domestic abuse, talk of terminal illness and hospitals, experiments, smut (skippable)

(It's a long summary I know I'm sorry. Read it or don't.)

Summary: When you were 6 years old, you were diagnosed with a terminal illness. The doctors said there was nothing they could do, and your health would rapidly decline. You wouldn't live past 8 years old. Your parents refused to take that answer and decided to make their own cure for you. However, they couldn't stop there, they didn't just want to make you healthy, they wanted to make you super. Make sure nothing could put you in harms way ever again. After a faulty experiment when you were 10 years old, the lab they worked out of, killed your parents and left you a sole survivor.

When reports of a "super kid" loose on the streets reached Wayne Manor, Bruce picked you up. Alfred ended up adopting you legally, but when Bruce realized you had no control of your powers, he decided to train you. Teach you how to use your powers and keep them under control.

A year later Bruce adopted Dick. Growing up and Training side by side you and Dick were inseparable. Your crush on Dick, the cute guy you would with a year older than you, only got worse. As well as his protectiveness over you. Your relationship flourished and you two seemed unstoppable. But what happens when Dick convinces you to leave Gotham? Make a new life for yourselves all on your own.

Disclaimer: I am fully aware my timeline/numbers are screwy, don't think about it. This is based solely on the Titans show, it is definitely not comic accurate lol.

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

"I wish I didn't have to leave you baby," Dick mumbles, his arms wrapped around my waist.

"Baby," I smile looking up at him amused, "We can't do this every morning. You need to go to work, you said you would commit to this,"

"I know," He groans, pulling away, "You know they keep trying to give me a partner, I don't want to work with anyone but you,"

"I already told you I am not joining the force, there is too much surveillance on the cops,"

"But-"

"No. Look, Dick, being the Green Jay with you and Bruce on occasion was fun, but it put too many targets on my head, I can't risk my powers getting linked to my identity. Even by the PD. I mean, can you even imagine what they would find if they drug-tested me?"

"You're right, you're right," Dick laughs, "I guess I just miss you is all, I'm not used to not seeing you all day every day you know," He says, placing a kiss on my lips.

"I miss you too," I say once I pull away, "How about when you get back tonight we have a night just to ourselves, alright?"

"Oh yeah?" He quirks, "Alright, I'll look forward to it.... Orrrr we could have right now to ourselves,"

"Oh my god just go to work," I smile, shoving him away a bit.

"Okay, okay," He throws his hands up in defeat, grabbing his keys and coat, "I'll see you when I get home."

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

"HEY BABE!" Dick calls, his voice laced with concern and an assertiveness I haven't heard since Gotham.

Swiftly I hurry my way towards the staircase, worry coursing through my veins. However, once I reach the stairs I freeze.

There Dick is at the bottom of the stairs, his lips pulled tightly in a like and a girl tucked away behind him.

"Fuck," I whisper under my breath, running up to him and pulling him into a hug. Dick just stands there, his shoulders slouched in defeat.

Pulling away, my eyes scan all of his features, my eyes glossing over slightly. His hardened face softens as he looks at me.

"I'm gonna go pack our stuff." He says, his tone is serious again,

"Okay.." I say, following him with my gaze as he brushes past me, his fingers lingering on mine. "Hi," I say, facing the girl. Her head whips up. "I'm Y/N, what's your name?"

"Rachel"

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

Dick opens the car door to pop open the trunk.

"This is yours?" Rachel asks as she steps into the garage.

"Family heirloom," Dick answers, tossing our luggage in.

I walk up to him, my back to Rachel. Reaching out my hand, I rub his arm through his jacket, attempting to comfort him.

"I'm sorry baby," I whisper to him, aware that Rachel is most likely listening, but at least whispering doesn't invite her to chime in, "I know you really wanted to avoid this sort of thing again."

He looks at me with a soft smile, reaching his and over and placing it on top of my hand on his arm.

"From the circus?" Rachel asks,

Dick chuckles, looking up from me to Rachel, "Not the one you're thinking. Come on let's go."

I adjust my posture from leaning on the car and walk to the passenger side.Opening the door, I lean in to u latch the front seat, revealing the small 2nd row of the car.

Giving Rachel a smile, I motion for her to get it, but she hesitates.

"We'll keep you safe, I promise,"

"That's not something you can promise," Rachel says to me before getting in the car anyway.

I push the front seat back into place and get in.

This feels like something we can't turn back from.

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

The awkward silence in the car since we left the garage is slowly becoming unbearable. Tensions are high. I can practically feel the stress radiating off of dick.

Looking over at him, I can see his emotions plastered all over his face. It's a look I haven't had to see since we left Gotham. Exhaustion. Sadness. Anger. All of it.

My heart clenches and I reach over to Dick's free hand, pulling it over to my lap and holding it. Giving him reassuring squeezes throughout the drive every time I feel him tense.

"Where are we going?" Rachel finally speaks up,

"Somewhere safe," Dicks says, swallowing hard,

"My mom, says there's no such thing as monsters," Rachel turns her head to look out the window, "I think she was wrong."

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

"Thank you," Dick says to the waitress, "You want a hot chocolate or something?"

"Just a coffee, black," Rachel says,

"I bet they have marshmallows," Dick smiles. My heart swells a bit as I look at him. I haven't seen many smiles like that from him in a long time. Definitely not in Gotham.

"I'm not a kid, okay?" Rachel snaps at him a bit,

"Rachel..." I say, with a bit of a warning tone, glancing at the waitress standing there awkwardly.

"Okay, same for the lady," Dick says and the waitress fills up Rachel's cup with a smile, gesturing to offer me some.

"I'm okay, thank you,"

The waitress gives me a smile before walking away.

"My mom didn't like me to drink coffee," Rachel says, reaching for the sugar and pouring a long steady stream of it into her cup.

Dick chuckles, "Sweet tooth, huh?"

Rachel says nothing.

"Rachel, has anything like.. like what happened happened before?"

"No, not like that," Rachel takes a deep breath, her voice growing shaky, "I didn't mean to kill that guy,"

"How did you kill that guy," Dick presses further, but Rachel only takes a sip of her coffee and stares off to the side. "We're gonna go see some old friends of ours," Dick glances at me, They're safe, they'll give us a place to lie low for a second, get our heads together. Give us some time to get our heads together."

"You're scared I get it," I say to Rachel, "But sometimes there's no time to be scared,"

And then.

Pain.

Blinding pain.

That's all I could feel.

It felt as if my head was boiling and my bones were freezing and cracking.

"Fuck." I say, my eyes squeezing shut my body beginning to curl in on itself. My hand reaches out to grip Dick's arms, gripping him hard, my nails digging into his forearm.

"Y/n? Baby? Hey, hey what's going on?" Dick's worried tone just barely breaking through the crackling noises sounding in my head. Opening my eyes, I can make out Dick's worried expression through my blurred vision, his brows furrowed, eyes wide, lips parted slightly.

"Dick?" I say, my voice is shaky as my vision begins to grow dark, my body becoming numb.

"Babe, come on, talk to me, what's happening right now?" Dick begins to tap my face lightly, trying to get me to wake up.

All of a sudden, it feels like my body is getting pumped with pure oxygen and I gasp loudly, drawing attention from.others in the restaurant.

My chest heaves and I look around the room frantically as Dick continues to stare me down with his worried expression.

Dick's hands cup my face, "Are you okay? What just happened right now?"

"I-I don't know," I say, "I think I'm okay... I'm okay"

----------

Authors Note: This fic really is for the girls who just wanna take care of the poor baby. :/

Request Open!

(If there's anything specific you want to see in this story as well, just comment it, I am open to suggestions)

Lemme know if you wanna be on the taglist

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delopsia · 1 year

Text

You Problem | Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 9,400 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, Reader has the callsign ‘Weave.’ AFAB! Reader (who briefly wears a sundress for an outing), blowjobs, unprotected sex, food, grinding in public, "We can't keep our hands off of each other, so we'll see who breaks first, but oh would you look at that, we both broke!" trope. This is written as a stand-alone one-shot that just so happens to loosely continue the events of Better.

"Holy shit, your hands are cold!"

But your wayward step backward, made in an effort to escape, only backfires because your shoulders hit the chest of your assailant. Those offending hands scurry up your belly, unwilling to let you wriggle too far from their vicious, icy attacks. All the while, the criminal himself chuckles into your ear, deep rumblings that ripple all the way down your sore spine.

"Ts 'cause we were just outside, sweetie," Bob's teeth graze the shell of your ear, breath warming the cold-bitten skin there. Absently, your fist clenches the thin mattress in your bunk, anything to keep yourself from falling apart at the seams.

"No shit, Bobby," you'd debate on wriggling out of his grasp, but Bob's already made the decision for you. Forearms securing around your waist before you can bat an eye, anchoring you against him. The teeth tugging on your lobe rip any further words straight from your throat, such a simple thing that you've yet to grow used to.

Your heads snap up as heavy footsteps dance past the door, dangerously close. Not your crew; not a single pilot or flight officer on this ship has enough energy or reason to run like that.

Safe, for now, and by God, that is more than enough reason for Bob to return to his earlier assault. Lips soft against your bruised neck as they work their way down, seeking your collarbone like a man starved. The fading marks that mottle your skin aren't from the crash alone; no, the worst of them come from Bob's devilish mouth and honey-sweet tongue.

The mark at the base of your neck comes from a rendezvous in the showers, the poor skin used to muffle Bob's whimpered noises. You've been telling Natasha that this red mark on the side of your palm is from getting caught in the wreckage, but it's come from Bob's teeth. Bitten down on because you'd snuck up behind him and refused to quit jerking him off until he came all over your hand. There are fingerprints on your hips and a hickey on your thigh that you don't know how to explain yet.

"We're gonna get caught one of these days," and as you say it, your ass bumps back against him, pressing against a hardness that you've become oh so familiar with as of late.

He presses you forward, reducing the gap between you and the bunk you're so desperately clinging to, "what makes you think that?"

The argument formulated in your mouth is hindered by the wandering hand that's slipped beneath your bra, toying with an already hard nipple, sore from the unusual amount of attention it's received lately. "We haven't been able to keep our hands off each other since we got back!"

Images flash before your eyes, memories you're not sure if you treasure or fear.

Sex in a shack so old and decrepit that the medic ordered you both to get updates on your shots; you can't imagine what he'd say if he knew of the sins committed in there too. The discomfort of trudging through deep snow after you'd been dicked within an inch of your life, and the horror of realizing what was running down your leg while you were talking to Maverick following your rescue.

"I," kiss, "fail," kiss, "to see the problem here." Another kiss.

Rolling your eyes, "That's because you're thinking with the wrong head." His hold is just loose enough for you to turn around, coming face to face with your beloved backseater. Even through the darkness that's blown up his pupils, those thin bands of baby blue still sparkle at the sight of you. "That pretty head of yours does remember what will happen if we get caught, right?"

Those expressive eyes falter as the thoughts flicker through his head, a sight you've seen a million times before, and yet, you will never grow tired of it. There's something warming in the way his eyelashes flutter and his nose wrinkles.

He doesn't need to reiterate what will happen if you're busted; you'll never fly together again. Split up, never to be placed in the same unit again. Bad news, considering the latest push to keep your ragtag crew together following your recent string of unlikely success.

Licking your lips, you add to your statement, "We're gonna have to tell them sooner or later."

"Let's give it a while," he breathes, voice nearly lost to the incessant hum of equipment overhead; aircraft carriers aren't exactly known for their peace and quiet. "Figure us out before we worry about any know-it-all Admirals."

Such a topic can't keep his hips from pressing forward, won't prevent his greedy hands from taking hold of you and drawing you impossibly close. Always needs you as near as possible, can never have enough.

"I can work with that," understatement of the century; you can absolutely work with that "gives us some time to get 'hold of ourselves."

Bob's eyebrows knit together. "Hm?"

"Don't give me that look," but your words only make it worse because now his head is cocking to the side, unruly hair flopping over, "you know what I mean."

There isn't a single thought behind those eyes.

Reaching forward, you take his face into your hands, feeling the barely-there stubble scratch your hand as you squish his cheeks, "we can't even go twenty-four hours without jumping each-others bones, Bobby."

"Yes, we can?" His words come out distorted, unable to speak clearly, with you smooshing his cheeks.

You're just wicked enough to lean up and steal a kiss from his unwittingly picked lips, "you'll crack and be begging to fuck me in an hour, sweet cheeks."

"You makin' bets now, baby?" Incredulous, his eyebrows rise up into his hairline. "Are you sure that's such a good idea?"

