#* justice: just us. ( foggy. )

[chaotic-mystery]

PROFESSOR’S PET

Pairing: Art Professor!Joel AU x Teacher Assistant!f!reader.

Summary: Professor Miller wants you to teach the class tomorrow morning & you need help being less nervous. What if he’s the reason you’re nervous, though?

Content Warnings: SMUT 18+ only! MDNI. Age gap but not specified, power imbalance (professor x TA, reader stutters when nervous, academic weapon, teasing, fingering, one (1) pair of panties ripped to shreds, oral (f receiving), spitting, pussy slaps, praise kink, name calling (good girl, sweetheart, baby, smart girl), dirty talk, talking you through it, spanking, condescending a little bit, cum eating, face riding, nasty freaky kisses to share your cum, no use of y/n.

Authors Note: Good morning, babies! This is for @studioghibelli & their fantastic writing challenge. This moodboard was absolutely brilliant. As someone who did not go to college & can’t retain information well, I tried to research as much as I could about art so I hope I did it justice! 🩵 || wc: 2.6k || beta’d by @wannab-urs <333 ily sm gin ||

“You want me to do what?”

It came out more as an exclamation rather than a question but you didn’t care at the moment.

He couldn’t have been serious.

“I want you to teach the class tomorrow about your two favorite artists. That’s all I’m askin’” Professor Miller says, stuffing his papers back into the desk drawer for the night.

“B-but you know I don’t talk well in front of them, I constantly stutter and they don’t respond well to me yet, I-”

“Do you need me to help you with the lesson plan for tomorrow? I can come over and help you write down some notes on what you want to talk about, but I need you to get more comfortable around them. We have a long school year ahead of us, and it’s not going to work if you’re afraid to speak up here.”

He was annoyed having to explain his reasoning, but he was right. Even if you didn’t want to hear you were doing a terrible job as a teacher's assistant. Scratching your head and turning so he can’t see the look of shame on your face, Joel shuffles towards you and hands you your coat off the coat rack.

“It’ll be fine. All you need is a push and you’ll do great. Hurry before we miss the train.”

You nod and take your coat to put it on, the tan fabric becoming darker as you step outside and rain starts to pelt off it. Mr. Miller sighs and hoists his briefcase above his head and takes his other hand to the side of him searching for yours until he finds it and grabs it, guiding you through the raindrops until you get under the stone archway to take a brief moment for the rain to calm down.

“Can’t believe I’ve had you as a TA for almost two years now and have never once seen where you live or even know about you outside of this place.” His finger wags slowly behind his head, indicating he was referring to the school.

“I don’t really like to talk about myself, but my parents made a really good name for themselves. I was put through all the good schools they could toss their money at. I was supposed to go to school to be a lawyer, but I wasn’t interested in the slightest. I told my mom I wanted to study visual arts and she wasn’t too surprised, said I always had an eye for that sort of thing. I want to become a professor here one day but for now I just want to learn everything I can, ya know?” You smile at the ground as you think about teaching here someday and hope it doesn’t come off as dorky.

He’s so much older than you and probably knows so much between art and life. You could only hope to have as much knowledge as him when you become a professor.

“I think that’s amazing honestly. I hope to one day see you as a professor here whenever you feel like you’re ready.”

His grin eases your nerves, and you hear the train coming, taking his hand once more to run to the train stop. Your shoes squeak against the vinyl flooring of the moving cabin until you get to a seat by the foggy window, plopping your bag right next to you with Joel sitting across the small white table that was tattered from all the use.

The train ride to your town wasn’t too long and Joel read almost the entire time, asking you every now and then if you were okay. Once you catch a taxi to take you home, it drops you off right at the black iron gates. He steps out of the sleek black car and is a little taken aback by the size of your house.

“What’s the matter? I told you they had money.” You giggle and push the buzzer on the stone post to the left of you, telling them to let you inside. Almost instantly, the gates push open and you walk along the pebble drive, flinging your book bag over your shoulder as he follows a few steps behind you, taking in the beauty that is your house.

Once you get inside and introduce him to the small group of staff working, they tell you your parents went out for the evening to some charity event and there’s food in the fridge if you were hungry.

The nerves about teaching tomorrow overrode the feeling of being hungry, but you still offered Joel anything he could’ve wanted. He settles with water, and you leave him in the study where he’s content with gazing at the walls covered in full bookshelves about any and everything.

You come back in and shut the rosewood pocket doors quietly, careful not to disturb him from the current book in his hand about astronomy. The way his fingers grazed over the corners of the pages made your stomach tingle just a little bit, the dim lighting from the chandelier glowing a soft yellow on his face as he was entranced by the contents.

Get it together, he’s off limits, you tell yourself.

There was no ring on his finger and he always talked about his lonely weekends, but still. You were his teacher's assistant.

You clear your throat and set his water down on the desk before you turn on the green bankers lamp sitting at the edge of the table. Joel closes the red leather book and looks up at you, noticing the water, and he puts the book back where he found it.

“Thank you.” He raises the glass to you before taking a sip, the muscles in his neck contracting as he swallows, and it brings that same feeling as before that you felt in your stomach.

So, give me two of your favorite art pieces and the artist with some facts about them. You don’t have to start from their birth or anything.”

He pinches his slacks right on the thighs to hike them up just a little before he sits down in the wooden chair at the head of the table, his hands on the back of his head as his fingers interlock against his skull.

Focus.

You pace back and forth at the other end of the table, Joel’s eyes on you intently as you fiddle with your fingers, running through the list of artists you tend to gravitate towards.

“I got it. Botticelli.”

“Nice choice. Why him?”

You continue to walk back and forth and sort out which facts about him and his artwork you love to tell people they wouldn’t normally know.

“I love the painting Birth of Venus but um- it’s not technically her birth story, it’s m-more like the story continued after her birth; when she steps off her shell and onto the island of Cyprus. S-she’s being blown onto…” you take a deep breath in and put your head in your hands.

“I’m sorry, Joel.”

You turn away from him and look out the window trying to compose yourself.

“Just take your time, I’ve got all night, kid.”

Turning to face him, he’s sitting straight up now and you can tell he’s listening to every word coming out of your mouth. His dark jacket is tight on his arms and it’s just enough to show the outline of his muscles.

“She’s being blown onto shore by the spring winds which is Zephyr, who is accompanied by his wife, Chloris, who’s also blowing Venus’ shell to shore. Her pose was most likely inspired by an ancient marble statue in the Medici’s collection, which we refer to as the Medici Venus, the first ever nude female sculpture in classical art.”

You manage to recite all of that without stuttering this time and he grins proudly.

“I knew you could do it. Good job. Now, what I want you to do is write down bullet points on this note card with a keyword that’ll spark your mind and draw the facts out of you fluently.”

Your cheeks warm at first and then your brows furrow at his instructions.

“What do you mean, professor?”

“Come here, I’ll show you.”

He scoots his chair back enough so you can stand to the side of him and watch as he scribbles down some words on the lined piece of paper. The red ink flows effortlessly and he pushes it to you, pointing at what he did.

“It’s just a keyword that’ll spark your brain to talk about it. If you write down everything you’re gonna say, it sounds like a robot trying to read it. This way, you won’t get overwhelmed by everything you wanna say and you can sound effortless.”

You nod as the gears in your head turn, the idea making perfect sense now. Reaching out to grab another note card, you bend over to write on it, starting at the top. You feel Joel’s hand on the small of your back very lightly as he watches you write, the pen in your hand moving faster than he’s ever seen.

“The next one is gonna be the technique he used for the painting.”

You write the word ‘technique’ shakily, trying to breathe manually.

“What about his technique?” Joel asks, his hand not moving from your back.

“H-he um, he used the tempera technique, it’s when you d-dilute a raw egg with water and mix watered down p-pigment with it and um-um paint with it.” Your words get breathy and all at once you stand straight up, clearing your throat once more.

“You’re still pretty nervous. Is it me? Am I making you nervous?” The condescending tone in Professor Miller's voice makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up, feeling like you’ve been called out.

“Partially, maybe.” You admit and turn away from him but you don’t move from next to him.

He runs his hand over his scruff and smirks slyly.

“Do you trust me?”

Without hesitation you nod yes.

“Turn around for me.” Joel’s hands grip your hips and spin you around in your spot.

“Now read your little note card for me. Come on, you’ve got this, smart girl.”

That was all you had to hear to make your stomach flip and arousal flood your body. Smart girl.

His hands never leave your hips as he holds you still, subconsciously rubbing the fabric of your skirt on the waistband while you read your notes. You manage to get through half of them before you stutter out and stop again.

“Again, from the top.” He says softly, still holding onto you. Just as you begin to speak, you feel yourself being guided backwards and you don’t stop talking, going with the flow of things.

For the purpose of learning, right?

Joel puts you right against his thighs, his head peeking over the side of your arm to see what bullet point you were on.

“Keep going, you’re doing such a good job.” He whispers as he rubs your back gently.

“Botticelli used the tempera technique, which is when you mix a r-raw egg with water a-and you dilute yo-our pigment with water and mix th-em together.”

His hand ever so slowly moves around the side of your thigh until he’s on the top of it, his thumb dangerously close to the point of no return. Your breaths were getting heavier and you were almost positive he could feel your heart rattling in your body like a caged animal.

“Joel, I-”

“Start it again, and if you stutter I’ll stop.”

His hand dips under your skirt and he nods to your index card, wanting you to restart.

“Well come on, be a good girl for me.” He grunts out and smirks before biting your arm playfully.

You didn’t know how you got here or why he wanted to touch you this way but you weren’t going to stop him. He was a good looking man and god forbid you do something out of your normal routine.

His fingertips dance over your overly excited clit and release some tension for you, and it’s like a key to a gate, your legs spreading more and more with every circle from his middle finger. You continue to talk through his efforts to make you stutter, even when he gets faster and kisses your back.

“Just like that, sweetheart. Next artist, let’s go.” He pushes you up on the desk and splits your legs apart, ripping your panties in two before he takes off his jacket and rolls his shirt sleeves up to his elbows.

“The Swing painted by Jean-Honore Fragonard. It’s said it’s a commission from a man on the court who requested Fragonard to paint him and his younger mistress being pushed on a swing while he watches and admires her-oh my god, Joel, right there, yes, yes.”

His tongue dances against your clit after he spits on it, licking every inch of you just to hear your pretty moans. His hands travel up your abdomen until he gets to your shirt, ripping the buttons apart to see your beautiful breasts. A deep groan against your overly sensitive clit makes your eyes almost roll back into your skull and he slaps your pussy firmly.

“That’s not being a good girl. Did I tell you to stop?”

“No, sir.” You whimper and try to get back on track about the painting you were talking about. His curls tickle against the soft insides of your thighs as he continues, licking feverishly at your clit.

“The brushwork is rapid and it exemplifies the Rococo style of playfulness and elegance” you whimper out and buck against his face, your hand dipping into his hair to tug firmly.

He spanks your ass as he feels your body squirm under him, tugging your legs to rest on his shoulders as he continues to lap up your arousal.

“You’re such a filthy girl, riding your professor's face in your house, naughty naughty girl. Oh, yes, cmon sweetheart, use my mouth.”

You moan his name louder and thank god your sounds are muffled from the rest of the house by all the literature covering the walls. Somehow you finish telling him about the painting and he looks at you as you cry out for more from him, your slick glossing over his mustache.

“Please make me come, Joel. Please, I need you so bad.” You kiss him roughly and try to grab his rock hard bulge but he pulls his hips away and groans loudly on your lips before grinning, going back down to your pussy and moaning against you.

“Come right on my face, right fuckin’ now. Let me taste how sweet you are. I know you can’t handle much more and you don’t wanna disappoint me, right baby?” Joel smirks and flattens his tongue against your clit once more, teasing you and enjoying this just as much as you were.

The burning sensation in your belly starts to spill over and before you can tell him, you grip both edges of the table and come against his face, crying and squirming to get away from him but it only makes Joel pin you down by your wrists and lick harder, tasting every bit you give him.

