#// if this makes sense. BUT ALSO NEVER TAKE IT PERSONALLY IF I SOFT BLOCK. it's not personal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cherry-leclerc · 3 months

Text

method acting ☆ cl16

genre: series - humor, strangers to friends/roommates

word count: 4.6k

*can you guess what film it's based off of? where the title originates from?

ch. one ch. two ch. three ch. four ch. five ch. six

Chapter 2

Life, as you fear, is falling apart as you're confronted with a serious case of writer's block that puts your career on the line. As a solution, you're roommate helps you plan a solo trip to the Amalfi Coast for a much needed break but it doesn't take long for you to meet a certain Monegasque who lays passed out on the beach.

“You got lost, didn’t you?”

Sticking your tongue out at Charles, you take a seat next to his broad figure as you start applying coconut sunscreen. “Would it kill you to not gloat?” You narrow your unusually soft eyes like weapons.

He playfully shudders. “Ooooh. My blood ran cold.”

Throwing the bottle over at his lap, he chuckles before lathering his tan body with the white goo. You try to not make it obvious, the way you steal glances at him. Everything makes sense all of a sudden; his odd obsession with anything that could cover his handsome features, the mysterious Ferrari, how he could go from making you laugh to keeping his mouth shut and looking down whenever anyone was around.

He had kept this from you for a reason, that much is clear, but you would still give him a chance to open up. Sliding on a pair of sunglasses, you twist your body to sit cross cross. You fold your hands over your lap. “Truth or dare?”

The brunette tilts his head with hesitance. “Y-you don’t want to take a dip?”

“Let’s lay out for a bit.” You poke him with your toe. “C’mon. Play with me.”

He sighs, pushing his hat downwards. “Dare.”

“Hmm…I dare you to…read me your last text message.”

“Easy.” Pulling out his phone, he scrolls for a bit before showing it to you.

You’re walking the opposite way. I said near the fruit stand.

Burning up, you push it down. “I don’t count.”

“You never specified.”

He wasn’t going to play easy and part of you respected that. Clicking your tongue, you extend your shiny legs. He gulps. Truth or dare? “Dare.”

“Call the last person you spoke to.”

Growing nauseous at his request, you shake your head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

You stutter. “M-my boss called to check up on me. Wanted to make sure I was a-actually on my deathbed and not just faking it, I can’t do that.” The Monegasque squinted his eyes teasingly before leaning back against the gray rocks.

“Fine. You get a pass.” You let out a breath of relief. “But I get one of those as well.”

You felt as if you were making a deal with the devil with the way he was watching you, waiting for an answer. He might use it against your benefit, but you had no choice. “Deal.”

“Good.” Flickering his green eyes towards the crystal blue tides, he chews on the inside of his cheek. “It's your turn.”

Be smart, don’t blow it. Deep down, you wanted to ask about the simpler things. Your favorite color? What was your childhood like? Was it better than mine? But that couldn’t matter more than what information you actually needed. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

You groan. How were you supposed to get all the juicy details out of him if he kept playing it safe? Nonchalantly, he waits. “I dare you to stop picking dares.” His face pales. You feel bad for putting him in that position, but he quickly snaps out of it.

“Truth or dare?”

Swallowing a thick layer or saliva, you purse your lips. “Truth.”

“Why did you lie to your boss?”

You gape at his question as you think of a way to avoid it. All he knows is that you have a month off and chose Italy as your destination thanks to your amazing friends. He didn’t know anything about the sleepless nights of zero ideas that had you on the brink of being fired, the reason you needed this article to work. Not only would it set your career, but it would also give you the respect you so desperately looked for in everyone who looked down on you.

“She would never let me come to Italy if I told her I need a break from all the pressure, y’know?”

Waves crash noisily as he frowns. “Mhm.”

“My turn. What’s your occupation?”

“I already told you,” he laughs, brown curls flowing against the summer breeze. “I work with cars.” A gist of hope zaps your heart as you wait for the rest. “I’m a mechanic.”

He wasn’t going to tell you - he didn’t trust you. Melancholy register across your face as you rise up carefully. “I’m in the mood to swim now.”

Life for the Scuderia Ferrari driver moves at a fast pace, always on the go and traveling all around the world. At just 26 years old, the Monegasque has collected 5 wins and an impressive number of podiums, all while maintaining the longest Scuderia contract in history.

But do we really know Charles Leclerc in his everyday life? A man without any responsibilities?

Fortunately for us, I was able to sit down and speak to Il Predestinato as he he walks us through his routine for when he’s not on track-

“What are you working on? Seeing you be so quiet is bone-chilling.”

Poking your tongue out like a slithering snake, you feverishly slam your computer shut as you flip him off. “Catching up with friends. What can I say? The people love me.” The 26 year old rolls his eyes before picking up on his scribbles. Tippy toeing closer to him, you try to inspect the messy writing. “What is that?”

“Fuck, you scared me, you little gnome.” Hiding his small journal, you immediately push out your bottom lip.

“Show me! Show me! Show me!”

Clumsily, he opens it. “Grocery list.” But it's more than that. His letter isn’t easy to read, but it'll get you there. Diary entries. Blinking up at your roommate, you wiggle your brows. What’s it say? “Nothing important.” You don’t press him on it, but that doesn’t stop the curiosity from stirring inside of you. He stiffens. “Let’s go before they close.”

Pebbles crunch underneath your ballet flats as you sing softly. He smiles, content with the serene atmosphere. What song is that? Your jaw drops, stopping dead in your tracks. It takes him a while to realize you're not skipping next to him anymore. “Tell me you’re joking…”

“I’m joking.”

“Charles!” you wail as you fling your arms. “Beyond the Sea? Bobby Darin?” His face doesn’t change as he bats his eyes blankly. You gasp. “We’ll meet, I know we’ll meet beyond the shore. We’ll kiss just as before-.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Playfully, you shiver, clutching your heart. “It isn’t good to be uncultured, Charlie.” The way you spit out his new nickname has him grasping how much he loves it - so long it's coming from you. Pulling out your phone from your back pocket, you wave your finger like some principal. “I’ll play it for you.”

The Monegasque shakes his head. “No, just sing it to me like you were.”

You sincerely don’t have a single clue where all this unknown courage comes from, but you oblige. All the way to the local farmers market, he’s grinning ear to ear. From your voice sounding angelic, to it cracking as you would try to intimidate Darin, he feels fortunate to see this side of you.

Entering the sliding doors, you grab a basket as you drag him, shoes squeaking from the sudden pull. “We’re not here for snacks, we’re here for food. Y’know - vegetables, rice, chicken-”

“I need something sweet!” you complain as your doe eyes glimmer at the sight of the Italian desserts. “If I don’t get it in my system I will die. Do you want me to die?”

“At this moment, it doesn’t sound half bad.” You gawk at his dark humor. Taking the tiny basket from you, he makes his way to the produce section. “Grab whatever you need. I’ll be right back.”

Once his back faces you, you feel your phone vibrating. “Amelia!” Your cheery friend waves excitedly. Where have you been? I haven’t heard from you for days! Wincing, you place your phone on top of a box of cookies. “I’ve been gone for five days, please relax. Plus, I’m fine. Enjoying my time off.”

Your friend snickers. “I still need updates to make sure you aren’t dead in a ditch.” Making an exaggerated face, you nod and the blonde giggles. “Don’t make me fly out there. Unlike you, I will demand a year off if needed.”

“Oh, I believe you,” you murmur, hand reaching for a box of Baci Pergunia. “How are you guys surviving without your third wheel?”

“Stop it, you,” she hisses. “Instead, why don’t you fill me in - any cute tourists?” You freeze midair, already angling your body to grab bonelle jellys.

“I’m not too focused on any of that..”

“Of course not because you’re too busy daydreaming about Grayson,” she teases. “Honey! She’s missing him, I told you!” Bullshit, Roman yells back from the kitchen.

“Will you two stop it?” you grit.

“Yes, darling,” Roman talks gingerly. “Will you please stop planning a wedding?” Your jaw drops while your friend nervously giggles. He’s joking.

“Enough about me, what are you two doing? What’s on the menu?”

The brunette’s eyes crinkle, showing off his blurry screen. “Sicilian meatball soup.”

“Lucky!” you groan. “You’re messed up for cooking your grandma’s recipe while I’m not there.” He shrugs.

“We miss you so we both decided to make an Italian dish.” She emphasizes her words as he smiles bitterly. “It’s like you’re here with us.”

“She cried for an hour or so. It was the only way I could calm her down.” Amelia bites the air at her boyfriend. He leaps back, returning to stirring the sauce. “I cook because I love you, stop that.”

You throw your head back with laughter. “Again, not dead, but I’m touched.” Hearing a bag crinkle, you look down the aisle and spot Charles making his way over. “Gotta go! Call you as soon as I can!”

“Wow, you’ve managed to grab all the snacks in the entire store,” Charles teases as he points to your stack. “Got you chips, too.”

“You’re not helping,” you grunt as you take it from him. He hands you your own basket for your treats. Cramming them all in, he examines you before clearing his throat awkwardly.

“So, Grayson’s the boyfriend?”

“Ha! I wish. He’s my boss’ son. Way out of my league.”

His jaw clenches. “Don’t think like that. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” Then, he walks away, leaving you to follow after him like a lost puppy. You’re wary around him after that encounter, so you make sure to stand a few steps behind, waiting for him to finish paying. “What are you doing?”

“Che cosa?”

Sauntering over, he reaches down to take your things. Your breath gets caught in your throat from the sudden proximity. “I got it.”

Bewildered, you start retreating all the sweets. “You don’t need to do that, you’re already paying for the other things. This one’s on me.” He scrunches his nose.

“That’s endearing, but I can’t. I’m on a diet.”

“Why?” You’re genuinely confused, and can’t tell whether he’s joking or not. “You look perfectly fine to me.”

He smirks. “Really?”

“I m-mean I think so,” you stammer. “But how would I know, I’ve never been on a diet.” Charles' watercolor eyes trickle all the way down before dancing back up. Butterflies flutter inside of you.

“You don’t need it, trust me.” A pause. “I’ll pay for your things, it’s really no problem. Though I do ask you not to blame me when your teeth rot.”

“Jerk!” you quip when he walks away, laughing loudly. You smile at the sound.

“You need to stop gobbling up all that crap, if not you’re not going to eat any of what I’m cooking,” his voice warns you. Setting the bag of gummies down, you kick your bare feet against the cabinets.

Has it been an hour? Two? You can’t remember but it sure did smell good. He had asked you to just sit still and fix up a playlist while he prepared dinner, so there really wasn’t much to do. Are you almost done? Focused on cutting up a piece of onion, he shakes his head. A minute passes by before asking again. Not done, wait.

As soon as your stomach grumbles, he wiggles his eyebrows teasingly. You chuck a carrot at him as he cackles. “Ta-da!” Inspecting the nicely done dish, you throw a thumbs up. Grabbing a spoon, you’re about to dive in before he slides the plate away. Your lips form a thin line. “Take your time. Really enjoy it - it’s flavor, it’s scent-”

“Jesus, fine. Give it before I bite your cheek off,” you growl. Glaring at him, you dip your utensil in slowly. He applauds before pulling out his phone and pressing record. “Is that really necessary?”

“You might not realize it, but this is a monumental moment.” Bowing his head, he urges you to try it. You shrug once, wrapping your lips around the spoon and let's just say - you’ve always had a killer poker face.

“Delicious, chef!”

“Putain oui!” He puts his phone away. “What did you like about it? The pepper helped, didn't it?”

You grimace. “I want my two hours back.” His smile dies down. Seriously? Yanking the spoon from your grip, he tries the colorful soup and winces at the saltiness.

“I followed step by step, why does this shit keep happening?”

The Monegaque truly does seem bummed out as his shoulders sag, glasses sliding down his pointy nose. Scooting closer, you pat his shoulder awkwardly. “You need some serious help.” He shoots a deadpan look as you giggle. “I’m kidding! It’s not that bad.” Jumping off the counter, you tug the nearest apron. “Let me try.”

It takes another two hours, but you figure it out eventually. Standing tall, you place your hands behind your back. The Monegasque eyes the food. “Now, I want you to take your time. Really enjoy it, it’s flavor-”

“Stop it,” he grumbles before diving in. His eyes open wide as you wiggle against your heels excitedly. “You can’t be real.”

“Is it good?”

He nods enthusiastically, brown hair jumping up and down. “H-how did you…” Polishing your nails, you fake a bored expression. By praying. It’s looks as if he’s deeply considering your advice for a second but when you howl out, he flushes.

“Don’t be so gullible, Charlie. Roman’s grandma taught me. I spent Christmas with him and Amelia.”

His face softens up. “What about your parents?”

“We’re not close like that.” You confess so unbothered that it has him fluttering his eyes for a while. “Don’t feel bad - I do just fine. They call me on my birthday.” Metal clinks against the porcelain plate as he huffs, firm chest rising up before deflating.

“That’s the fucking standard.” You raise a brow. Why are you upset with me? “I’m not. It’s just that it’s not fair that they treat you like garbage just because you didn’t fulfill their wish. Or that you let others trample over you like a piece of shit.” You flinch. “Y-you know what I mean…”

“Sure,” you whisper, forcing a smile. “Enjoy the food, Charles.”

He feels guilty for making you feel bad, but he wasn’t lying. It bugged the crap out of him that you floated through life thinking everything was okay. He’s never met Amelia or Roman, but he felt a strong gratitude towards the couple for treating you with genuine care. But you had filled him in on the rest; they way others would look down on you - all while you wore a miserable smile. I’m used to it by now. Doesn’t even bother me.

Charles was always in the limelight - always probably will be - but he also knows he signed up for it. He knew fake smiles like the back of his hand. Whether it was a pretty girl trying to get money out of him or sponsors trying to get close to him just for fame. If it weren’t for his friends back home, he definitely would have lost faith in humanity.

And then there was you. Someone so kind, who puts others' needs before yourself. You didn’t have to check up on him that day at the beach, you didn’t have to help him or give him shelter but you did. He thought you would be some crazy fan but when you blinked up at him like a curious expression, he could tell you didn’t know who he was.

The Monegasque felt relieved that you treated him without any special treatment, that you saw him for who he really was, not just some F1 driver. He owes it to you to make things right and apologize.

He finds you eating a pint of gelato as you stare blankly at the eggshell wall. “Did you save me some?” You jump at the sound of his deep voice. Halfway done, you respond red-faced. You can have the rest. Leaning against the table, he shakes his head. “Let’s just share.”

You’re sure you can hear Amelia and Roman bickering from how quiet it is, but don’t dare to utter a single word. It’s bad enough that he knows that his words got to you, how can you look him in the eye?

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” Peeking over at the brunette, you admire his side profile before humming. He continues. “But at the same time I don’t regret it.”

You laugh dryly. “Wow, this is some apology.”

Clearing his throat, he cages your body against the wooden furniture. “I’m serious - I don’t.” Avoiding eye contact, you stare at the sides of your bare thighs where his large hands lay. Suddenly the room feels suffocating. “You do need to stop letting others decide what to think about yourself. You need to stop pleasing everyone around you. Your parents, Eleanor, shit, even me.”

The green eyed boy begins to get blurry as your eyes foolishly well up. “I don’t do th-”

“Yes, yes you do, do that.” His accent comes out stronger than intended. You let out a shaky breath, then beam up at him. Okay, I’ll stop. He grinds his teeth together. “No. Don’t agree just because I’m telling you - do it for yourself because you want to.”

“I want to,” you whisper meekly.

His heart breaks at the sight of you answering untruthfully but does say anything else. Instead, he hauls you off the table, planting you onto your feet. “Grab a sweater and meet me by the door in five minutes.”

He’s for sure going to murder you, Amelia was right after all. Shit, you mutter underneath your breath as he pulls onto the hills. The view was great - for sure a nice way to go if that’s the last thing you’ll ever see.

Following him out, you pinch down on your denim shorts. Was it too late to run away? He left the key in the engine, maybe you could leave him stranded?

“I’m not going to kill you, you can relax.”

Blood rushes to the tip of your ears. “What are we doing here at…” You check your phone. “Two in the morning?”

“Yell.”

You quirk your head curiously. “I’m sorry, say that one more time.”

He extends his arms out, enjoying the cool breeze. “Just do it. No one’s going to hear you.”

“That sounds like something a killer would say. Can I get a ten minute head start?”

He rolls his green eyes. “Trust me, it helps a lot. My trainer has me do it all the time.” You raise your brows. “I- uh- box during my free time. My boxing trainer has me do it when I’m too stressed.”

Ignoring his slip up, you shake your head. “I can’t scream, that’s weird.” His pink lips turn downwards. “You’re going to judge me!”

“I won’t!” Covering his ears, he signals at you. “Not a thing.”

You bite down on your sweater before shaking your buzzing hands. Once and he’ll drop it. Ahh, you let out weakly before smiling brightly. “You’re right. That was great!” Turning on your heels, you begin to skip away before he tugs on your sweater, flinging you back.

“Not even the crickets heard you. Try again.”

“I did do it, you just didn’t like it.”

“I’m not letting you leave until you do it the right way.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he peacefully shuts his eyes, enjoying nature's lullaby. He seems to let his guard down because before he knows it, he hears the Ferrari engine loud and clear. “Don’t you dare leave,” he warns as he runs up to his car.

“Get home safe, Charlie!” you squeal as you step on the gas. Chasing after you, he ends up standing in front of the car as you shriek. As quickly as you can, you step off the break but the tip still manages to hit the Monegasque. You scream at the brutal sight.

Scurrying out of the car, you drop down next to him as you flip him onto his back. His pretty eyes remain closed as he lays still. Wake up Charles, I’m too young to go to jail! Do you know how hard it is to prove your innocence when you’re a foreigner? You delicately tap his cheek but his head only rolls back. You yell out in panic as you let go of his heavy body.

“Oh God, oh God, holy shit, holy fuck,” you whimper as you pace back into the red car. Squeezing your eyes tightly, you place your hands over the steering wheel as you think about what just happened. Amelia was going to kill you. Eleanor would personally write a whole article about you.