And just like that, you've gotten under his skin. "What? Scared you'll lose?"

That left eye twitches. "First one to crack loses?"

Nod.

"You're on." And right as he says it, the door handle twists.

If there is anything that can be worse than being shot out of the sky by a surface-to-air missile, it's being carted off to an emergency meeting the moment you're off the aircraft carrier. Because the Navy can't let you crash and be done with it the moment you're rescued. No, you absolutely must attend this safety meeting that goes over every bit of common sense knowledge that has ever existed.

The dread that's settled into your weary bones is so heavy that you can hardly drag yourself into this crowded auditorium. Body moving so slowly that even Bob manages to catch up to you, crutches and all. It'll be some time before he can go back to running laps around you, but his injured foot has already healed enough for him to bear some weight on it.

"Did they invite every aviator in the country?" You're saying it more to yourself than anything, Bob just happens to be within earshot.

This auditorium is way too tiny for the number of people occupying it. Once perfectly organized fold-out chairs now lost to the sea of extra chairs, stashed anywhere they could possibly fit. Not a chair has been left unoccupied, even the ones reserved for the injured.

"Pretty sure they invited reserve on top of active duty," his crutch bumps into your heel as he speaks, but it's too gentle of a tap for it to be unintentional.

Tilting your head, you catch him motioning toward an empty corner a few paces to your right, "care to stand with me?"

It wouldn't be too difficult for you to cross the room and join the others; you can clearly see Maverick and them gathered up by the emergency exit door, but you find yourself following Bob anyways. He settles into the corner itself, weight partially braced against the wall. As soon as he's settled, those crutches are coming out from under his arms, left to settle next to him.

"Those still hurting you?" By the time you catch yourself, it's too late; your hand has already landed on his shoulder, rubbing affectionately.

"A bit," but he doesn't address your offending hand; if anything, he seems to be leaning into it, "fortunately, I've found some distractions." There's a hint of pink on his cheeks as he smiles at you, growing even wider when you inevitably shake your head. This whole boyfriend thing is...something.

It's not long before you find yourself regretting following him into this spot because the next thing you know, another group floods in through the doors. All of whom cram themselves right into your little corner. So tall that even Bob can hardly see over them, practically caging you in. It's a wonder if they even saw you two wallflowers because one of them has no problem stepping backward, right onto your foot.

Bob's hand curls around your waist, drawing you away from the foot crusher, "c'mere, stand in front of me."

Two steps to your right, and all of a sudden, your only problems are the warm chest that's pressed against your back and the warm breath fanning out against your neck. Better than getting your foot stepped on, but...

"Can you see anything?" You ask, leaning into him in order to be heard.

Lips ghost the shell of your ear, "Not a damn thing."

So it seems you're doomed to listening only, with nothing but irritatingly broad shoulders to stare at for entertainment. Cyclone's voice drones on and on from the speakers, so dull and mundane that you find yourself fighting a yawn within the first ten minutes. Proper sleeping habits, fire exits, alerting the janitorial staff if you hear a smoke alarm indicate a low battery, blah blah blah.

They couldn't have sent this presentation via email?

You could be doing better things with your time; everyone in this room could. There isn't a doubt in your mind that Cyclone has a Maverick that he could be chewing out right now. You could be getting dressed at the hotel and terrorizing Bob with your new sundress right now. Speaking of...

"Baby," his voice appears so suddenly that you nearly jump, "what are you doin'?"

Twitching your ass back again only earns a wayward hand on your hip, gripping tight but never quite making the move to stop you. He has no reason to; these guys all have their backs facing you. They don't even know you're here. Haven't the slightest clue that you're testing the waters, tentatively grinding your ass against your backseater.

"Whaddaya mean?" Relaxed as can be, you tilt your head to meet his eye. "I'm not doing anything."

His mouth opens.

You press harder.

The faintest hitch of breath slips through his defenses, ripped out of him so easily that you're tempted to see what else you can get. The hands-on your hips tighten, threatening to leave bruises in their wake, but they don't have the strength to stop you. It's almost easy, working him up until you can feel a familiar hardness against the curve of your ass. If you reach behind, you can probably map out the—

"Weave," one of his hands flies off your hip, clamping down on the small palm that's gliding against his clothed length, unintentionally squeezing himself. Teeth sink into his bottom lip, muffling the moan that's nearly escaped him. "Really tryin' to make me lose this, hm?"

In this position, there is absolutely no way he can retaliate. Can't reach beneath your shirt, can't attach his lips to your neck, hell, he can't even bury his face into your shoulder as you rub against him. The only thing he can do is tell you to stop, and yet that powerful little word never falls off his tongue. Hell, he doesn't even pry your hand from his cock, downright helpless as you trace him with a curious thumb. Following the curve of his plush head, then stroking down as far as you can comfortably reach.

The breaths gracing your ear are becoming heavier, the only indication of how you're affecting him, "Sweetie..." daring teeth bite at the shell, "you're gettin' me, ah, all riled up for nothin'."

Not missing a beat, you lean your head forward, freeing yourself of those devilish nibbles, "that sounds like a you problem."

All at once, the room begins to move. Blurry faces shuffle out from their seats and hiding spaces, now free to congregate as they please. Meeting over. Your bodies part within an instant, back to putting up your usual fronts.

Except, Bob's glasses have fogged up.

Giggling. "Can you even see?"

"Not a thing."

Truly, you doubt you would have agreed to this if Bob weren't involved. A big chunk of you longs for the comfort of your own bed, to relax in the serenity of your claw-foot bath, and not give a damn about anything during your break. If you had known getting shot down would reward you all with a three-week vacation, maybe you would have done it sooner.

But Jake just had to suggest that you all stay until after Cyclone's official 'you finally got the position you've been chasing for half of your life' party. "Room for more group bonding," he'd said. None of you live even remotely close to Top Gun, which can only mean one thing.

Staying in a hotel.

Tacky carpet that's old enough to vote, impossibly fluffy pillows and sheets tucked so well that it's a struggle to get them out, a crisp view of the beach. You've got the full package; the only thing that could make this better is a certain blue-eyed fool.

You wonder which of these sundresses would make his head spin the most.

There are only two options, but it's still such a hard choice. When you'd packed these, wooing your backseater hadn't been much of a priority, your only concern being comfortable during your special detachment. On one hand, you've got a tried-and-true favorite, lightweight with an open lace-up back. But the other dress is in your favorite color, and you've never gotten a chance to wear it.

Hm.

"Damn, Weave," you'd almost forgotten Natasha had snuck in, seeking your shower because hers isn't working, "who's the lucky fella who gave you those bruises?"

Unruly, finger-shaped spots poke out from beneath your shorts. Shorts that you chose to wear exclusively to hide said bruises from view.

"Some guy I met at the Hard Deck the other day," Your lie is fragile; you've only been off the aircraft carrier for three days, and these bruises are from last week.

But she seems to buy it because she doesn't press any further. Instead, she's distracted by the garments lying on your bed. "You still having trouble?"

Humming, you place your hands on your hips. Those ornery bruises twinge beneath your touch, silently crying for attention that you refuse to give them. "It's the dilemma of the century."

It takes some deliberating on her part, but ultimately, Natasha makes the decision for you, pointing toward her favorite of the two, "this one suits the restaurant better," she muses, toying with the hem, "casual but not too casual."

"All this thought, and half of the guys are going to be in graphic tees and khakis," your prime offender may or may not be your weapons systems officer. You're pretty sure that his biceps have outgrown most of those cheesy one-liner shirts. It's hard to tell if you're just happy the horrible shirts are gone or if you're selfishly thrilled that you've got something to drool over.

"It only serves to make us look better," her tone is nothing but positive, but the twitch in her eye tells you she's one pair of cut-off jeans away from homicide. "Roses amongst weeds."

In the hallway, you find that your unofficial crew has already gathered, leaning against the walls like a bunch of tacky decor. Ugh, you don't know what possessed Bob to wear that plain, tight-fitting black tee with his favorite blue jeans, but you hope this becomes a habitual outfit. His crutches are missing; it's difficult to tell if he's feeling better or just fed up with using them.

As soon as his eyes lay upon you, those soft eyelashes start to flutter like the wings of a butterfly, "y'ready to go?"

And it almost distracts you from the catastrophe occurring around you, almost. It seems everyone else has raided Bradley's suitcase because they're wearing the tackiest Hawaiian shirts you've ever seen in your life. Every. Single. One. Of. Them.

Natasha's inevitable sigh is so loud that it echoes down the hallway, "Like I said, weeds."

If you paid attention, you're sure you'd be laughing at the inevitable confusion that comes from her open-ended words. If it's one thing Jake can't stand, it's not being privy to an inside joke. Once he starts asking questions, like a hive mind, the rest of them do. But you can't pay it the slightest bit of mind; no, you're too busy trying to avoid Robert Floyd's biceps.

Thick, unusually swollen from a recent workout, absolutely filling the thin material of those sleeves. To make matters worse, the veins in his forearms have decided to make a special appearance, the sight haunting you like a bad memory. You wonder what it would be like to trace them with your tongue—

"Earth to Weave."

You don't recall even stepping into the restaurant, but there's a plate of food sitting in front of you, completely untouched. "Huh?"

Who was even trying to get your attention? The fashion catastrophe on your right is busy bickering about the football game playing on the television, and Natasha's too far away for you to have heard her in the first place.

A hand squeezes your knee, "you still with me?"

An image flickers through the forefront of your mind, warm arms cuddling you into an equally cozy chest. The soft pitter-patter of a gradually slowing heartbeat beneath your ear as mindless fingertips draw shapes into your naked spine. Lips that tickle your scalp as they ask a simple, 'You still with me?'

"Sorry," blinking away the haze, you reach for your fork, "got a little lost in my thoughts there."

It's hard to figure out how you failed to notice Bob sitting right next to you, but there he is, expressionless as he watches you catch up to speed. He doesn't seem to be buying your excuse, but if he's got any staring accusations to make, he hasn't made them yet. "That's the first time I've heard you speak since the hotel," he says, but he doesn't phrase it like it's a bad thing.

Knowing him, he probably hasn't spoken since then, either.

"The appearance of the tacky Hawaiian flannels stunned me into silence," deadpanning. This time, it's your food that silences you, if only for a moment, "how is it that you're the only one not wearing one?"

Bob hums, idly chasing down a piece of ravioli that refuses to stay on his fork. "Dumb luck," eventually, he gives up and uses his index finger to scoot it onto the utensil. "Rooster was one shirt short, and I was the last to show up."

"You? Late?" Upping your dramatics, you place a hand across your heart, feigning shock.

There's that eye roll you were hoping for, so annoyed that he can hardly roll them halfway before he gives up on it altogether, "t's ironic, comin' from you."

It takes a moment before you understand what he's referring to. Day one of schooling at the famous Top Gun; you'd gotten in by luck alone; one of the referrals they sent backed out, and you were runner-up for his slot.

You still remember how cold your face felt when you stumbled into that classroom three minutes late and out of breath. How Fritz and Halo had exchanged looks when your instructor assigned you to a meek Robert Floyd, the only man in the room who couldn't find a pilot to partner up with. Even then, your first impression had been, 'He's cute.'

"I'll have you know," motioning toward him with the back end of your fork, "that I only ran to class because I heard there was a cute WSO in need of a pilot."

Mickey turns to glance over at you two. Your gaze rises to look at the television. Bob's drops to his plate.

No funny business going on here.

The hand residing on your knee glides up, nudging beneath the hem of your dress. It's barely concealed by the table, but if anyone were to drop something and bend down to fetch it, they'll surely catch glimpse of that non-platonic wandering. Unsuspecting, Mickey's attention returns to his conversation; what about, you aren't sure.

Leaning over toward's Bob's ear, "What are you doing?" Voice barely a whisper, fearing that your voice may carry too far across the table.

As if it has garnered a mind of its own, his hand rises even further, idly stroking the sensitive skin along your inner thighs. Up and down in slow, circular motions that have you fighting the urge to squirm.

"'m not sure what you're talkin' 'bout," that upward pull of his lip tells you otherwise; he knows exactly what you're talking about.

If he thinks you'll crack that easily, he's mistaken.

But oh, your thighs have gotten so sensitive as of late. Bitten, marked, kissed, showered in so much affection that you fear they'll never be the same. Even the slightest of touches have your heart lurching, anticipating sensations that never come. The food you're shoveling into your mouth is a poor distraction, nothing can take your mind off the mouth-watering sensation of that hand stroking your inner thigh.