He licks you clean and kisses his way up your stomach, through the valley of your breasts to your lips, sharing the deliciousness with you. As you come down from your high, the grandfather clock in the corner of the room starts to chime, indicating it was midnight.

“That 7:30 A.M. class is gonna be here before you know it, professor.” You push the damp curls off his forehead and giggle as he stands up tiredly, holding a hand out for you. As you sit up on the table, his hand cups your cheek and kisses you deeply once more.

“You owe me sleep, so much sleep.”

[plasticferal]

daddy chris and reader hate eachother but they accidentally take viagra and get horny and fuck 😜🤞🏼

chocolate | chris sturniolo.

this was such a unique concept to write so hopefully i did it justice. receiving oral, face sitting, daddy!kink so not for everyone, sorry. not proof read whoops. use of a sexual stimulant, explicit language. 18+ content. reader discretion is advised.

part two here.

your eyes grow heavy as you pull the blanket tighter around your body, head nodding drowsily onto the pillow you’ve stolen from chris’s room. matt is already asleep on the other side of the lounge, giving you your space. the moment you feel yourself completely give into your sleep, the weight of another body drops onto the lounge beside you, making your body jolt.

“move over.” you hear chris’s croaky and tired voice demand. 

if there’s anyone in this house to interrupt your sleep, of course it’s going to be chris. he’s functioning at absurd hours, never in his own bed, always on a mission to find someone else who’s awake to keep him occupied. the fact it’s him switches your mood instantly, and you're annoyed.

“chris, what are you doing?” you whine, rubbing your face, looking up through foggy vision.

“can’t sleep.” his waist is where your head is.

he adjusts his body on the lounge cushion so that your pillow is essentially on his lap, tucked beneath the pillow your head lays on. if he wasn't so tired, you'd be wary that he's about to suffocate you with it. he hunches into the cushion, and you're forced to sit up now that he's undone your comfort.

“i was just about to fall asleep, asshole." you sigh, picking yourself up.

you fluff the pillow and bring it with you, hugging it to your chest as you sit back, shoulder to shoulder with chris now, both your bodies slouching into the lounge. you push him off of you.

he turns to look at you, a slight shadow of his facial hair gracing his jawline, his hair fluffy sitting like storm clouds on his head, eyes squinting slightly from exhaustion.

"is that my pillow?" he asks, not even looking at the item in your hand. he just knows, and wants a reason to be difficult.

“god i hate you” you grind your teeth together, refusing to even put up a fight. 

you throw it at him, making sure it collides with his face as you do. chris swings the pillow in retaliation with a burst of energy and whips it against your shoulder, making you twist your face with anger and shove him.

chris's body drops back on the lounge and his brother stirs awake within seconds. matt looks pissed as he comes to, lifting his body up to see you and chris frozen and staring at him in anticipation. you're immediately guilt-ridden, hesitant to see what he has to say.

"fuckin', of course it's you two," he grumbles, stealing a blanket from the couch as he drags himself to his feet, wrapping it around his shoulders.

"sorry matty," you grimace, watching him as he aims for his bedroom.

"i'm going to bed, try not to kill each other." matt waves you both off, leaving you alone with chris in the semi-lit, silent room.

"nice one" chris teases, knowing how bad you'll be feeling having woken matt up, really rubbing salt into the wound.

"you're such a dick." you huff, scooting over to put a safe distance between you and chris. he blows a raspberry with thought, like a child. 

"i'm hungry" he sulks to himself, in an artless tone while he scratches his forearm.

"that sucks for you." you reply, completely untroubled, scrunching your face in an ‘i didn’t ask’ manner.

your body hasn't been able to find another comfortable position and it's making you grow more distressed with every passing moment. the lounge shifts again, making you blow air out through tight lips, an exhale that reads 'i'm trying to keep my cool', and chris knows that.

you can tell he's more than happy to get under your skin by the smug look on his face, regardless of how tired he claims to be. he always has energy to piss you off.

chris shuffles off the lounge and moves slowly, lazily into the kitchen. he stretches his arms above his head, forcing his faded grey shirt to lift ever so slightly, and his sweatpants are dangerously low on his waist. the plaid boxers peeking through have an expensive brand plastered on the elastic that clings to his hips. it makes you roll your eyes.

you watch curiously to see what midnight snack he manages to find, and when he locates a stash of chocolate from a funky, unique candy store that he and his brothers all visited, he's hit the jackpot. the kitchen is only illuminated by the downstairs light, but you can see enough to observe him pour the grocery bag out onto the dining table, rummaging through all the individually packaged sweets.

as much as chris isn't one to share, you try your luck and make your way over. he groans at the sight of you, in a way that's like he knew you would appear, but didn't want it to happen.

"relax, i'll take what you don't like so i don't have to hear you complain." you speak wearily, starting to shuffle through the chocolates yourself.

"here," he holds out a candy wrapped in a bright pink wrapper.

you observe it in your hands. it has the words 'nice and naughty' written on it in a bubble font, and you assume it's a play on words, based on the fact that the chocolate is half milk chocolate and half dark chocolate.

"where did you guys get these?" you cross your face, having it be a complete mystery to you. you glance up at chris who just shrugs with a downward smile as he's still trying to find one he fancies.

"some obscure candy store in boston" he acknowledges. you choke out a laugh, at his expense.

"define obscure, chris" you grill him.

"you want the candy or not?" he looks at you with the aim of redirecting your question.

you put your arms up in defense, a smile pulling your lips as you wave him off as if to say, go back to what you were doing. you can tell he's not pleased with anything he's sifting through, getting hot and bothered.

"they all look gross," chris tosses whatever he had picked up with a 'i give up' tone.

"give me half of yours." he speaks casually, reaching for the one he quite literally passed you. you snatch it away from him, making him grasp at air.

"it's cute that you think we're that close." you satirize. chris huffs through a raspberry blow with his lips.

chris moves his jaw side to side with thought before grabbing your hand quickly, unexpectedly, and pulling you to his body with one fast swift movement.he's hovering over you, a strong grip around your much smaller, delicate wrist, compared to his rough hand.

"this close enough for ya?" he smiles with his teeth, the tip of his tongue peaking out slightly through his canines.

the slight drop in his eyes, the small head tilt, and the way he's looking at you with an unfamiliar alluring stare. you're trying not to pay attention to the way the shadows on his skin showcase his gentle muscles, the way his white tank exposes his collarbones and barely noticeable chest hair that you can only focus on because you're face to chest.

you pull your hand away from him with a scoff and unwrap the chocolate, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking him in the eyes. you do yourself a favor, to shut him up, and snap it in half. you throw the wrapper on the table for the time being.

without saying a word, you hold it out for him to take, sparing him the dark chocolate side because you know he doesn't like it. he has a puzzled look on his face, as if you're trying to punish him, but you're not.

"thanks," he says, sounding more like a question than a statement.

you both take a bite from your chocolate at the same time, and make a displeased face in sync with each other.

"that tastes terrible" he thinks aloud. you agree with him, a rare occurrence. usually, he just complains for the sake of complaining, especially when he knows it's going to irk you.

"i don't mind it" you don't actually believe your own words, but you're trying to be optimistic.

“of course you like it, you're weird.” chris speaks, blatantly. 

you both finish the pieces off and chris licks his fingers, the residue of the slightly melted chocolate on his fingertips. you really can't help but watch as his cheeks sink in slightly and his lips wrap around his skin, making a small pop sound when he cleans his hand off.

chris chews obnoxiously loud, like the type of loud that usually sends matt into a fit. smacking his lips together, clicking his tongue on his teeth. despite it being such a small piece, he's eating it like there’s a whole pack of gum in his mouth.

"any louder and you'll wake up matt again" you speak, walking over to the sink to rinse your hands.

"any louder and you'll, shut up." he mocks your scolding before brushing you off and snapping the roof of his mouth with his tongue, to annoy you further.

“good comeback” you taunt with an eye roll, wiping the corner of your mouth clean.

you hear the crinkle of a wrapper and assume he's throwing it in the bin, but then he falls quiet, and you can sense his body is frozen.

"hey, y/n?" chris voice shifts into a serious tone, and you're not sure you've ever heard it before. not toward you at least.

“what?” you dry your hands quickly and skip back over to him, leaning over his shoulder to see what he's reading. your brain scatters with concern.

it could be expired, it could have an ingredient one of you is allergic to. it could be a dog treat for all you know, not like that would stop chris. his reaction gives little to nothing away.

chris straightens out the chocolate wrapper, holding it with both hands like you would hold an open book. you begin intently reading the small writing on the inside.

the black letters on the silver malleable foil reads, 'increases sex drive, enhances performance and stimulates blood flow. a nice treat for when you're feeling naughty'. your eyes almost pop out of your head.

snatching the wrapper from his hands, you need to make sure what you're seeing is correct. chris is rubbing his hands through his hair and you feel his shift in energy. he doesn't seem concerned, but he's not as composed.

"who the fuck packages sex chocolate like this?" your words are so harsh, and much louder than you need to be expressing.

"oh god don't say sex chocolate," chris covers his ears and hunches over as he paces around the living room, shaking his head like he's hearing something he's not supposed to.

"that's what it is!" you shake the wrapper in his face, letting out your frustrations onto him. you try to steady your emotions, and reaction, by simply throwing it in the bin.

chris shushes you with panic, knowing if his brother wakes up again, he's going to be the one that receives his wrath.

"who uses the word naughty on chocolate?" he matches your tone to a much less important piece of information.

"that's what you got from this?" your eyes feel like they could pop out of your head and you quickly shake it off, before you pass out from stress. he throws his arms up frenziedly.

“this is what i get for sharing my food” chris shakes his head, and all you want to do is slap it out of him. you crack your knuckles in frustration, inhaling at least a three second breath inward.

“it’s gonna be fine. it’s fine, just relax" you say with conviction, remembering to keep your voice down. 

chris stops pacing and is standing still, leaning against a dining chair with a drained look on his face, arms folded and holding onto his elbows.

“i think you’re stressing more than me” he’s suddenly at ease again, finding some zen in being able to fixate on your emotions and reaction rather than his own.

“you’re the reason for all my stress, christopher” you spit. which is true, even if by accident.

"so, what happens now?" he waves his arms up again, always expecting someone else to hold the answers to what he has to ask.

"we don't think about it, it probably doesn't work anyway." you gloss over his question

“and if it does work?” he pries. 

“you finally get to see a girl naked.” you tease with a flat look on your face, not looking at him while heading straight back to the couch that you don't plan on moving from again. 

your next intention is googling what the effects are about to be, trying not to expose your concern. chris will just use it against you. 

before you sit down, you hear chris swipe all of the chocolates into his arms and the metal clank of the bin opening and slamming shut. he moves quick, and knows the faster they're out of sight, they're out of mind.

the second you cuddle up again and pull your knees to your chest, you take your phone out to start investigating. chris follows your lead, and before you know it you're both silently tapping away at your phones, illuminating your focused faces.

all of your fatigue is now non-exist, and now you're wide awake with paranoia. or arousal. yet to be confirmed. it's evident that chris is in the same boat.

there's a long period of time where neither of you speak, and at some point chris had turned the t.v back on, volume low, filling in the white noise. whatever movie he started to play is about half way through when he finally speaks again, and for a second you were startled, forgetting about his presence. 

"why does matt get a nickname and i don't?" you can feel him looking at you, phone down. you exhale with contemplation and turn to him, wondering what triggered his question.

“huh?” you raise an eyebrow, his question coming out of the blue.

“just answer the question” he hurries his words.

“do you want a nickname?” you remark.

“i’m just saying, something other than asshole or dickhead might be nice for a change.” he sounds sassy through his words, and it does make you realize you've never approached him the same as you do his brothers.

admittedly, you've always assumed he can handle it. your words escape your mouth out of frustration most of the time. he's never been inherently bad toward you, he just knows how to say all the right things to piss you off.

“so you want me to call you, like, chrissy?” you try to match your nickname for matty and nicky, versions of their names you throw around more or less because chris hates it.