“You were seriously going to leave me for dead?” a voice interrupts your thoughts as you scream. You face Charles and he yells back at the sudden ring.

“What the shi- You’re alive!” Jumping over the console, you hug him, barely giving him room to breathe. Groaning in pain, he pushes you back. You hop off as you grab his left hand and raise up four fingers. “How many am I holding up?”

“Fingers? I have ten.”

Your heartbeat travels to your throat as you squirm. “I broke him.” Images of you behind bars enter your mind as you plead Charles to drop the charges. Amelia and Roman would travel to visit you in jail but only to demand their money back. You’d be in complete debt for the rest of your life and oh God what if the Italinas had a thing for the electric chair-

“I’m teasing,” he laughs as he rubs his head. “It hurts like a motherfucker, though, but hey, at least you let it all out.” Wacking his arm, you glare sternly.

“You did that on purpose?”

Grunting, he inches away. “I did not, are you crazy? But it helped you! How do you feel?”

You narrow your fiery eyes. “Angry…mad.” That's the same thing, he points out as you scowl. Nevermind. “I feel good.”

All smug, he leans against the passenger's seat. “I told you it would help.”

“Huh,” you let out in astonishment.

It started out with a simple argument - pesto or tomato sauce. You were leaning more towards the green paste but he held onto his end stubbornly. Honeymoon phase is over? Spinning to face a little boy with whipped cream all over his cheeks, he quirks his head. My dad always likes to say - happy wife, happy life. Walking away, you’re both left with your mouths hung open as you put the ingredients down.

“Did we just get scolded by a some little fucker?”

Gasping at his words, you smack the side of his head. He yelps. “No Charles, he basically called us old! We’re ancient!”

“Nonsense. He’s just being dumb.”

Glaring, you put your hands on your hips as you pace the aisle. “What if he’s right? What if we are on the verge of death?” He laughs. All because he thought we were married? Closing in to his tall figure, you pinch your face up. “A married couple spend their life together - growing old. He called us old!” You walk fast down the supermarket as you run wild hands through your hectic hair.

Hurrying after you, he pants. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to find him.” He comes to a sudden stop. And do what exactly? Tossing your head back, you groan in frustration. “I don’t know! Whoop him or something like that.”

The Monegasque lets out a snicker. Your face twists up. “Let’s just calm down.” I am calm, you grunt. He clicks his tongue.

“We need to do something,” you declare. He sighs. Forgetting all about your errands, you drag him out of the store. Bright eyes flicker across the busy streets as you huff. Then you spot it. “We’re going.”

The brunette squints his eyes as he reads the small print. Amalfi Club. Theme: Halloween costumes. He scoffs. “But it isn’t even October.”

But your mind is set. “It’s perfect.” Bumping against his shoulder, you beam. “Looks like we can turn back time after all.”

Ballerina for me, you cheer. And Stormtrooper for you? You narrow your eyes in confusion. “I’m sorry, how do you even know Star Wars exists? Aren’t you French?”

“Monegasque,” he corrects you before frowning. “Stars Wars is a global success. Being from Monaco doesn’t mean we don’t know anything, thank you very much.”

You shrug. “Be a tiny bit more grateful that I found our costumes on such short notice.” Yeah, yeah, he yawns. “I’m so excited!” you squeal as you finish tying your pink ribbon. You would for sure have a terrible headache by the end of the day. “Won’t you sweat with a helmet all night?”

“I think I’ll be able to handle it.”

It’s so crowded - packed - that your roommate has to practically shove you in as you yelp, arm swatting your tutu down. A cheap looking Tinkerbell gives you the death glare when you step on her foot. I can’t fucking breath! The Stroomtopper mask tilts as he brings his gloved hands to your shoulder. Do you want to leave?

“No!” A beat. “Let me just go get us a drink.”

Zipping past him, you can hear him calling after you but you choose to ignore since you knew he would drag you back to the shared Airbnb. Just water, you chime in as the bartender nods, eyeing your perky tits. Frowning, you pout somberly. “Ignore him,” a deep voice rips you away from your thoughts as you face them.

Is everyone just okay with melting their face off? The towering man wears a red jumpsuit with the infamous Dali mask. “I like your costume. I binge watched all of Casa De Papel in a singular night.” Your cheeks flush when you realize you’re rambling. He chuckles richly.

“Thought I’d look cool.

There’s an award silence as you wait. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you scrunch your nose in disgust. “You must be sweaty beneath all that,” you ponder, fingers signals to the white mask. He sighs, wide shoulders rolling back. I’m thinking I might faint. A bright giggle slips past your lips and he grins from underneath, even if can’t see. “You remind me of my friend. He would rather die than take his helmet off. He’s a Strormtrooper,” you add.

Large hands come up as he pushes the hoodie off, messy brown locks coming into view. Stubborn, aren’t we? You nod, thanking the man who comes back with your glass of water. “I should go find him…”

A heavy pant flows from the mysterious man. You’re leaving? He coughs to cover up his neediness. His accent makes your cheek burn up. “I sort of left him,” you respond sheepishly. He chuckles, finally taking his mask off, beads of thin sweat painingting his large nose. You breath hitches, waves of recognition hitting you all at once.

“Valid.” He extends his tan hand towards you. “I’m Carlos, by the way.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm

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ovaryacted · 6 months

Text

TOUCH

PAIRING: Leon Kennedy x gn!reader

CONTENT/WARNINGS: 18+/MDNI. Slight NSFW at the end! Kissing. Light Handjob. Just Leon craving your touch because he's a needy softie and he gets clingy.

WC: 1.1k

NOTES: Just a little drabble I worked on at 3 am for absolutely no reason lol. A little inspired by this one post made by @wherenymphsroam that got me thinking about this particular interaction and I wanted to build off on it a bit. I also didn't think of a specific version of Leon, so insert whichever one your heart desires!

Leon is cute when he’s needy, his constant affection a sign of his intensely growing attachment to you. He always needs to touch you, always needs to be near you, both as a form of reassurance and out of habit.

He’d hold your hand whenever he could, especially when participating in the domestic duties that came with being in a relationship, like grocery shopping or heading down to that cafe two blocks down from his place. He liked to gently rub his thumb over your hand, making sure your fingers were intertwined together, and sometimes absentmindedly kissed your knuckles and palm. Something about your hands brought him a sense of comfort that’s convinced him he couldn’t live without feeling them in any capacity.

In reality, Leon is just addicted to you, it’s that simple. You filled all of his senses completely, each in their regard a sign of his everlasting devotion to you and only you. You never complained, knowing that your boyfriend would rather show you his wants and needs over vocalizing them.

When he gets handsy it doesn’t take you by surprise anymore. If he didn’t find you in his bed in the morning, he knows you’d probably be in the kitchen drinking your coffee at the start of your day. He’d come up groggily behind you, head full of bed hair as he wrapped his arms around your waist, digging his face into your neck. Placing soft kisses against your skin, you’d merely hum at him, realizing how touching you seemed to be part of his daily routine.

He’s a cuddler, enjoying being in your arms and resting with you when you both have the time to indulge. You don’t think he’d ever admit it, but he loves it when you run your fingers through his hair and scratch his scalp, his chest rumbling out a deep sigh as his head rested on your chest.

You also noticed how he was rather fond of your chest as a whole, using it as a personal stress ball or a pillow, same with your ass. Wearing a T-shirt in the apartment? He’d slip a hand underneath it just to give you a squeeze or rub. If you wore shorts or any baggy pants, he’d simply squeeze at your behind whenever he could, providing a soft pat when he walked by you.

There wasn’t a time of day where you didn’t find Leon touching you. The consistency of his behavior only warmed your heart more, knowing that if he ever stopped touching you there was something seriously wrong.

But what you loved most was just how pathetic Leon could get when he was desperate for your touch. It would always start the same, with you feeling his presence against your back. He’d start to kiss at any visible skin he could reach, breathing in your scent from behind your ear. You didn’t have to verbally ask him what had gotten into him, you already knew, but you still liked to tease him anyway.

“You need something?”, he’d hear you say, in that same tantalizing voice that would only make his dick throb. With a hum, Leon would softly bite your ear, sending a shiver down your spine at the touch.

“Need you”, it never amazed you how his voice would betray him so quickly, dropping an octave and raspier than before. It always lit the fire deep in your gut when you heard him like that.

You turned around to face him, looking into his eyes and noticing the growing blush on his cheeks. He took your hand in his, placing it on the growing bulge in his sweatpants and exhaling when he felt your touch.

“How long have you been like this?”, a silly question really, fully aware that all it took from you was a glance for Leon to get hard.

“A while. I was just thinking about you”, he muttered, hips pressing into your palm to gain more friction.

“You’re always thinking about me”

“Yeah, and I never hear you complaining”, he said, making you roll your eyes at the grin he had on his face.

You palmed Leon’s hardening cock through his sweats and took a glimpse at his pretty face. His eyes were already growing hazy, nostrils flaring out the slightest bit and biting at his bottom lip the more persistent your groping became. God, you could stare at him for hours whenever he got in the mood, just watching over every reaction he gave you with hungry eyes.

“Always need me to touch you, right?”, you moved closer to him then, one hand on his chest, and the other moving to trace the drawstring of his pants.

“All the damn time”, Leon nodded dumbly, taking your hips into his hands and squeezing gently, moving down to your ass and beginning to knead. You could only call his actions endearing, wanting to be touched so much that he didn’t know what to do with himself when it came to returning it.

Tilting your head up, you kissed him, holding on to the back of his neck and hearing him moan in your mouth. His growing need for you was evident in the way he kissed, eager for more and not satisfied until he felt your tongue against his. You pulled away too soon for his liking, forcing himself to swallow the whimper that settled in his throat.

You smirked at him, sneaking your hand underneath the waistband of his sweats to grasp his length fully, the groan he let out causing your underwear to dampen with your growing arousal. This was why you liked having Leon home, where he could go commando and you’d reap the benefits.

Pumping him slowly, you left kisses on his neck, soft and gentle in contrast to the intense way you made him feel. Leon threw his head back a bit, letting your lips graze over his pulse point and bite, his large hands clutching at your body to ground himself.

“Wanna feel you baby”, you whispered to him in his ear, your tone making his cock pulse in your hand, desperate for more attention.

“Please…”, he said, pulling his head back to look at you once more.

He kissed you again, walking you clumsily until your back was pinned to the kitchen counter behind you. You could feel your lips curl up in a smile as the blonde kissed you greedily, knowing that you had him wrapped around your finger. Not that Leon had any gripes about that, there was no other place he’d rather be than to the mercy of your touch. That’s where he belonged, and that’s where he’ll stay for as long as you’d let him.

©️ ovaryacted 2023. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil smut #resident evil imagines #resident evil drabble #resident evil fanfic #resident evil leon kennedy #leon kennedy #ovaryacted drabbles #⋆♱ nic works ♱⋆

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farfromstrange · 3 months

Note

Sub!matt idea. Sensory deprivation.

It can be common as a way of control, heighten the experiance or even to help calm and sooth to blindfold your partner and make them rely on other senses. But for Matt he already has this to the extreme which can be distracting able to hear three blocks away when all he wants to focus on is you his world in this moment.

After a day of honestly tiring input he just asks for you to take over he somtimes does that wanting someone else to control him for a while and he trusts you. And trusts you enough to fuck you with his hearing either gone or reduced only able to feel, smell and taste you which is more then enough. Esspecially when you focus on the touch lavishing his body with sensory your hands never off him roaming, soothing holding. Your lips almost always on him kissing, sucking biting anything to elicit the sweet groans of him. He keeps a hand on your chest or throat not controlling but to be able to sense your rumbling groans and soft sighs feel the uptick in your heart rate as he focuses on you and only you

I am SO sorry that this took so long! And when I finally started writing it, I got carried away, so it took me two whole days to finish. But I wanted it to be good enough after I left you hanging.

On that note, your smutty thoughts make me feral!! Not gonna lie, I sat in my lecture the other day and I couldn't stop thinking about this, which is why this turned out to be over 4k words. On this page, we celebrate sub!Matt and all that comes with him!

Thank you so much for your request, and I hope I could do it justice <3

Sensory Deprivation | Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Summary: The world tends to get a bit loud, but thankfully, you're there to help Matt focus.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), sub!Matt, use of "good boy", oral m!receiving, swallowing, use of earplugs (sensory deprivation), Matt's catholic guilt, slight blasphemy, (almost) coming untouched, mention & use of safe word/action

Word Count: 4.4k

A/n: I'm so horny for this man, I can't function. Also, even though I did proofread this, I'm not sure if I missed any mistakes. My brain doesn't function as well as it used to. I'm sorry in advance.

More than anyone in this world, Matt believes he has to function, always, and without exceptions. He believes that he has to be useful, always doing something and never resting. His heightened senses make it impossible for him to turn his back on even the most minuscule cases of injustice, and he still beats himself up time and time again because he can’t be everywhere at once. He hears everything, smells everything, and feels the despair in the air, but in the end, he can’t take on the weight of the world all by himself.

Ever since he met you, you have become his reprieve. You’re the haven he returns home to when everything gets just a little too much. When his senses are flooded and his heart is heavy. He crawls to you when he’s wounded, and he would crawl to you if he only had a few more minutes to live. You’re the first person he thinks of when he wakes up, and the last person he thinks of when he goes to sleep at night, preferably holding you in his arms to make sure that you won’t slip away from him. In you, he has found someone who would never judge him for who he is. Someone who will always stand by his side proudly, and someone who will hold him when he’s at his weakest. And he has been hanging off the edge of his breaking point for quite some time, holding on for dear life.

You can tell Matt must have had an awful day from the second the key turns in the lock to your shared apartment. His feet drag over the wooden floorboards as he makes his way inside. You look up from your book.

Matt takes a deep breath, dropping his bag by the door. His shoulders are tense. He folds his cane, places it aside, and removes the red glasses you’ve grown to love—but you don’t nearly love them as much as his beautiful brown eyes, the green specks so distinctive, you could recognize them anywhere.

“Rough day?” you ask.

He opens the first button of his dress shirt with shaky fingers. “Yeah. I don’t wanna talk about it,” he says.

He hasn’t said hi to you like he usually would. Tonight seems to be one of those nights again. You know Matt well enough to pick up on the subtle clues in his behavior. He’s overwhelmed, possibly even anxious, and the weight he always carries on his shoulders is threatening to crush him. He’s walking a very thin tightrope, and he’s about to fall off.

You place your book on the coffee table and straighten up. He rounds the couch you’re sitting on, his unfocused eyes searching for you. Your heartbeat resonates in his ears. Your breathing is regular. You’re calm. You’re his rock. You won’t let him drown, no matter how strong the current is that is dragging him down.

Raising your eyebrows, you look up at him when he stops right in front of you. “No hello kiss?” you dare to ask. It’s a soft question, a little teasing, but he knows you mean well.

Matt shakes his head. As soon as he breathes you in, he’s done for. His brain cells fry on the electric chair of his mind. His heart starts beating up to his throat. You’re so close yet so far away. You smell incredible; you must have showered after work, and then you sat down with your favorite tea and read your favorite book while waiting for him so you could have dinner together. You’re so considerate, you even used his scentless soap so all he would be able to smell is your natural scent. You consume him. The city moves into the background, and the bricks are about to fall off his shoulders. He’s close to collapsing, falling on his knees and begging you to take control to just make him forget, but he isn’t quite there yet.

A car honks in the distance. The night is calling for him. His hand clenches into a fist at his side while the other rests flat against his thigh.

You slowly rise from your position. “Matthew,” you breathe his name like a siren. “What do you need?”

He sniffs. His fingers twitch. He has to go out, but he can’t. You envelop him in a bubble, and it makes him feel like he isn’t alone. Like he isn’t trapped. Like he can finally let go after holding on for so long.

“Talk to me,” you say.

His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. “There was so much noise,” Matt whispers back. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t focus. I’m trying to stay in control, but I can’t focus, and—” He breaks off into a shaky sigh.

You chase his eyes; they’re glossed over. You reach out to tilt his chin in your direction. His eyes flutter closed. A stray tear slips down his cheek. It’s a tear stemming from months of exhaustion, physical pain, and emotional turmoil. He tried to push through, but he’s arrived at a point of no return. He’s breaking, and you’re the only one capable of catching him.

After another deep breath, Matt’s eyes open again. “You’re here,” his voice is still barely above a whisper, but the smile that starts to grow on his lips speaks the language of relief.

“I’m always here,” you answer.

“You keep me sane.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been distant.”

“I also know that, but it doesn’t matter. I know how hard it is for you. If you need to be distant for a while and then blow off some steam, I’m okay with it.”

He shudders when your fingers brush his cheek. The faint bruise underneath his eye has turned green. You trace the injury with gentle fingertips.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he says.

You smile back at him, knowing he can feel it, and you guide him toward your face. “You exist,” you tell him. “That’s enough for you to deserve me.”

His nose brushes against yours, but before his lips can meet yours, he stops. He inhales your scent. He feels your pulse under his fingers from where he’s wrapped them around your wrist. Your skin feels so soft against his. He’s no longer on fire. The world is no longer on fire. He can let go. He wants to know that it’s okay to let go, but the voice in his head is telling him to stop. The crossroads he finds himself at won’t let him leave in the direction he wants to go.

You can feel his inner turmoil. He’s holding back. He always does so. You’ve been together for what feels like forever, and he still doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants. What he needs. What he deserves. You told him to be primal when he needs to be. You told him to admit when you need to take over. He never does it out of his own free will. He waits until you force him into submission.

Tonight should be the night he finally tells you. Matt needs to learn that his needs matter just as much as yours. His catholicism can go to hell for all you care.

“I need—” He swallows. “I-I need t—”

“Go ahead,” you urge him.

“Ugh,” the sound resembles a broken growl. And then, the barriers finally break. “I need you to take over,” he begs. “I need you to help me breathe again, sweetheart. Please. I need you.”

God, he sounds so wrecked.

“You want me to take control?” you ask to clarify.

He nods. “Yes.”

“Okay. Good boy. I can do that.”