Fingers nudge at the hem of your panties, not quite paying attention to the thin fabric, but close enough where he can easily slip beneath the hem at any time he pleases.

"So, Weave, after that near-death experience," at Jake's voice, you lift your head to look his way, "have you finally changed your mind on sharing the origins of your callsign?"

The entire table seems to lean closer, anticipating your verdict. On their own, your eyes flicker over to Bob. He's already looking at you, chewing on his bottom lip. The whites of his eyes are so visible that you almost miss those soft blue irises.

"Not a chance," you find yourself saying after a moment whilst you reach for your drink, "you'll just have to make up your own origin story."

Just like that, the room deflates. Shoulders fall, disappointed sighs piercing the calm restaurant air.

You've just wrapped your lips around the straw when you feel calloused fingertips delve into your panties. They're quick, wasting no time as an index finger strokes between your folds, seeking a certain little button that he knows better than the buttons in those fighter jets.

Gingerly placing your cup down, you lean over, "This is how you thank me for not embarrassing your ass?"

He finds it, and you jolt in your seat.

Asshole.

Reaching between your legs, you take hold of his hand and pry it out from where it's been terrorizing you. You'll pretend that you don't see the glistening of something wet on his fingers. Before he can ask what you're doing, you stand and head for the restrooms.

You'll give it maybe five minutes before he comes looking for you.

Only one side is open, as the other restroom door is marked with a simple 'Restroom Closed, please use the other one' sign. Fortunately, the open bathroom is the one you were heading for anyway. Inside are six unnervingly large stalls with the floor to ceiling doors that don't allow anyone to peek through the gaps. A sight that would usually be a pleasant surprise, but you're only here so that you can stare at yourself in the mirror.

You'd thought for sure that your reflection would bear an indication of what you were just up to, but absolutely nothing looks out of place. Even as you twist and turn, you find not a single indicator of your crimes. Except for, say, your slightly displaced panties.

"Leave it to Bob to be harboring a secret voyeurism kink," you grumble to yourself, reaching down to fix them.

Heavy footsteps echo off the tiled walls, and as you lift your head, you meet eyes with the culprit himself.

"I-I'm sorry," he stutters, cheeks a shade of cheery pink as he toys with the hem of his jeans. "I shouldn't have done that in public—"

He's still apologizing, but you can hardly hear it. There's a tent in his jeans, one that wasn't there before, and it's all you can look at. That cute mouth of his snaps shut the moment you step forward, grunting his surprise when you take him by the forearm and drag him toward the nearest stall. "W-Weave?"

"Before you ask," slamming the door shut behind you, "this game only applied to sex." You don't know what's come over you. All you know is that your knees are hitting the cold, hard ground, and your hands are busy popping that little silver button open.

Bob whines, pawing at your head, "What are you—here?"

You've barely even run your palm up against his boxers, and his head is hitting the wall with a painful thunk. A selfish part of you hopes he'll always be this sensitive, squirming from the barely-there contact as you reach inside, searching for him.

"That wasn't a problem a few minutes ago," and it's still not a problem. The real problem lies in the fact that he's not in your damn mouth yet.

His cock twitches the moment your palm wraps around him, heavy in your grasp as you draw him out of his confines. You've only had the chance to do this once before, unfamiliar with this position but eager to memorize it like you've memorized your fighter jets. Above you, Bob's frozen, completely still as you tentatively run your thumb beneath his flushed head.

"What?" Poking your tongue out, you flick your tongue along his slit. Oh, how he jumps at that. "Not so bold now, are ya?"

Weakly, Bob shakes his head no, "Weave."

"Stay quiet for me, pretty boy, or I might tell Hangman exactly how we got our callsigns," pausing after your threat, allowing yourself the pleasure of rolling your tongue around his cockhead, round and round, leaving him shimmering in the light.

You remember it like it was yesterday. A surprise night of drinking at the Hard Deck that got a little out of hand, how Bob had stumbled toward you and affectionately deemed you the 'Bob to his Weave' before planting a big ol' kiss on your cheek. Cyclone had been the one to discover you, and despite his best efforts, not a soul could pry the whimpery, cuddle-starved Robert Floyd from your side.

All these years later, he whines the exact same way. Only this time, it's because you're wrapping your lips around his sensitive tip.

"You...you wouldn't" At his words, you come to a screeching halt, allowing your teeth gently remind him that they're there. A soft, featherlight sensation that only serves to make him nervous, mouth gaping like a fish. "okay... maybe you would."

That's better.

It's too easy to fall back into what you were doing. Lapping at the underside of him as his hips writhe against the wall, you've got no choice but to suck on him just to keep his cock from popping out of your mouth completely.

"Baby," he gasps, voice so small that you barely notice it, "Baby."

Breathing in through your nose, you sink further down, seeking your comfortable limit. Inch by squirming inch until he gently nudges at the back of your throat. There's already an ache in your jaw as you draw back, swiping your tongue back and forth along a rare vein, such a simple thing that has him twitching.

Footsteps echo just outside the bathroom door. A stall door slams shut.

You're not stopping; instead, you only move quicker, eager to find a comfortable rhythm. Bob's hands fly up, audibly clamping over his mouth, and it's the only thing that can muffle that soft whimper of your name as you draw back to swirl your tongue around his tip. The slick sound seems so loud in this quiet little bathroom, bouncing off the walls, eager for someone to hear it, for someone to know what you're doing to your backseater.

Bob's cheeks have turned pink, the color spreading along his pale neck as you abuse this soft tip with your tongue. But it's not enough. You want, no, need to see his face turn bright fucking red.

With a heavy breath through your nose, you push your head forward, relaxing your throat the best you can as you take him a little further than before. The soft back of your throat only manages to kiss him before you're drawing back, fighting your gag reflex as you listen to the sudden bursts of breath that puncture the air. Breaths that can barely conceal the keening high in his throat.

Your voice is going to be wrecked by the end of this, but you need to hear that again.

It's easier to drop your head back down and fight the unpleasant reflexes when you know you're going to hear that. Sharp puffs of breath that rattle through your skull with every motion of your head, the poorly muffled whines that you'll never hear enough of.

You don't recall hearing a toilet flush or water running, but those feet carry themselves back out of the bathroom, disappearing into the restaurant from whence they came.

"'m close," he rasps, an octave deeper than it was before, "sweetie, ah, what about the game?"

Drawing all the way back, his leaking tip resting on your swollen lips, you give yourself a half second to think. "Fuck the pact," your voice cracks midway, but you can hardly pay it any mind as you take him in once more.

And then there are the footsteps again, flip flops smacking against the tile, but this time, your name echoes through the bathroom. "You in here?"

Natasha.

All you can see are the whites of Bob's eyes when you make eye contact. Carefully, you draw back, taking over with your dominant hand, "yeah?"

"Are you alright?" Her footsteps grow dangerously close to the door, but your hand just keeps working Bob's weeping cock, too amused by his squirming to stop. "You've been gone for longer than usual."

"Something made me sick," God, you hope she doesn't hear how hoarse your voice sounds right now, "I'll be out in a few."

Rolling your tongue out like a damn welcome mat, you place him against your tongue, peering up at your beloved systems officer from beneath hooded lashes. He's twitching under your hold, barely able to make eye contact with you before he has to squeeze his own eyes shut.

The poor thing is the color of a fire truck.

"You wouldn't know where Bob went by any chance, would you?" She's right on the other side of the door. Maybe three feet away at best.

"He might have stepped outside," humming like you're in thought, "We did get lunch together; if that's what's making me sick, then he might not be feeling too hot either."

Bob's hands come down just long enough for him to mouth one word, 'Close.'

Natasha hesitates for a moment, and then, "Gross. Alright, I'll see you when you come out then."

Your hand pumps once, twice, and before you can get a third stroke in, Bob's head cracks against the wall. A thick rope of pearly white hits your tongue and cheek; you've barely managed to get your eyes shut before a second splashes against your left eye. Hot, salty as it pools on your ill-prepared tongue.

"'m sorry," he pants, drawing away from your mouth, "hold on, you don't have to—"

But it's too late; you've already bitten the bullet and swallowed it down. You wish you could see his reaction because his surprised gasp is everything you could have ever hoped for.

"Please just hurry up and get your cum off my face," you croak, throat suddenly sore from all of the abuse it's received, "before they send Jake to come looking for us too."

Huffing, Bob audibly fumbles with a toilet paper roll, "I don't know how I'm gonna explain this one away, darlin'."

"That sounds like a you problem."

"And here y'all thought my movie suggestion was bizarre."

You're trying to convince yourself that your shiver is from the chilly night air, but it's hard to perpetuate such a lie when that movie is still flashing through your mind. "In hindsight, a Western was absolutely a better choice."

This dress was cute, but as you wrap your arms around yourself, you can't help but wish you'd chosen something warmer. You probably would have, too, if this addition to your outing hadn't been made the moment you left the restaurant.

"As opposed to...eels?" Bob's shoulder bumps into yours, a nudge that's not as subtle as he'd like it to be. You're not sure why he's asking you to turn left and head down the sidewalk, but you're in no mood to argue.

"In my defense," your jaw tremors as you speak, and you're not quite sure if it was the movie or if it's the cold that's causing it, "I was never informed of the eels."

"At least it wasn't a movie that has us checking to make sure nothing is following us?" At his own words, Bob tilts his head to peer over his shoulder, grinning pridefully when you giggle.

There's nobody on this side of the theater parking lot, not even a car; you can see your hotel sign from here, maybe a couple of blocks down the street at most. It would be so easy to just keep walking and snuggle up in your bed, but you did make a promise to wait on everyone else.

...but how upset would they really be if you took your sleepy-eyed self and left anyway? Something about that theater has made your nose feel stuffy, invisible hands have filled your feet with lead, and you can already feel the distant twinges of a headache.

"C'mere," Bob murmurs, opening up his arms for you, "'ts not like they're here to see us."

For a moment, it's the best thing that could have ever happened to you. He looks so warm, you can feel the heat radiating off of him, and yet... "We shouldn't," tightening your arms around yourself, "we've been pushing out luck as it is, Bobby."

"Sweetie, as respectfully as I can say it, you look rode hard and put up wet," and he says it so nicely that you can't tell what the hell he means by that, long-lost Texan drawl remerging, "At least let me warm you up."

Curse him and that goddamn accent.

It's hard to tell who steps forward first, but the next thing you know, you're burying your cold nose into his shirt as warm arms come up to secure you to his carefully sculpted chest. It's not fair; why does he get to be such a furnace while you're left to shiver to high heaven?

"Such a cold little thing." The icy ridges of his glasses tickle your skin as he punctuates his words with kisses, pressed anywhere and everywhere he can get them.

"Bobby—" lips against your own interfere with your argument, dizzying you with the artificial sweetness that he still carries on his breath. He always has been a sucker for movie theater candies, and you have to pry yourself away to keep from being sucked in, too, "what am I supposed to say if someone sees us, huh?"

For a second, you think he's considering it, but then. "That sounds like a you problem, darlin'."

You suppose it's your own damn fault for teaching him that.

In theory, getting caught would be a problem for both of you, but it's so, so hard to argue when those big hands rise to cradle your cold cheeks. Such a simple touch, and yet, all of a sudden, you're back in that abandoned shack again. Tremoring as you huddle up in your hiding place, silently praying nobody comes across you as you resist the urge to lean in and...

You shouldn't.

But oh, how you want to.

Internally, you're telling yourself that just one kiss couldn't hurt, but then his soft lips are molding to fit with yours, and your resolve is melting like snow on a summer's day. Barely there, stubble scratches your palms as they curl around his cheeks, such a faint feeling that fills your head with cotton.

It's barely been three weeks since the first time you felt these lips tangle with yours, and yet, kissing him feels familiar. The sensation of his delicate bottom lip between your teeth is something you've known for decades, fitting together so seamlessly that it feels like an art all of its own. This unspoken dance that has simultaneously been practiced for three weeks and three centuries.

On their own, your arms are sliding around his shoulders, one hand rising to tangle in short strands. It's the only thing that can keep you from floating away when he greedily leans into you; those sugary lips have become addicted, need to kiss every inch of you until he knows you better than he knows himself.

The last thing you want to hear is doors squealing open, familiar voices shattering the fragile silence of the night.

There's an ache that settles in your chest when you step away, the melancholy song of a heart that wants something it can't have. A heart that soars at the idea of telling the world who it belongs to but shatters into irreparable pieces when it remembers that not-so-perfect career you've worked so hard for.

"And here I thought you two had gone off without us," and as Jake unknowingly stumbles onto the scene of the crime, you quietly come to accept your fate.