“mm, nah.” he scrunches his nose and shakes his head.

“how about like,” his words fall off with thought. chris smirks at you, a clear intrusive thought tempting his lips.

“daddy.” he blurts out, a slight croak in his suddenly deeper voice.

“you’re actually crazy if you think i’m calling you daddy" you emphasize the word sensually, but still impassively.

"what's crazy is that i didn't hate hearing you say it." he replies offhandedly.

you aren’t sure if it's a placebo effect or the aphrodisiac kicking in, but you flash back to chris tugging you toward his body, and suddenly you want to rewind, so you can throw yourself at him.

"do you think it's working?" you ask him with an outlandish desperate curiosity, aligning with the sudden shift in conversation.

“the freaky chocolate?” he asks, voice coarse and lightly croaky. you roll your eyes.

“no chris, the magic beans" your face drops to mirror the sarcasm seeping from your lips.

“i hate to break it to you but i think the chocolate is working” his shoulders jump with a small laugh. a devious laugh, like the next thought on his mind is one he has to hold back but can’t wait to say.

you raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to go on. 

“is it?” you have to prompt him before the silence gets too tense.

“considering i wanna tear your clothes right now, i think it is." he's awfully calm.

"are you just saying that?" you ask brusquely.

"do you want me to prove it?" he shifts to sit up in his spot, rubbing his thighs as he waits for your response, on the edge of standing up.

"i want you to stop messing with me." as you finish your sentence, chris stands up and slowly, painfully slow, and begins to walk closer to where you lay.

"for once, i'm not. it's just giving me the confidence to admit what's running through my head."

"you can form your own thoughts?" you act surprised.

"yeah that's funny, kid" he brushes off your joke.

"well, go on. what's running through that head of yours?" you reel him back in, curious for him to express what's on his mind. 

he steps up to the edge of the couch.

"that you look really good right now," his eyes are slightly squinted, and his head gives a slow nod, like he's agreeing with himself.

"you always do, honestly." he bounces one shoulder, as if it's not at all a big deal that he's complimenting you. something he simply does not do. he’s better at demanding praise rather than giving it.  

chris stands over you, looking down at your body. your legs are arched and heels are on the couch cushion, slouching slightly. your heart race quickens. 

there’s a weird, foreign confidence tingling through you. you clench your core, feeling your breathing become tight at the thought of being touched in any way right now. chris has always been attractive, you’re not blind. you just don't see eye to eye. 

you've definitely had a few dirty dreams about him, and on top of that the bickering you two do, it gives you a little kick of adrenaline. you just actively choose not to make it easy on him, and have no intention of changing just because you’re getting turned on.

"good enough to be my next late night snack." his words have a playful undertone, but the look in his eyes is serious, and hungry, and he leans down further.

"that doesn’t turn me on." you deride. 

“then i’ll keep talking until something does” his eyes widen slightly, like he’s daring himself with his prompt.

“is talking and eating all that mouth is good for?” the pure look you're giving him up through doe eyes, is making the smallest grin tug at his plump, peachy lips. all these little details about him that are being accentuated.

“eating, yeah” chris arches his body down, wrapping a hand around the back of the couch near your head and he casts a complete shadow over you. you shake your head with a disapproving attitude at his terrible frat boy attempt in dirty talk. 

“actions speak louder than words” you reply seductively. 

“is that an invite?” he gives a crooked smile and a head tilt, narrowing his eyes. 

“fortunately for you, it is.” giving him the green light, you part your legs open, luring him in.

the silk pyjama shorts you have on riding up to the crease of your hips, and the fact you're not wearing any underwear makes the experience all the more exciting. chris shuffles on his knees between your legs.

his hand makes contact with your skin, making you hot. he slides his touch from your knee, up your thigh and finally to your waistband. at the same time, he leans in, tilting to the left while you naturally find yourself leaning to the right.

"i really wanna taste you" his voice is dark, but sweet, and your lips brush his before finally pressing hard together.

you feel your body ease instantly to your own surprise, and the kiss is almost perfectly orient. he dominates your bottom lip, grazing over it with his tongue. 

there’s not a thought or care in the world from either of you. like there will be no repercussions after this, even though you're sure there will be. earlier in the night you were arguing over a pillow, and now, you’re fighting for dominance in a passionate makeout.

he juts further into your body with his hips, throwing your one leg he has in his hand over his waist, and you take the initiative to completely engulf his lower half. your heels dig into his lower back and pull him closer until his dick presses into your cunt.

the dark room and baggy sweats deceive you, his prominent boner pressing into you, making you moan into the kiss. his dick is already struggling to comfortably arch into your heat, restricted because of his clothes but also because his length clearly requires more room.

he immerses himself in your lips with the kiss, losing his composure and humming lowly with pleasure. your hands tangle into his hair, gripping his head and taking control of the kiss, bopping your heads in rhythm and chasing each other's mouths.

chris's hips grind down into you and you feel yourself become more needy, pushing up into him, to meet him where you both crave friction the most.

the grasp he has on your shorts loosens the moment he tugs them down. you thrust upward, levitating off the couch while still secure around his body to help him shuffle them off. the moment his eyes fixate on your naked heat, his jaw slacks open.

"wasn't expecting that" his voice shakes slightly, barely above a whisper.

“i don’t think either of us were expecting this” you get a little ego boost from how engrossed he is, and you give your hips a little wriggle to finally release from your shorts. 

“you’re right” chris tosses your shorts to the side with a chuckle at your words.

“i usually am” you blush, and he rolls his eyes.

his hands are dancing all over your legs, embracing how smooth they are, and the smell of your scented lotion. he's exploring every inch of you. feeling his hands stroke up your thigh, your hands start to tingle and your head starts to spin.

"you said you wanna taste me, right?" you snap his eyes back up to yours, and he trails his lips with his tongue, adding a pleading nod.

"go ahead, chrissy." you flaunt the pet name, knowing it's not what he wants to hear. he exhales a smile, but shakes his head with dejection.

“if this is gonna happen, i'm gonna need you to use another word.” he orders.

"you want me to call you baby?" you feign ignorance, feeling like you only temporarily have this leverage over him.

chris's face changes quickly from a naive, compliant stare, to a more serious one.

"hey, don't be smart," he grabs your jaw, giving you a squeeze. your sudden desire to be a smart mouth escapes in one swift breath, letting his grip tighten.

"i'll make you feel good, y/n" he pulls your face closer. 

you're willing to completely cave, and in the back of your mind you're convinced it's that dreadful chocolate's fault.

"just say it." he demands. your stomach flutters, a cold chill swirling through it.

the word is dancing on the tip of your tongue, but your stubbornness when it comes to chris has you struggling to spit it out. the dynamic has completely shifted, and at this point you're just delaying time.

it's almost like he knows your tactic, and strategically rolls his hips into you hard, making sure you feel his long hard cock against your cunt, shamelessly getting your wetness all over his sweatpants.

"daddy" you gasp against his open mouth, finally let it spill from your mouth, spiteing yourself for giving in to his dominance.

“good girl.” he smirks, pulling your face to his to slam a rough kiss together. your stomach knots at the sound of his gravelly voice.

you’re chasing him with your lips, a whine escaping as he pulls back, forcing you to tilt your head to the side. messily he begins kissing down your cheek, jaw, chin, neck. making his way further down your throat with his lips until he passes your collar bone, tugging and tearing at your shirt to meet your skin.

your body is arching into his and you’re trying to grasp at his hair, following his movements. watching and feeling him devour your skin with hungry kisses.

“so soft,” he mumbles against your lower stomach, just below your belly button.

“so sweet.” he praises, licking his lips before he grabs your knees, steadying himself at your heat. 

his face is situated between your thighs, but his hand is still on your face. he squeezes and grabs at your face, two fingers pushing into your mouth. you moan and take them across your tongue, wrapping your lips around his thick, warm fingers. 

wrapping your hand around his wrist, you tighten your grip when you feel chris’s mouth attach to your pussy, open and tongue flat against your folds. closing his mouth onto you, he sharpens his tongue and lets it flick side to side at a fast, aggressive pace. he’s letting pleasure-filled sounds escape from his mouth, humming and huffing when he needs to catch his breath.

“f-fuck, oh my god,” you throw your head back, pulling his fingers out of your mouth to speak but letting his hand fall to your chest. 

the feeling of him shaking his tongue so passionately against your cunt is making you need to hold your breath, to stop yourself from being loud. you feel yourself grow a more thick wetness between your legs, and his tongue scoops into your opening, swallowing every taste he can pick up.

“chris, chris, sh-shit” your voice trembles in a hushed tone, feeling a mix of overwhelming delight and panic of the reality of everything hitting you suddenly.

“what was that?” he pulls away for a second, asking with tease. his hand grabs your throat but his mouth is still eating you with desire, sucking and licking every inch he can travel over. 

“i’m not saying it again” you almost want to laugh, exhaling and twisting your face as you feel him wave over your clit, your body reacting by thrusting into his face. 

“oh you will” chris speaks smug, the tip of his nose taking over the pressure on your clit and he uses it to his advantage, keeping it there but simultaneously circling his tongue around and around just below your hood. 

suddenly, chris hooks his hands on the underside of both your knees, forcing you to flip over as he turns his body. his ass is planted on the floor, his back is pressed to the couch, and you’re straddling his face now. his head is resting on the couch cushion looking up, and you’re able to support yourself on your hands and knees, looking down.

chris groans into your pussy. his hands, firm, strong hands, grab your buttocks and drag you down onto his waiting mouth. you brace yourself against the armrest of the couch. when you look down, you gaze upon chris’s closed eyes, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, hair already a mess from where your thighs are messing it up. you add your hand to his scalp, lightly scratching and pulling.

“f-fuck, that feels good, s’good”, you whine, biting your hand to try and drown them out, while his tongue draws patterns into you, his nose still utter perfection against your clit. 

“you like this, huh? fucking my face with this pretty fucking pussy” his voice is so strained and laced with filth.

stifling your thrusts and thirsty grinds on his face is not an option, and you know that chris is taking some pride in receiving all of your wanton movements and paving them into a road of an earth-shattering orgasm. 

his hands don’t hold still, continually roaming your hot flesh, sometimes pressing you further into his face, sometimes dragging you away, always aiming for your best stimulation. his occasional moans vibrate your very core, making your pussy pulse with pleasure.

“more, more, more”, you beg breathlessly, and he gives it to you, but not without slapping a hard firm whip to your ass with the palm of his hand. 

“more, what?” he growls, smacking his lips together and swallowing your flavors.

“fuck you.” you groan.

“something you won’t get to do if you don’t start behaving” chris fully detaches his mouth from your dripping pussy and you try with all your efforts to roll into his face, to regain some friction. 

chris pulls back, and slaps your ass again hard. you wince, but more at the fact of how loud the impact is. the last thing you want is to wake anyone else up, especially in this position.

“more, daddy. fuck” you beg, still refusing to use manners. you’re both equally putting up a fight. with that, he gives it to you until your legs shake and your abs are tight. you are so, so close to coming, and you finally, blissfully do when chris’s tongue laps at your clit in just the right way.

“better.” you feel him smile against your pussy, as he then bites your inner thigh quickly. your orgasm draws much louder than you intended, hoarse groans out of you that eventually peter out into whimpers. 

chris doesn’t stop licking you, making your legs shake in the air. he only slows down and is as gentle as your sensitive clit needs after his hungry attack. you feel ready to collapse, so you carefully shimmy off his body, dropping backwards onto the lounge, feeling your skin sticky and sweaty. 

he follows you, clawing his way up the lounge to follow your body. he’s panting, wiping his mouth clean but staring down at his hands, admiring the glistening cum you’ve lathered his chin, cheeks and lips with. chris drops next to you, shoulder to shoulder. for once, you don’t want to push him away from you. you can hear his thundering heartbeat. you can feel his still hard cock against your ass.

“we should probably,” you’re trying to catch your breath as you speak, taking a moment.