Matt’s lips part in a weak whimper in response to your praise. Calling him a ‘good boy’ always has the same welcome effect. You don’t even have to look down to know that his cock is slowly swelling in his slacks.

All the blood has rushed from his head and his beautiful rosy, stubbly cheeks to his groin. It doesn’t take much to turn him on, especially not in his current state—especially not if it’s you.

Hearing him admit that he needs you like this makes you feel a myriad of emotions. You want to take care of him, you want to love him, and you want to give him a moment of peace amongst the constant chaos, but there is also something so arousingly erotic about the way he begs for you to take control that makes your thighs clench.

Often enough, he is the one taking care of you. Matt is a giver, not a taker. He always puts you first, but on some days, he just can’t bear it anymore. And you couldn’t possibly ask him to take charge in bed in his current state. It would break him. He’s a vulnerable man, whether he likes to admit it or not, and he can be as fragile as an ancient vase. You have to handle him with care on those days, which is all you intend to do as you guide him to your shared bedroom.

You gently urge him to sit down on the bed. “Do you trust me?” you ask.

His unfocused eyes flick from one side to the other. “Always,” he breathes out.

“Good. Lie back for me. I’m going to take such good care of you, I promise.”

He would never doubt that.

You climb into his lap, and finally, you kiss him. His lips part slightly in a desperate groan. Before he can slide his tongue into your mouth though, you pull away. His grabby hands are already resting on your hips, wandering, and wandering, and…

“Nuh-uh,” you tell him, taking hold of his calloused fingers and placing them on your upper thighs. “Patience, baby.”

“Please,” Matt begs. You love it when he begs. He’s completely putty in your hands. You could tell him to get on his knees and pray, and he would, no matter how blasphemous it may be.

He’s holding onto you for dear life. You place his hand against the left side of your chest, allowing him to feel your heartbeat. He isn’t leaving you cold. He never does. Alone the sight of him is enough to make your thighs clench with need, but straddling him, you can’t get the friction you need.

You reach for the nightstand to your right, opening the drawer. You know exactly what he needs. “Turn your head for me,” you murmur.

Matt follows your instructions without questioning them. Finally finding what you were looking for, you retrieve the earplugs from the bedside drawer. This isn’t the first time you have used them on him, or he has used them on you. The specific brand renders you almost entirely deaf and renders Matt’s enhanced hearing almost to an entirely normal level.

You gently put the first plug into his left ear, then the other into his right. Before you push it in though, you ask, “Do you remember our safeword?”

He nods. “Red,” he says.

“Good boy. And when you can’t speak?”

“Tap your wrist three times.” His lips curl up into a weak smile. “Usually, I’m the one asking you that.”

“Not tonight, you aren’t. May I put this in now?” You tap the earplug.

He nods again. It’s all the confirmation you need before inserting it, reducing his hearing completely. He lets out a sigh of relief. He closes his eyes, and you know he’s trying not to cry.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” you ask, cradling his cheek. His stubble scratches your fingertips, but it’s a welcome pain.

He can still hear what you’re saying, feel the vibrations in your chest from where his hand is resting, and he smells you so much clearer now that he no longer has to listen to the city screaming at him in the background. Your arousal gets stuck to the tiny hairs in his nose, and he inhales sharply. Every nerve in his body is on fire.

Matt moans. His tongue darts out, tasting the air. For a moment, he forgets that you just asked for his consent. Everything is so much more intense, yet it isn’t nearly enough.

“Matthew,” you nudge him. “Talk to me.”

“Yes,” he whispers. At least he thinks he’s whispering.

You smile, seemingly satisfied with his answer, and then you lean down to kiss him again. This time, you let him push his tongue into your mouth, tasting you, feeling you, and consuming all of you. He wants every ounce of you ingrained in his mind forever.

His hands slide under your shirt, feeling the warmth of your skin. His focus is on you entirely. You help him take the pesky piece of fabric off, followed by his own. He’s suddenly so hot.

Your teeth clash when you kiss. His cock is hard as a rock, pressing against his lower abdomen. You can feel it between your thighs. It must be painful for him.

His kisses trail from your mouth, down your neck. He tastes the salt on your skin. Your pulse jumps as he drags his tongue over the vein. It’s a primal need. He needs to mark you. He needs to taste you, all of you, and make you his for all the world to see. An animalistic growl escapes his lips. His teeth dig into your skin. He nibbles just enough to make you moan, your chest vibrating underneath his hand. Matt doesn’t even hesitate to grab a handful of your breast, tugging at your sensitive nipple until it’s stiff enough to rival his aching cock.

You throw your head back, your jaw slack, and he uses the newfound space to kiss down to your collarbone. You’re going to be purple and bruised tomorrow, but you don’t care.

With a demanding grip on his hair that pulls at his scalp and causes him to groan against your shoulder, you push his head toward your chest. He isn’t in control, you are, and you know how much he loves to please you.

Like a man starving, he sucks your nipple into his mouth. No, it’s not just your nipple. He takes as much as he can into his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive nub only momentarily before he moves on to the rest of your silky skin.

You moan. You have to let him know that you’re enjoying yourself. He feels the sound deep within your chest from where his hand is resting, and the way your breast moves slightly when you moan. Matt only becomes more eager when he feels and smells what he’s doing to you.

The scent of you is addicting. Your arousal smells slightly sour, sometimes slightly metallic, but most of all, it is you. And when he tastes your essence on the tip of his tongue without even licking at your slick folds because you are simply that wet, it makes him feral with this insanely primal need to have you.

He wants to spread you out before him and taste you until you’re coming all over his face. Though today, he is too weak to keep you restrained to the mattress. Matt takes what he can get, what you are willing to give him, and he does so eagerly, like the good boy that he wants to be for you.

With the world silenced, he can focus on you. The way your heart is hammering against your ribcage, right against his palm. The way your chest heaves with every labored breath you take as he sucks and sucks at your breast until your nipple is beyond swollen. He can feel how smooth your skin is, smell the remnants of your body lotion that he sometimes steals so he can smell you everywhere he goes, and the slight sheen of sweat that has started to cover your body from head to toe. And he can smell your arousal so thick in the air, his cock jumps at the mere thought of sinking into your tight walls—of being completely consumed by you, body and soul. He doesn’t need to hear right now, all he needs to do is feel you.

You know about his desperate urge to please. You know that, even while you’re in charge, he wants nothing more than to make you feel good. Matt is anything but selfish. But his selflessness doesn’t have a place in this bedroom tonight.

As crazy as his mouth on your breasts is driving you into an oblivion of pure ecstasy, your walls clenching around nothing, you find it in yourself to pull him away.

With his eyes hooded, he looks so delicious. His cock is still straining against his lower abdomen in his underwear. When you pull him away, his expression reads offense. You can’t help but snicker.

“Did you think I’d let you make this about me?” you say just loud enough for the sound to reach through the earplugs.

He exhales. “I was praying,” he says.

Praying. He is too far gone to realize. There are sides to Matt Murdock you love more than others, and when he becomes blasphemous, it does things to you. This good catholic boy turns into mush when you just touch him, and then you are his God. You’re who he wants to worship, and he would pray to you, worship at the altar of your body, and drink your essence like holy water if it meant being all over you and inside of you. And you take your position very seriously.

He trusts you. That is not a small feat. He trusts you with his body and soul, and he trusts you with the most vulnerable parts of him, be it in bed or merely a hug after a bad day. You know what he needs, and he trusts you to take care of him. He wouldn’t let just anyone do what you do to him.

“What were you praying for?” you ask him.

“You,” he whispers.

“You can have me, but first… focus.”

He told you he was losing focus because the world was far too late, so with the noise reduced, you will help him focus on something other than the world out there.

“Feel that?” You kiss his mouth, and from there, you move down to his stubbly jaw. “Focus on that. Focus on me.”

Matt sucks in another sharp breath. While one hand still rests on your chest, the other comes to rest around your neck, feeling your pulse, feeling you, and his eyes flutter closed at the feeling of your luscious lips all over him.

Your kisses trail down his neck. You pay close attention to the sensitive spot behind his ear. He moans. His hips buck upward. He’s so painfully hard, his cock has already started leaking pre-cum into his boxers.

Each scar, each indentation on his skin that reminds you of all the good he does at the expense of his health, you kiss. You trace your tongue over the healed wounds, feeling the warmth of his skin seep into yours. He’s so sensitive.

His fingers involuntarily clench around your neck, but you don’t mind. He’s not choking you, he’s simply trying to hold on. You have established a safe word for a reason, after all. He can get carried away the same way you can get carried away.

You wouldn’t dare push him too far though. Not tonight. Not when he’s already this wrecked underneath you. You purposefully leave his nipples out of the equation and move further down his body. His abs tense under your tender touch. You can’t help but smile.

And him? Matt feels like he’s floating. He can feel every kiss against his heated skin, your fingertips tracing his scars after you’ve so sensually pressed your mouth against them, and he can feel your every breath as you move downward. Every kiss leaves a series of shivers in its wake. He’s hot, yet he’s cold. He needs more, but at the same time, you are already close to driving him into overstimulation.

His balls tighten. He can’t believe that the feeling of you is enough to make him want to explode. He knows that if you touch his cock now, he might as well come right then and there. It’s so much more intense like this when he doesn’t get distracted by the world outside. You are his world, and you are all he focuses on.

You move further down until you reach his boxers. His arm is no longer long enough to keep his hand around your neck, so he moves it into your hair. It’s a silent warning, you suppose because he is close. You only kissed him, and he’s already so close to coming undone. You don’t blame him. He’s been so tense lately.

You press a kiss to his hip bone before murmuring against his milky skin, “It’s okay.”

Matt whimpers. Your words make their way into his bloodstream.

You pull his boxers down. The cold air hits his aching tip and the way his back arches makes you almost feel bad. You spit into your hand, but you make sure your palm is warm enough before you reach for his girth.

The moment you touch him, he’s done for. “Sweetheart, I can’t–” he chokes out, but you shush him by placing your lips against his tip.

You lick at the salty pre-cum. It tastes like him. You can’t deny that you missed this while he was so distant from you. This is as much for you as it is for him, that is something you can’t deny either. You’re a little selfish tonight. Just a little.

His words of protest get swallowed by a needy moan, and his fist tightens in your hair. He’s not going to last long.

Matt is not one to come early. The guilt swallows him faster than you can swallow his cum, which is why he always holds himself back. Tonight though, you won’t let him torture himself for your pleasure. You hate it when he does it.

“Ugh!” the moan comes from the depths of his chest. “Fucking–God!”

You take him into your throat as far as you can without gagging, and what you can’t take, you wrap your hand around. He’s so thick, and he’s so incredibly big—you can feel the tears forming in your eyes. But God, he is so beautiful with his head thrown back, brown eyes squeezed shut, and that little drop of sweat dripping down his temple. It’s lewd, it’s erotic, and it makes your thighs clench.

All of his reservations vanish when you take him all in. Your throat is tight, but you’re enthusiastic. Your tongue traces the vein on the underside of his cock, moving back up to the overly sensitive head. Your hands cup his balls. Every time you go down on him, Matt swears he can feel heaven reaching its hand out to him.

He grips your hair a little tighter, his other hand tangling in the sheets. He’s so close. He twitches, painfully so. And when he comes, he instinctively pulls your head upward so you won’t choke. His hot cum spurts down your throat, and you have no choice but to swallow.

You surprise both yourself and him when you fight against his hand and force yourself down far enough so that your nose brushes the base of his cock, and you gag.

Your throat is so tight and hot that it drags his orgasm on for eternity. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears. His heart is racing out of his chest as if it has somewhere to be. The fire ripples through him, the inferno turning into a dangerous explosion that tears his nerves apart, putting them back together just to tear them apart again. He feels as though the skin is falling off his very fragile bones, and his muscles collapse in on themselves.

Matt can’t breathe. When he finally manages to untangle his hands from your hair, he lies there. The blood in his ears is obnoxious. He can’t hear. He can’t see. And suddenly, he can’t even feel anymore. He doesn’t exist. Reality slips away into a moment in time. Now, he’s dying. It feels like he is dying.

You pull off his cock, catching your breath. His cum trickles down the corner of your mouth. You wipe it away. Pressing a kiss to his hip bone, you look up through your lashes. At first, he looks blissed out, but his expression quickly changes.

He can’t talk. You take his hand. “Matt,” you coax him.

Not even his chest is lifting in time to accommodate his heavy breathing. His body is shaking as every ounce of stress falls off his shoulders, and his nerves fall victim to the inferno that is still wreaking havoc inside of him.

He taps your wrist three times.

“Okay,” you murmur. You quickly climb back up his body.

“Out,” he manages to tell you, weakly pointing to the earplugs.

“Okay, baby. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

You pull the earplugs out as fast as you can. Matt’s arms wrap around you, searching for a lifeline, and he pulls you against him.

“Shhh.” You cradle his head in the crook of your neck.

You hold him like this for a while. You hold him against you tightly, gently, as if he is the most fragile thing you have ever held.

Eventually, his breathing returns to normal. His heart starts to slow down. His fingertips no longer dig into your back as desperately as they have before. He’s just content now.

You press your lips to the crown of his head. “You okay?” you dare to ask.

Matt takes a moment before he nods. He leans back slightly. “Thank you,” he breathes.

“For what?”

His lips curl into a tired yet satisfied smile. “For helping me focus.”

You smile back at him. “My pleasure,” you say, and you lean down to capture his lips in a loving kiss.

“I love you,” he murmurs into the kiss.

“And I love you, Matthew Michael Murdock.”

“Oh, you love me that much, huh?”

You giggle, “Shut up!” before you pull him in for another kiss.

For now, he needs to catch his breath and pick up the pieces you shattered by giving him this orgasm, but you know that once he does, it is going to be a long night for you. And you won’t be able to find it in yourself to complain. Not that you want to, anyway.

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riseofamoonycake · 4 months

Note

Can I ask for Choso, Hiromi Higuruma and Hajime Kashimo with big thighs reader and reader is insecure about this (not being able to find anything to wear that fits body, stretch marks, etc.)? ❤️ thank you

BEAUTIFUL! SIMPLY BEAUTIFUL!

This is one of the most personal requests I have received because sometimes I still struggle with my size (less than in the past, but there are bad moments again...) and especially the fact that yes, I have big thighs and strech marks on the hips, so eheh... it was a comfort thing to write about this.

JJK MEN WITH BIG THIGHS READER

With: Choso, Kashimo Hajime, Higuruma Hiromi

Warnings: mention of NSFW

Choso

Choso is completely enamored with your thighs. Totally.

He loves to caress them, gently passing his fingers over, inside and under them, while rubbing a cheek against your skin and lightly teasing the part closest to your intimacy, because he likes too much to see you jump and quiver under his fingertips. He loves to kiss them far and wide, savoring the flesh and the heat you give off, and if you allow him to massage and squeeze them you will only make him happy. Every moment he praises how soft you are, with starry eyes and bated breath, and if you squeeze his face between them you can almost kill him with excitement…

So, the first time he hears that you aren't comfortable with your thighs because they are big, he widens his eyes in amazement, at a loss for words, and is mortified. "But they're beautiful…", he tries to reply, running both hands over them as if he wanted to shelter them, this time with more energy than usual, "you shouldn't feel uncomfortable."

You underline the fact that, if that wasn't enough, the skin is marked by strech marks, clearly visible everywhere; and at these words, he points to the tattoo on his nose, narrowing his eyes: do you think marks of any kind matter to him? No. For him, your body is a sanctuary, and it is perfect: every mark that covers your skin of you, and that is okay. There is nothing about you that he would change. There isn't a single part of you that he wouldn't fight for, and he proves it to you in both word and actions, burying his face in your thighs and hugging them tightly as he begs you not to hate them, or want to change them, and starting to venerate them with an energy never seen before.

Get ready to face a long battle, because until he can change your mind and calm your thoughts on the matter, Choso will not give up. Good luck.

Kashimo Hajime

Usually, Kashimo is not the patient type: he gets to the point and doesn't let complaints stop him, as he only listens to what interests him.

However, since you are part of his interests and greatest desires, he stops to listen to you more carefully; especially what you want and don't want to do, what you love and what upsets you. For this reason, the moment he finds you down in the dumps or reluctant to give yourself to him not because you don't want it, but because you have other thoughts on your mind - and these are not positive -, Kashimo blocks and all his senses take action to try to find out what is not working - as well as asking you personally; and that is when you reveal to him how much you would like to be more confident in your body, even wearing that dress you have always wanted to wear… if it weren't for your thighs, those damn thighs that in your mind ruin every outfit, and that you are ashamed to show. Who might like them?, on the other hand, you reveal to them with extreme embarrassment: they are too big.

And the embarrassment also increases, over the course of the seconds; but not for what you said… but rather, for Kashimo's gaze, eloquent and measured, which fixes on your legs, and the smirk that crosses his face. “Do you really think your thighs are unattractive?”, he murmurs, then starts laughing and the next second grabs you under the knee, flipping you onto your back. His hands don't let go until you stretch your legs and cross your ankles behind his neck, then his fingers start running up your thighs, rubbing everywhere and pinching them, and his mouth amplifies it all because he doesn't hold back for a moment and starts kissing the inside of them, nibbling them, licking them with slow, long movements of his tongue.

“If you're unhappy with your marks… I'll change your mind by giving you a different type of them. You'll definitely appreciate these,” he whispers in a non-innocent manner as he bites deeper and sucks, leaving purple constellations on your skin, going over the same spots again and again, those where you are most sensitive, and tormenting them until he hear you beg; all while he squeezes them, scratches and shakes them, and enjoys every moment in which he makes you feel the most violent shivers. More than with words, he burns your insecurities with facts: because there is only something as divine as your thighs, the same ones that close around his pelvis like a soft belt, the ones that always welcome him with so much warmth, may they be a source of shame to you. Never, ever will he let you feel embarrassed because of them.

And if you are not conquered yet… well, there is nothing that a bit of thigh sex won't try to fix.

Higuruma Hiromi

Hiromi, the perfect man.

The partner who showers you in praise and protection, even if more in the private area, while keeping pda in a safe, discreet zone.

The lover who constantly checks on you and the things you love, your wishes, your dreams.