It's going to be a long time before you get to so much as hold Robert Floyd's hand in public.

Your phone is buzzing.

You're so, so close to sleep. Eyes shut, mere seconds away from being wrapped up in the bliss that is sweet, sweet unconsciousness. A little bit longer, and you'll be mindlessly buzzing through a dream, not a worry or care in the world.

But now that you've identified the vibration patterns, easily recognized for an incoming text message, your curiosity refuses to let you drift off. Eyes still closed, you reach out, patting along the empty side of the bed until your fingers find the cold screen of your phone.

Fuck, why is your brightness setting all the way fucking up?

As your blurry vision focuses on the screen, the last name you expect to see staring back at you is Bobby's. Your sweet morning bird, with an inability to stay awake past midnight, texting you at one in the morning?

'Did you know...'

'That if you sleep next to someone at night...'

You have to reread the messages twice to even comprehend what he's trying to say here. A third message slides across your screen.

'The monsters can't get you?'

If you weren't on the brink of sleep, you'd roll your eyes. Instead, your thumbs dance across the screen, tapping lettered keys that you can hardly even see, to begin with. You hope your reply makes as much sense as it does in your head.

'Quit beating around the bush and come over already.'

It feels like you blink, and then there's a knock on the door, three soft taps that barely reach your ears. In hindsight, maybe you should have given Bob your spare key because dragging yourself out of bed is comparable to moving a mountain. Heavy feet padding across the thin carpet, you reach for the door handle and turn.

There he is.

Hair tussled, a shirt two sizes too big for him hanging low on his collarbones, a small, round stuffed animal clutched in his left hand. His smile is lopsided, barely there, and yet it still manages to make your heart flutter.

"Did you really carry your Squishmallow with you?" There's a roughness to your voice that kills your attempt at teasing him; it sounds like you've been gargling rocks all night.

"I'll have you know," he yawns, bringing the plush up to his chest, "his name is Stevon."

You will forever take pride in knowing that you were the one to surprise him with Stevon. You'd ignored all the perfect Stevons in favor of the one with a ripped ear because Bob's notorious for picking damaged items over unharmed ones. They've been best friends ever since you snuck the squish into his driver's seat.

It's hard to miss the bright-white bandages adorning Bob's ankle as he steps past you; he's minding it a little bit, not quite placing his full weight on it.

"Were the monsters scaring you two?" You're already halfway back into your bed, practically falling into the mattress.

"If by monsters you mean Mickey Garcia, then yes," for a moment, Bob idles at the end of your bed, staring like he's unsure of what to do all of a sudden. You have to pat the empty side of the bed in order to get him moving again, "he fell asleep with another Marvel movie blarin' again."

Leave it to the light sleeper to share a wall with the one guy who can't seem to keep his television beneath max volume.

The edge of the bed dips as he settles in, propping the spare pillow up against the headboard in favor of placing his head on Stevon. Getting him to admit it is like pulling teeth, but he only ever uses Stevon as a pillow when his neck is hurting him. Your hand feels unusually heavy as you reach out, curling around his nape.

An arm snakes out, curling around your back and dragging you closer, seemingly without any effort at all. You'd complain if you weren't already considering squirming closer, noses mere inches apart, knees knocking together as you situate yourselves.

"You're not worried that someone's going to come looking for you?" You're fighting a yawn, one that seems to bounce off you and right into Bob because he starts yawning too.

"I'll come up with somethin' to tell 'em," because his lie from earlier in the day definitely went over well. You're still figuring out how he managed to walk in through the front door after you'd just left him in the bathroom. "ain't none their business anyway."

There's that drawl again, gradually becoming thicker the more he speaks. Only ever seems to come about when he's sleepy, lacing around his words like an intoxicating spell. It's both a blessing and a curse that the accent faded during his late teens.

"You could pull another magic trick like you did earlier," the tip of his nose is cold as you press your lips to it, some chaste peck that you don't recall deciding to give him.

And just because you've given him one, Bob's got to lean over and give your nose a kiss, too, "there ain't no backdoor that I can sneak out of," the corner of his lip quirks upward, "and I can't exactly hop out a third story window."

"To be fair, you've survived a plane crash," your hand rises up from his neck, smoothing over his now soft cheek, stubble once again carefully shaved away, "what's another little fall gonna hurt?"

"Alright," you already know what he's about to say, "but you'll have to carry me around when I inevitably break my legs."

"In your dreams, hot shot," and then you're rolling over before that dumb, sideways grin starts making you do things you shouldn't.

The last thing you expect is to hear a heart-stopping gasp, the arm around your waist tightening, refusing to let you move any more than you already have.

"Bobby?"

Hot breath fans out against your neck, "hm?" Unusually strained. What is he...

oh.

You hadn't felt it until he twitched; your bodies crammed so close together that you unintentionally pressed your ass into his groin when you rolled over. Such a crime hadn't been on your mind until now.

However...

There's that inhale again, so sharp that it cuts through the air like a knife. "Sweetie." It's a warning, but it's also the weakest one you've ever heard. Had might as well be a suggestion because your wriggling doesn't stop. If anything, it only grows worse. Until his hand flies up and takes hold of your hip, gripping so tightly that you can hardly move. "Don't reckon you wanna start that again."

Fighting his grip, you tilt your head back to look at him, "but maybe I do." By the time the last syllable comes out of your mouth, he's already let go of your hip, opting instead to nudge two of his fingers against your lips.

Interesting development, but you'll take it.

As you welcome them into your mouth, eager tongue stroking up between them, he presses kisses into your neck. Soft, by the time you register one kiss, he's already moved, tickling your sensitive skin. His thigh wedges between yours, so close to where you want to feel him, but you can't quite grind on it in this position.

"That's good, baby," he praises, pulling his hand away right as you find a comfortable rhythm. It disappears beneath the comforter once more, and the next thing you know, the waistband of your panties is tightening as his hand dives inside.

Two wet fingers slip between your folds, intending to go elsewhere, but they take a detour at your clit. Gently rolling the little pearl between his fingertips, teasing it until it begins to swell, and then they're gone again, dipping even lower.

"You're—hah!" It's only been a few days since the last time you felt his fingers in you, but damn, have you already forgotten what it's like to feel one of them delve inside without warning. "You're moving pretty fast, for once."

Teeth appear on the shell of your ear, ready to litter it with little marks once more, "says the one who's as wet as the Pacific."

Even so, that first finger remains alone, testing the waters as it gently pumps in and out of you. Allows you that crucial time to adjust to the thick digit; his hands are so large that even one finger could be enough if he really tried. But you want more.

"More" is the best you can get out of your mouth. It draws out of you completely, "Bobby."

Then it's back, accompanied by a second, slowly working their way into your squirming cunt as he shushes you, "'ve got you, darlin', I promise."

They curl, stroking along your gummy walls with each gentle motion, searching lazily.

You don't know what to do with your hands, searching for purchase that you can't seem to find. The comforter is too thin, sheets are too tightly bound to the bed for you to get a handful. His index strokes over a familiar little spot, and both of your hands are diving down, grabbing hold of his wrist.

"There it is," he coos into your shoulderblade; he's smiling, and you can hear it, "is that the spot, baby?"

Rhetorical question. He knows that's the spot because he's fucking stroking it over and over and over. The side of his thumb presses against your clit, rhythmically rubbing against it in tune with his motions. You can hardly muffle yourself with the pillow, hips squirming, torn between leaning into it and wriggling away from his touch.

"Bobby," mewling, "Bobby."

"Y'want more, sweetheart?" At his words, you nod, but then he hums, like he's not quite sure of your answer, "Use your words for me."

How the hell are you meant to use your words when the only thing floating through your mind is his name? A soft wet sound comes from between your legs, slick noises brought on by his devilishly talented fingers that sound so, so loud in this quiet little hotel room.

"More," you don't recognize the voice that comes out of you, a few octaves higher than your normal tone, "please."

His hand is gone.

The only indication that he hasn't evaporated into thin air is the gentle tug at your panties, urging them down your legs. You've only got enough energy to get one leg out, letting them pool around your other ankle.

"Still got lube in your backpack?" He asks, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

More words. God, what's the word you're looking for? "Yeah."

You'd much rather him hurry up and get in you already, but you can't bring yourself to be annoyed by the sentiment. He hasn't quite been the same ever since that time you snuck off into the fan room together; you hadn't been wet enough, but you'd both gotten so wrapped up in each other that you didn't notice until you suddenly yelped.

A piece of his soul may still be in that fan room, actually.

It takes him hardly any time at all, gone and back before you know it, the bed dipping as he audibly slicks himself up. On your own accord, you begin to roll over, but he's pushing you back into your former position.

"Stay like this for me, yeah?" Well, if he insists.

Forever passes before you feel the soft kiss of his cockhead between your legs, doing nothing more than push against you. You can feel yourself flutter against his tip, the pressure is there, but it's not enough to give you what you want. Not yet.

Tilting your head back to look at him, "What are you—"

As soon as your eyes meet, his hips twitch forward, finally, finally, pushing inside. Something tells you he wanted to see your reaction, but you'll have to save your question for later because the delicious pressure between your legs is growing. Soft walls gradually split wide open as he eases into you, inch by dizzying inch.

"I don't know how," his voice is already strained, and he's still less than halfway, "you managed to convince me that holdin' out was a good idea."

Lungs burning, you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, silencing your mewls. You don't know how you even convinced yourself to go through with it. It feels like it's been forever since the last time you felt yourself flutter around his cock on that first inward push. A lifetime has passed since the last time he bottomed out and effectively punched the breath from your lungs.

"Move," you've barely had any time to adjust, but you don't care. God, you need more.

But he's taking hold of your leg, guiding it back until your knee is draped over his thigh. It feels strange, but as he slowly draws back, you can't say you hate it. Especially not when he pushes back in and grazes a certain little spot that sends you writhing.

Too quickly, he's finding his favorite rhythm, deep, short strokes that make you take every single inch of his cock. The underside of his length dragging deliciously against your quivering walls, angle altering on every inward stroke in search of a certain little something.

"Bobby!" Different colors speckle across your vision as he finds it again. Once he knows where that sensitive little spot is, he's driving into it every time.

"Fuck," he grunts, pulling your hips back to meet his next thrust, downright knocks your whimper right out of your mouth, "been missin' this lil' pussy of yours."

The cheap mattress beneath you squeaks with the movement, quiet noises that you fear will reach the ears of whoever is sharing a wall with you. You need to slow Bob down before the both of you disturb whomever that is because you know it's one of your coworkers, but all you can do is brace yourself against the mattress and push back into him.

An odd little noise dances through the air, barely loud enough to be heard over the noises coming from your own mouth.

"What are you laughing for?" You whine, trying and failing to look back at his sweaty face. Those thrusts are getting harder; if it weren't for the hand on your hip, you're sure he'd be pushing you across the mattress.

"Just realized," his hand dips down between your legs, index finger seeking out your neglected clit once more, "this is the first time I've gotten to fuck you on an actual mattress."

You'd reach back and smack him if it weren't for the sudden, short little spirals of his wicked finger. Rubbing you in tune with his thrusts, leaving you with no option but to bury your face into the pillow and take it. A shiver builds itself up in your muscles, too much all at once, but it's not enough. Still not fucking enough.

"Is that good?" God, he and his dick are going to be the death of you, "hm?"

The best you can offer him is a soft 'uhuh' as you paw at his wrist, thighs tremoring as you spasm around his thick cock. You're crumbling like a house of cards, head spinning like a top. Goosebumps dance across your skin, a wildfire rushing through your veins.

"Want me to cum in you again?" Bob just about growls as he speaks, and it's all you can do to reach up and cover your own mouth. You've never heard his voice drop so deep. "Pump your pussy nice 'n full until y'can't take another drop of me?"

His cock is starting to twitch, sharp little spasms that only serve to make you writhe even more. Muscles winding tighter and tighter, cunt clenching down around him while the nerves between your legs spark with invisible flames. Fuck, fuck, fuck you're close.

"Come on, Weave, cum on my cock for me."

Your heart just about stops.

You can hardly recognize the noise that's strangled out of you, cunt convulsing around his slowing cock. Shockwaves ripple up your spine, shaking down every bone in your body as your eyes roll back. There's a familiar heat filling you, Bob's fat cock throbbing as thick ropes of cum paint your pretty insides white. It's the only sensation that keeps you grounded, from floating out the window and disappearing into the stars above your heads.

There's an ache in your hip as he slides out from behind you, simultaneously returning your leg to the mattress. As you pant to catch your breath, you've got a sneaking suspicion that you'll be waddling tomorrow.