“-should probably do something about that” you lazily point to his crotch, making him look down and gain a double chin as he notices what you’re mentioning. 

“you mean before the effects wear off?” chris huffs a laugh. you turn over to rest your head on his shoulder, looking up at him. 

“i mean before you start complaining about it” you reply jocosely, and he rests both of his hands behind his head.

“i’ve got nothing to complain about right now. not with the taste of you still on my tongue” he sounds genuine, like he’s still reminiscing about the act of eating you out.

“i’ve still got the taste of the chocolate lingering” you frown.

“we can fix that” chris turns into you, resting a hand on your waist. you take the prompt before he continues, and pull yourself onto his lap, straddling his thighs. 

you lower your face toward his chest, shuffling further down his lap while obtaining eye contact and watch as chris’ breath hitches. he bucks his hips forward lightly, making you bounce, and the way your tits react to the movement has him drooling.

he breathes out heavy through his nose, licking his lips and watching as you slide down toward his cock.

“my turn.”

[transform4u]

"Jerk"-ing Off

Elliot, a 38-year-old with a steadfast commitment to making a difference, has transitioned from a theatre major with Broadway aspirations to a dedicated lawyer. His days are spent navigating complex legal battles and championing causes close to his heart. Although his acting career is behind him, the creative spark from his theatre background continues to influence his approach to law and advocacy.

With his strikingly handsome features and sharp sense of style, Elliot has swapped the charisma of an actor for the precision of a lawyer. His square jaw and piercing blue eyes certainly draw attention, but it's his intellect and unwavering commitment to justice that truly define him. He has risen through the ranks of a prestigious law firm, specializing in cases against large corporations that exploit workers and damage the environment. From fighting for fair wages for underpaid employees to challenging unethical business practices, Elliot is relentless in his pursuit of justice for the little guy.

Despite the demands of his career, Elliot finds solace and excitement in his pro bono work. Whether defending a non-profit facing a lawsuit or advocating for environmental protection, he remains deeply connected to his values.

On weekends, Elliot blends relaxation with social engagement. He and his friends gather at his stylish apartment to enjoy craft cocktails and watch the latest season of Drag Race. Although he's not always up-to-date with the latest music trends, he finds motivation and energy in the classics.

One Friday evening, as Elliot works late on a case, the ping of an incoming email startles him. With a sigh of frustration, he mutters, "Christ, I can't deal with this. It's Friday—I want to hit the bars and relax."

Elliot, who had just celebrated his recent promotion, sits at his sleek, modern desk, still basking in the triumph over his coworker, Dahlia Voss. The promotion had come as a result of his quick wit and effortless charm, qualities that Dahlia had always resented. Unknown to Elliot, Dahlia harbored a deep-seated grudge and came from a long line of witches with formidable powers.

As he reviews his emails, Elliot notices one from Dahlia titled "ATTN: URGENT FROM DAHLIA, NEED TO STRAIGHT OUT ISSUE." Puzzled by the vague subject line, he clicks to open it. Suddenly, his laptop screen flickers erratically. The once smooth interface is now a chaotic swirl of error codes and cryptic messages: “SYSTEM MALFUNCTION,” “UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS DETECTED,” “CRITICAL ERROR: INSUFFICIENT PERMISSIONS.”

cast_spell(name, trait): spellbook = { 'cheerful': 'rude', 'timid': 'asshole', 'gay': 'straight', 'reserved': 'douchebag'

“ERROR: SYSTEM MALFUNCTION,” “WARNING: UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS,” “CRITICAL FAILURE: DATA CORRUPTION,” “ALERT: INTRUSION DETECTED - SECURITY BREACH”

A jolt of electricity courses through Elliot's body as his laptop emits a high-pitched whine before shutting down abruptly. He feels a sharp shock, and a wave of disorientation washes over him. At that moment, his phone buzzes with a text inviting him to after-hours drinks with friends.

His head begins to feel strange, as if it’s being enveloped in a slow, creeping fog. Thoughts and memories start to twist and turn uncontrollably in his mind. His once-clear recollections of high-profile cases and law school lectures blur and fade away. Instead, his brain fills with the distant, raucous cheers of a football game, the thudding of bodies wrestling, and the sweaty, intense faces of men in athletic struggle.

The noise crescendos in his mind as he struggles to piece together his identity. The cheers and grunts of a football game blend with the visceral, primal sounds of wrestling matches. Sweat and exertion fill his thoughts, displacing his professional ambitions with a foggy, chaotic blend of sports and physical combat. A text message pings "Meet us at the bar, now!"

He stumbles toward the elevator, disoriented and heavy-limbed. His usual grace is replaced by a deep grunt of frustration as he presses the down button with a sense of growing urgency. The memories of his career and his aspirations dissolve, leaving only the raw, physical sensations of the moment.

As Elliot descends in the elevator, the transformation unfolds with a riveting intensity. His face, once marked by the subtle creases of age and the weight of experience, starts to smoothen like a sculptor's marble. The fine lines and traces of stress vanish, replaced by a strikingly chiseled visage. His boyish charm fades, giving way to a more rugged, angular allure that demands both awe and respect. His hair, previously a paragon of slicked-back sophistication, begins to dissolve into a casual, faded undercut. The meticulous grooming that once spoke of refined elegance yields to a less polished but deliberately styled fade, embodying a new, relaxed defiance.

The metamorphosis of his facial features is nothing short of breathtaking: his jawline, once defined by subtle strength, becomes a bold, commanding presence. The contours sharpen into a formidable edge, accentuated by a pronounced cleft in his chin that adds a raw, magnetic force to his profile. His bright blue eyes, once warm and engaging, narrow into a self-assured squint. The charismatic gleam now shifts to a smug, condescending glint, reflecting an unshakable sense of superiority. His eyebrows, once simply well-groomed, transform into thick, expressive arches that cast a skeptical, judgmental shadow over his gaze, enhancing his air of disdain.

Elliot's mind drifts through the haze of transformation, and a poignant memory surfaces. He recalls a passionate monologue he delivered on the rights of gay business owners—his voice fervent and impassioned, each word carefully chosen to convey his deep conviction. The memory is vivid: he stands before an audience, his expression intense, his gestures animated as he argues for equality and respect with an unwavering commitment.

But as the elevator descends further, that memories in his mind begin to blur. The fervent words and righteous passion gradually fade, replaced by simpler, more visceral experiences. The scene shifts to one of indulgence: Elliot is surrounded by friends at a lively sports bar, his hands gripping a cold beer. The atmosphere is loud, filled with the clamor of cheering fans and the clinking of glasses. His focus is on the game, his conversation peppered with jokes and banter, the tension of advocacy replaced by the ease of casual enjoyment.

His nose, once understated, reshapes into a larger, slightly hooked form, perfectly complementing the new strength of his jawline. The well-defined features now project a dominant, imposing presence that demands attention. His mouth curls into a smug grin, radiating a newfound air of superiority. The bright, white teeth remain perfectly aligned, but they now underscore his casual arrogance, turning each smile into a declaration of his elevated status.

The shift is mirrored in his clothing as well: his neatly tailored work attire—once the epitome of professional elegance—disappears, replaced by loud, attention-seeking frat bro garb. His crisp dress shirt and tie vanish, giving way to a snug, brightly colored graphic t-shirt adorned with crude slogans. Tailored slacks transform into baggy cargo shorts, and polished dress shoes morph into worn-out sneakers. The overall look exudes a garish, flamboyant flair, complete with flashy accessories and a baseball cap that complete his new, ostentatious ensemble.

As the elevator doors slide open, Elliot—now a towering figure at 6'4"—lets out a loud, brash buuuuuuurp. His frame grows a bit larger and more robust, and his feet, now a daunting 13 inches, thud heavily on the floor. He steps out with a new, clumsy confidence, his posture broader and his steps more pronounced.

As Elliot steps out of the elevator, the world around him blurs, and a dense fog begins to settle over his mind. His thoughts, once sharp and discerning, start to muddle and dissipate, replaced by a growing fog of confusion. The intellectual vigor that once defined him dissolves into a dull, primitive haze. His once complex thoughts shrink into a simpler, more childish state, dominated by basic desires and impulsive whims.

With every step, Elliot feels a sneer tug at the corners of his mouth as he catches his reflection in a window pane. The face staring back at him is a stark contrast to his former self. His features have grown more juvenile, and the sharpness of his previous demeanor has softened into a simpler, almost vacuous expression. His body, once trim and well-defined, now appears pasty and weak, lacking the muscle tone and robustness he had grown accustomed to. The sight is both alien and unsettling, yet there's an odd sense of acceptance creeping in, as though his new appearance is starting to fit a simpler narrative.

Entering the bar, Elliot is immediately enveloped by the low hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. His movements are clumsy as he makes his way to the bar, where he grabs a cold beer with a sense of vague satisfaction. He drifts to an empty seat next to Dahlia, who sits with a poised elegance that starkly contrasts with Elliot’s new, awkward demeanor.

Dahlia is striking in her appearance: her auburn hair cascades in sleek waves, framing a face that is both sharply intelligent and subtly predatory. Her eyes, a dark and penetrating brown, watch Elliot with an inscrutable expression. As he sits down, she glances at him with a smirk and says, “Elliot, have you been working out?”

The question causes a deep blush to spread across Elliot’s cheeks, though it’s quickly overshadowed by a sharp pang of pain in his stomach. The pain is sudden and intense, sending a jolt of discomfort through his body. He winces, feeling as if his entire frame is being twisted by an invisible force. As he tries to shake off the discomfort, Dahlia leans closer and whispers a cryptic incantation:

“Mirror, mirror, in this light, Reflect the change within my sight. Let each encounter subtly show, Traits of the past to ebb and flow. Let them see, let them adjust, To echoes of old in ways discussed. As they speak, let change unfold, Transforming hearts with memories bold"

As she hands Elliot the drink, the pain in his body intensifies momentarily, a visceral reminder of his altered state. But then, a strange clarity begins to seep through the haze of his mind. The idea of working out, once foreign and disjointed, starts to resonate with an odd sense of understanding. It makes sense now, in a way it never did before—a new, simple logic that aligns with the primitive thoughts now swirling in his head. His body aches, but a newfound sense of purpose begins to take shape, as if the idea of physical exertion is suddenly a natural fit for his newly simplified self.

As Elliot finishes the last gulp of his drink, the rich, frothy beer swirls around his senses, sending a wave of warmth through his chest. With a deep, resonant burp that escapes him, he feels a jolt of raw, uninhibited energy. He casually begins to engage with the women around him, each conversation acting as a catalyst for further transformation.

The first woman, a vivacious redhead with an easy smile, drifts toward him, her eyes sparkling with interest. “You know,” she begins, her tone teasing, “you remind me of this guy I used to see. He was all about hitting the gym and flexing his muscles in every mirror he passed. Couldn’t get enough of himself, but he sure had a presence.”

As she speaks, Elliot’s neck begins to thicken and swell, growing into a powerful column that seamlessly transitions into broad, formidable shoulders. The deltoids swell like sculpted marble, rippling with every subtle movement, while the trapezius muscles rise in a majestic sweep. His new shoulders create a stunning silhouette, exuding a primal power that commands attention.

Another woman, a striking brunette with a no-nonsense attitude, saunters over with a glass of wine. “Oh my god, you’re totally giving me vibes of this guy I dated, always talking about his ‘swole’ arms and how he could bench press his body weight. He was like a walking billboard for gym supplements.”

As Elliot engages with her, his biceps begin to come into sharp focus. They swell into vast, commanding peaks that defy natural laws, each flex revealing a tapestry of sinew and strength. His triceps become equally impressive, forming a trio of defined heads that speak of relentless discipline. His forearms thicken and cord, veins pulsing with every beat of his heart.

A third woman, with fiery red hair and a lively spirit, sidles up next to him. “You’ve got this aura like my ex who was always bragging about his ‘chest day.’ His pecs were so grand, you’d think he’d been chiseled by a sculptor. He’d puff out his chest like he was king of the world.”