The other half who learns about you more and more through the days…

And, well… he certainly doesn't expect it when, one evening, you find yourself revealing to him why you haven't yet tried on the bathsuit he gave you, or why you just replied with a firm no to his proposal to take some days off to go to the beach together; and his eyes immediately fall to your thighs, covered by a long skirt, and although his expression doesn't change much, his eyes become more thoughtful. Then, he takes a deep breath, like every time he prepares to give a very long monologue, and you immediately stop him; no, you won't change your mind about this, there's nothing that can do it.

And he still finds a loophole to make you fall into his traps. "At least try on it. Only for me."

Obviously, you are flushed with such a proposal, but since you have known each other for a long time and have been intimate for just as long, so he knows every single centimeter of your legs, you obey; you don't even look in the mirror, but put on the bathsuit and appear in front of him, hoping that it will stay on you for a short time and that your beloved will give you, in exchange, sex so impetuous and intense as to take your mind off certain things. You smile when you see him blush a little, just for a moment, then you watch him approach and sigh, while waiting for his arms to wrap around you and lift you up to take you to the first soft surface available; however…

However, Higuruma kneels before you, then grabs your wrists and pulls you closer to him, and presses his lips against the inside of your thighs. As you mentioned, the urgency to make you his is felt as soon as the contact between the bodies is so close that you can exchange the heat, and the lawyer picks you up; but he doesn't take you to the bedroom or to the sofa, but rather places you on the floor in front of the first mirror he finds in the house, then sits behind you, holds you between his legs and grabs your thighs lifting them, so that you can only recline against his chest; and a moan escapes you, loud and inviting.

"And you would like to give up such sensitive thighs… hmmm?"

Hiromi's breath is hot against your ear, her voice little more than a whisper; and everything is made even more intense by the fact that he is behind you, wedging you between the mirror and his body, making yours wet with sweat.

You can only imagine what follows: your thighs are the guest stars, and Hiromi invites you to watch as he takes possession of them, squeezes and carves them with his nails, caresses them slowly, and then does the same with your intimacy. From the position you have assumed you can clearly see your legs trembling, the red flesh under his fingers, yielding and soft, and even if you don't want it, even if you don't believe it, you think of yourself as exciting; and the man knows it, and has no mercy on you.

Eventually, after having deprived you of all energy, while he holds you snuggled against his chest, Higuruma begins his speech where he lists in detail why he loves your thighs and the reasons why you should do the same, step by step. His words are passionate, but he leaves you all the space to speak and express your insecurities about your body, and talk about them with you, calmly and maturely.

Not for nothing is he the best man you can find.

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hanlimz · 10 months

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[midnight thoughts: sunghoon + heart eyes]

pairing: park sunghoon x gn!reader genre/warnings: fluff ! very cute very suitable 4 all audiences ! / not proofread, povs might be a bit confusing?? it's written in 2nd person/3rd person omniscient but also in hoon's pov kinda?? idk ,, i hope that's able to be understood lolol <///3, also LOVESICK HOON <////3 wc: 0.8k (i could've written more but i liked where this ended) a/n: this goes out to all my hoon stans (ESP my hoon biased moots bc ik there's a lot of u MWAH ILY PLS ENJOY this is my apology for never interacting) / i feel like this is a bit different from my normal writing style so i hope this little ramble-y mess suffices !! <3

park sunghoon is sharp; the slope of his nose is precise and pointed, his skin is even and supple while still resembling a cool block of ice, and the fiery soul of a phoenix reborn from its ashes is hidden away behind his frigid gaze. but, when he's with you—an uncharacteristic spell of heat courses through his veins; the blood under his cheeks seems to boil as they turn an embarrassing shade of vermillion, and the mystic bird is freed as you unlock the cage he has built around his heart. the way you hold him in your hands is gentle, the way you touch him is kind, and the way you kiss him makes him weak.

when he's with you, park sunghoon allows himself the chance to be soft. he melts like the chocolate sandwiched between two cozy graham crackers; his brain turns to mush, his thoughts are blurred at the edges, and his bones feel a bit too much like jello. sunghoon doesn't bother to uphold his "cool guy" reputation when you're around because he knows you prefer the real him—the one that stumbles over his words after seeing you in his clothes, the one that can't make it through watching the titanic without bawling, the one who still tries to cook for you despite almost cutting his thumb off with a mandoline slicer.

a fool, but yours nonetheless.

however, in spite of all this pure adoration sunghoon harbors for you, he still can't manage to will those eight, little letters from his plush lips. they feel too small as they sit and marinate in his mouth; he turns them over with his tongue, running the muscle along each syllable and tasting the overly saccharine residue they leave behind. they're not enough, he thinks, they never will be.

so, until he finds the right words, sunghoon settles for quiet moments like these. a wall of storms is rolling in from the coast; through the open window in the dorm's living room, the refreshing scent of impending rain spreads throughout the space. soft bouts of rumbling thunder become white noise that is almost enough to lull him to sleep, and the weight of your head in his lap evokes a certain peace that settles over every inch of his body. as sunghoon runs his fingers through your hair, he giggles to himself each time you snore on the inhale. there's a patch of drool seeping into the fabric of his joggers, but he can't bring himself to care; to sunghoon, you are perfect—in every sense of the word.

in the darkness, sunghoon's phone illuminates your napping figure; squinting, he sees that the boys have messaged the group chat, but truthfully, sunghoon is far more concerned that the vibrations might startle you out of your slumber. glancing down at you once more, he picks up the device to take a quick look at the messages.

[jake] twenty dollars that hoon's ogling y/n when we get back

[heeseung] do u even have to bet?

[jay] yeah i feel like it's kind of a given at this point

[sunoo] i just hope they're not on the couch .. i'm trying to cast the barbie movie to the tv ://

[jungwon] good luck......where Else would they be??

[niki] as long as they're not sucking face idc.....

[me] ok gross ... we r not Sucking Face u Child y/n's asleep on the couch, so don't be too loud when u get back

[jake] BOOOOO GET A ROOM !!!!!

[sunoo] UGHHH why can't u guys be a cute couple somewhere ELSE??

[heeseung] hoon's too in love ... Obviously

[me] stay jealous losers <3

with a small flick of his thumb, sunghoon switches his phone to do not disturb and places it face down on the arm of the sofa. as he gazes down at you, his eyes are filled with an immeasurable amount of appreciation and fondness and gratitude. he finds solace in the sight of the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest; your deep breaths are a melodious sonata accompanied only by the sound of rain pattering against the living room window. sunghoon feels his heart pounding in his chest, and he thinks it's a bit silly just how much of an effect you manage to have on him. he sits with his thoughts, staring at the wall before him; sunghoon ponders heeseung's text, and comes to the conclusion that the elder boy is right.

sunghoon is in love—with you, to be specific.

however, he decides that he's the perfect amount of in love with you.

slowly, the calloused pads of sunghoon's fingers graze over the planes of your face, traveling down to the exposed skin of your shoulder. gently, he traces countless, miscellaneous shapes into your flesh, hoping you can feel each and every one of the triangles and diamonds and hearts in your dreams. tenderly, he tugs the blanket that had slipped down to the taper of your waist back up to your clasped hands. quietly, sunghoon prays to the gods and asks for the courage to voice his emotions, despite knowing that there is no rush—there never is. not with you.

and after a moment, softly, sunghoon tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear and murmurs, "i love you. more than you'll ever know, i love you."

#; — cass writes: hoon #enhanet #enhypen fluff #enhypen headcanons #enhypen reactions #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon headcanons #sunghoon reactions #enhypen #enha fluff #enha headcanons #enha imagines #enha reactions #sunghoon imagines #enhypen x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x y/n

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multifariousqueer · 11 months

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hi hi, How about 42 Miles x reader who's finally had enough, see's the way he's been isolating her and pushing off or shoving off her friends, and beacuse she knows what he's capble of she runs off from her parents house to crash at a friends with a plan to get the hell out of new yourk, she blocked all contact, stopped getting money from him and in hiding!

Sorry thats a bit much.

Hey love! Imma do this hc style bc why not 🤷🏽‍♀️

Warnings: toxic, implied smut, kidnapping, MILES BEING A TOXIC ASSHOLE, OMG THIS IS NOT ROMANTIC, yandere behavior

Miles!42 x done!reader

he can tell you’re about to treat but he hangs onto the promise you made to stick by him through thick and thin

Your friends and family hate him and they don’t speak to you anymore because of your antics and your soft spot for him

“Y/n hes a horrible person and he’s gonna get you killed or worse” “no he wouldn’t, he would never do that to me, Miles loves me and you can’t see that because you have always hated him” “Y/n we hate him because HES TAKING YOU FROM US. HES DOING THIS ON PURPOSE AND HE KNOWS THAT” “JUST LEAVE ME ALONE"

They did exactly that.

You cried to Miles who just petted your head and said

“It won’t matter, Mi Corazon. They’re just jealous, you have me and thats all you need, okay mi amor” “si papi"

That’s all you would say to him

You felt yourself slowly losing your sense of identity. You didn’t even recognize yourself, he completely removed the old parts of you that were independent and replaced them with someone new. He stripped you and rebuilt you into his toy

He tried to make up for this by buying you things and making love to you

Eventually, you had everything you ever wanted and then some but it wasn’t the same

You find out he’s the prowler and thats where he gets the money to get you stuff but you just don’t care anymore

“So, ma? como de sientas?” “it’s fine, Miles. I don’t care. Just don’t get hurt” “that’s all?” “...yeah."

He wanted to say something else but he bit his tongue

For a while, he thought someone was influencing you to break up with him so he followed you around; he went to your favorite stores, your classes, your job and just stalked you

Secretly put an AirTag on your bag

Your family moved to (insert state here) and you were tempted to go with them but you knew Miles wouldn’t let you

He managed to convince you that they didn’t love you anymore

“Mi amor, if they truly loved you, they wouldn’t have left so easily and they would’ve tried to reach out"

They tried but Miles managed to connect your phone to his so he could see any texts or calls you got, he deleted their messages and declined their calls

You decide enough is enough and you leave

After a heated argument, you packed your shit and left. Miles was pissed

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” “I don’t know, hopefully somewhere better than here”

he would beg and plead and when that wouldn’t work, he would gaslight the fuck out of you

“Fine. Leave. I could have another bitch like you by the morning. Also, your family probably doesn’t even wanna see you fr so ill see you in three days” “okay”

He would grab you and try to make you stay by staring at you and reminding you of your previous promises

“What happened to forever, mami? Was that just pillow talk?” “what happened to I only want the best for you?"

Is convinced he was only doing what was best for you.

When you left New York, you smiled for the first time in months, enjoying the new scenery and scent

you changed your hair, clothes, makeup, phone and number and got rid of anything that reminded you of Miles

You slowly rebuilt your relationship with your family and were genuinely happy for the first time in a while

One night, you were outside going for a walk when you felt a strong pair of arms around you

You tried to scream but it was muffled

You felt a stabbing sensation in your neck and everything faded to black

“you thought you could escape me?"

#mcu fanfiction #miles morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #miles morales headcannons #miles morales #miles x reader #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman #across the spiderverse spoilers #spiderman into the spiderverse #into the spider verse #earth42!miles #earth 42 #miles!prowler #for you #spiderverse #the prowler

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yayakoishii · 6 months

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Lucky | Sanji x Chubby!Reader

Fandom: One Piece

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Chubby! Reader

Could be considered a part 2 to Want but can be read (and is written as a) stand-alone!

Word Count: 1.8k

Genre: Angst, Fluff??

Warnings: Insecurity about stretch marks, mentions of/implications of (but not explicit) sex so Read At Your Own Discretion, low self esteem, etc.

A/n: I'm not the type of person to write about things that are personal to me, tbh, but this idea played around in my head. I know you can have stretch marks from a variety of reasons but I wrote my own, and I would just like to remind everyone that they're normal. You're absolutely gorgeous as you are, my lovelies. I hope you enjoy this little fic ♡

also available on ao3!

Sanji felt like the luckiest man in the entire universe.

When Sanji and you had finally got together, he couldn't believe it. It felt unreal to have you reciprocate his feelings, to have you look at him shyly but with warm eyes that made him feel seen and heard– and he was ready to swear over his life to you, holding back only so as to not freak you out. Unlike his usual grand confessions, you were more important to him, a person he could not even take the risk of driving away. If you found him clingy, or obsessive, and he lost you… somehow, even the thought of that made him feel like someone was stabbing at his heart with a fork, over and over.

And he was ready to take this relationship at your pace. Whatever you were ready to offer him, he would gladly take it. Even if you wanted to wait to have sex until you were married, he would gladly do it simply because he was already head over heels in love with you. It scared him a little, when he was by himself in the confines of dark nights, just how much he was ready to sacrifice for a shred of your pure heart. To have you around him as long as the world would let him… The fact that you never hesitated to showcase your love, though you were shy in public, made his heart soar. He never had to wait for anything – except maybe sex.

The problem though, seemed to be something else.

It's not like you didn't want it. Clearly, going by the number of times the two of you had engaged in heavy make out sessions that seemed to lead towards it eventually, you were as affected by him as he was by you. But everytime that happened, your eyes would suddenly lose their drunken haze and shift back into a sort of nervousness and sadness that made Sanji feel helpless. You would stop after that, drawing back into your shell, wrapping your arms around your body and blocking him out.

He took it easy. Sanji didn't want to push you into talking until you were ready, and he certainly didn't want you to feel that a relationship without sex wasn't on the table. So he waited, giving you time to talk about it yourself; it was no good. If anything, you got quieter over time, hesitating even more around him.

It drove him crazy, and he would have questioned if you truly did like him if it wasn't for the fact that you maintained all other aspects of physical intimacy. There was no hesitation when it came to giving him hugs or kisses or affirmations of how in love you were with him, whenever he felt vulnerable and insecure. And that was what made him wonder; were you struggling with your own insecurities of some sort?

It didn't make sense to him that someone as perfect as you should find anything to fault in yourself, but after all, his lens of love was not to be compared with the harsh critics that were your own eyes and mind. He knew you were hesitant of your own body, its curves and how it was different from the slender figures of the other ladies on board and on land.

In Sanji's eyes, you were perfect as you were– soft and warm in all the right places, with a kind and caring personality. There was nothing about you that he didn't love and nothing that he found ugly, yet he didn't quite know how to make you believe him.

It wasn't even that you hated your body. He had seen you have confidence at times, but he had also seen it waver when it came to rude comments or just general low moods. You had your moments of low self-esteem but even in those moments, Sanji found himself a slave of your beauty. No, a devotee would be a better word. He wanted to worship you and your body as you deserved and yet, all his plans were thwarted every time you stopped in the middle of an escalating make out session to give him a small smile and come up with some random excuse to leave.

You were all that he wanted, and he was determined to let you know just what you looked like through his eyes. Sanji's chance came sooner than he had thought, the very night of when he made the resolution.

You lingered around in the kitchen after dinner, humming a song shyly after Sanji had insisted. When he was done with the dishes, you had helped him put them back despite his protests.

"Join me, my love?" He had asked as the two of you stepped out of the kitchen. He had to lock it and he waited for your answer as he did so. You were silent for a while before you spoke up.

"Oh, Sanji, um," you hesitated, clearly overthinking and worried that if you declined then it would be in bad taste but clearly also hesitant of what he was hoping for. "I, I actually…"

"Nothing that you don't want will happen, sweetheart," Sanji said quietly, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. "I just want to spend some time with you."

"Oh!" You suddenly looked relieved and Sanji's heart clenched. Were you really afraid that he would force you to do something you weren't comfortable with? "Sure Sanji, I would love that too."

He held your hand in his as you walked to his room. Only once you were inside and he had closed the door behind him, did he speak.

"Sweetheart," he called out when you had settled comfortably on his bed. You looked up at him curiously. "Is it okay if I ask you something?"

You were quiet for a second, not unlike how you got when the sexual tension between you would get high. You clearly knew what he was getting to. Sanji waited until you nodded to move in closer to sit across from you.

"I just want to put this on the table before I ask," Sanji searched your eyes for something. "This relationship will always go at your pace. I do not mind waiting as long as you need me to, or even forever, if that is what you want. But what I want is for you to be comfortable and open with me. To tell me if something is bothering you. To be vulnerable with me, because you trust me. Is that alright, my love?"

"Of course, Sanji," you inched closer to him, a hand reaching out to take his. He let you, and brushed his knuckles against the inside of your wrist, watching you squirm at how it tickled.

"Do you not want to have sex with me, sweetheart?" He asked clearly. You flinched at that, and he could see the torment you were facing bubble up to the surface. "It's alright, love. Just tell me what you really think. I understand if I'm not appealing in th–"

"No!" You interrupted, looking at him with a pout. "It's not that. God, Sanji, you drive me insane all the time. I would have to be blind to not appreciate your figure."

"Then is it something else?" He asked seriously, hand now coming up to cup your cheek. You leaned into his touch, giving him a sad smile.

"Of course I want to… do it with you," you flushed, embarrassed at having to say that aloud. "I want it but… I don't want you to see me."

"You don't want me… to see you?" Sanji repeated, unsure of what you meant. Your hand came up to hold his where it rested on your cheek.

"I… have stretch marks," you looked embarrassed. "Maybe it's stupid to you– it probably is, but I know it's not what is considered appealing. I know I'm… not as slender as you might prefer, and I'm just… scared that you would look at me and feel disgusted. Feel like you made a mistake and break us off. I know!" You stressed it when Sanji looked like he was about to say something, "I know that you're kinder than that. But I don't want to lose you. I don't want to see you looking at me with disgust. I don't care about my stretch marks but when I think of you seeing them… I feel like I would rather die."

"Shh," Sanji shook his head, upset at your words. "What are you saying, my love? As if something like that is enough to shake my love for you. I can't even begin to tell you where my love for you begins or where it ends, because it's fathomless and so much that it scares even me. Any marks on your body are a part of you. I'm sure even they are as beautiful as the rest of you."

"Really?" Your voice was meek, wanting reassurance but also not wanting to be burdensome.