"Better?" Bob breathes, hand rising up to draw circles into your lower belly.

"Better," but there's a new problem between your legs, leaking out onto your thighs, threatening to get onto the only set of sheets you've got in this room. "But now I'm sort of...leaking."

You shouldn't have said that. He's going to say it, he's going to—

"That sounds like a you problem, sweetie."

You've got just enough strength to seize one of the many pillows and thwack him in the face with it. "We wouldn't be in this situation if someone didn't cum so damn much!"

A laugh saunters through the air while a big pair of arms slide beneath you, one around your shoulders, the other under your knees, lifting you from the bed as if you weigh nothing. "Maybe it's a mutual problem, then."

And it's definitely a mutual problem when you find yourself waddling out of the hotel cafeteria, chewing on a stale bagel as Reuben idly complains about the mice he heard squeaking at around one in the morning. But as Bob's smiling eyes meet with yours, you know that Reuben's going to be complaining about the alleged mice for many, many more nights.

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kendrene · 1 year

Note

Prompt: Ava/Beatrice + genderfluid!Ava please?

“Are you mad?” You have to force the words past the lump in your throat, not sure that you really want her to answer. But Beatrice has been quiet since you told her, and she has that faraway look in her eyes, the one she gets when she’s thinking too hard about something. There’s a book open in her lap, and you can tell, you are sure she hasn’t read a single word.

“Am I-” Beatrice looks up, looks at you for the first time since you’ve said - mumbled, nearly lost in your cup of morning tea - hey, I don’t feel like a girl sometimes, is that okay? - and frowns. “Did you forget to unload the dishwasher again?”

“Uhm. No?”

“Ate all my leftovers?”

“Nope.” To be honest, you've been tempted. The kung pao chicken Beatrice ordered last night from Aunt Fēn had smelled very very good.

“Have you taken my fleece without asking? You know, the green one with the sleeves that are too long for you and you have to roll up?”

God, you love that fleece. It's soft and cozy and above all it always smells of Beatrice, even after washing.

"It's in the closet. I know because I wanted to wear it, but then I remembered I should ask you for it first."

"Thank you, Ava." Beatrice places a piece of paper in between the pages of her book, closes it and pushes it aside. "Then why are you asking me if I'm mad?"

You frown, shaking a corner of the napkin you've been tearing apart loose from where it stuck to your finger. You expected this conversation to be hard. You had resigned yourself to it. You’re not prepared for it to be confusing.

“Beatrice.” You begin slowly, trying to pick your words with care. It isn’t easy. You’re not the kind of person that often thinks before they speak. “None of the things you’ve asked me about make you mad when I do them.”

Oh.

You blink.

Ohhhhh.

“Exactly.” Beatrice reaches across the table, squeezes your hand with a gentle smile. “So why would I be mad that you told me about yourself?”

“I don’t know.” You admit, dropping your gaze. The tea cup’s left a wet ring on the surface of the table, and you dip the tip of a finger in it, drawing lazy figure eights. “Maybe because I kind of sprang it on you? Made you fall madly in love with me then went: surprise! I’m not a girl all the time, actually.”

“Ava.” Beatrice flips your hand palm up, tracing her thumb across it until she’s resting it on top of the small knot of veins at the hinge of your wrist. Your pulse quickens, races fast enough for her to feel. “When I fell in love with you, I didn’t expect you not to change.”

“No?”

She shakes her head, still smiling.

“That would be falling in love with an idea. But we all change, we all grow. Sometimes we have parts of us we don’t discover until we’re ready, or until we reach a turning point in life. There’s no time limit on it.”

“So you’re okay with it? Even though I don’t have it all figured out, yet?” You want to explain that it feels shiny and new, but also familiar, like a pocketful of change you forgot inside an old coat only to be pleasantly surprised when you unearth it a couple seasons later. You want to tell her that some days you look at yourself in the mirror and you do see a girl, but not the kind that Sister Frances had in mind when she had refused to cut your hair as short as you’d have liked and forced you to wear dresses. That at night you lie awake till late, listening to her breathing even out as she falls asleep, and imagine the friction of your nape, shaved bare, against the cotton of the pillow.

And, sometimes, you think, maybe, you’re a fraud. “What if I’m wrong?” Your voice shakes a little. “What if it turns out this was a waste of time?”

“Getting to know yourself is never time wasted.” Beatrice lets go of your hand and comes around to your chair, sinking to her knees there. “I love you, Ava” She says and you cling to her words the same way she clings to your wrists, the two of you forming one lifeline. “Even if you eventually decide this label doesn’t fit. Even if it turns out none of them do, I love you.”

You lean down, rest your forehead against hers and it feels a bit precarious, this position, like when people refer to you as she. But Beatrice loops her arms around you, steady. Ready to catch you.

And you know that, no matter what, she always will be.

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava x bea #ava silva #sister beatrice #genderfluid ava silva #dren writes

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captainthisamerica · 1 year

Text

Word Count: 892

Whatever you do, don’t imagine…

It’s late. Ungodly late. The bed is cold and has been for hours. You roll onto your back and let out a loud “huff”. You fling the covers off yourself and make your way down to where you know your man is tiredly awake.

Elvis is in the tv room. Completely dark except for the glow from the three screens playing two college football games and the late evening news on the other. His hair is mussed and flopped over his forehead, his sideburns are strong and sharp against his cheek bones. He’s in one of his silkiest pajama sets, though the top is unbuttoned down to his navel. He’s manspread along the middle cushion, a half cigar sitting between his fingers and a book sitting on his knee. His reading glasses pushed down the bridge of his nose as he lazily reads.

“You’ll go blind if you keep on doing that.” Your scold causes him to jump in place, glasses falling from his nose onto his chest and his cigar slipping out of his fingers and onto the couch.

“Shit, gah dammit” he mutters, reaching over to quickly grab the lit cigar and swipe the ashes off the couch before it stains. His icy stare, tiredly fixated on you with an unimpressed gaze. “Ain’t ya’ supposed to be sleepin’?”

Huffing in amusement you jump off the bottom step, making your way to stand directly in front of him. “I’ve told you time and time again…” bending down so that you’re face to face, plucking his (sensible) reading glasses off his chest and placing them on his face “you need to have a light on when reading, not just the tv light. You heard what the optometrist said.” Straightening up, you reach your hand out to run your knuckles across the slight stubble growing across his cheek. “You know it’s hard for me to sleep when you’re not in the room. At least then I know you’re at least trying to rest.”

Rolling his eyes, he grabs your wrist, tossing his book carelessly onto the adjoining sofa and pulls you gently onto the couch beside him, right beneath his arm. Snuggling in, you rest your hand on his bare chest.

“Why aren’t you sleeping lovey?” You whisper, softly moving your finger over his chest. He lets out a deep sigh, moving a hand up to run through his already mussed hair.

“Ah, it’s nuthin’ but the same old shit lil’. Ain’t nuthin’ to worry ya’ little head about.” He mumbles, lips pressing against your forehead.

“As long as you’re in my life Elvis, I’ll worry over you as much as I please.”

He chuckles, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “I know, can’ blame a man for trynna light the load.”

Humming in agreement, you adjust your head to look up at him. His eyes are fixated on the tvs, what he’s watching you do not know. Sensing your stare, he moves his gaze down to you.

“Whatcha starin’ at?”

“You.” You answer back instantly. “You’re beautiful, god-like face.”

This time he lets out a belly laugh. “Oh my, god-like huh? Why thank ya’ baby. Wha’ makes you think that?” He questions, leaning down to plant a pliant kiss to your lips.

You lean up into the kiss, putting both your hands on his thigh to be face to face. “Hmmmm, it’s your perfect” kiss “kissable” kiss “lush lips.” You speak against his mouth. Moving again, you fling your leg across his lap and plant yourself on him, wrapping your arms around his neck, your hands moving up into his thick air to scratch lightly at his scalp.

His eyes roll back, a groan of pleasure leaving him.

“Your perfectly straight nose, goddamnit it’s so nice. Your handsome face, and well baby, this head of hair. I could spend the rest of my life just running my fingers through your hair.”

“Oh I know ya’ could. Drive the hair people crazy when ya’ come to visit me, always messin’ up my hair.” He scolds, moving his hands up and down your sides.

A giggle leaves you, as you lean forward to kiss him again but a yawn cuts off. Elvis leans back from you, looking at you in amusement.

“I think someone needs to go back to bed, it’s half past 4 anyway.”

You only lean into him again, resting your face against his neck, you mumble, “Only if you come with?”

He sighs, patting your backside and helping to stand you up. “Alrigh’ lil’. I’ll follow ya’ up.”

You scrunch your hand out toward him to help him off the couch, he accepts it with a grunt followed by “gotdamn back” before slowly follows you up to the bedroom. TVs be damned.

You slip back into the California king sized bed, immediately pressing your body against him as soon as he gets in. He flicks on the bedside light, pulling his (8th) set of reading glasses from the drawer and grabs the book he reads upstairs. You roll your eyes, but warmly snuggle into his side. He may not be sleeping, but at least you know he’s resting. And that’s more than enough for now.

#it’s shit I know #but I’m so rusty with my writing #elvis #elvis presley #elvis x reader

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thefangirlofhp · 6 months

Text

31. what if: croissants and paintings (a short what-if version of apaixonar)

“The toys, too, Winnie.”

“Really?”

“You haven’t ever touched some of these. They’re going in the pile.”

The five year old twists her mouth, dropping the t-shirt she’d been making a sorry job of folding in order to huff and puff her way across the crowded mattress and climb off. Azriel doesn’t comment on her undoing some of the folded piles as she approaches the open closet, and assesses the chaos of remaining clothes, toys and little girl accessories that Azriel never imagined would end up being what bankrupts him but after embarking on this little discovering adventure in his daughter’s room, he’s realized most of his wallet’s emptied itself right here.

“Is this cause I didn’t tidy up?” Winnie cranes her neck as she looks back up at him. He sets down a folded red shirt that she’s probably worn once as a two-year-old and tilts her head back up.

“Will you keep it clean if I say yes?”

Her eyes glimmer. “Maybe.”

It’s only through the grueling and gruesome process of being a single-father every consecutive day for nearly five years now that Azriel manages to steel his facial expression. Of course, prior to this permanent occupation, he’d been just as capable of doing so—for different reasons. Poker games, lies, and the general detachment of society that comes from introversion, but he’s had to learn to keep a particularly tight lock on his reactions in-front this mini-human copying and pasting every behavior of his into her own system.

He’s not sure how happy he’d be if after all this toiling and hardwork, his daughter would follow in her uncle’s footsteps and end up a corporate lawyer. Oh God, he’s terrified of the shark-like gleam in her eyes turning its attention from animal species towards corporate law and finance.

Winnie grins at the flat expression he gives her. At least he still has the I Raised You card in his arsenal.

“I pwomise to keep it clean. Don’t throw away all my things. Petty please?”

Azriel slides a dress off its hanger, tosses the plastic away into the growing pile on the floor and flaps it out. “I’m not punishing you. We’re donating what we don’t need to people who’ll need them. And Aunt Feyre is going to need some of your baby clothes for their baby.”

“Cause of the baby in her tummy?”

“Uhu.”

Winnie steps into the closet, larger than any child’s closet reasonably need be, and crouches before the shelves. “Why won’t they buy?”

“There’s no need, if your clothes are hardly worn. It’s a gesture, and Feyre said she’d love to take some.”

“Gesture?”

Azriel’s eyes flutter for a second as he breathes in. It’s really therapeutic, possibly—maybe. A chore he can turn his mind off whilst doing, to busy his hands without having to think about anything. Until the chatterbox decided she was done with her coloring, and that shadowing him around the flat was much more entertaining.

“Yep,” he rubs his face, assessing the carnage that is his little girl’s room. On a good day, it is akin to a battlefield. A time like this, where she’s taken it as free reign to open everything that had a lid or door or drawer and throw the contents of everything everywhere? He imagines an escape room is simpler.

But if he’s honest with himself, which Azriel likes to think he is, her presence is something that had made him nearly sigh with relief. If he can’t hear himself think, then he won’t think, and then this will just be a trivial cleaning out of a room that is long overdue such treatment. The clothes in his hands are items to fold up, with no sentiment, and put in boxes for donation. They are not Winnie’s first dress, or the outfit she’d worn to her first visit to the lake. They are not one-month old and two-month old clothes that Ellie had cried over, somehow moved by rampant hormones to find such small items tear-jerking.