Elliot’s chest responds to her description, expanding in a display of anatomical artistry. His pectorals grow grand and expansive, pushing outward and upward in majestic waves. The separation between the upper and lower pectorals becomes as clear as a sculptor’s chisel work, forming an imposing V-shape that demands reverence.

A fourth woman, with an elegant demeanor and a hint of mystery in her eyes, approaches him. “You know, this guy I once knew had this incredible six-pack that seemed almost too perfect. He’d talk about how his abs were his ‘pride and joy.’ It’s like he had some secret to keeping them so defined.”

Elliot’s abdominal muscles respond with a powerful definition. Each segment becomes sharp and distinct, forming an impressive six-pack—or perhaps an eight-pack—that’s etched with the clarity of celestial engravings. His obliques carve out a V-shaped expanse, their definition a bold statement of core strength and stability.

As Elliot’s back grows more defined, a woman with a sultry voice and a commanding presence joins the group. “You remind me of a guy I dated whose back was like a work of art. His lats were so broad, they gave him this incredible V-shape. His shoulders and back were all about that powerful, muscular look.”

His back swells to match her description, the latissimus dorsi expanding into a dramatic V-shape that broadens his frame. The rhomboids and rear deltoids create a complex landscape of muscular peaks and valleys, each contour a testament to his dedication and hard work.

Finally, a confident woman with a warm smile and a casual demeanor takes a seat next to him. “I used to date this guy who had legs that were just massive. His quads were so defined, it was like he was built to run marathons or something. His calves were just as impressive.”

Elliot’s legs transform to match her description. The quadriceps bulge with impressive prominence, their individual heads clearly delineated with every movement. The hamstrings balance this power with their sinewy bulk, and his calves, now thick and robust, round out this vision of lower body development.

With each new encounter and description, Elliot’s body becomes a marvel of muscular excellence. His waist, though narrow compared to his robust upper body, accentuates his grandeur, while his glutes and hips provide a solid, unshakeable foundation. His entire physique, from the sweeping curves of his shoulders to the powerful bulge of his legs, embodies a profound blend of strength, dedication, and sheer, unadulterated muscle.

As Elliot surveys himself in the bar’s reflective window pane, with a final, deep buuuuuurp, he embraces his new persona, feeling the full force of his muscular form as he moves through the night.

Elliot stands confidently at the bar, chatting up a pretty brunette. She laughs at his jokes and seems to be enjoying his company. As they talk, Elliot can't help but feel a surge of pride - he knows he looks good and could easily get any guy in the room if he wanted to.

Suddenly, another girl approaches them. "Hey! You look just like my ex," she says with a sneer. "He was such a dumb homophobe! Total jerk."

Elliot's mind starts to melt as her words sink in. He can't believe she would compare him to someone so despicable - after all, he has always been an advocate for equality and tolerance throughout his life… or so he thought.

Elliot's mind reels as the girl's words cut deep. He had always prided himself on being different, on standing up for what he believed in - even if it meant going against societal norms. But now, all of that seems meaningless in the face of this girl's insult.

As she walks away from him, laughing along with her friends, Elliot feels a deep sense of betrayal. He had helped so many people throughout his life - gays included - and yet here he was being called out for something he never even thought about before tonight: his own sexuality. The memories of rooting for the little guy and supporting those who were different from him fade away into oblivion as anger takes over every fiber of his being.

Without hesitation or remorse, Elliot turns towards the group of laughing girls and launches into a lengthy rant about how much he hates fags.

"Gay people are disgusting," he continues, gesturing wildly with his hands for emphasis. "They ruin everything they touch! They should be ashamed of themselves for going against nature like that."

The rage boiling within Elliot is palpable; it feels like his entire body is on fire with anger and hatred towards gay people. He can barely contain himself as he launches into this tirade, forgetting about the girl who started it all and focusing solely on venting his pent-up frustrations onto anyone who will listen.

His voice booms through the bar as he spews venomous words about how disgusting gay people are and how they ruin everything they touch. He talks about their sinful lifestyle choices that go against nature itself.

As Elliot lingers in the dimly lit bar, the fog in his mind thickens, obscuring the remnants of his former self. His name slips from his thoughts, replaced by an overwhelming sense of self-importance and superiority. The transformation in his demeanor is palpable; his once charming, easygoing attitude has hardened into an abrasive display of arrogance and entitlement. He flexes his newly sculpted muscles with an almost comical pride, his powerful biceps and chiseled torso a constant, conspicuous exhibition of his perceived dominance.

He approaches women with a swagger that borders on obnoxious. His conversations are marked by a brazen self-assuredness, his every word dripping with the sort of superficial charm that masks a deep-seated condescension. His eyes narrow into a smug squint as he engages with each new woman, their descriptions of past boyfriends acting as catalysts for his transformation into a quintessential frat bro.

The first woman he talks to is a striking blonde with a flirtatious air. “You know,” she says with a teasing smile, “you remind me so much of this guy I dated who was all about ‘bro culture.’ He was obsessed with his gym routine and would never stop bragging about his arms and pecs and getting swole. Thought he was the king of the world.”

As she speaks, Elliot’s body undergoes a significant change. His neck, already thick and powerful, transitions seamlessly into broad shoulders that form a formidable foundation. His deltoids swell like sculpted marble, and his trapezius muscles rise in a majestic sweep. His personality shifts as well, taking on a brashness and confidence that becomes increasingly abrasive.

"That's right, beautiful," Elliot says with a smirk. "I'm all about the gains and getting swole - what can I say? It's just who I am."

He flexes his newly developed biceps for her, making sure she gets a good look at them. "And if you think these are impressive," he continues, pointing to his chest and abs, "just wait until you see the rest of me!"

A second woman, with dark, intense eyes and a straightforward demeanor, saunters over. “You’re giving me serious vibes of this guy I used to see. He was always talking about how ‘tough’ he was, how he could bench press a ton. His whole thing was being the toughest guy in the room, and he’d never let anyone forget it.”

Elliot’s biceps swell into vast, commanding peaks, and his triceps become equally impressive, forming a trio of defined heads. His forearms thicken and cord, veins bulging with each movement. His personality evolves further, his interactions marked by a superficial charm that veers into patronizing territory. He boasts about his perceived physical prowess, showing off with a dismissive air that belittles anyone who dares to challenge his views.

Next, a tall woman with a sultry voice and a sarcastic edge approaches. “Oh, you remind me of this guy who was all about showing off his chest. He’d strut around with his pectorals puffed out, always talking about his ‘chest day’ and how everyone else should just be in awe of his muscles.”

As the night wears on, Elliot’s drinking catches up with him. His initial charm starts to fade under the haze of alcohol, and he becomes increasingly boisterous. His speech grows louder and less coherent, his once-smooth demeanor now replaced with exaggerated movements and a clumsy swagger. He sways slightly as he moves, his tan and perfectly gelled hair looking more disheveled by the minute.

Spotting another woman across the room, Elliot makes his way over with a confident but unsteady gait. “Heyyy! What’s up, gorgeous?” he bellows, his voice carrying over the thumping music. “I’m Ellio---burrrp. You look like you’re having an epic time. Mind if I join you?”

The next woman, Emily, responds with a hesitant smile. “Sure, but just so you know, my last boyfriend was a real nightmare. He was always dismissing my feelings and had this insufferable attitude that made every conversation feel like an interrogation.”

“Ugh, sounds like he was a total loser,” he says, his voice dripping with dismissive disdain. “Seriously, who even treats someone like that? Must’ve been hard for you to deal with someone so self-absorbed.”

His behavior becomes more overbearing as he takes a swig from his drink, barely hiding his smirk. “You know what? It’s no wonder he was a nightmare. He probably couldn’t handle someone with real personality. I bet he was just jealous of you. I mean, who wouldn’t be? You’re fucking hot, those tits are primo"

Leaning in closer with a swagger that reeks of entitlement, Elliot continues, “But you’re with me now, so you don’t have to worry about those kinds of guys. I’m not just any guy—I’m a total catch. I mean, look at me! Perfect tan, chiseled abs, and I’m living the high life. I can’t imagine why anyone would act like that when they could be with someone as amazing as me.”

As Elliot moves on to the next woman, Lauren, his approach becomes more animated. “Hey, I couldn’t help but notice your vibe. Want to grab a drink with me?” he asks with a broad grin, his casual demeanor now mixed with a bit more enthusiasm.

Lauren’s expression tightens. “My ex was such a jerk. He was obsessed with himself, always talking about his achievements and never really paying attention to me. It was like dating a human trophy case.”

Elliot’s response is more energetic now. “Man, that’s brutal. You deserve someone who really gets you. By the way, I’m really into fitness and partying hard. You should come out with me sometime. I’ve got some epic moves that you just have to see to believe!” He leans in, flexing his biceps as he talks, his attempt to impress becoming increasingly overt.

By the time Elliot meets Megan, his transformation into the quintessential Jersey Shore frat bro is nearly complete. “Hey, check out these abs!” he exclaims, dramatically flexing his muscles. “So, what’s your dating history like?”

Megan looks annoyed. “My last boyfriend was a total mess. He was super controlling, always trying to dictate what I should do, and his idea of fun was just belittling anyone who didn’t share his views.”

Elliot’s demeanor shifts to one of self-righteousness. “Oh, I hear you. You know, I’m all about strong values and living life right. Let me tell you about my faith and how it shapes everything I do. It’s important to have principles and stand by them, don’t you think? And if you’re up for it, we can hit the gym together—I’ve got a killer routine that’ll really get you in shape.” His voice is louder now, and he begins to adopt a more exaggerated, boastful tone. His flashy clothes and confident swagger are on full display, complete with a series of gold chains that jingle with every movement.

With each encounter, Elliot’s interactions evolve from casual charm to overtly flashy and judgmental, embodying the full spectrum of the Jersey Shore frat bro persona. He now shouts “Bro, do you even lift?” to anyone within earshot, and his conversations revolve around his gym exploits, his supposedly imminent rise to fame, and his rigid views on morality. His once-charming approach has devolved into an obnoxious display of self-importance, making it clear that he believes he’s the life of the party and the king of the scene, despite how others view his increasingly disruptive presence.

Another woman,Stacy, elegant yet assertive. “You’re like this guy I dated who was always talking about his abs. He thought his six-pack was his greatest achievement and never missed an opportunity to flaunt it.”

Elliot’s abdominal muscles come into sharp focus, forming an impressive six-pack—or perhaps an eight-pack—that’s etched with clarity. His obliques carve out a bold V-shaped expanse, his abdominal fortress a statement of core strength. His demeanor shifts to reflect a heightened arrogance, his conversations increasingly dismissive of others’ opinions, especially women’s.

A final woman, with a commanding presence and an air of confidence, takes a seat beside him. “You’ve got that same vibe as this guy I used to know. His back was his pride, and he’d always talk about how his lats made him look like a superhero. He had this whole ‘alpha male’ thing going on.”

Elliot’s back expands into a vista of muscular splendor, the latissimus dorsi creating a dramatic V-shape that broadens his frame. His shoulders and back are now a testament to his dedication and hard work, his entire physique a harmonious blend of strength and dominance. His interactions become increasingly aggressive and confrontational, his behavior driven by a sense of entitlement and a belief that his place in the social hierarchy grants him respect and privileges.

As he continues to flex and flaunt, his personality is a cauldron of arrogance and self-entitlement. He navigates conversations with a dismissive attitude, his interactions marked by a superficial charm that quickly turns patronizing. His views are conveyed with a conviction that leaves little room for empathy or genuine connection. Women’s opinions are secondary, often brushed aside with a smirk or a sarcastic quip. He is boastful, aggressive, and confrontational, driven by a sense of superiority and entitlement that colors every interaction.

His behavior is a reflection of deeper insecurities masked by bravado, a superficial facade that prioritizes status and appearances over meaningful human connection. Each interaction with the women in the bar further entrenches him in his new persona, reinforcing his belief that his physical form and traditional values entitle him to a special place of respect and admiration.