"Let me show it to you," he whispered, gently lowering you onto your back. The action made your shirt ride up a little, revealing the white and red marks. You squirmed and raised your head to see what Sanji planned to do.

A gasp left your lips when he placed a soft peck on one, marking the path to the next without lifting his lips. The action tickled you and a warmth pooled into your gut, along with the understanding that Sanji would never be disgusted by you or your marks. He would love every inch of you.

"They are like lightning," he whispered into your skin, warm breath fanning the cool surface, causing you to shiver. "Like pathways mapping the surface of the temple of the goddess I worship. Like waves crashing into the ocean, for me to appreciate, along with every part of you. I could never hate them, or you, sweetheart. Every part of you is meant to be worshipped, to be sung prai–"

"Alright," you choked, feeling overwhelmed. He kissed you in between as he spoke, careful never to move downwards or to make the act sexual. Every part of it felt like he was whispering and etching reminders of his love into your skin, like carefully tucked in notes in the folds of your flesh. "Sanji. Sanji, come up here."

He hovered above you for a few seconds, blue eyes misty with want before he gently lowered himself next to you on his bed. You swallowed the thick lump in your throat as you cupped his cheeks and took in every inch of his face, took in the blonde hair falling into his eye– and couldn't help but think.

"Heavens, I love you more and more each day, Sanji."

Think that contrary to what he believed, the lucky one was actually you.

#one piece #one piece imagines #one piece fanfic #one piece x reader #one piece sanji #op sanji #vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke sanji x reader #sanji x reader #black leg sanji #sanji fanfiction #sanji fic #angst and fluff #insecurities #insecure reader #chubby reader #stretch marks #you're all gorgeous my loves <3

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gh0stsp1d3r · 6 months

Note

heya!!!

can i request kylo ren x fem presenting reader (doesnt have to be afab)

i have this idea where theyre like storming the resistance because they finally found them (lol) and kylo and his S/O show up with their sabers (and theyre like obviously together), and like everyone on the resistance base is like no fucking way 😀

idk i thought it would be funny for like leia to realize "oh shit i have a daughter in law" or sum o-o

IF THAT MAKES SENSE THEN UH THATS IT (its not imaginative ik im SORRRYYYY 😭😭😭)

A/n- heyyy, OMG I LOVE THIS ANON. Also sorry if I haven’t posted): been super busy but I’m trying to get through requests. I didn’t know how to end this off

Small talk

Fem!reader

“You found it, sir?” You asked him, your husband nodded and you smirked ever so slightly.

Everyone looked at him in shock, waiting for orders.

“Me and general L/N will go out to the base. Along with your squad for backup, just in case. He looked at one of the squad leaders, they all nodded.

“I am expecting general leia organa to be there as well, so be aware. Me and L/N will be going in by ourselves, and you stay outside, unless I say otherwise. Got it?”

The squad going with nodded along, following orders and beginning to prepare to leave.

You followed Ben to his personal ship, and he led the squad to the base.

“Kylo. Since your moms gonna-“

“I told you, I don’t want to talk about it. We are going to go in there, storm the base, and kill everyone in it.”

You sighed, a small sliver of you wished that you could meet his mom.

You grew up in the dark side, practicing and training since birth practically. Ben was 23 when you met him, when he became Kylo Ren.

Quickly, you both became friends. He took a liking to you for months, not saying anything until you said something first.

And now, you were about 3 years married, 3 years you both had dated.

You stood up when you had landed, he stared down at the helmet in his lap, thumb moving up and down on it as it stared back in his eyes.

You looked at him, putting a hand on his shoulder and a soft smile, giving him a quick kiss.

He stood up, putting on his mask and you both walked out.

He pulled out his saber, ignoring the many alarms. You pulled out your own. Men came rushing towards you both with guns and such, trying to shoot you both.

You blocked them with the sabers, stabbing whoever dared to do such things with it smoothly and quickly.

Kylo knew you could defend yourself, but he felt rage at whoever tried to do that. Shoot for him, not her! Idiots. He thought, as he sliced through the resistance members.

The doors started to close, you both glanced at each other and knew what to do.

———-

“How’d they find us?” Her voice was anxious, as she walked through the base.

“We don’t know. We think that someone is spying for them.”

“And it’s Ben and who?”

“The girl is known as Y/n Ren. They’re married. Apparently she’s some powerful general, no one talks about her because they’re scared. Of her and K- Ben.”

Her eyes widened at that. “Married? I have daughter in law? Guess I was never invited.” She mumbled, looking at the camera footage of you and Kylo slicing through the doors.

“Get everyone off of here. Now.”

The boy nodded, taking off and going to get everyone off.

She stayed, standing and waiting. Once everyone was off, she put up all the doors around the base.

“Ben.” She said, standing in front of him now.

You followed behind him, you threw your lightsaber up and down, and twirled it around. He gave you a glare, and looked back at the woman in front of him.

You stared at her now, and she looked back at you.

“Guessing you’re Y/n.”

“Don’t talk to her.” He said, voice threatening and modulated.

“Sure am. Guessing you’re-“

“That’s enough.” He said sternly, he didn’t want the small talk.

“What do you want, Ben?”

“It’s Kylo.”

“Take off your mask, Ben.”

He sighed, and did so.

“You were always busy. At meetings or stupid things. I hated it. God, I hated it. I was lonely, and it wasn’t until I found the dark side, until I found her that I wasn’t lonely.” He circled around her like prey, and she followed him around. His guard was up as always.

You watched the whole thing, in awe of him.

“You left me alone, it’s your fault. Everything is your fault.” He pointed the red lightsaber at her, tears welled in her eyes as she looked at his son.

“It was you.” He pointed it at her again, stopping his tracks. He stood in front of her, and stepped over to her.

#kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren #ben solo fanfic #ben solo x reader #ben solo #adam driver x reader #adam driver #kylo ren x fem!reader #ben solo x fem!reader

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finntheehumaneater · 4 months

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⭐️Radio Star⭐️ (part 5)

(TW: brief reference to past trauma, some gory description {blood, bones, guts, ripping/pulling of skin, etc.} but it’s used in a poetic sense so it’s not actually happening)

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(Part one) (part six)

Steve spent an embarrassing amount of time waiting by the phone these days—curled up on the floor next to the wall with his head pressed to his knees and his jacket pulled tight around him. Eddie hadn’t called, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to—but god he wanted him to. He really did. It felt like invisible hands were tugging at his skin, bloody fingers curled against his spine, pulling him and telling him to just give up and lay down and die. He hadn’t really felt like himself in weeks, and he needed a distraction.

The phone book on the shelf—balanced on top of novels that Robin had never read but insisted on buying—was full of numbers that he would never have remembered otherwise. Old friends. Family members he had cut contact with years ago. Past hookups from months ago because he swore of doing that shit if it didn’t mean anything real to him.

He stood up, leaning against the wall and scrubbing his hand harshly against his eyes. He was crying and he didn’t even know why. He opened the phone book and flipped through the pages, running his fingers over the soft paper and sighing.

Robin was out with Vickie. She had been spending less time with him, and it was fucking ripping him apart from the inside out. His blood and guts were on the floor, covering the walls and the carpet and their shared beds, and she walked out on him with unknowing eyes—just ruffling his hair and saying she would probably end up staying the night.

And he knew he was being dramatic, he fucking knew it, but he also knew that he was losing his best friend. The person who knew about everything that he had been through—the person that he cried to when the memories of things he had blocked out came flooding back to him and all he wanted to do was shed his skin and curl up in the closet as someone new and broken.

Plus he could feel a migraine coming on, which was just fucking great.

He could call Addie. But they only went on two dates and had sex once. She got mad when he was upset over something, so she wasn’t the best person to call. Instead, he punched in Vickie’s phone number. Maybe if he just talked to Robin about what was going on she would come back home early and they could just…sit. And talk. Talking didn’t really help, but he was out of options, right now.

The phone rang for a minute. And then two. And then it stopped. No one answered. Steve forced himself to put it gently back into the receiver instead of slamming it like he wanted. He dropped his head into his hands and felt like falling apart and sobbing on the floor for a bit before making some tea. Some good tea, this time, not the stupid shit from the Advent Calendar.

But then the phone rang again, and he scrambled to grab it, talking with a choked and tight voice before he could even take a breath. “Fuck—Robin, I need—I need you to come home for a bit, I—“

He cut himself off when the person on the other end of the line cleared their throat and said gently, “Stevie? Is that you?”

It was Eddie. Steve nodded numbly, not realizing that Eddie couldn’t see him. He didn’t want to talk to Eddie right now, he wanted to talk to Robin. “Mhm,” he amended, willing his voice to go back to normal. It didn’t work.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Eddie sounded genuinely concerned, and it made Steve want to cry again. Steve wrapped the phone cord around his finger and then dropped it. Then he did it again. He sighed. “No. I’m just…sorry, I don’t mean to be a bother.”

“Hey, hey—I called you. I called you because I wanted to talk to you. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”. Steve nodded again out of habit, and then muttered a quiet, “okay.”

Eddie sighed, but it sounded more teasing than anything. “You need to say it like you mean it, otherwise it doesn’t count.”

“This is so stupid.”

“Steve.”

“Hm?” He smiled slightly, despite himself, his hand tugging at the phone cord gently.

“I’ll keep bothering you until you say it.”

“Fine.” Steve huffed, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Happy?”

“Oh, I am very happy.” Eddie said, and Steve could hear the grin in his voice. “Sorry it took so long for me to call, honey. Pen smudges off easily. You don’t know how many innocent people I dialed before this while trying to guess what the missing number was.”

Steve laughed quietly at how Eddie phrased that, leaning against the wall a bit more. His face flushed at the nickname, but he kept his voice steady. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Now, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I, uh…I don’t know. I just…don’t feel like myself.”

“How so?”

Steve paused, thinking. “I-I—I don’t…uh…it’s the anniversary of something soon, I guess. In two weeks. I always get…sad, I guess?” It felt good to admit that out loud after months of ignoring it. He just didn’t like to think about it, really—but recently his feelings about it had been getting stronger, and that wasn’t good.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart. Is it okay if I ask what happened?”

“I don’t…like talking about, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t be sorry…” Eddie paused, and there was the sound of shifting from the other end and a soft huff. Eddie was probably sitting. Steve slid down the wall to sit, too, feeling the phone-cord go a bit taught around his finger, so he moved it. “You don’t ever have to tell me, okay? Don’t feel bad about it. I just…”

He trailed off, and Steve felt his shoulders tense.

“Are you going to be okay?” Eddie whispered, his voice softer than before. “I have—I have a friend who gets like that, kind of? He gets…he’s really fucking hard on himself, then. Is that what happens to you?”

Steve sighs, his eyes drifting to the front door. “No, I get…sad.”

“What helps?”

“Hm?”

“What helps when you feel sad.”

Steve thinks, again, his eyes watering slightly and his voice shaking again as he swallows around a pathetic sound he doesn’t ever want to let out. “Company, I-I guess?”

“And I take it you’re alone?”

Steve swallowed. Took a breath. “Yeah.”

“Okay, look—I know we don’t really know each other that well—“ that made Steve pause, his eyebrows furrowing. It was true. He didn’t know anything about Eddie—except where he worked—and he had waited by the phone like a fucking dog with his leash in his mouth for days. That was pathetic. He was pathetic.

“But,” Eddie continued. “I could come over? If having company helps you to be less sad?”

“The…the house is a mess, I…” Steve could hardly hear his own voice, but it sounded dazed and light, almost too quiet.

“We meet up then?”

“I don’t trust myself to drive.” His eyesight couldn’t be trusted anymore, and the thought that he might be losing it—really losing it that made him want to fucking die.

“I’ll pick you up, then. How does that sound, sweetheart? We can go wherever you want.”

“Are you sure it’s not an inconvenience or anything…? I—I can just deal with it—“

“Hey, stop…no one should have to be sad when it’s almost Halloween, that is practically a crime.”

Steve laughed, but it didn’t sound right. He told Eddie his address and went to change—because even though it was nearly 22:00, he hadn’t gotten dressed that morning.

It didn’t take long for Eddie to get there, and Steve was sitting on a chair on the porch when he arrived. This wasn’t a date, but he still wanted to make sure he looked okay. His eyes felt heavy, and they were probably red around the rims from crying. He hadn’t even cried a lot—just for a few minutes when he saw the two young girls who lived in the house next to them get home. And he knew it was stupid, but he missed Robin. He really fucking missed Robin, even though she was only half-an-hour away.

It was around 22:25, now, if the clock on the wall that he had gone inside to check a few minutes ago could be trusted. Eddie got out of his van, which looked old, but not damaged. Steve could see him clearly in the soft yellow light of the street-lamp. His hair was half-up-half-down, with two strands tugged out to frame his face, which he had probably done on purpose. Steve knew he had seen Eddie before their encounter at the Haunted maze thing, but that interaction was still fuzzy and hazed around the edges.

His face-piercings were more defined, black, and they stuck out against his very-fucking-pale skin. He was wearing his flannel and jeans, with a black t-shirt. Steve felt his fingers dig into his arms—into the sleeves of the jacket that Eddie had lent him.

Eddie stood there, waiting, looking at Steve with eyes so soft that it made his stomach twist into gross, bloody knots. Steve stood and walked over, stopping short in front of Eddie and looking down at his sneakers, water creeping back into his eyes. He needed to stop fucking crying.

Eddie laughed quietly and gently tugged at the sleeve of his jacket, which Steve was stalling taking off. “Is that John Lennon?”

Steve looked up. “Hm?”

“On your shirt.”

“Oh, uh…yeah.”

Eddie opened the passenger-seat door and bowed slightly, motioning for Steve to get in. He did. It smelled like cigarettes and the cheap strawberry chapstick that Robin always made him buy when they went shopping. He needed to stop thinking about Robin right now. There was a long list of things that he needed to stop doing.

Eddie closed the door and only for a moment did Steve feel shut in—in a way that he didn’t really like—before Eddie crossed to the other side of the car and slid into the driver's seat, tapping his hands on the wheel and sighing softly, looking over at Steve. “Are you okay?”

Steve nodded. He liked being with Eddie in person rather than over the phone. He didn’t have to wonder what he was doing. And he didn’t have to talk as much. Yeah, that was probably why.

“You like The Beatles?” Eddie questioned, turning the key and the car hummed softly. Steve sighed back and closed his eyes, nodding slightly again as he leaned his head against the window. It was late, and it was dark, and he was tired.

He heard Eddie shift, and his voice was closer when he spoke again. Softer. “Hey, sweetheart? Do you want me to just drive around for a while?”

Steve really didn’t, but he did. He didn’t want Eddie to have to drive him around just so that he could relax, but it was exactly what he needed. Steve nodded again.

He felt the car move forward for a very short moment, and then the world sort of fell away around him, the side of his forehead pressed to the cool window, his body slipped down perfectly in the seat until he felt okay. Until he felt safe.

He didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, or how long they had been driving , but Steve opened his eyes a little while after his bones felt the humming of the car stop. He sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, forcing them to open. It was much darker than before, and there were trees around them. He could see the stars when he looked up through the window. Eddie wasn’t in the car anymore, but he could see the faint outline of a person sitting at the base of a tree, smoking a cigarette.

Steve pushed open the door with sleep-tired hands and stepped outside, his feet hitting the grass. He walked over to where Eddie was, sitting down next to him without a word and leaning back against the tree.

There was a body of water near them—black, but the water was white where it shifted from the moon. It was a lake. Or maybe a pond, Steve couldn’t really see how big it was through the branches and the bushes. The air around them smelled like pine.

Eddie pressed his arm against Steve’s, and his arm felt warm through the jacket sleeve. “Morning.”

“S’not morning.” Steve muttered, rubbing his eyes again. “What time is it?”

Eddie rested his hand on Steve’s knee so that Steve could see his watch. He had to squint to read the time. 00:30. He felt his shoulder sag slightly, and would have felt a twinge of disappointment when Eddie moved his hand, if he wasn’t already feeling horrible, guilt seeping in past his nerves and into his being. “Fuck, I’m sorry. You didn’t need to drive for that long.”

“Stop it,” Eddie whispered, his fingers slotting against Steve’s in a way that made his skin shudder and twist—wriggle around his whole body before it settled when Eddie leaned in slightly so that he could speak even quieter, his cigarette pinched in his other hand, thumb pressed to the end of it. “You don’t need to apologize, Stevie. I like driving. Honestly.”

“Where are we?” Steve found himself asking, looking up at the dark sky and pinpoints of light peering down at them. He could see Orion’s Belt.

“Does it matter?” Eddie said back, smiling slightly.

Steve shrugged and leaned his head against Eddie’s shoulder. “We should go back.”

“Should we?” Eddie said softly, and Steve could feel his breath against his hair.

“Mhm. You can bring me back when it’s lighter?”

“I would love to.”

Eddie stood and tugged on Steve’s hand until he was standing, too, and they got back into the car. Eddie played Hey, Jude on the drive back.

sorry this took so long (again)!! As you can tell, I have no schedule for posting I just write when I feel like it :D

thank you @an-atlas-or-other for being literally the best beta reader ever!! <3

Taglist:

@strangersteddierthings @aol19 @randombibitch @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @stillfullofshit @steventhusiast @estrellami-1 @jaytriesstuff @itsthestrangestthingsm @5ammi90 @absolutegremlin @txumxssianfox @goodolefashionedloverboi @hbyrde36 @tartarusknight @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @a-little-unsteddie @hornybunnybaby @beawritingbooks @askitwithflours

#Radio Star by Finn #Steve Harrington fic #steve Harrington #Eddie Munson fic #eddie munson #robin Buckley fic #robin Buckley #vickie stranger things #vickie x robin #eddie x steve #steve x eddie #Steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #Stranger things fanfiction #stranger things au #stranger things 90s au

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nemeliis · 8 months

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Cursed!Lord Oyster AU

Spoilers for all chapter's of A Mermaid's Tale!