“Are we gonna give away my drawings?” Winnie suddenly asks fearfully, shooting to her feet after coming across a container of old art-supplies.

“No, no,” he instantly reassures her before her hair can turn grey. “Who’d we give them to?”

Winnie stares intensely at him. “People want ‘em.”

He holds back his mouth from twitching. “Do they?”

It’s eerie, how her eyes get so large and round and earnest. “Right?!”

“O-Of course, yeah. Definitely.”

“Aunnie Fey-Fey said they’re art. And-and people want art, right? We gonna give ‘em away?”

“Well do you want to give them away?”

“NO!”

“We’re not, then. Calm down, Picasso.”

She lets out a comically exaggerated sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I was worried there for a second!”

“Sure thing, Bunny.”

It’s probably a sad thing, spending his Saturday clearing out his daughter’s room and his own wardrobe for the donation Feyre’s asked him to contribute to, but what is probably sadder is that he’s relieved and very much content with staying in, cleaning and doing chores. Cassian has such an opinion.

“I can’t tell what’s sadder,” his friend remarks on the phone as Azriel loads the washing machine, boxes all taped and labelled and Winnie’s room unrealistically clean. He’d forgotten the color of her carpet was such a beautiful tone after he vacuumed it. “This being the highlight of your day, or the poor kid locked up in there with you.”

“Rhys is going to take her and Felix out in an hour,” Azriel turns the machine on. “They’re having a sleepover.”

“Sweet! Let’s get together and have a drink, then. Come on, night out.”

“Nah, man, I have assignments to mark and an exam to write.”

And isn’t he ecstatic about it. He’s been looking forward to this particular day since such sleepover’s been arranged, and he realized that all his chores and tasks neatly lined up to clear this day for catching up on his job and staying in. Maybe he’ll watch trashy reality television, or an even shittier crime show without having to worry about the Eavesdropper Supreme absorbing everything like a fucking sponge.

The possibilities excite him.

“Every word coming out of you is just sadder than the one before,” Cassian sighs, as if he heard Azriel’s thoughts.

“Give your liver a fucking break,” Azriel snaps, defensive over the impossible breach of his private thoughts. “You’re getting married in two fucking weeks and you’ve drunk more alcohol than your fiancé has in her entire alcoholic years.”

“Hey.”

Azriel takes the call off speakers and puts the phone to his ears as he walks out the room. “Speaking of, have you spoken to the resort?”

“That’s why I called. I did, and they’d be more than happy to keep you lot for a few more days. I think dropping some names did the trick.”

“Whatever gets you there,” he replies, entering the living room and immediately feeling his eye twitch at the sight that greets him. “Oi, Winnie, Rebel, off the iPad. Now. Read a book or something.”

Both girls turn their guilty eyes to him, as Winnie slides the device away underneath a cushion as if she wasn’t just caught red-handed. “Sorry, Daddy.”

He throws himself onto the couch next to them with a rush of breath whooshing out of him. “Are you happy with everything? No-one’s being a menace? Cake’s fine? Venue fine? No hurdles?”

“It’s going perfect,” Cassian answers, with the smile audible in his raspy voice. “Don’t want to jinx it, but there’s nothing to complain about. I really got to thank you properly for that wedding planner—she’s a gift from God.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty good.”

“Didn’t she do your wedding?”

“Mhm.”

Ellie’s best friend, Cressida. It’s Azriel’s genius gift to the couple; instead of having to worry his over-worried mind over a meaningful gift, he got Cressida to plan their wedding from A to Z. Nesta got uncharacteristically quietly when he let them know the famous planner had taken them on—he cannot take entire credit for the idea, even though he knows Cressida to be one of the top sharks in her industry; he’d overheard Nesta and Feyre after the engagement announcement discussing it and, well, for what it's worth he’d always meant to call his late wife’s best-friend.

Azriel breathes in, reaches out a scarred hand that fusses with Winnie’s fine hair as she flops across his lap, listening in on his conversation.

“She did a great job on yours.”

“Mhm.”

He focuses on Winnie’s tresses.

“You all-right?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“You’re just sounding a little mono-syllabled.”

“Nah… I’m…Just a little busy. Hey, Bunny, don’t fall asleep. Uncle Rhys will be here any moment.”

“Sure,” Cassian replies smoothly, in a way that says roger that to whatever he’s interpreted in his tone with his freakishly peaked emotional insight. Sometimes Azriel wishes Cassian would spare him some, but then tells himself that what little sensitivity he possesses provides him with enough grief. “Anyway, the resort will have you for the week, same rooms. How’s that sound?”

“Brilliant,” Azriel replies, looking forward to the week following Cassian’s wedding, already feeling himself relax a little at the prospect of napping under the sun at the beach, getting to subtly pass Winnie on to his brother and sister-in-law, finally getting to read that interesting-looking book one of his students left behind in his class that was never collected. Fresh drinks, shorts, loose white shirts and permanently hiding behind a hat and sunglasses to nap all day without being severely judged, everyday. Not having to worry about cooking, washing, or tidying up. He does appreciate some time off, and with the semester he’s had, he’s more than looking forward to it.

___

“What d’you mean you’re closed?”

“We’re very sorry, Mr. Bougainvillea, but some of the kids got sick and it’s protocol to stay home for a few days to prevent it spreading to other children and the staff.”

Azriel can’t believe his ears, or the preschool teacher’s sweet voice. “They’re kids, they’re supposed to have their faces sneezed on.”

“We’re very sorry, Mr. Bougainvillea. After the pandemic, we’ve had to reinforce some stricter protocols.”

He blinks at the fridge covered in magnets holding up drawings, grocery lists and some photographs. Winnie stares at him, unblinking, as she chews on a sliced apple half-heartedly. He turns to his daughter, as the preschool hangs up, and it’s all he can do to not hysterically laugh at his misfortune like a madman.

“Imma stay home?” Winnie hopefully asks.

“Dream on, Bunny,” he mutters, dialing Feyre’s number.

“Hello?”

“Please tell me you can have Winnie for the day. Her preschool’s running a self-imposed quarantine because a kid coughed yesterday.”

“Told you not to put her in a pretentious fancy school like Velaris Stars.”

“Well?”

“I’m sorry, I really can’t; I have meetings with clients and I need to finish a commission before noon.”

Fucking hell.

“Why don’t I call Felix’s school, see if they’ll take her for the day? The principal loves me.”

“Would you, please?” he glances at his wrist-watch, and realizes he’s already cutting it close. “I owe you.”

“No problem.”

He slides his phone into his pocket, gulps down a bitter mouthful of yesterday’s cold coffee and clicks his fingers at his daughter simultaneously while dumping the remaining coffee in the sink. “C’mon. Shoes.”

“I really don’t think we should leave Rebel alone,” Winnie protests as she skips out the kitchen. “She’s sad all alone, maybe I’ll stay with her?”

Azriel snatches his suit jacket off the back of the couch, grabs Winnie’s yellow and green backpack and her lunchbox as he follows her to the front door of the penthouse. “Rebel’s being left alone unsupervised all day in an entire flat, Winnie. I think she’d be sad at you joining her.”

Winnie humphs, taking her sweet time in stomping her feet into her Velcro shoes. “But what if—where am I gonna be all day?”

“Let me worry about that, Bunny, all-right?” he opens the door, and locks it shut behind them quickly. Feyre brings no good news, as Felix’s school has a strict policy against such things and Azriel really wants to write a memo for all preschools and primary schools to remind them not to take such a big fucking piss of themselves—strict policies and protocols, his ass. He wouldn’t bat an eye if a random person sat in on one of his lectures. Back in his day, he wasn’t even in preschool. Preschool was Mom’s shitty two-bedroom apartment and their shitty neighborhood block. And back then, school was an even shittier public school full of kids that no-one noticed if one was missing.

“Hey, heard you’re in a bit of a pickle,” Rhys pipes on the phone, while Azriel and Winnie sit out their options in a quaint familiar coffee shop in the city while Azriel plots his escape. “Preschool bailed on you?”

“Mhm,” Azriel monitors the trickling bleary-eyed morning crowd out in the street, mouth smudged in the palm of his hand. “I’m waiting on Cassian to see if he can help me out. Wait, hold on.”

His friend’s voice trickles in through the second line. “Sorry, man. Schedule booked the entire day, and we don’t have any kid activities before 2pm.”

“Thanks anyway, Cass, sorry to bother you this early, I’ve got Rhys on the other line. I’ll get back to you. Yeah, Rhys, it’s no good with Cassian either.”

His brother-in-law tuts. “Why not take her with you to work? Would your Dean mind?”

“Looks like I’m going to,” Azriel realizes, loathe to let his daughter tag along to his classes which are nowhere near suitable for her to listen in on.

But surely he is overestimating Winnie’s mental capacity to understand university-level criminology classes when his own students struggle on good days to wrap their heads around what he’s teaching? Azriel fucking wishes. The kid soaks up everything she sees, hears and touches, with whatever degree of understanding she’s reconciled it with—he’s terrified what she’ll make of his material. “It’s not the Dean I’m afraid of, Rhys. But having her tag along…”

“Yeah…leave her in your office?”

“I freaked out about leaving her asleep in her crib the first years of her life, you want me to leave her in my office at the university for five hours?”

“Put on a movie, headphones, give her a coloring book and she’s all set for the entire day. Trust me.”

Azriel lets loose a whistling breath, slumping back in his seat and threading his fingers into his hair. “Sure.”

“Hey, you can always bail on your classes.”

“I kind of used all my excuses when she got sick last month and it’s revision week today. The only time these kids actually show up to class.”

“I don’t know what to say, you’re in the deep end, mate.”

“Yeah, I know. Anyway, I’ll call you later.”

“Say hi to her from me.”

“Bunny, Uncle Rhys says hi.”

“Hi, Uncle Rhys,” Winnie grins. “I miss our sleepover already!”

Rhys laughs. “Me too, kid. We’ll do it again sometime soon.”

Azriel lets his phone clatter on the small table, and rubs his face roughly before standing up abruptly. “C’mon, let’s order.”

Winnie trails after him dutifully, reaching out to grab hold of his scarred hand as they wait in line at the counter and study the glass display in the meantime.

“Daddy, am I a bourbon?” she asks, as her eyes roam over all sorts of muffins and pastries.

“Come again?”

“A bourbon,” she repeats, looking up. He frowns. She raises her eyebrows. “You know, like-like a problem.”

“Oh, you mean burden.”

She stares up at him. “That’s what I say.”

“No, no, you’re not,” he stops himself from smiling. “Why’d you think so?”

“Cause I’m giving you a headache.”

He lets his smile loose. “Your socks are a problem. But Daddy’s just cursed with constant cluster headaches, so don’t take it personally.”

“You look kinda mad,” she points out. “And sad.”

“I didn’t get enough sleep, that’s all,” he turns to the barista taking orders and gives her a smile. “Morning, Cer.”

“Morning, Az,” Cerridwen smiles, and leans over to give Winnie one. “And good morning to you too, Winnie. How’re you?”

“I’m good today,” Winnie nods seriously, thumbs hooked into the straps of her backpack as she assesses the pastries. “But Daddy stayed up all night watching bad movies and didn’t get sleep so now I’m his bourbon.”

Cerridwen’s dark glimmering eyes turn to him, begging for an explanation as she holds back a full-blown grin.

He shrugs. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“Well, Winnie, what would you like today?”

His kid tilts her head. “Not sure. What do you condom, Cer?”

“Recommend,” Azriel hisses immediately, feeling himself flush hot and red, and pointedly ignores the stare from the old lady waiting behind them.

Cerridwen, to her credit, only softly giggles. “I like the lemon tarts.”

Winnie’s eyes widen. “Uncle Rhys says that’s a bad word!”

“Oh that he told you not to say?” Azriel grits his teeth. “Black coffee for me, Cer, and a chocolate croissant. Bunny?”

“I wanna cold milk and that one.”

“Coming up.”

Azriel promptly steers his kid back to their table after paying and collecting their order, and plops her straight in her chair without a word. Winnie swings her legs back and forth patiently while he cuts up her puff pastry into manageable pieces, looking around her. All of a sudden, she gasps, and points at the front door. “Daddy, look!”

He looks over, instinctively, to see her pointing at two women walking into the café and he’s about to tell her not to point or stare, but somehow the words slip his mind. His everything slips his mind, as he watches Nuala stride in through a door held open by —quite frankly—the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on.