Elliot can't help but check himself out in the mirror as he walks towards the bar. His reflection shows a man who is not only physically impressive but also confident and charming. The muscles that bulge beneath his tight shirt are proof of his dedication to fitness, while his smirk reveals an air of superiority that comes with being so attractive.

As Elliot sits down at the bar, he feels a surge of pride wash over him. He knows he looks good - really good - and it's hard not to let that go to his head sometimes. He laughs at stupid jokes just because they make people laugh, even though deep down inside he knows they aren't funny at all… But who cares? Life is about having fun and enjoying yourself!

Feeling particularly horny tonight, Elliot tugs on his dick through his pants as discreetly as possible (or so he thinks). To his surprise (and delight), it grows harder than ever before underneath all that fabric… This must mean one thing: girls are going to love him tonight! With each passing moment spent admiring himself in the mirror or chatting up random girls at the bar, Elliot ages back towards 21 – becoming more like an obnoxious frat bro than ever before.

Elliot strode across the bar with a swagger that made the room's energy shift. His gaze locked onto Dahlia, who was striking in a fitted top that accentuated her curves. To Elliot, she now seemed irresistibly alluring, her every movement catching his eye. His thoughts raced, consumed by a physical attraction that clouded his judgment and inflamed his desire.

Dahlia’s outfit clung tightly to her frame, her cleavage barely contained by the low-cut neckline. Elliot’s focus was fixated, his pulse quickening as he felt a surge of arousal. As he approached, his gaze wandered unabashedly over her, a smirk forming on his lips.

“Hey, sexy lady. What’s up?” Elliot’s voice was dripping with bravado, his attempt at charm masking a more primal urge.

Dahlia met his approach with an air of practiced confidence, her eyes scanning him from head to toe with a mix of amusement and appraisal. Her demeanor was calm and calculated, clearly enjoying the effect she had on him. “What’s your name, big guy?”

Elliot faltered, momentarily thrown by the question. “Uhhhh—” he stammered, momentarily disoriented. His usual ease seemed to waver under Dahlia’s cool gaze.

Dahlia’s lips curled into a twisted smile. “Not much of a thinker, are ya?” she taunted. “You’re just a big, dumb Jersey Shore jerk, Jayden.”

In an instant, Elliot's identity seemed to dissolve, replaced by the persona of Jayden. The transition was seamless, as if the name had always been a part of him. Jayden’s life was now marked by a different kind of swagger—a brash, overt confidence that bordered on arrogance.

Jayden reveled in his new persona, seeing himself as a quintessentially superior figure. His world was framed by his appearance and a self-assured, if superficial, view of his own importance. He strutted with the belief that his physicality and forceful personality entitled him to admiration and respect. In his mind, his “Jersey Shore” persona represented an ideal of dominance and entitlement, far removed from any introspection or vulnerability.

Jayden’s existence was characterized by a relentless pursuit of validation and a dismissal of anything that didn’t align with his inflated self-image. He was the loudest voice in the room, certain that his presence alone justified his elevated status.

Jayden’s life is a vivid tableau of flashy appearances and brash self-assurance. His daily existence revolves around a carefully curated persona of overconfidence and bravado. To him, every interaction is a chance to assert his dominance and flaunt his perceived superiority. His world is marked by a relentless pursuit of admiration and validation, driven by the belief that he is inherently better than those around him.

He lives in a high-rise apartment decorated with gaudy, ostentatious furnishings, the kind that screams luxury without much regard for taste. His wardrobe is full of designer clothes and flashy accessories—bright, logo-heavy shirts, tight jeans, and meticulously styled hair. His reflection in the mirror is a constant reminder of his self-image, one that he admires with almost obsessive pride.

Jayden’s social life is an extension of his persona. He frequents the hottest nightclubs and bars, always seeking the spotlight and reveling in the attention he receives. His conversations are peppered with boasts about his latest conquests, his supposed achievements, and his enviable lifestyle. He believes that his physical appearance and showy demeanor make him the center of attention, and he expects admiration and deference from everyone he meets.

In his interactions, Jayden is dismissive and condescending. He sees himself as the epitome of success and status, and he treats others as if they exist solely to validate his greatness. His relationships are shallow, built on surface-level connections that reinforce his self-image rather than genuine emotional bonds.

Jayden’s belief in his superiority extends to every facet of his life. He’s convinced that his charm, physicality, and wealth place him on a higher plane than others. His confidence, however, is not just a part of his personality but a necessary shield against the deeper insecurities he harbors. He masks any self-doubt with an aggressive display of arrogance and entitlement.

He dismisses anyone who challenges his inflated sense of self or fails to show him the respect he feels he deserves. His interactions are often laced with sarcasm and a patronizing tone, particularly when faced with opinions or ideas that contradict his own. Jayden’s worldview is simplistic, revolving around the belief that his success and appearance make him inherently superior.

In essence, Jayden’s life is a carefully constructed facade of dominance and self-importance, a constant performance designed to convince himself and others of his unparalleled greatness. Despite this outward display of confidence, his sense of superiority is ultimately a fragile defense against his own insecurities and fears of inadequacy.

Jayden hits on Dahlia, treating her like shit. He grabs her and starts making out with her. As they kiss, something strange happens - Dahlia's hair goes from black to platinum blonde! Her clothes also get sluttier and sluttier as she becomes more and more aroused by Jayden's touch.

A fog descends on Dahlia's mind as she too grows dumber and more vapid, forgetting her name in the process. All that matters now is moaning loudly while feeling up Jayden's arm muscles. Dahlia is gone and she is reborn as Krystal, a vapid dumb bimbo. Magic always has a price.

Jayden's muscles are impressive to say the least. His biceps bulge with every flex, and his abs ripple beneath his skin as he moves. Dahlia can't help but feel drawn to them, her hands instinctively reaching out to touch and explore every inch of his body.

She starts by running her fingers along the contours of his chest, marveling at how defined each muscle is. Then she moves down towards his stomach, tracing the lines of his six-pack before finally settling on gripping one of his biceps tightly. She squeezes it hard as if testing its strength - or perhaps just trying to feel closer to him…

Jayden and Krystal passionately make out, their tongues dancing in each other's mouths. He grabs her by the waist and pulls her closer, feeling her firm ass against his crotch.

Jayden's muscles are the epitome of masculinity. His biceps bulge with every flex, and his abs ripple beneath his skin as he moves. He is confident and brash, oozing testosterone with every word that leaves his mouth.

As they dance together, Jayden can't help but show off his physique - flexing those hard-earned muscles for all to see. His attitude matches the power he possesses; cocky and arrogant, yet undeniably attractive in a way that makes women weak at the knees…

"Oh fuck yeah," he groans into her ear. "You're so hot."

Krystal moans loudly as she grinds against him, unable to contain herself any longer. "Take me home," she pants breathlessly. "I want you inside me right now."

Jayden chuckles before picking Krystal up bridal style and carrying her towards the exit of the bar. Once they're outside, he slams her against a nearby wall and starts kissing down her neck while groping at every inch of exposed skin

Jayden treats Krystal like shit as he fucks her, demeaning her and being rude and crude. He's a total jerk throughout their encounter.

"Take off your clothes," Jayden demands, his voice rough with lust.

Krystal hesitates for a moment before obeying, stripping down to reveal her naked body for him. She's already wet and ready for him, her breath coming in short gasps as she anticipates what's to come.

Jayden wastes no time in pushing Krystal against the wall and roughly kissing her neck while groping at every inch of exposed skin - squeezing her breasts roughly and pinching her nipples until they stand at attention. He grinds his hard cock against her moist pussy through their clothes, eliciting a moan from deep within Krystal's throat as she throws back her head in ecstasy

"You like that, slut?" Jayden growls into Krystal's ear as he continues to pound into her. "Tell me you want it!"

Krystal moans loudly in response, unable to form coherent words due to the intense pleasure coursing through her body. Her hands clutch at Jayden's shoulders, nails digging into his skin as she tries desperately not to scream out loud.

"Fuck yes," she manages after a moment. "Please… don't stop."

Jayden chuckles darkly before picking up the pace even more - thrusting deeper and harder than before with each stroke of his hips against hers.

After they finish, Jayden tosses her some money before walking out of the room. "Thanks for the hookup, whore" he says casually as if she was just another piece of meat to him.

Jayden heads straight to the gym afterward, eager to show off his muscles and work on getting even bigger. He spends hours lifting weights, focusing solely on himself and his body - ignoring everyone else around him.

[ryescapades]

I am so hopelessly in love with Narumi 😩❤️ he’s such a dork

Could you maybe do Narumi taking us on a date please 🥺👉🏽👈🏽 it would be so cute to see him fumble over his words tryna be all tough while he’s hiding how much of a simp he really is.

a/n: was planning on posting this tmr but since its 500 followers day today, i gib yall narumi as a present 🫴 tqsm anon !! i hope i did your request justice tho

the fact that you’re dating narumi gen isn't a secret in the defense force, per se. it's just that you never really flaunted your relationship because the two of you aren't the type to overdo the pda that much.

though you'd argue that gen would immediately stick himself to your side if he so much as catches sight of you in his peripheral. but nevertheless, the most you two would be doing out in the open is just narumi wrapping an arm around your waist as you explain to him about the findings you'd made that day, professionalism still bleeding out of your mannerisms.

intimacy behind closed doors and away from prying eyes is always the sweetest, you'd learned (read: narumi just doesn't want people to see how much of a putty he'd been reduced to whenever he's with you. he has a reputation to uphold, after all).

hence seeing him suddenly and openly asks you out during office hours kind of brings everyone to an immediate stop.

"hey. get ready in ten."

that's all he'd said, after bursting through the operation room door and marching to where you're currently working. you try not to cringe at the way the other officers in the room stare curiously and in interest at the two of you.

"excuse me?" you blink. narumi repeats his statement, making you gape even wider in disbelief. "gen, i'm still working. and you're..." you quietly trail off, eyes questioningly roving over his figure that's still clad in his numbers weapon 1 suit.

he only stands straighter, the looming bayonet in his hand is held carefully so that it's not bumping against the tables and shelves around him. by his stubborn stance, you know you're not winning this one.

and thus, you find yourself at a small family restaurant in the nearest neighborhood located in the inlands of koto city, shoulders brushing together as you sit beside narumi who is now dressed in the usual defense force uniform (you guys will eventually have to go back to work in a few hours, sadly).

"you know... we've been together for months. why do you look like you're taking me to our first date?" you say out of nowhere, mindlessly staring as plates upon plates of delicious food are being served in front of you. your mouth waters at the sight.

oh, forgot to mention how red your boyfriend has been for the past thirty minutes. he barely even looked at you ever since the two of you left the headquarters, opting to hide his eyes under the foggy grey of his bangs.

narumi seems genuinely triggered by your question. "h-hah?! i don't look like that! what the hell are you talking about?! maybe you just couldn't stop looking at me because i'm so good-looking, huh? i knew it!" he gloats, trying to play it off but his hand grips the chopstick so tightly you're worried they might snap in halves.

"gen, i could feel you hesitating to hold my hand one too many times when we were walking earlier." you point out with a teasing smile, sending him into a frenzy of offended swears as you secretly eye the way the tips of his ears are tinted pink.

a wave of emotions rush through you as he continues to grumpily denies your claim, your chest suddenly feeling tight with how fast your heart is beating.

narumi's ramblings stop when you reach a hand out to tenderly hold his face, the other moves to run through his hair back to reveal the beautiful pair of rouge eyes that you've grown to love. "there’s my baby." you giggle.

it's like someone has turned up the dial on his internal embarrassment thermostat to maximum, his insides are almost set ablaze at your loving gaze. "w-what are you saying, you—!" blood shoots up to his cheeks, painting the soft skin a pretty shade of red.

saving himself from further humiliation, narumi pulls away from your touch and bites out, "start eating or i'll finish everything so you won't get to eat at all!"

you take note of the small adorable pout on his lips, and that each one of the food he shoves onto your plate is your favorite kind.