In this AU, Lord Oyster accidentally absorbs White Pearl's curse (NOT her power's, JUST her curse)— instead due to him clutching her pearl so dearly—because of this, when he returns from his voyage, seemingly unscathed despite the raw reckage and death of Abalone Cookie along with his entire crew, with a very odd smile on his face: almost like he knows something we don't, something has to be up. And because the curse seems to be fueled by rage, or the fact that it's supposed to be a Mermaids curse rather than a Cookies, his body takes the toll and he gets a serpent/mermaid half.

Which he hides via magic he also acquired during his curse. All of the rage he's been suppressing for decades comes broiling over in the worst way, and the leader of House Urchin has to deal with it before he's next on the chopping block. From a reclused, soft spoken Cookie with a humble heart—to a sadistic, conniving and unfeeling one filled with blinding rage overnight, Roasted Urchin isn't sure about the rumor's: or if he wants to believe them. The disappointment of House Oyster would never do something so vile as eradicating the entire Abalone House in cold jam in less than a day...right...?

___________________________

Here's some fun facts about him!

In Lord Oysters original concept, before he was even drawn or sketched out—he was going to be a harpy-like creature with wing's and a tail. But that was scrapped because I can't draw wing's to save my life, and it wouldn't make since considering he's from the land. I was supposed to represent how deep his curse went, but I opted for color pallette changes instead.

Though Lord Oyster can hide his serpentine lower half, he can't hide his hair changes or eye color. If you're wondering why no one questions it (except for Roasted Urchin Cookie)—it's because there too focused on the Abalone House's demise to realize what's going on.

He likes terrorizing House Urchin in his spare time—particularly Roasted Cookie, like little kid and his uncle fights but actually dangerous and sadistic.

He has a HUGE form, similar to Black Pearl! But he prefers to keep in his smaller one unless prompted.

Fiercely protective over House Oyster, and got more fortune than in the original timeline due to some.. interesting scheme's (killing other house's to get to the top faster so he could feed his family). He really does justify that one in his head.

When a family member of House Oyster reaches there 10th birthday, Lord Oyster meets them on the sea side and blesses them with his protection —this is why Oyster Cookie always had nannies up until that age, it's protocol. It's a family secret, and everyone see's Lord Oyster differently. But one thing that stays true: you can have faith in him, for if you have a pure heart, someone shall watch over you.

A “pure heart” just means like. An okay person since Lord Oyster brushes Oyster Cookies political game's off.

Lord Oyster gained the following power's from his curse:

Super strength (like. Throwing around ship's type strength)

Night vision

Sharp teeth...(not even a superpower but..teeth,,,)

Enhanced senses

Weapon summoning/water control

Immortality, can only die from unnatural causes. (He outlived his entire family ☹️..)

#also he was the one who killed Abalone...not Black Pearl Cookie like in the original tale—they made up #but by then the curse had infested his dough #which only got worse considering Nacre Cookie is a big fat asshole with little to no positive moral compass.#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #lord oyster cookie #abalone cookie #nemeliis screams into the void #Cursed!Lord Oyster AU #Roasted Urchin Cookie

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yesimwriting · 11 months

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Slow Nights

A/n in a bit of a jason todd mood and i’ve been dealing with the writers block that comes from going through a rough couple of days, so i’m just going with the flow!

also i feel like the fic world has shifted away from first person, but i was in the mood for it and i write to improve and felt like working on my first person voice😭 pls forgive me

Summary: There are a lot of risks that come from being a female waitress at a small diner in Gotham. You didn’t realize that one of them would be developing a small crush cautious friendship with the intimidating, broody guy that keeps weird hours and always squeezes himself into the smallest booth near the window with a paper back.

----

Appreciate the slow nights. That’s what Marta said before my first closing shift, when it was just the two of us and the long window that displayed a nearly empty street. I understood instantly. In Gotham, nothing’s guaranteed. Most criminals--petty or psychotic supervillain--don’t have the decency to wait until nightfall for their crimes. But there’s something about working until 3 AM that’s eerie, like you’re daring some testosterone fueled, ego maniac that’s had a little too much to drink to do rob you. Or worse.

“You think anyone would notice if we closed early?” It’s not an actual offer, just part of our routine. I ask this question anytime between 1:00 and 2:00 and Marta pretends to contemplate as she wipes down a counter or sweeps or does anything she can to keep busy. Her answer is always something about how Bobby, the owner, has a sixth sense about these kind of things or some other kind of joke that makes Bobby seem like the bottom line obsessed ass he is.

She lets out a small sound at the back of her throat, ending her dutiful organization of plastic protected menus. “I think that boyfriend of yours would.”

The comment strikes a nerve deep in my stomach. An uncomfortable warmth begins to spread through my face. The fact that she’s straying from her usual joke to poke fun at that amplifies the message. The twitch of her mouth tells me she knows exactly what she’s done. “Oh, he is not--” She’s oddly smug for someone who’s always giving me a warning look when I linger around a certain table too long, a kind of worry that’s so distinctly grandmotherly I can feel the silent warnings against my skin. “He’s a costumer, a regular. That’s it.”

“Your customer,” her eyes are back on her menus, two of them are stuck together, “Your regular.” She pushes the nail of her thumb between the edge of the barriers. They let go of each other with a soft pop.

Maybe I always take Jason’s table, but it’s only because everyone else was too scared to at first and now it’s just...routine. Like Marta and I pretending we’d close more than a few minutes early or the way that Adam, my least favorite closing shift partner, never sweeps correctly and always tries to find an excuse to walk me to my car. “Only because everyone else is too scared to talk to him.”

She hums once, low and disbelieving. “Okay, because you know he--” I frown as Marta struggles to find the words. A part of me wants to tell her she doesn’t need to bother. I know because despite all the teasing, she sees him almost as much as I do. Jason comes in and he’s a living canvas of deep blues and sick yellows and the kind of crimson that has to be fresh.

That’s what initially broke the ice between us. Marta stayed behind the counter and when I finally walked up to his booth, the first thing I noted was the bloody knuckles and the Jane Austen paperback. He asked for a coffee, black. I brought it to him, along with a damp rag and a few bandaids from the first aid kit in the back. I didn’t think about how weird and kind of silly that was until I was at his table. Taking it back to the kitchen after he had seen it felt even more pathetic so I silently set them down next to the coffee. He barely nodded in acknowledgement before turning to his book.

When I came back to bring him his check, he looked particularly annoyed as he stared at the pages in front of him. For a second, the potential aggression turned my blood to ice. Awkwardly, I noted the cover and how far into the book he was, so I nervously mumbled the first thing I thought of. “Darcy, right?” He had looked surprised and I quickly jumped to defend myself, “You just um--you look like you’re around the proposal scene and for me, at least, it’s um--it’s equally bad every time.”

That got his expression to soften a little, enough for him to ask how I had managed to figure out where he was based on his facial expression and how open his book was. After that, it was something else, something that went on until closing and ended with a 20$ tip and a walk to my car.

“You’re too smart for that, Mija.”

Marta’s words bring me back. I nod, the motion hollow. The quick acceptance leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. It’s a betrayal even though Marta didn’t really say anything and nothing she implied was factually wrong. Defensiveness immediately tries to crawl its way out of my throat. There’s a lot I could tell her. It might be so normal for Jason to have his knuckles split that the one time he didn’t, I teased him about it until he threatened to leave early and never come back, but he’s not whatever violence he won’t explain and I won’t ever ask about without a joke barrier for safety. He’s that one smile that makes you feel like you’ve earned something; and the jokes that kind of take you by surprise because you wouldn’t expect someone so physically intimidating to have a sense of humor that lighthearted; and he’s the books he reads, tears through so quickly he almost always has a new cover when he comes in.

“Yeah,” I mumble, trying to convince myself that this isn’t the betrayal it feels like, “He’s just a regular that’s nice to talk to. It’s not like I ask him to come in or anything.” It’s not like I could, considering I have no way of contacting him. It’s not like he’s a friend I could text.

The familiar creek of the front door’s tired hinges has Marta raising her eyebrows at me. A customer...around 2 AM...as we’re talking about Jason. There’s a silent understanding between us and the look she gives me isn’t subtle. We both know exactly who it is, so I push myself away from the kitchen counter we’ve been leaning against and grab a pot of coffee before placing a hand on the door that leads to the counters.

“You ever think the stale coffee isn’t what he comes in for?”

I still, the words rolling in my chest uncomfortably because the thought doesn’t bother me. At all. I push past the door before she can gage my reaction.

He’s already in his usual seat--the farthest booth in the back, right next to the window. “Y’know the other day this family came in, three toddlers they could barely keep track of and a newborn in a stroller and the mom trying to get all their orders while the dad filled out the crossword on his phone.” I start pouring the coffee before I’ve even looked at him. “And the part I was most offended by was that he was sitting right there.”

Jason’s watching me carefully, the curve of his lips gentle, “How dare he?”

I look up, setting the pot on the table next to his cup. Even though I can practically feel Marta’s gaze on us, I can’t help but indulge in this part of our usual exchange. The moment in which I let myself really look at him, examining each part of his face for new or healing bruises or scratches carefully.

There’s only one particularly notable mark, but this one is intense, right beneath an eye that’s clearly swollen. “Right?” I force my eyes to focus on anything else. “We should put up a sign.”

“VIP treatment,” there’s a shift in his tone that I feel more than hear, a precursor to some comment that toes the line between friendly and something else, “You saying I’m your favorite?”

He tilts his head slightly, eyes watching my expression with a carefulness that’s tangible. That’s part of how he plays into the space between casual and flirty, through the small things. “Well, you are my best tipper.”

Jason frowns, pushing himself a little further into his seat as if physically moved by his offense. “So that’s all I’m good for?”

I roll my eyes, ignoring the dangerous warmth settling in my chest. “You never stop me when I start talking about books, so I guess you’re good for that, too.”

“You guess?”

Scoffing, I let my attention fall to the seat across from him. It’s not like I sit with him every time he comes in, if he comes in during daylight hours it’s usually impossible. But nights are different...

Marta’s words come back, a little heavier now.

Jason takes a quick sip of his coffee and looks over at the space in front of him. “...You guys busy?”

There’s something there, trying to hide in the way the sentence comes out. The glue that holds us together is the unspoken-ness of all of it. He never mentions the bandaids and wet rags I bring when he needs them unless he’s making a joke about it. And I never bring up the regularity of his presence.

“Oh, yeah,” I joke, moving to sit across from him, “You should know how busy 2AM is for us by now.” I tap my nails against the surface of the table. “We might have to move you.”

Jason lets out a small sound that’s somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Thought this was my table?”

I shrug, trying my best to not seem too amused. “You were getting too comfortable.” He keeps one hand on the table, relaxing in his seat as he waits for me to continue. “Can’t have you thinking I like you or anything.”

He inhales, letting the silence between us linger. There’s a fragile quality to the space between words that has me focusing on his physical appearance again. I did miss something. Not a bruise or a cut, but the bags beneath his eyes that seem deeper today than they usually are and the shadow tainting his expression and the fact that he hasn’t even mentioned the book he brought in with him.

“I believe you.”

I roll my eyes at his sarcasm because I’m supposed to. There’s no place for that kind of worry, no where for it all to go. He’s just someone that comes in for his coffee. Just someone that keeps me company during closing and sometimes makes a boring afternoon shift more entertaining. “Shut up.”

Jason doesn’t immediately jump to push at what’s clearly a hollow response. The silence eases itself back into existence. Normally lulls like this make me feel flighty or like I need to say anything to make sure I’m not the awkward one. But there’s no stiffness that I feel the need to fight against, it’s just us.

Even though Marta’s definitely only pretending not to watch us as she wipes down the counter that I already cleaned, it really is just me and him, and when it’s like that, it’s easy to talk. Sure, we wrap the layers of heavier stuff in layers of teasing fluff and bad jokes, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

“That eye makes you a little hard to look at.”

He scoffs, his lips pulling downwards. “Ouch. That hurt worse than the punch, sweetheart.”

My nose wrinkles. “Did not.”

“Bruised feelings are--”

I groan before he can get the rest of his words out, “Do not say ‘as bad as a bruised face’.”

Jason’s mouth stays partially open, like the second half of his sentence hasn’t realized that it has no where to go. There’s something kind of funny about easily over 6′, looks like he belongs in some kind of alley Jason glaring at me like an offended goldfish. “You’re mean.”

“And you’re cheesy,” I counter, leaning a little closer as my forearms relax on the table, “I’m just saying you need to take better care of your face, it’s one of your better qualities.”

Oh no. The realization that I’ve made a mistake doesn’t settle until the words are already out of my mouth. Jason’s relaxed posture as he reaches for his coffee makes it clear that he’s noticed, too. I blink, pained at the realization that there’s no where to backtrack to.

He takes a long sip of dark liquid before setting the cup between us. “One of my better qualities?”

The nail of my thumb presses into the wood of the table. “Okay, I said ‘your face was one of your better qualities’, it’s not like I called you hot.”

Jason smiles in a way that’s so damn knowing, “I know.”

“Then why are you smiling?”

He shrugs, still too amused, “Maybe I missed you.”

That’s...new. Sure, he’s been gone for a few days but that’s nothing crazy. It wasn’t even the longest stretch of time he’s disappeared for. All that matters is that Jason’s here more days than he’s not. All that matters is that he eventually comes back and things always feel like he never left.

Part of the reason that it works so seamlessly is because we never talk about his absence (with the exception of me making a joke that must have been cheating on me and him swearing he could never). I never mention that when he does come back, he usually has more marks on his skin than usual...or the fact that I worry.

“Maybe I missed you, too.” It feels like a confession, a weight peeling itself off of my chest. “Even though you’re a total dork.”

“I’m the dork?”

“The ‘one black coffee’ order is trying way too hard for you not to be.” It’s an argument we’ve had before. Black coffee with no additives in the middle of the night, like he’s working at being mysterious even though he cracks open as easily as whatever book he’s reading.

He sits up a little straighter, an argument that likely insults my coffee order clearly ready. The squeak of the front door’s hinges steal the spotlight before Jason can get it out.

I turn my head, looking past the booth and down the aisle. A group of four guys have already stumbled in. I instinctually stand. One of the guys is laughing, slurring out some story I can’t make out as his friend tries to push off of his shoulder as he sways. The shortest starts to laugh as well, punching his friend in the arm as he gestures vaguely towards me. Great.

“We’re closing.” Marta’s voice is firm as she makes her presence clear.

“You close at 3:00,” the tallest one challenges her, stepping further into the space, “That’s what it says on the door...and...” He makes a show of turning over his wrist and checking his watch, “It’s only...2:53.” The number comes out so slurred it twists in my stomach. He shuffles towards the counter, a look that’s too sharp to not feel sober taking over his expression, “That’s not a problem, is it?”

“It’s fine.” My lips press together after the sentence, hoping that Marta feels safe enough to stay out of it. “I’ll seat them.”

I grab a few menus from the hostess counter that Marta stocked for the morning shift. I lead them to the first table that’s angled away from the counter. Marta’s jumpy and not always good at hiding it. Besides, I like the thought of anything shady happening farther from Marta. She has some issues with her right knee and she refuses to get it looked at. If things ever came down to running...

I force the thought out of my head as I set a menu down in front of the seats.

“Thank you, love.” The tall one--when did he get so close.

I nod once, attempting a polite smile that hopefully hides my nerves as I try to side step around him. The back of my arm hits something firm. “Woah.” Something squeezes my shoulder and my entire body turns to stone. “Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be so jumpy.”

The taller one angles his body to the left, subtly blocking off my original plan of escape. Part of Marta’s face is blocked by the man’s shoulder, but I can still make out her concern. Her lips part and I want her help as much as I dread it.

“Hey, babe--” Jason. The strangers, weirdly aware for how inebriated they seemed earlier, take their time looking at Jason. They take him and the implication of his presence in quickly. I’m released at a speed that I can barely register. Even the tallest one takes a step back to give me the space to breathe. “You almost done?”

Even though the babe clued me into his strategy almost immediately (Jason’s nicknames choices are usually more creative), it takes a second for my thoughts to catch up with the rest of me. “Yeah, after them we should be good to go home.”

Jason takes his time looking over at each of the strangers in a way that could pass as casual if it wasn’t for the lock of his jaw. Maybe if I wasn’t used to him, used to the way he looks when we debate plot points and recommend music to each other, his expression would seem less distinct. But I do know him, know the way he tends to shrink in on himself when little kids are running around the diner so he doesn’t seem overly intimidating.

“Take your time,” he finally manages, attention falling back to me. I’m so distracted by the tension melting in my stomach that I barely register Jason moving towards me. I don’t know what he’s doing until his arm’s comfortably wrapped around my shoulders. Something in my chest jumps. I don’t think we’ve ever touched before. “I can be here all night.”

He’s so warm. “Shouldn’t be long, babe.”

“Hm.” He gives my shoulder one last, assuring squeeze before stepping back. He doesn’t go far, sitting at the counter instead of his usual seat in the back. Less than a foot away.

Jason’s proximity gives me the confidence to go through the whole waitress bit, “Can I get you guys started with something to drink?”

The tall one looks over at his friends, awkwardly clearing his throat before saying, “Could we just get some waters to go? I’d hate to keep you past closing.”

I now get the concept of scary dog privileges better than ever before. “Yeah, we can do that.”

The excuse to get behind the counter, back to Jason and Marta is unbelievably relieving. I’m there in almost an instant. Marta’s already pouring water into to-go cups.

“You okay?” Jason’s voice is low, eyes so soft it’s hard to believe that a second ago he was intimidating to anyone.

I nod once, “Yeah.” And I really am. The group was menacing and they got a little close than most creepy guys do, but it’s not the first time a group of guys found entertainment in terrorizing a waitress at the end of a long night out. “Drunk assholes are just a...work hazard.”

My attempt to brush off the incident doesn’t seem to work. Instead of easing, Jason’s jaw locks again. “That happen a lot?”

I shrug, kind of regretting saying anything. It’s not like I’m constantly in danger, but waitresses are easy prey. They have to be somewhat nice to you and they’re stuck in place. And we’re in Gotham, any type of assault case is low on the authority’s priority list, which makes it low risk. “You’re here most nights, Jay, you know it’s usually empty.”