Father and daughter ogle as the pair walk up to the counter, chatting animatedly together, and greeting Nuala’s twin cheerfully—a sin some would say, as no dignified person is allowed to be so cheerful, even on a bright and sunny morning such as this. The other woman’s taller than average, with a couple of inches on Nuala, her golden-brown hair tumbling in gentle waves from a ponytail down her back. Azriel doesn’t know when his mouth eased open, but he promptly snaps it shut and turns his attention back to the task at hand, while Winnie continues to openly stare.

He blinks the remnant image from his eyes, shakes the snug black leather jacket and skinny blue jeans out his mind and tells himself he’s just sleep-deprived.

Then, Winnie beams and does the worst thing a child can do in a public space. Calls out.

“Nain!”

Azriel freezes, and looks over his shoulder again to find that the woman had turned at the call, and that her brown eyes were fixed on them. His stomach flips on itself at the smile that blooms on her lips, before she briefly squeezes Nuala’s elbow with a word and comes over.

Comes over.

“Hi,” Elain Archeron, Feyre’s sister, greets with a soft sweet voice. She hasn’t got any makeup on that Azriel can see, and he thinks that it’s surely witchcraft how good she looks. “How are you doing, Winnie?”

“I’m good today,” his daughter reports seriously. “But Daddy—“

“Is pleased to see you again, Elain,” Azriel quickly cuts in, standing up abruptly, discovering that Elain’s taller-than-average height still means she’s quite shorter than him. “Uh, Azriel, Winnie’s dad. We ran into each other a few times.”

“Oh I remember you,” she pleasantly says, shaking the hand he absent-mindedly stretched out. “Wow, it’s been, how many years since I last saw you? I think Felix’s second birthday party?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, nodding. Probably too much. He stops his head. “This one was just a baby.”

Elain’s eyes soften, glancing at his daughter. “Time really flies. You should have seen my shock when I ran into her at Feyre’s place the other night. They were having a sleepover.”

“We colored dinos!” Winnie excitedly says. “Nain said I’m an artist, Daddy.”

“That you are, Bunny. So, uh, what-what brings you to town?”

Elain’s brows furrow in confusion for a brief second. “I work here. The precinct down the street?”

He blinks. Right. Criminal investigator—Nuala’s co-worker. “Right, sorry. It’s been a day.”

Her eyes dart to the clock on the wall. “It’s not 7:40 yet,” her lips faintly smile.

“And I’m ready to call it quits,” he nods. “So, uh, Nesta’s wedding—are you a… bridesmaid? Cassian mentioned something about the rehearsal—are you my bridesmaid?”

Elain tucks her lower lip between her teeth and slowly tugs on it, her face sobering slowly. “Ah…No, I’m not. Nesta didn’t ask me.”

He’s just going to have a quick lie-down in this grave he’s dug for himself.

“Oh,” why the fuck did he even ask? He didn’t give two shits about the groomsmen and bridesmaid pairing. He didn’t give a shit, point blank, about anything beyond his friend’s happiness. “Sorry, I don’t even give a shit about the wedding.”

Winnie gasps. “Bad word!”

“Put it on the tab,” he absent-mindedly tells her, followed by Winnie’s rustling through her bag for a little notebook into which she draws a new shaky strike. “Uhm, it was lovely to run into you, Elain. I don’t want to keep you.”

Elain sticks her hands into the pockets of her skinny jeans and shrugs her shoulders. “Nu and I are actually bailing on the morning briefing. Shouldn’t you be taking her to school?”

“They cancelled,” Winnie answers, tucking her little flip notebook back into her bag. “Cause someone coughed.”

Elain blinks. “That seems…precautious.”

“Paranoid,” Azriel sighs.

“Where are you putting her then? You’re a lecturer at VU, right?”

He nods. “I’m taking her with me.”

Elain glances at his daughter, warily. “Don’t you teach criminology and penology?”

He grimly smiles. “Yeah. It’s…not ideal. I’ll ask one of the staff to keep an eye on her during my classes.”

Elain tilts her head then blinks. “I could do it for you.”

He freezes.

Winnie’s head snaps up, eyes wide as full-moons. “Oh yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Pretty, pretty, prettiest please, Daddy?!”

“Sorry?”

Elain’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intervene. I was just offering to help out. I could watch her for you on campus. I’ve been meaning to check out some books from the library there, anyway.”

Is this what angels look like?

“I…aren’t you busy?”

“Honestly, it’s been a little slow, not to jinx it. And I was the detective on call last night, so I’ve got no intentions of hanging around for Helion to assign me any new cases.”

“You know, not to sound desperate or anything, but you could ask for my liver right now and I’d hand it over, no questions asked.”

Elain grins, something gorgeous and wide, and one that makes Azriel’s heart thump erratically against his will and he feels physically ill. “How ‘bout a coffee, instead?”

________________________________

the end. October 2023

#apaixonar what if #see this was meant to come out months ago but I forgot about it #:D #and with this we conclude fictober 2023 lads #flufftober 2023 #fictober23 #elriel fic #winnie archeron #rhysand #cassian #elriel #azriel #apaixonar #goodbye

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chloeseyeliner · 6 months

Text

(there's ranting. you've been warned.)

um... happy monday to the young royals fandom/edvin's fans in general.

(via edvin's instagram stories)

he is... he is twenty years old. good grief.

(i won't comment on anything regarding his physical appearance on this post, even if everything i'd say would be very, very positive, due to the fact that, although he's never going to come across this, it would still go against his wishes.)

can we just please, please leave people alone? this behaviour... it's not healthy, for anyone involved.

generally speaking, we live in a society where beauty standards are, unfortunately, an inextricable part of some people's lives. these same people believe they can force their own standards, "inspired" by a million different factors surrounding all of us every day (family, school, friends, the environment we grow up in etc etc), to other people, the "trend" (if i can call it such) especially targeting complete strangers, mainly on the internet.

and yes, that includes celebrities, too. famous people, if you prefer this term better. artists. whatever they want to be and are- most of us have been there to not know a day where these people's rights on their personal lives and choices and clothes and pets or whatever a paparazzi or a fan is going to decide does not fit their standards of the day have not been infringed on.

because, believe it or not (and i am NOT refering to the wonderful, respecting, brilliant, supporting majority of fans, at least in this specific fandom), your favourite actor is not your friend. even if the comments on their appearance, for example, like in edvin's case, are written in a playful, sarcastic tone, this cannot be understood through text on a screen- another problem of our society's current state; harmful words you write on a screen, whatever the intention is, do not just stay there, floating around. you aren't trying to communicate with your notes app. a person is reading them, even though you may think they will never reach them, because, for instance, of their huge audience. and it can (excuse me for my language) fuck them up the same way it would fuck someone (e.g. at school or at work) up to say the same harsh words- again, even if you don't correctly estimate the power they can hold- to their face.

so, again, as i have written and reblogged posts in the past regarding similar issues in this specific fandom,, which i love so so dearly, my intention is not to play the part of the "angelic fan" or whichever label might fit the text.

my intention is to maybe, just maybe, reach someone out there who will change their way of thinking; who will have second thoughts when writing a comment about a mustache (for god's sake); who will gain a little grain of empathy towards a fellow global citizen of theirs; who will try to cease some of the "madness"... before a person whose only intention was to make their dreams come true by entering the, in this case, film industry feels obliged to address the issue via a platform on the internet, as if not commenting on his looks etc is not the sensible thing to do... before this attitude turns to bullying for real. if it hasn't already.

that's all i had to say. i am apologising for the length of the post or any mistakes, since english is not my first language and i am quite mad and disappointed, maybe little hurt actually, especially as someone who has been struggling with their physical appearance and comments on it since i was literally a child.

i cannot imagine dealing with that plus being famous and having people judging you all the time. jesus. i really hope edvin has his support system near him and that he will be alright. <3

#seriously okay #at first i was like #maria don't address the issue people are going to say there are more serious stuff going on #but then i was like #yes i acknowledge the very serious stuff surrounding us at the moment and not only in a social media space with only generic posts and such #(like many people OF COURSE)#(and people don't have to know everything we can act on justice withour the internet knowing)#so yeah i did it #because it pissed me off very much #this is not healthy at all tbh #i am not being judgy i thought taylor swift and selena gomez would be my besties when i was like eleven #but parasocial relationships are not good #neither is (technically speaking here) online bullying #some comments appeared on my instagram feed when i liked edvin's post the other day #but i did not want to comment on it if edvin did not say something bc it felt very personal so yeah #this happened #young royals #edvin ryding #cw discussion/(better) mention of physical appearance issues #anyway #i still canot believe that respecting one's boundaries is not taken for granted nowadays

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ferretwhomst · 9 months

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Question about the transfem! Stans au: When did they figure out that they were transfem? Also, did they fully transition?

HMMM well. i like to think stan sort of realized sometime during the 10 years she was separated from ford in the 70s. for awhile in her teen years whenever she felt out of place in her body she covered it up with a facade of hypermasculinity in hopes that it would make the feeling go away. however a few years down the line she was traveling the country on her own and that gave her time to Realize Some Things 🏳️‍⚧️ about herself. but of course she was still in bad company and extremely self-conscious and vulnerable (not to mention full of internalized sexism) so even after she figured she was a girl she continued denying it to herself

i think only when she officially began living in gravity falls as stanford did she realize that it literally doesn't matter. she's living in a fuckall town in the middle of nowhere in oregon, everyone in the town is a little weird (not to mention the cryptids and anomalies everywhere) and nobody's gonna care if she officially accepts that she's a woman and starts transitioning

ford also probably realized during those 30 years in the portal. i think she wasn't really as troubled by her gender the way stan was growing up, it was just sort of a side effect of existing, but she never had any reason to call herself anything but a man even if it didn't feel Quite Right. however meeting people from different dimensions with different perceptions of gender made her realise gender is a fuck and she can do what she WANTS...... and then she comes out of the portal 30 years later some flavor of fem nonbinary

i have an incredibly shitposty version of the interaction at the end of nwhs (i guess it'd be nwss in this au) which goes

"That's the Author of the Journals- my brother!"

"I think you'll find it's 'sister' now, actually, Stanley."

"WH- YOU TOO????"

and later in atots:

"Oh thank god, I was a little worried I'd have to explain to you why I've been ordering estrogen supplements in your name for the past 25 or so years"

"You opening this portal tonight could've ripped open the very fabric of reality and that's what you were worried about-"

also re: their transitions, i don't think either of them would be that bothered with it? apart from the hrt, of course, stan might've briefly tried voice training; i imagine she puts on a marginally more feminine voice when she's being ms (mrs???) mystery and then at home or when she's not around customers she drops the voice and just sounds like how stan does in canon. i don't think she would go for any kind of surgery either whether facial feminization or bottom surgery or whatever; she doesn't care that much for presenting as feminine even if it gets her weird looks from some people. she's secure enough in her gender to validate it for herself <3

with ford it gets a little complicated. how much of a human's transition could've been completed while she was dimension hopping?? do they have estrogen in other dimensions??? if ford started doing hrt did they give her estrogen or like an equivalent??? so many questions and zero answers. if not then i think she would like to go on hrt after returning from the portal but like stanley would not care much for surgeries or voice training. both of them like their roughed up old guy voices too much to do anything about it

also entirely unrelated to your questions but i think spending time with mabel would encourage both of them to engage with stereotypical feminine things in a way that feels safe and comfortable and not embarrassing for them. like . for example imagine with me mabel teaching them how to braid each other's hair. (might be a pain because i imagine neither of them have very long hair but you know she tries.) like auughhhhh

#thank you for asking btw <3 #im like a vampire with my interests i can only talk abt it if someone invites me to sbdkwnfkwndkqmd #this was a pain to type out on mobile and it's late so I might've phrased stuff weirdly #anyways #asks #ferret rambles #gravity falls #gf #gravity falls headcanons #gravity falls au #stanley pines #grunkle stan #stanford pines #grunkle ford #trans stan twins #transfem!stans

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bubblessunshinehoney · 1 year

Text

Pretend (peter parker)

A/N: so this is a repost, since my first account got suspended, but i love this fic so much that i couldn't not post it again. This was my first time writing for Peter Parker (mcu) But you can aslo read for any of them :)

Enjoy,

Cloudy

Dont be shy, reblogs, comment or like!

Peter Parker was the new roommate at the compound. You thought he was cute, and he was your age... finally someone to talk about things of your era.

“Hey boomers” you cheer when you enter the open kitchen.

“Mornin’ Y/N” respond everyone.

“Hello Y/N” blushed Peter, but he could see something was not right with you, he could sense it.

“Hey kiddo, she won’t bite” teased Sam.

“Depends when”, you teased back making Peter blushed even more. You got a sweet spot for the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.