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[shakespearesdaughters]

“I will love you as a thief loves a gallery and as a crow loves a murder, as a cloud loves bats and as a range loves braes. I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong. I will love you as a battlefield loves young men and as peppermints love your allergies, and I will love you as the banana peel loves the shoe of a man who was just struck by a shingle falling off a house. I will love you as a volunteer fire department loves rushing into burning buildings and as burning buildings love to chase them back out, and as a parachute loves to leave a blimp and as a blimp operator loves to chase after it.

I will love you as a dagger loves a certain person’s back, and as a certain person loves to wear dagger proof tunics, and as a dagger proof tunic loves to go to a certain dry cleaning facility, and how a certain employee of a dry cleaning facility loves to stay up late with a pair of binoculars, watching a dagger factory for hours in the hopes of catching a burglar, and as a burglar loves sneaking up behind people with binoculars, suddenly realizing that she has left her dagger at home.

I will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp, and as a gasping person loves a glass of brandy to calm their nerves, and as a glass of brandy loves to shatter on the floor, and as the noise of glass shattering loves to make someone else gasp, and as someone else gasping loves a nearby desk to lean against, even if leaning against it presses a lever that loves to open a drawer and reveal a secret compartment. I will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and until all the secrets have gone gasping into the world. I will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled. I will love you until every fire is extinguised and until every home is rebuilt from the handsomest and most susceptible of woods, and until every criminal is handcuffed by the laziest of policemen. I will love until M. hates snakes and J. hates grammar, and I will love you until C. realizes S. is not worthy of his love and N. realizes he is not worthy of the V. I will love you until the bird hates a nest and the worm hates an apple, and until the apple hates a tree and the tree hates a nest, and until a bird hates a tree and an apple hates a nest, although honestly I cannot imagine that last occurrence no matter how hard I try.

I will love you as we grow older, which has just happened, and has happened again, and happened several days ago, continuously, and then several years before that, and will continue to happen as the spinning hands of every clock and the flipping pages of every calendar mark the passage of time, except for the clocks that people have forgotten to wind and the calendars that people have forgotten to place in a highly visible area. I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where we once we were so close that we could slip the curved straw, and the long, slender spoon, between our lips and fingers respectively.

I will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from slim to zero, and until your face is fogged by distant memory, and your memory faced by distant fog, and your fog memorized by a distant face, and your distance distanced by the memorized memory of a foggy fog. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, no matter where you avoid and who you don’t see, and no matter who sees you avoiding where you go. I will love you no matter what happens to you, and no matter how I discover what happens to you, and no matter what happens to me as I discover this, and now matter how I am discovered after what happens to me as I am discovering this.” ― Lemony Snicket

[bcyhoods]

could I please request steve and shy!reader and her first time staying the night at his place? lots of timid cuddling and just overall sweetness? I loved your first steeb drabble!

ohemgee yay i’m so glad you liked it!! thank u for for such a cute req, i hope i did it justice🫡 | 1k fluff, gn!reader

You were going crazy, without a doubt. You’ve already finished showering, but you’ve been locked away in his bathroom for 15 minutes. The pep talk you’re giving yourself in the foggy mirror does nothing to calm flutter in your stomach.

“Everything okay, honey?” You hear Steve call from down the corridor.

“Yes—Yeah, I’m okay!” The words are rushed and clumsy as the nickname runs through your head on repeat. And while you’re about to sleep in his room for the first time, it’s too domestic for your racing heart. You hope he doesn’t notice.

Giving yourself one final nod of scarce confidence, you pull open the door and softly let it close behind you. You’re practically walking on the balls of your feet so as not to make any noise.

When you peek into his room, you see the plain of Steve’s back facing toward you. You let your gaze shamelessly trace through the freckles and moles that grace his skin, then to the muscles that tense in his biceps as he fluffs one of his pillows. He’s mumbling to himself as he punches and pulls at the cushion.

Once you push past the door, he turns like he’s a child caught stealing the last cookie from the jar. He’s doe eyed with flushed cheeks and messy hair.

“Hey, there you are,” he sings with a gentle smile.

“Hi.” You timidly wave with a smile just as sweet.

“I was getting worried,” he starts as he meets you by the door, “Started to think you fell in or something.” Steve laughs it off, but there’s a small twitch in his eyebrows that threatens to expose his nerves.

Because while you were in the bathroom, Steve had been giving himself his own encouraging speech. One which also fell quite short, but he was better at concealing it. At least he thinks he is.

Your clammy hand reaches for his, a reassuring effort to soothe both your worries. “No search party necessary. I’m still standing,” you reply softly. He releases a hefty exhale — a mixture of a shaky laugh and a sigh of relief — and gives your hand a small squeeze.

“I’ll be right back. You can sleep on either side, I don’t mind.”

He’s quick to jog out, leaving you to roam every inch of his bedroom.

You’ve been in Steve’s room countless times before, you probably have every trinket and frame committed to memory. But every detail has somehow become more intimate since the last time you’ve visited. Every knick knack is a window into Steve Harrington’s being and by tomorrow morning, you’d become even more familiar. The thought only further warms your chest once your eyes land on an old love note you’d given him, preserved in a framed picture of you right on his bedside table.

By the time he returns, you’re already under the covers with a cheesy smile and patting the empty space next to you.

He uses some sort of excuse so that he can keep a dim nightlight on: Just so you can see everything in case you need to get up in the middle of the night. And Steve Harrington doesn’t have a secret aversion to the dark.

No, Steve Harrington is a romantic, and he just really wants to see your pretty face.

“Are you okay?” He whispers as he settles beside you. He moves to bring the blanket up to your chin and traces the underside of your jaw with his knuckle.

“Yes, I’m okay, Stevie.” You giggle at his concerned expression and reach up to smooth out the wrinkle in his brow before you convince yourself not to.

“Good. Good…just checking.”

And though you’re both laying face to face, sharing the same sheets, he’s entirely too far away for your liking. All you would have to do is extend your arms just a few inches until they reach his shoulders. But really, it’s a few inches too much.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks again lowly, noting the pensive expression on your face.

Your stomach flips and your hand flies to pick at the skin of your lips. Now, you would just need to ask. But it’s so difficult when he’s staring right at you, practically oozing adoration. Now there’s a knot in your mouth where your tongue should be.

“Steve?”

He hums. The knot tightens.

“You don’t have to, but…can you, um—would you want to…” you trail off as the rest of your question dissipates.

“Do you…do you want me to hold you?” He finishes for you. He’s already moving to sit up before you can say ‘please,’ eager to wrap you up in his embrace.

You sit up the slightest bit so that he’s able to slither his arm underneath your head. He’s laying on his back while you’re curled into his side. You rest on his bicep, legs tangled with his own and an arm around his middle as you play with the fingers of his other hand.

“Is this okay? Am I hurting you?” You turn slightly so that you’re peering up at his face, chin resting on his shoulder. It’s an awkward angle and you know it’s going to result in a dull ache in your neck, but you can’t be bothered to care with his lips so close.

“No, no,” he’s quick to rush out, “This feels nice. I like this.”

It’s not until you see his wide smile that you notice the ache in your cheeks thanks to your matching expression. Without giving it a second thought, you push yourself up to kiss him, eliciting a sigh from the boy. It’s lazy, and it doesn’t last for more than a few seconds before you’re drawing back to hide your burning face in his chest.

He pauses to gather his bearings and gives you a kiss to the top of your head. “If you wanted a kiss, you could’ve just asked.”

“Shut up, please.”

[peterman-spideyparker]

Something Good (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Heya! So, one big perk about being sick and working from home is that I'm really chugging through my idea notebook! This one is the first one on the page, actually, and it's inspired by "Something Good" from The Sound of Music. Enjoy :)

Summary: Matt's in love. He's not entirely sure he deserves it, but he found love with you. It's terrifying and special, and he knows he's beyond lucky.

Warnings: Sweet adorable fluff (Matt's in love, guys). No use of (Y/N), but it does refer to the reader being feminine/female-identifying

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson

Word Count: 746

Matt’s no stranger to sleepless nights. From the sounds of the city keeping him up, to staying out until sunrise on patrol, to being kept awake by his injuries, to his nightmares, his worst case scenarios violently ripping him from his slumber. Tonight, though, tonight is different. He’s still experiences sleepless nights, all the fear and guilt that comes from the idea of not being good enough or strong enough. But those sleepless nights and all those worries have become lesser and lesser the more that you’re in his life. 

The first time you slept over, he was so worried he’d wake up screaming with a nightmare, he almost didn’t sleep. He was even apprehensive of having you stay over because he was concerned that Hell’s Kitchen would need it’s Devil and he’d have to slip out; you’d wake up in the middle of the night alone, and he’d loose something he worked hard to try and achieve—a normal relationship. And until that night, it had been just that for Matt, normal. Boy likes girl. Girl likes boy. Boy asks girl out. Boy takes girl on date. They date some more. He finally kisses her after arguably too long. Boy cooks girl a romantic dinner. Boy and girl spend the night together. Boy knows he feels something he’s never felt before.

But in all that worry that he’d mess up that first night, with all the fear that kept him wide awake in his own bed, you snuggled into him; in your slumber, you wrapped your arm around his torso, held him close, and cuddled down into his chest. Matt noticed how your heartbeat changed, how your breathing slowed and evened out. You were the purest form of content and relaxed with him. Now, that made him nervous because it meant that you felt the same way, too. And while it made him nervous, he felt his own heart steady and the sleep that he so desperately tried to fight off lay like weighted blankets on his eyes. He was the first one to wake up the next morning, and he found your positions unchanged; you were still latched onto him, and his arms were around you, keeping you close to his heart.

Each night after that got easier. He was afraid, though, for the inevitable. Mentioning this in passing to Foggy, his best friend closed his office door, sat down across from Matt at his desk, and laid it all out: how to carefully bring it up, broaching the topic of senses, his passion for justice—a methodical plan for how to tell you about his night job in a way that wouldn’t scare you away. Unfortunately for Matt, he’d been thinking about it so much, he started at the wrong spot of the explanation when he saw you later that night and put his foot in his mouth. But you stayed, you listened. You asked questions that he was happy to answer. You spoke well into the night, and at the end of it all, you didn’t leave; you took his hand in yours and gave it a squeeze, thanking him, and assuring him that his secret was safe with you.

Now, almost a year later, you were still by his side, guarding his secret, waiting up for him, patching up his wounds, protecting his heart, and holding him close. So, this time when sleep evades him, it’s not because of his fears, not because of his traumas, not because of his nightmares. It’s because he is wracking his brain, asking God to help him figure out what he did to deserve you because Matt cannot figure it out for the life of him. He tilts his head to the side of the bed where you’re sound asleep, still holding onto him like that first night together. As he thinks and thinks, he can only settle on the fact that at some point in his life, he must have done something good that made him worthy of you. If he can never figure it out, so be it. As long as you’re in his life, he doesn’t really care. Leaning over to press a long, sweet kiss into your forehead, he snuggles down onto you and pulls you close, letting your scent flood his senses and remind him that he’s safe with you, his heart is safe, and that he’ll never be more loved than by you.

Yeah, he must have done something good.

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger​ @steampowerednightvaler​ @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles​ @toozmanykids​ @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop​ @itwasthereaminuteago​ @peter1ismybrother@hellskitchens-whore​​ @dpaccione​ @catnip987​

Matt Murdock Taglist: @two-unbeatable-beaters

[bellaxgiornata]

As Luck Would Have It [1/2]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.5k [Part Two]

Warnings/tags: Humor, fluff, and a charming, teasing Matty

Summary: Stressed out while working on a dead-end case at Nelson, Murdock, and Page, Matt isn't too thrilled when Foggy interrupts and asks him for a favor. Despite his annoyance at another task being added to his list of things to do, Matt is shocked when the potential client Foggy asks him to call turns out to be a wrong number. What's even more surprising is how much Matt enjoys chatting with the woman on the other end of the line.

a/n: This is going to be a short, two part piece. It's light and fluffy so I hope y'all enjoy it! Feedback/reblogs are always appreciated!