He nods once, the motion stiff. His unasked question sits between us: what about when I’m not here? I don’t want to get into the whole thing, so maybe it’s a good thing I have to go back and give the guys their waters. It’ll give me a chance to regroup an go back to something lighter. Those guys and all this tension have taken enough of our reunion away from us.

I look over at the counter and the styrophone cups are gone. The one time I want an excuse to walk away from Jason is the one time Marta goes out of her way to leave us alone.

Marta re-enters the space behind the counter. “They paid, they’re leaving.” As if on cue, the door’s signature squeak overlaps with the last syllable. “And we’re finally closed.”

“Finally.”

With no warning, Jason leans over the counter and grabs a napkin off of the stack kept next to the soda machine. “You have a pen?”

What? Before I can ask where the sudden urge to draw something came from, Marta wordlessly hands over the pen attached to her apron. That level of acknowledgement from her throws me through a loop. Technically, she’s not even working anymore so the pen thing was completely voluntary.

Jason accepts her offer slowly, as if worried that there’s a chance he’ll startle her and force her to either run off or stab him. Marta does give the energy that she could either way.

“What are you doing?” He doesn’t even have the decency to look up at me in acknowledgement. “Are you trying to draw their faces from memory in case they need--”

Jason slides over the napkin wordlessly so that 10 evenly written digits face me, two dashes dividing the numbers into two segments of three and one of four. A phone number. “This is--”

“If anyone like that shows up again, you can text me and I’ll...I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The confirmation that this is his phone number hits me straight in the chest, and the reasoning behind the gesture forces the feeling to linger. Here’s Jason, always careful to never reveal too much about himself and he’s...he’s trusting me. I turn my head enough to look at Marta, who just nods patiently. That’s different.

I pick up the napkin like it might dissolve into nothing between my fingertips. “So basically I call if I have a problem, and you come and beat it up.”

“Basically.”

I stare at the number again, studying the surprising neatness of the line they’re in like it can reveal something new about the person that wrote them. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but the gesture feels heavy. “Thanks.”

Jason briefly angles his chin downwards in a subtle version of a nod, “Don’t mention it.” He probably means that literally, so I just set the napkin back down and fold it neatly. “Anything for my fake girlfriend.”

“Fake girlfriend of two minutes.”

He leans a little closer, “A natural two minutes.”

I don’t even try to disguise my probably too smug laugh, “For you, maybe.”

“You caught on a little fast.” I narrow my eyes. “Leaned into--”

“I think the person that gave you that black eye also gave you brain damage.” The jokes are easy to not to mind when they’re about him being obsessed with me, not the other way around.

Jason presses his lips together in what could be either an attempt at sulking or scowling, it’s hard to tell with his eyes that soft. “It’s like being punched again.”

“Dramatic.” I fight to keep my expression flat as I step back from the counter. “I’m gonna change and grab my bag, then you can walk me to my car.”

He scoffs, a brief puff of air that’s pretending to be more annoyed than it is. “Someone’s bossy.”

I turn towards the door that leads to a small break room, “Fake boyfriend duties.”

The door to the break room shuts before he can say anything else. I put the napkin Jason gave me into my bag before changing out of my uniform and into sweats. Normally, knowing that I don’t have to work for two days is nothing but relieving. It’s still a relaxing thought, but something about it also makes me feel like I’m stuck. Maybe it’s the fact that Jason just came back and the next time I work will be a lunch shift--which is, for whatever reason, the shift he’s least likely to crash.

I won’t see or talk to him for a few days, and that’s long enough for him to disappear again. More days, more weeks.

Forcing those thoughts down somewhere deep, I roll my shoulders before grabbing my bag and shutting my locker. We still have the moments that take to get to my car, and that’s all whatever friendship we have is...tiny moments.

“Okay,” I announce my return to the main area, “You ready?”

He’s already standing, the book we never got to held loosely in one hand. “I was waiting for you.”

I hold my hands up in defense even though this is far from his most annoyed response. “Someone’s moody.”

He sighs, taking a step towards me. I barely have the chance to pull my bag off of me before Jason hooks a finger around it’s strap. He swings it onto his shoulder easily. the walk to the parking lot is short, but Jason always takes my bag. I’m not sure how it started, but like most of us, it happened on accident and stuck.

“Moody?”

The word is repeated back to me with an offense that’s punctuated by a hint of surprise. It’s a fair reaction. Now that I’m thinking about it, the word feels like it’s underserving him. It’d be easy to take in Jason’s general vibe and sum him up as mostly angsty or just another tough guy born on the streets of Gotham.

We reach the door. “Eh...you’ve got layers.”

He almost smiles, “Really?” I can feel his smugness growing and I’m glad that I’m in a position to open the door and step away from it. My hand moves forward. Jason shifts, angling himself in a way that leaves me still. He’s not blocking my escape, not really, but the implication of how close he’s standing is enough to make me still. “What are they?”

The air in my lungs jams itself in my throat mid breath.

“I’m ready to lock up if--” Marta stops halfway between the tables and the door. Something about her expression makes proximity that felt innocent moments before off. “If you’re ready to go.”

“Uh--yeah,” I hum, placing a hand on the door, “I’m--yeah, I’m--” I push the front door open as if that will prove my point, “We’re good.”

Marta nods slowly, “Okay.”

I walk out and Jason follows. After a second, Marta appears behind us. She mumbles a general goodnight instead of pointedly tacking my name onto it before getting into her car and driving off.

Jason opens my car door for me. I get in, take my bag back, and turn on my car even though Jason’s still standing there and the door’s still open. “Your tire pressure--”

I shake my head dismissively, ignoring the symbol that’s lit up on my dashboard. “I’m getting to it.” He gives me a look and I sigh. “I’ll go this week, mom.”

“Funny.” He leans closer to my car with no warning, head peaking in to examine my dash. Nosy.

“Relax, I got my oil changed.”

He eases a bit at that, moving back to where he was before. “After I told you to for a week.”

“It was not a week.” It did come close, though. It was getting close to the end of the semester and my car wasn’t a priority. Plus, Jason’s lectures about it were a little entertaining and gave me another piece of information to file away about him. “Maybe I liked your car rants.”

“Yeah?”

I shrug, relaxing into my seat, “You knew a lot of technical words.”

The corner of his mouth turns up slightly, “So that’s what you’re into?”

“You wish,” my return is a little slower, the early stages of drowsiness finally getting a chance to catch up to me now that things are calm.

Jason frowns, eyes lingering on my expression. I guess I don’t pass his inspection because he says, “You should get home.”

I nod, hoping no disappointment is visible on my face. “Yeah, it is kinda late.” My hand finds the handle of the car’s door. “See you around, dork.”

Jason throws me a look, half glaring, “Night, loser.”

With one last look, I shut the door. I turn my attention to the steering wheel. Just drive. A part of me wants to linger, to maybe say something else. But there’s nothing else.

In an attempted compromise, I reach into my bag and pull out the napkin. The numbers aren’t as easy to make out in the dark, so I have to squint to type them into my phone. This is normal. I mean, I might have a reason to text him later and if he doesn’t know that this is my number, he might ignore it or miss it or--

Ugh. Before I can over think it, I type a short text: it’s Y/n. Even though there’s no way for that to come off as weird, I’m glad I have an excuse to shove my phone back into my bag and not look at it for at least 15 minutes.

----

This bag should be called the black hole, because the moment you need something, it’s swallowed into an abyss. I’ve found multiple sticks of gum, a handful of change, and a chapstick I thought I lost weeks ago, but not my keys.

I sigh, picking up my phone so that I can use the flashlight. Before I can swipe to get the option, my attention shifts to the recent notifications. Two texts my phone has labeled as being from maybe: Jason. The first his just his name. The second is a longer message saying that I already knew that, because he’s the one that gave me this number. It’s a distinction that’s so specific and particular it’d feel a little awkward coming from anyone else.

I let myself think about it for a second before swiping the message open. I type out a reply before erasing it. Another moment of deliberation passes before the words come to me. I type it out and hit send in the same breath. You’re lucky you’re pretty.

I drop my phone back into my bag and shift around the contents. The void must have taken another victim, because it’s finally spit up my keys.

----

A/n i could see myself making a part 2 to this where this reader meets redhood and doesnt know its jason bc i was originally going to make this longer, but idk!

#Jason Todd #jason todd x reader #dc #dc x reader #redhood #redhood x reader

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niyabiblioteca · 1 year

Text

i can help

PAIRING: best friend!hyunjin x fem!reader

WARNINGS: not exactly smut cuz i have horrible writers block, dirty talk, manhandling?

you’re so deprived and you have yet to receive the treatment you deserve. how could hyunjin not help you?

—————————————————————————————————————

you love hyunjin so much.

you love that as your best friend, you can always confide in him. even with the most personal or embarrassing or pathetic stories.

hyunjin has heard stories from you that most people would take to the grave, but he has made it clear in your friendship that he would never judge you and will always lend an ear or a shoulder when it’s needed.

you have taken complete advantage of that promise, hence why you’re in his kitchen for the 3rd time that week, scraping the remaining ice cream from the bottom of the tub after yet another ruined hookup.

“i swear it’s like i’m cursed hyunjin. why does your species just fail to know basic fucking female anatomy?”

hyunjin chuckles in amusement but also remorse as he watches you frustratingly take bites of the vanilla ice cream he’s bought for this occasion especially. he’s even designated a spoon for you at this point because after the amount of times you’ve ended up in his kitchen just this week, he figured you’d need one.

“like how hard is it to find a girls sweet spot or her clit or her g-spot? especially when i fucking tell you where all three are! if i have to experience a man rubbing on my fucking inner thigh again i’ll lose it.”

hyunjin listens intently, nodding and you’re honestly impressed at his ability to engage in these kinds of talks with you as if it’s so casual.

he has to admit though, this is getting old.

not the whole having you in his house talking about your problems thing. no, he promised you could always count on him and he really meant it. but the fact that all week it’s all been about how your sneaky links just completely leave you high and dry makes him feel so bad for you.

“i don’t think i’ve faked this many orgasms in my life. maybe it’s me, my vagina is broken or something. because there’s no way this keeps happening to me and i’m becoming more and more strung up by the hour.”

he let you continue to go on as he disposed of the ice cream tub and spoon for you, listening and plotting his response when you’re done. the crazy thing is, he doesn’t feel shy or weird about what he’s about to offer at all. he feels that he’s actually a very good friend for considering this because he’ll be damned if his bestie is without a proper orgasm for the rest of the week after the hell she’s been through.

“i just can’t do this anymore, hyunjin. it’s actually causing me so much stress and anger i might explode.”

you almost feel bad for going on like this because you think this isn’t even a serious issue. you just wanna have a goddamn orgasm. a real one.

hyunjin thinks it’s a very valid reason though.

“i can help you.”

literally hyunjin hasn’t said this much the entire time you’ve been over. so this definitely caught you completely off guard.

your eyes widen as you almost choke on your saliva.

“y-you can help me what?”

“ i can help you cum.”

ah. so you definitely weren’t fucking hallucinating.

you couldn’t exactly react as hyunjin grabbed your hands and pulled you out of your seat so that the two of you were standing not even two inches away from each other.

“tell me. what could i do to give you the most mind-numbing orgasm ever? what did those men do wrong?”

he put his hands on both sides of your face as he looked you dead in the eyes waiting for your answer. he was very serious about this and he was taking your pleasure seriously. that alone made your whole body hot, especially between your thighs.

“t-they were too soft with me. i wanted it rough and they didn’t give that to me.”

hyunjin gave a cute eye smile in response to that as this information was all making sense to him. he was glad he was given this insight about what makes you tick so that he could accommodate you properly.

and that he did.

not even 30 seconds after you said that, he spun you around and pushed your upper body against the countertop so that you were bent over in front of him.

he wasn’t gentle either. he had used every bit of strength and aggression to get you where he wanted you and oh did it work so goddamn well.

you whimpered as you felt his bulge press against your heat. you couldn’t see him, but just the image of his lean figure pressed against your body as his hand reached forward and gripped your hair to pull your head up made you so fucking wet it was actually surprising to you.

“mmm. this is better. so tell me, y/n. how else can i make you cum so hard that you forget about every last hookup this week?”

you were downright embarrassed of the response you managed to let out, but hyunjin felt there was no need when we was doing everything in his power to make you feel good.

“s-spank me. slap me. choke me. fucking ruin me, please.”

hyunjin let out a low growl at your tone and pressed his bulge even harder against your core, causing you to whine and push your hips back at the same time.

“please, what?”

you knew what he wanted you to say. he knew what he wanted you to say. so badly. the moment he heard it, all hell would break lose and he would give you every last inch of him if you wanted it.

“please, jinnie. fuck me.”

god, hyunjin is such a great friend.

————————————————————————

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids #hyunjin smut #hyunjin

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piratefishmama · 11 months

Text

Beware the Thorns | Part 5

(a NSFW multi-part ficlet)

Steve felt… nothing.

Numb, like everything inside of him just… wasn’t there anymore, he… he wanted to end it? But… why? It made no sense… okay no… it made every bit of sense, Eddie was just… acting. Even the cut off, it was practically rehearsed, cold… only that last little bit to make it sound like this was something a normal person would be doing.

He had no say in this, even if Eddie asked him his thoughts, it was over… maybe he was a fool for falling so hard, for allowing himself to think if only for a moment that maybe they could be more… he fell in love with a prostitute.

How could he have been so goddamn foolish?

“…Steve?” Eddie tried, his voice unnaturally quiet, hesitant. How long had he been silent for, staring down at his lap, brows furrowed, troubled. He didn’t… feel anything, empty, a dark, empty void, a black hole sucking every bit of life out of his soul, “Stevie, c’mon, look at me” Eddie moved in a graceful sweep downward, he knelt in front of him, lightly calloused fingertips smoothed over the stubble he’d neglected to shave.

Was this his punishment?

He figured he deserved it, after all he wasn’t the best person on the planet, yes he did good things, he cared about the environment, he supported and built charities from the ground up, those were his own endeavours, the things he sought out after taking over after his father had passed, that was the direction he’d taken the business after he’d taken control, but he also hurt people to keep his business alive.

He’d killed to ensure its survival.

Several good things do not erase the bad, perhaps this was his inevitable punishment. Eddie was never his, not really… he knew deep down that that was a good thing, Eddie didn’t deserve to be put through what would inevitably be his life if they were really together, he was good… he was normal.

He no doubt had a normal family who had normal family dinners and talked about normal family things, he didn’t belong in that world, he could take random jaunts into it, dance through like the sweetest summer breeze, but he couldn’t stay there.

“Stevie… hey, sweetheart, look at me, c’mon now, come back to me” but why did it hurt so much? Why was the single feeling slowly seeping back into his empty shell just… pain, he knew Eddie wasn’t his, he knew he didn’t belong with him, that it was for the best, but all he could feel was pain.

“Why?” He shouldn’t ask, but that was the first word that came to him, whispered, breathed into the space between them, unable to look at those big, beautiful eyes, he kept his down, staring at his lap, trying so hard to ignore the soft circling of Eddie’s thumb on his cheek, why was he ending it if he cared enough to do this? Why was it so cold, cut, and dry if he was now trying to soothe him?

He didn’t need to soothe him, their ties were being cut, he could just… tell him it was over and that be that, walk out block his number and never see him again, Steve knew NOTHING of his life outside of those walls, didn’t know where he lived, who his family were, Eddie had revealed nothing about his personal life.

Why was he trying to bring him back now?

“Why?” Eddie parroted back at him, a question in his voice that Steve didn’t know whether was him confirming what he’d said, or simply the start of a long list of reasons why, like a jilted lover parroting your question back in irritation before going on a long, painful rant about all the times you’d let them down, irritated them and wronged them.

He waited for it… but when it didn’t come, he simply… accepted that maybe it was the first, Eddie’s hearing wasn’t the best in the world… “Why… what are the circumstances? Can… can I ask? Am I allowed to know?”

Technically, Eddie didn’t have to explain a damn thing, it was in the terms of their contract, he HAD the physical document locked away in a safe back home, the contracts were the only physical proof he kept. Steve had read it thoroughly for HIS OWN protection and signed it.

So no, Eddie didn’t have to explain anything, and Steve couldn’t demand he do so, he’d signed that right away long before either of them realised that feelings could very easily begin to develop.

Should he…?

Should he tell him? What would it do? Eddie had no doubts that this man was just… in shock, they’d been seeing each other for two years and suddenly he was calling quits without any warning or lead up. They’d had sex the night before AND spent the majority of the night after kissing… cuddling, not sleeping, his skin still felt that pleasant tingle from warm kisses and caresses from rough, calloused fingers.

Maybe explaining it would help… surely Steve didn’t want an employee with feelings right?

That was the reason he was hired to begin with! A boyfriend without the feelings usually associated with having a boyfriend, he wanted to be taken care of, wanted someone pretty on his arm to whisper sweet nothings to, someone to treat him well while he was home from work, but not expect everything from him in return.

Maybe explaining it would help them create a clean break, Steve didn’t want this, he didn’t want feelings, he didn’t want real.

“Yeah… yeah, you can ask” Eddie had never confessed to anyone before, honestly feelings weren’t commonplace for him, sex was easy, faking romance was easy, feeling real things, developing real feelings? Honestly there was a time he’d thought that damn near impossible for him.

It’d be… wrong… to keep them to himself now, right? For the first time in a LONG time… feelings, real feelings had him trying to soothe the man he was trying to break things off with, when normally he’d be out the door and down the hall by now, already halfway through dialling the number of his next big fish.

“Then why… did… did I do something?” That was safe right? Asking if he’d done something rather than if someone had come to him, told him something, surely that had to be the reason right? Someone had talked, told Eddie what Steve really was, who he was… what he did behind the scenes where very few eyes were around to watch.

“No Stevie, you didn’t do anything, it’s… fuck, as cliché as it is, an holy shit it’s cliché as fuck, it’s me… it’s not you, you’re… shit, m’not sappy okay, I’m not perfect, I’m fucking—I’m flawed as all hell an I know that. I’ve lost count of how many therapists I’ve had” okay no, that was an exaggeration, he’d had five, four as a child as he’d kept biting them, and one now because he was a male escort for rich men.