You felt dizzy this morning, a little bit lightheaded. You pretended to be okay in front of them. But you were scared because you didn’t understand what was going with you.

See you had powers; I mean you were an avenger. Like Wanda and Pietro, you were an experiment. You could read thoughts and see the future. But you had developed another power, that you tried to understand with Bruce and Tony. Lately you would dissociate in time. Sometimes your body was moving before you did. And this morning was like the other for the past two weeks.

“Shit, she’s not here, is she?” asked Clint.

You became blurry and your voice distorted.

“Hey boomers!” you said again. Nobody responds this time, they all looked at you. You felt the tension and you looked at them. “What” your voice echoed. You turned your head and there’s a reflection of your movement.

“Shit I feel dizzy” before you fall, Peter caught you. His Spidey sense made him the only one able to catch you. Your body was visible three times in the kitchen and the other avengers were not able to take the right one. But Peter reached for the correct body before he could think of it.

“You’re, ok?” he asked you.

“Well, you caught me, so never been better”. He helped you sit down on a chair and brought you a black tea and some buttered toast.

“I think you need to it. You dissociate a lot when you’re with an empty stomach” pointed Peter.

“I hope you are writing down Bruce or Tony, he has a point”. They both nodded and Tony talk to his watch... taking notes.

“Well Queens, you sure are very observant.” Said Steve.

“I-I need to prepare for college” blurred out Peter before almost running out of the kitchen.

“Well done old man, who’s gonna bring me my toast now” you complained.

Vision appeared from the wall and took your plate with your toast.

“I am Y/N, you look very pale... you must eat before dissociating again”.

“See Vision and Peter take care of me... not like you other”.

“Oh my god, you are sure she’s not your daughter Tony,” laughed Natasha.

After breakfast, you went back to your room, it was the one next to Peter’s. You passed by, hoping he hasn’t gone without you to college. You entered your room still feeling dizzy but this time you knew it was because of the emotions bubbling up in Peter’s head. With your dissociation you felt everyone emotions, it was tiring but you delt with like a champ... well you pretend anyway.

Images entered your brain. It was you; Peter was thinking of you, and you weren’t playing scrabble.

“Shit, that’s hot” you said out lout. Peter was imagining you riding him. You were wearing on of his scientist pun shirt, hands in your hair, praising him. His hands were on your thighs and then his thumb was on your clit. The emotions, he was feeling, were so strong that you could almost feel him inside you.

“PETER STOP IT NOW” you screamed. The images in your head froze and you felt the embarrassment growing in Peter heart.

“s-sorr-sorry Y/N” he yelled back.

He was cute, but he was very frustrated since his breakup with MJ. You felt bad for him. You didn’t know the entire story, he told you it was an agreement between them to end their relationship... but you were sure she was more ok with it than him. You felt his broken heart for weeks.

You finished to get ready for school and wait for Peter in the living room. When he arrived, he was red like a tomato, and he looked at his feet.

“It’s ok, Petey. I’m not mad”.

“I-I’m sorry. Eve- ok you’re not mad. Bu-but I shoul-I should not do that either way” he stuttered.

“It was hot, very intense, I almost felt you... inside me.” His eyes went wide but you were too deep in your reflexion to see it. “Crazy right? I think I can feel more when I’m like... I don’t know connect with the person... I should tell Bruce about it”.

“That you can see and feel my... wait don’t tell him, please” he begged you.

“Relax Spidey, I am not telling him I can see and feel when you jerked off.” you laughed when he blushed even harder if that was possible.

You took his arm and went to the garage to take one of Tony’s cars. Your touch went straight to his crotch, he had a crush on you since the last two months. You were kind to him, always defending him when the other teased him too much. Always helping him, when he struggled with his project for school or when he wanted to improve his suit or his fighting skills. You made him laugh and forget about his problems. You were like his personal sunshine and when he missed May too much, he looked at you to feel a bit more home. You were his new home now, but he was too heartbroken to see it yet.

You both arrived in college in no time. Peter drove because you were not sure if you would dissociate again. When he parked the car, you were about to go but he stopped you. “You are not totally here yet” he said calmly. You watched his hand on your forearm, but you didn’t feel his grip.

“Jesus Spidey-boy, how?”

“Spidey sense, I think”.

You were the only one to not called his Spidey sense, “Peter tingle” and he liked you a lot for that among other things.

When you felt his grip, it when straight to your core... for no reason except maybe it was like a reaction to him daydreaming about you. His gaze past you and your heart broke. You turned your head and you saw MJ talking with a guy, a handsome one, and she kissed him with passion. Back to Peter, you saw him with teary eyes.

“Hey Pete, don’t... she’s not worth it.”

“I want to move on, it’s been six months.” he murmured.

“You can’t decide when you’ll be totally healed. it takes time.” You caress his cheek in attend to comfort him. He gave you his puppy eyes signature. Those fucking eyes.

“You can pretend.”

“Pretend?”

“That you moved on too. “

“How?”

“We could pretend that we’re dating.” He looked at you, then looked at MJ who was still kissing the new guy, then looked at you again. His hand on your arm holds you tighter and you hand on his cheek went to the back of his neck.

“It won’t hurt anyone, plus maybe your fantasy might come true.” you teased him. Without any warning he kissed you. it was a kick gentle one. You blinked a few times before registering that he did kiss you.

“S-sorry, I should ask you” You shook your head before lean in again and connect your lips to his. This time you took control of the kiss, you took your time to feel his lips against yours. He sighed and parted them a little, your tongue went brush his teeth. You thought he would back off but no he pushed his tongue out to meet yours. You broke the kiss first, scared to not be able to stop... he was a good kisser.

“Well, one of my fantasies is already complete” he said with a certain confidence. You smiled, you liked when he was more confident. “I feel better already, thanks”.

“Did I kissed your boo-boo away?” you joked. He rolled his eyes and got out of the car. He waited for you, then he put his hand on your back.

“It is not for pretending that we are together, you’re still sitting in the car” When he finished his sentence, you felt your soul coming back to your body. Peter holds you closer to prevent from any falling. He heard your heart tumbled in your chest and he hold you closer by putting his harms around your waist. Your head fall on his shoulder by the impact of yourself on your own body. “You, ok?”.

“I don’t know Pete”. You looked up to meet his gaze. His concern about you, you felt it. “It has never been this strong, and… what the fuck? I mean you just hold me and wait for my soul to come back to my body, like you felt it?”

He looked you up and down before putting his lower lips between his teeth. “I-I felt it yeah. Like goosebump. And you have this look in your eyes when you dissociate. Like a cloud on your pupil.”

You’re surprised. He is very observant of your condition, even more than Tony or Bruce, maybe it’s because is more with you… or maybe he likes you more than you think.

“Can you note that somewhere? I have to report this to Bruce.” He nodded and helped you reached your first class.

“Meet me at 2 in the parking lot?” he asked you. “Yeah, fine see ya Peter”. He kissed your cheek before disappearing in the crowd of students. You started blushing for sure.

Two weeks later your condition is worst than ever. You can’t go to class because you keep dissociating. You don’t even know where you are most of the time. The only way to be yourself is when Peter is around you and it makes you sick to be this dependant on someone.

“Y/N?” call Bruce.

“My room.”

The scientist comes in and analyse your state from the door. He frowns.

“Yep, I look like shit, I know. I can’t shower. I mean I can not get up from my bed. Too dizzy”

You hear him hums and scribbles on his notebook. You turn your head slightly and your vision blurs instantly. You close your eyes and groan of frustration. Then… you hear his thoughts.

Maybe the kid could help her shower. Just to see if it works.

“I am not showering with him” he chuckles before speaking out loud.

“No, of course. But maybe he could be near you? I mean when he’s in the same room as you, you seem to functionate almost normally.”

“I am not a machine, Banner.” He sits on your bed, and he pats your leg. “I know, sweety, but could you try? A shower, it’ll make you feel better.”

You sigh and nod positively. Bruce leaves your room, and you wait. A few moments later, you feel Peter coming. He’s nervous and impatient. Bruce knocks and you tell them to come in. Peter is slightly blushing, and his smile disappears when he sees you on your bed.

She looks so ill. I should have come earlier. Shit she can hear me. Think of something, think of something. Lama, dogs, cactus, not her naked, don’t picture her naked. Idiot she can see right trough you. Fuck, fuck… why am I like this. Watermelon, pineapple, no not pineapple, don’t think about what your sperm will taste if you drink or eat pineapple. Stop it, Peter.

You can contain your laughter at his thoughts. Bruce looks at you, but you quick to tell him that Peter is doing what it does best, overthink everything. “And that’s cute, he’s too concern about me. You know, I have to live without you Spidey.”

“I let you two alone now. Let me know how it goes”.

I am cute? She thinks I am cute. Fuck, she’s still reading my mind. Hi Y/N, hope you like my rumbling thoughts.

He thinks about what he did and saw during is time in college and you sigh in relief. You prefer those kinds of random thoughts, feels more like the radio and you don’t have to focus on what is saying.

“You want to try to get up?” you nod before sitting on you bed. Your head does not spin like you’re drunk anymore. You look at him, he stays right beside your bed, slightly nervous.

“Give me your hand Parker… please”. He holds is hand out for you to reach. You take it and push yourself of your bed. You sigh and grip his forearm with your other hand.

“You good?” you nod too weak to form word. He leads you to the bathroom. You both enter and then you stare at each other.

“H-how do you w-want to- to proceed?” he asks you.

“Maybe you can just turn your back and stay in. And no peaking with the mirror behind you.”

He nods and turns; you’re facing his back. He hears you strip from your clothes and enter the bathtub.

“How was your day?” he scoffs but you continue “it’s nicer for me to hear you with your actual voice and not just your thoughts Pete”. He laughs and then start to tell you everything that happened to him. You interact a bit with him, but you quickly become quiet. He continues to ramble and stop instantly. Something is wrong, he can feel it.

“Y/N, still there?”

“I don’t know” your voice echoes. He doesn’t know what to do, you told him to not look at you while you shower. But he feels that you need help, that you are dissociating.

“Peter?” he hears it three time and he closes his before turning and going to the shower. He trusts his Spidey sense to reach you. When he feels your arm, he grips it.

“Peter” you ask this time able to realise that he is with you under the water. His sweat and his socks are soaking wet, but his eyes are closed.

“You there with me again” he breaths out.

“I am, thanks”. He smiles at you shyly. “Peter?”, he hums. “I can see what you’re thinking” he blushes.

“Sorry?”.

“Why am I always wearing one of your t-shirts?” a strangle laugh lives his lips.

“Because I never saw your naked chest and I don’t want to imagine it. So, you in my t-shirt are good enough.”.

“Oh my god, you such a dork!” he takes his hand of your arm, and you feel like you’re falling. Before you know it, Peter catches you in his arms. Now your naked form is pushed against him. His eyes are still closed, but his breathing becomes erratic.

The water is running down on him. You follow a drop along his jawline, and you feel a wetness between your legs.

“Peter, open your eyes” he shakes is head. Your hands snake along his chest to his cheeks, before tugging in the back of his hair. “That’s why I told Bruce I was not showering with you”.

“Wh-what?” his expression is priceless. He arches his eyebrows, and you can almost see the surprise behind eyelids. Your only response is to connect your lips with his. He quickly kisses you back and push you against the wall.

“you’re soaking wet, Pete”. You whisper when he breaks the kiss.

“So are you”. This time he opens his eyes shocked by his own words. He meets your big grin, and he blushes.

“You’re a specimen Parker, how can you tell me that and then blush like a twelve years old”, because he is right, you are wet… he is making you wet.

Flashes of you riding him in his shirt comes to your head and you laugh. Peter closes his eyes again to stop his thoughts. “I might just do that if you help me finish showering.” His face and ears are crazy red, and he chuckles.

He helps you and puts you in bed. When you head hits the pillow, you fell asleep. Peter stays a while and watches you. Bruce sneaks in and asks what happened. Peter reports the essential and skip the kissing part. You twitch in your sleep and your hand reach for Peter’s. you interlace your fingers with his and you hum.

“Good, I let you take care of her.” Bruce goes out and Peter does not know what to do. He sits awkwardly on the mattress, a butt cheek hanging out of it.

You can lay with me.

He looks at you. Did you just to talk to him in his head.

Need to note that, Pete. But still, you can lay with me if you want. I like to be the little spoon.

He takes a deep breath and positions himself behind you. You scoot over him and take his arm to put it around your waist.

“Thanks Pete.” You murmur.

He kisses your temple and watches you drift in a deep sleep again.

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