Of course, he’d never told her that for legal reasons allowing her plausible deniability if ever questioned, but he was pretty sure she was like, 60% onto him. Wheeler was good at her job.

“So… you’re cutting things off because you’re flawed?” Steve finally looked at him, but it wasn’t the expression of acceptance, it was… confusion, bafflement, okay he hadn’t explained it very well, he got that, he was never very good at explaining himself “Eddie, I don’t give a flying fuck whether you’re perfect or not, you’re perfect for ME!” Not the point, and he was already opening his mouth to object when Steve cut him off, continuing “you know, you’re the highlight of my day? That all I want, is for you to be here with me? I was happy coming home last night because I knew you’d be here, everytime you’re gone in the morning I die a little inside cause I know it was ME who told you I wanted you gone before I wake up, fuck, I regret that instruction SO much, I want to wake up with you here… I want to go to sleep with you here, I just… I want you to be here, all the time” he’d said too much, he’d said way too much.

Steve pulled back again, back into his own space, out of Eddie’s, Eddie wanted to cut things off for something as simple as insecurities, two years together, sort of, and he was happy to just, cut it off for something as miniscule as that.

He’d said too much, sure enough he’d leave, he’d realise feelings ran way deeper than they should do for what they really were to each other, and he’d go.

“…You don’t even know me, Steve…” Eddie’s voice was so quiet as he sat back on his own legs, hands slipping away from Steve’s jaw to his own lap “the man you want so much doesn’t even exist” he was a fabrication, a lie… a fantasy crafted to seem alluring to wealthy men who wanted nothing more than to have a pretty little thing on their arm.

He wasn’t a pretty little thing on ANYONES arm, he just… played that part from time to time.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t WANT to know you…” his voice sounded stronger now, not at all the soft whisper of pain from before… he wasn’t giving up on this, he couldn’t… “is that really all it is, you’re insecure about yourself so you’re cutting things off? Rather than just… talking to me about it?”

“Steve, you’re NOT my boyfriend, don’t get all this twisted, you’re my job, why the fuck would I talk to you about this shit?” Ouch, but fair, they weren’t pretending here, they’d stopped pretending the second Eddie had declared he was ending their contract. This wasn’t part of the fantasy anymore, this… this was Eddie, Eddie behind the mask of an escort. “But no, that isn’t it, you cut me off before I finished explaining.”

“Oh…” fuck. Okay… he hadn’t run off yet, hadn’t finalised cutting things off, maybe this was fine? “Sorry… go on…?” Eddie rolled his eyes, he rolled them hard, so hard Steve felt it in his very soul, which was no longer being sucked into a black hole, now in orbit around the singularity, it could easily slip in any moment, but for now he was safe from the black abyss.

Eddie took a deep breath, his heart thudding so loud in his ears he was sure Steve could probably hear it too. “Look, I have—I’m—fuck, okay, listen, it’s impossible for me to do my job and have feelings for a client—” Steve frowned, but Eddie didn’t give him a moment to speak “so… it would be in both our best interests, that the contract be terminated. You never wanted someone with feelings for you, which I totally get, you’re busy, you have a lot to deal with, it’s fine, I’m fine, you’ll find a sparkly new stringless escort easy, we’re a dime a dozen for great guys like you, so… I’m going” maybe he could hit up Hagan, Tommy was pretty simple, easy money and Eddie knew he definitely wouldn’t get feelings for him.

He could get over Steve in his own time and have a decent wage. Tabloids liked them together, Tommy talked a good game to them, made them think he was something special, they’d be thrilled for the freckled little fucker, it’d be easy.

Steve’s hand wrapped around his wrist as he stood to get the hell out of there, if he looked back, which he didn’t, he kept his eyes firmly on the door, he knew Steve would sway him easily, he knew one look into those big, beautiful hazel eyes, he’d cave, he’d fold like a house of cards verses a light breeze.

Steve was the weak link in his chainmail, the love he never thought he’d have. The love he couldn’t have.

“… Please… please don’t leave me, Eddie, you don’t—”

“I have to, Steve. I’m sorry. This is goodbye.” He pulled his hand away, cutting whatever Steve would have said short. Steve didn’t try to grab him again, the hidden thorns of that beautiful rose already dug so impossibly deep.

It didn't matter. Eddie was already gone.

Part 7

#PirateWrites #BewareTheThornsFiclet #No Upside Down AU #Steddie #Escort!Eddie #Shady!Steve

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flowercrowngods · 11 months

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Okay here's hoping tumblr isn't hungry haha

PART 1

Soft steddie idea with soulmates, but instead of feeling the other person's pain you feel their joy and happiness. But steddie doesn't know who the other person is.

Eddie feels it when Steve was a kid and when he wins metals for winning in sports. Steve feels it when Eddie moves in with Wayne and gets his own mug from the collection.

Eddie feels it when Steve was with Nancy, and he never understood why he didn't feel hatred or jealously seeing them together, just a fond sense of happiness from somewhere deep inside him. (Eddie of course has a minor crush on Steve, I mean, how could he resist it?)

Steve feels it when Eddie gets his first acoustic from Wayne, a hand-me-down from his mother that was in storage. He feels the joy when he's learning to play and when he finally nails one of the songs his mother loved.

part 2

And then nothing for a bit from Steve, due to the Upside Down business, until a random summer night in 85'. Eddie's on stage playing a gig, the mood is a bit down because Eddie has to retake his senior year again, when suddenly he feels joy. So much joy he laughs and pushes himself and his guitar. The room responds and it's electric. Corroded Coffin were booked to play the same gig for weeks after that.

And in a Starcourt bathroom, Steve felt the response to his joy, an echoing he thought was due to finding his platonic soulmate.

And then they come together but it's stressful with the Upside Down and the murder charges. And they don't realize it but they're trying soothing each other. Steve's trying to take Eddie's mind off Chrissy's body floating and cracking, Eddie's trying to help Steve's burden of responsibility by making him laugh and complimenting him.

And then in the final battle, Steve throws the Molotov and feels a sudden burst of joy. It makes his aim true, and lights Vecna on fire.

And then nothing.

They say that the strongest feeling you'll get from your soulmate is their happiness. But Steve knows differently. It's the absence left behind the joy, when there's nothing left, and it feels like there's a block in your soul, taking pieces of you away.

It was the same feeling he got seeing Eddie's bloody body and Dustin crying over him.

It helped him ignore his own injuries and exhaustion as he picked Eddie up and ran to the gate, not stopping till he collapsed in the hospital when every was safe. Everyone but his joy.

The first thing Eddie felt when he woke up was happiness. Stronger than he'd ever felt before, and it empowered him to open his eyes.

Wayne was on his right and to his left, Steve.

He lifted a shaky hand to Steve's wet cheeks and smiled softly. "Hey sweetheart."

"You asshole, I told you not to be a hero." Steve sobbed and laughed.

"I knew you got me, my sunshine. My joy."

Wayne snorted, with eyes wet with tears. "You've always been a dramatic one, you get it from your mother."

Eddie hummed and closed his eyes.

He heard Dustin asking if he was alright and Steve answered for him.

"He'll be alright, he's happy."

Eddie squeezed Steve's hand tightly and smiled wider.

He was happy.

🤍🌷 THE END 🌷🤍

aaah oh my god??? feeling someone’s joy as the link?? (also not my angst brain getting stuck on eddie not feeling steve’s joy for months, if not a year!!! 🥺😭) BUT THEN THE ENDING!!!! god!! yes hhhh thank you so much they’re so!! 🥺🥹🤍 thank you for writing something for me!! 🌷

#hi love i hope it’s okay i copy pasted your second ask into this one but that way everyone else gets to enjoy it too if they wanna 🥺🥹🤍#steddie #steddie fic #steddie soulmate au #joy!!! what a wonderful twist of that trope i love it but my angst brain could never hehe #🤍#not mine

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pietropudge · 4 months

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Brenton!Dick Grayson is that hot teacher who's gigantic butt is constantly in someone's face whenever he bends over to help students and you look forward to it every day. You find out he's subsidizing his income by doing OnlyPreds in secret.

a/n — something short since I liked the idea (and Brenton is my favorite titan's actor, next to Ryan), may write a part two!

warnings — vore, not done to us. brief in this but lots of talks of preds and prey and a mention of disposal

words — 2.3k

summary — check the ask!

~~~

It was about that time again. Seventh period—your seventh Heaven. The last class of the day and the one that managed to fly by the fastest because you were actually engaged in what the teacher was teaching. Not because the depths of learning criminal justice in high school was anything life-changing, no, it was the teacher himself that held your attention.

His lesson had yet to start, choosing to do the rounds around everyone’s assigned seat to place their latest essay face down on their desk. You were one of the first to arrive because of how close your previous class was to his classroom, so he handed it to you personally, just as you walked through the door.

“Ah, there you are, the very last one I had,” he said in a way you could listen to on a loop. His hands were now empty, stilted as he almost didn’t know what to do with them. "Nice job."

Your paper had an A-plus and a one-hundred written in red pen at the top. Thumbing through the pages, he hadn’t marked a single thing incorrect with the red ink. “Thanks,” you said, taking your seat. It was in about the center of the class, not too far away from the front but also not off-center in a way that would make looking to the side become annoying. You had to think that, on some level, Mr. Grayson had a soft spot for you by doing all of this. Probably somewhere on the cushiness of his padded ass.

That was the real appeal of his class because he literally put the ass in it. Later on, when everyone filed into his classroom and he was deep into his lecture, he decided to break it off for some individual learning. And low and behold, he was helping the person in front of you who posed a question that must have had a really long answer, because Mr. Grayson bent over, his dark dress pants doing anything but slimming down his figure. His ass was looming over your desk, and while you had your head buried in the worksheet he passed out and the textbook needed to find the answers, you looked up to see what had turned had blocked your peripheral vision like it was the bill of a hat.

Lifting your head, it was his ass, shifting back and forth as he lightly shifted his weight between each foot. His ass swayed as a result, so hypnotic and so close to you. It was almost painful to know how unattainable he was. You wanted him but knew it could never happen. The only issue was that he was unlike the gym coaches, who perved on the teenage girls and even had odd relationships with the star athletes at school. Although, you were glad he didn’t run the risk of getting disbarred from every school within fifty miles of here, because you got to see him every day. Mr. Grayson kept a respectable sense to his actions.

Now, there were some things he did that were simply out of his control. You can't do much about being blessed with an ass as fat as his, so it wasn't really his fault. You were the one staring at it, thinking about getting his attention by grabbing it instead of raising your hand.

Before you could do anything, the final bell rang and you heard his voice call out a few names to stay behind—probably to discuss grades. Thankfully, your name was kept separate from that list.

Returning home, you can’t shake the thought from your head. His ass was so close to you it was almost like you could have dove into the navy blue depths of it! He had assigned more homework that was due tomorrow—a few online assignments with multiple-choice responses, nothing crazy. But all you could think about was him while doing the work. You needed to find release, fast.

A big fantasy of yours was the predacious nature of humanity. Some people could eat others whole, enough to define them as an entire subspecies in Mr. Logan’s biology course. School rules prevented predators from teaching at a multi-meal school of both prey and developing predators alike, claiming that it would interfere with the natural order of the next generation. By introducing older predators into the pool of newer ones, it would run the risk of diminishing predators too weak to fight back against their own kind and prey from society—where it was anyone’s game. It’s why disappearances at school were common, the occasional high-school sweethearts that surfaced being forever in love as one of them would eat the other during their first kiss.

Regardless of the rules, you still imagined that Mr. Grayson had gotten such a fat ass from doing the work, the hard work of swallowing prey like you. While your imagination could carry the session, you just needed a little video to kickstart the fantasy. Opening a new tab next to Mr. Grayson’s preferred site to manage online assignments, you started a search for amateur vore videos. Gulper, BestBelches, and even PornHub barely had anything new that you hadn’t seen already. It seemed that everyone was getting greedy with their recently documented meals. You went to the last site you could think of—Twitter, home to original amateur vore videos, if you knew where to look, that is. A new video was making the rounds through a few accounts you followed and the video happened to land on your timeline, and it was damn near perfect to what you were looking for.

The start of the video was nothing special, a man walks into frame, his thick thighs and general figure reminding you of someone that you couldn’t quite think of. It wasn’t until his ass came into the picture, the cheeks thick and coated with a light smattering of hair that acted as the draped curtains to a head sticking up his ass. That’s when it hit you—this guy looked like Mr.Grayson from behind! Down to the tufts of hair peeking out at the top of the video, his head cut off to keep himself anonymous. The narrow torso leading to his wide ass was also of note, a reminder of the way that Mr. Grayson’s dress pants often struggled to contain him in the ways that mattered. He was standing near a balcony, looking out proudly over the city in front of him. The caption read something generic like, “what a great view.” But it clearly wasn’t the original video.

In the bottom-lefthand corner of the video was a watermark, a link to an OnlyPreds account called TeachingLessons. It didn’t align with the username of whoever posted it, so this must be a teaser for something more. You knew how these things worked and you needed to see the whole video and whatever else was posted on his account. There was a small part of you that hoped that the account didn’t belong to a snack like that guy as you searched for it… you had subscribed to a few too many OnlyPreds that were one-off accounts made to look like they’re run by predators but are actually just posted by the consumer to help the prey out. Whether that money goes to a family member or possibly used to pay back debts, you didn’t know. All you knew was that you got to see one really good video for a steep price without even learning who the predator was, so it was some high-level scam. Hopefully, this was an actual, regular poster that you could imagine as Mr. Grayson in so many different positions. You made the account using your real first and last name but fudging some other details like making your username a combination of random numbers and letters that was unlike your gamertag or social media handles and putting the profile as a random picture from your camera roll that had no recognizable information in it. After going through the painful steps of creating an account and paying for his OnlyPreds, you were free to check out all of his posts.

The most recent post was the video you had seen on Twitter, but it was marked at twenty-six minutes instead of just thirty seconds. You decided to save that for last, taking your dick out and stroking to everything else first, making sure that you had invested in something that was worth it. The rest of the account had videos of him belching, playing with his gut, sucking guys up his ass, and shitting them out in various restrooms and unconventional locations. There was no consistency as the houses all seemed to be the prey’s given how the location changed in each video, so there was an air of mystery that heightened your enjoyment. It made it easy to picture him in your bedroom, leaving you as a pile of shit on your own bed or ruining the carpet, morbidly reminding you and your classmates that you wouldn’t be safe forever.

After scrolling for a while, you ended up at the very last post. It was posted only about a year ago from today, yet there were well over a hundred videos filling this guy’s OnlyPreds. He must have been insanely active, and it made you wonder how much he ate that he didn’t record. You refreshed to save time because you were ready to form the final fantasy in your head. The site reloaded and his most recent video was back on your screen, the clip had sound, unlike the thirty seconds that barely fed your desires. This was much longer and drawn out. The men were both standing in frame at the start of the video, sounds of kissing and their hands roaming around each other, but the former was cropped out due to the anonymity provided. In the background, the window and the city it overlooked were still the same as in the clip you saw—the sun still rising in the early morning when this video was filmed. They slowly shuffled out of view of the camera, some noises of skin on skin and kissing continuing. Then, a deep sputter rang out as if the suction of a seal was broken. That’s where the clip of who you imagined as Mr. Grayson returned into frame, carrying the body of the other man behind him. His head was glued to his ass, a majority of it sucked between his cheeks and encompassing his neck. You almost expected the video to end, but it kept going. The man’s neck disappeared with a few heavy grunts from the man you were calling Mr. Grayson.

He was going down on the guy as the sun rose, the time elapsed to make it a more watchable experience. For all twenty-six minutes, you watched him fit an entire make into his ass. Well, not his ass, but it looked as such since his back faced the camera, so his swelling gut was nearly invisible until everything was almost inside. He had the feet of the man remaining, and you were at the twenty-four-minute mark. In just two minutes, the feet were going and he did a slow turnaround. His swelling gut was flashed to the camera, shaking violently and making a cavalcade of noise from its own activity and from the guy inside. He wobbled over to the camera, taking it off of its stand and doing a quick pan around his gut before the video ended.

Even after shooting a load, you couldn’t get it out of your head. There was a bit of hope going into the next day that Mr. Grayson would give your mind more material to work with.

At first, the day seemed to be amiss. Your favorite teacher would usually pass you by on the way from eating his lunch in the faculty room while you were headed to a different class and express some kind of friendliness, but he wasn’t there today. It gave you a bit of worry that there would be a substitute today, or, your worst fear, he was finally snacked on by a predator with an insane appetite. He did share with the class how he was single and still looking for someone, so he could have been eaten in a failed attempt at a date. Thankfully, your worries were put to rest when you walked into class. He was there with some nice khakis that showed off everything in the front and back.

But he never greeted you and never said anything about the online assignments you did last night—which were auto-graded and had a perfect score. In fact, he ignored you for the whole period until the end. He called out one name at the end of class, and you were dreading to hear who it was. Your name and it was only yours. You ceased packing up your things and stayed seated at your desk. A few students leaving let out an “ooh” or “ah” but were nudged out by Mr. Grayson as he moved them towards the door. He shut it and walked over to take a seat on your desk.

“Do you know of the site OnlyPreds?” He asked, looking down at you.

You were quick to spill out an admittance of guilt like he was interrogating you just as he had demonstrated before in mock trials, ”How’d you find out?"

He reached down, patting your shoulder before getting off of your desk. ”Try using a fake name when you subscribe next time."

"Are you going to...?" You could hardly finish the sentence, so he did for you.

"Eat you? Not as long as you keep your mouth shut. Those videos are secret, but they're proof, and if you have been paying attention in class... you'll know what they can do to me if they get out. Do you really want to see that happen to your favorite teacher?” He paced around, and even though he had threatened to silence you with his enormous ass, you couldn’t take your eyes away from it.

“No..." You softly let out.

He smiled at your obedience, "Good boy, you were always my favorite for a reason.”

#male prey #male vore #male pred #v.ore #v0r3 #vore x reader #v0re #same size vore #fatal #titans vore #titans #dc titans #nightwing vore #dick Grayson vore

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