Matt Murdock One Shot Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwllf @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @ladywholikesreading @sleepysleepymom @tartbeanpuzzles @harleycao @sunflower-tia @gamingfeline @juskonutoh @kezibear @ninacotte @withyoutilltheendoftheline @justanerd1

Matt’s fingers slid across his braille reader, his brows furrowed together in deep concentration as he focused on reading the digital document displayed on his laptop. This entire case had been draining him lately, only managing to aggravate him as he continually hit legal wall after legal wall trying to figure out how to help their client. What made things worse was that he knew what was really happening behind the scenes in this case that he, Foggy, and Karen had been working on, but he also knew that Matt Murdock wasn't supposed to know about any of that.  

With a vexed grunt he raised a hand from off his braille reader, running it through his hair in agitation as he blew out a frustrated breath. Tired of reading the same thing over and over with no new way forward, Matt pushed his chair back from the desk in annoyance. The desk lurched a few inches across the floor at the force as Matt grit his teeth together. 

He wished he could use the information he'd uncovered last night as Daredevil. That would have solved all of his problems and easily saved their client. But of course, none of that evidence was remotely admissible in court. So while he knew where the truth lay in this entire case, he was still currently helpless to use the law in his fight for justice. Though he was certainly determined to keep picking through detail after detail in search of something he could use to his client’s benefit.

The sound of footsteps approaching his office door caught Matt’s attention and his head shifted to the side. Matt pushed all thoughts of his frustrating case out of his mind as he focused on the noise. Barely a second later the sound of Foggy’s unmistakable heartbeat registered in his ears just before two knocks sounded against his door.

“What do you need, Fog?” Matt called out.

He heard the door handle twist, the door to his office opening as Foggy stepped inside. Matt didn’t have to exert much effort studying him to notice how stressed Foggy currently was. His blood pressure was quite clearly elevated this morning along with his cortisol levels–he could practically smell the stress in the faint bit of sweat on Foggy’s forehead. So apparently Matt wasn't the only one having a shitty day at the firm today. At least he wasn't alone in that.

“Hey, Matt,” Foggy began hesitantly, stopping just inside his office before shifting his weight back and forth along his feet almost nervously. “I know you're busy running yourself into the ground for the Richmond case, and I know how frustrating it's been to keep hitting a deadend. But…” he trailed off for a moment, Matt catching the faint waver in his tone. “I was actually hoping to ask you for a favor this morning.”

Matt’s head tilted curiously to the side, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses at Foggy. Leaning back in his desk chair, he lowered his hands down onto his lap and attempted to keep the annoyed fidgeting of his fingers hidden from his friend. The last thing Matt wanted right now was another task added to his agenda for the day. All he wanted was to make headway on this case before it drove him insane.

“What kind of favor?” he asked, trying to keep the edge from his tone.

Matt heard Foggy take a few more steps forward into his office, stopping just in front of his desk. The sound of something like a small slip of paper faintly rustled between Foggy’s fingers as he stood there. 

“Elliott got a call a bit ago from someone by the name of Edgar Philips who was potentially interested in hiring us,” Foggy began to explain, setting the paper down onto Matt's desk before sliding it across the surface towards him. “And the case sounded… interesting to say the least. But the thing is, Karen is out today dealing with the Rodriguez building permit thing, and I'm about to head over to the courthouse. So I was…sort of hoping you could call them back and handle the consultation? Somehow fit them in today?”

Matt could hear the way the muscles in Foggy’s face had contracted, sounding like he'd almost grimaced when he had asked for the favor. His heart rate had accelerated just a bit, meaning Fog was clearly anxious that Matt would decline to help take on even more work today. Truthfully he wanted to decline calling this possible client because he was already swamped with the Richmond case, but maybe taking a few minutes to focus on something else would benefit him. Maybe stepping away for a bit before coming back to things with a fresh mind would help him see things a little differently. Clearly he wasn’t making any progress this morning doing what he had been doing. 

With an exasperated sigh, Matt slid his hand across his desk to where he’d heard Foggy set the slip of paper. His fingers felt around the wooden surface for a second before he found it.

“Yeah, I'll make the call,” Matt told him, pulling the paper towards himself. 

Foggy let out a relieved breath, the sound of his entire body relaxing impossible for Matt's ears to miss. At least he could make Fog's day a little better.

“Great, seriously! Thank you, buddy,” Foggy said in a rush. “You have no idea how helpful that is right now. I've already got so much to do today, I really didn't know how I was going to fit that call in. And you know how bad the reception can be at the courthouse.” Foggy laughed good-naturedly, his mood already lifting. “But hey, before I go, did you need me to read that phone number off for you? Or dial it even?”

Matt's fingers ran over the indentation of Elliott's pen marks on the paper. Despite how scatterbrained their new secretary often tended to be, he at least appreciated that the man had a heavy hand when he took notes from the calls he answered. It at least made things easier for Matt to read without too much extra assistance–something he loathed having to ask for if he didn’t need to.

“No,” he answered with a shake of his head. “I can make the numbers out just fine. Don't worry about me, Fog. Just go take care of what you need to. I'll deal with this Edgar Philips.”

Foggy’s hands clapped loudly together, Matt picking up on the sounds of his feet as he already began to back out of his office. 

“Thank you, Matt, you're a life saver!” he exclaimed. “You know, more than you usually are.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Matt said with a grin. “Can you just shut the door again on your way out, though?”

“Can do!” Foggy replied. 

Matt swore he heard the air shift as Foggy sent him a salute. Chuckling lightly at his best friend's ability to lighten the mood, he heard the sound of his office door closing before he heard the muffled sound of Foggy’s footsteps as he began making his exit from the office. 

For a minute Matt sat in his chair, listening as Foggy said a brief goodbye to Elliott before leaving. Then the usual ‘silence’ of their office returned. Though it was never truly quiet to Matt because he could still hear the hum of the lights in the building, the almost constant tapping of Elliott's fingers on his keyboard in the room over, and even the incessant buzzing of a fly that had been trapped in the office since yesterday afternoon. 

Foul mood slowly returning, Matt's fingers ran over the pen marks on the slip of paper still in his hands. Glancing down towards it, he wondered what the interesting case that Foggy had mentioned was actually supposed to be about. To Matt, interesting just translated to complicated, which was the last thing he needed right now. Though whatever it was, he figured getting the call out of the way would be the best course of action for now. Afterwards he’d be free to continue working on the Richmond case for the rest of the day, hopefully without any further interruptions or distractions.

Shifting in his chair, he slipped his cell phone from out of his dress pants pocket, the electronic hum of it louder now that it wasn’t muffled by fabric. He raised it to his mouth before speaking a few voice commands into it, then he took a second to recite the number he’d been given from off the paper. Sitting back in his chair, Matt listened to the familiar dial tone as he held the phone to his ear, but surprisingly it only managed to ring twice before someone had quickly answered.

“Seriously, Lindsey, I said I’d call afterwards,” a distinctly annoyed and hushed female voice came over the line. “There’s nothing of interest for me to report yet and now you’re just making me even more nervous. At this point my armpits are going to be as sweaty as my hands.”

Sitting forward in his chair, Matt rested his elbows along the top of his desk. A small grin slipped onto his mouth as he tossed the little slip of paper somewhere among the mess of papers before himself. He hadn’t expected that to be the response to his call, but now the person on the other end of the line had captured his undivided attention.

“Maybe you should try using more deodorant then,” Matt cheekily suggested.

A surprised gasp met his ear, the sound making his smile widen further. Clearly whoever he'd gotten ahold of had just now realized they were in fact not speaking with Lindsey. 

“Oh, shit,” came your clearly embarrassed and still hushed voice as the realization that you were speaking to someone else settled in. “I'm sorry, I totally thought you were my friend calling back. I didn't check the caller ID because I didn't want my ringtone to make any more of a nuisance than it already had been making because it's so loud. I swear I don't ever hear it if I don't have the volume up so high. But now I am incredibly regretting the decision to not just have taken the two seconds to look and check the number first.” 

There was a pause where you loudly cleared your throat over the line. Matt found himself still grinning at the word vomit that seemed to keep coming from you with no end in sight, his irritation at having to make this call quickly vanishing. His left hand began to absently fiddle with a pen from his desk as he listened to you ramble on further.

“Clearly you're not Lindsey and now I'm absolutely mortified,” you continued in a rush. “But for the record, I am wearing deodorant. A lot of it actually. I'm just nervous and it makes me extra sweaty, alright? I don't like job interviews. They terrify me.” Your voice dropped to an even quieter tone as you continued on, Matt not remotely interested in stopping you because you had easily become the most fascinating part of his day. “And I dislike when you have to sit and wait in those stiff plastic chairs while the secretary keeps shooting you random smiles from their desk like you're not about to vomit all over the floor from nerves. I swear they make you sit outside the office for at least ten minutes like it's some sort of extra secret test before the actual interview takes place. Are they supposed to be judging how I sit and do nothing? Or how I handle intentionally being asked to show up at a certain time but am purposely made to sit and wait? I swear, it’s done on purpose.”

“So what I'm gathering from all of that,” Matt finally began when you had paused to take a breath, still grinning as he spoke, “is that you are not the Edgar Philips I am looking for, nor were you the one who most likely tried contacting the law firm of Nelson, Murdock, and Page earlier this morning on his behalf. Am I correct in that assumption?”

There was a very long pause on your end of the line after he'd spoken. Matt waited patiently for you to respond though, his left hand still leisurely flipping the pen back and forth between his fingers.

“Did you say…law firm?” you hesitantly asked. 

“Yes, I did,” Matt replied. 

“So you're a…?”

“Lawyer, yes. One of the partners, actually,” he answered easily. “And one who must have somehow gotten the wrong number it appears, judging by your response.”

“Yeah, I uh–” you cleared your throat again, “–I definitely didn't call your office today. And I am certainly not Edgar Philips.”

“Ahh well, my apologies,” Matt said, setting his pen back down on his desk before sitting back in his chair. “I'm sorry to have interrupted your day, especially at such an inconvenient time as right before a job interview. I suppose I shouldn’t further distract you.”

There was a small part of Matt that almost felt reluctant to end the call already, dreading having to ask Elliott for help with the clearly incorrect phone number so he could get in touch with the actual Mr. Philips before going back to that irritating Richmond case. You'd been an amusing distraction this morning at least. 

“Actually you've somehow managed to calm my nerves,” you replied. “Apparently embarrassing myself with a stranger has now made me feel less like vomiting.”

“Any less sweaty?” Matt teased, unable to help himself.

You laughed lightly over the line, the sound a pleasant one that seemed to ease the tension from Matt’s own body. Something about your voice and your way of immediately speaking to him as if you'd known him for longer than two minutes had drawn him in.

“Maybe a fraction less, thank you for that,” you answered. “You uh, you have a calming voice, whichever part of Nelson, Murdock, and Page you are.”

Matt's brows quickly shot up onto his forehead in surprise. No one had told him that before.

“I do?” he asked.

“Mhmm,” you hummed back. “You know, if you ever need money, you'd be great at calling people and talking to them until they relax before they have to do something they're nervous about–like going to a job interview. Or maybe even attending events with them to keep them calm or something. You know what I’m saying?”

Matt couldn't resist the laugh that slipped out of his mouth, his head tilting to the side. “Is that an actual thing that exists? Because it almost sounds like you're just describing a male escort,” he pointed out.

“ No !” your harsh whisper came over the line, the embarrassment in it causing Matt to chuckle again. “Oh no, that's not–no I didn't mean it like that! I swear! Is that even legal in New York City? Though I suppose maybe you don't live here since this is a wrong number and all... But no! That’s not what I meant!”

Matt relaxed further back in his chair, finding that he'd been enjoying this unexpected conversation with you this morning far more than he could’ve thought. He truly didn't want to end the call even though he knew he would need to soon. Though he found himself wishing for an excuse to talk to you again already.

“I do live in New York City actually,” he answered. “And male escorts aren't supposed to be getting paid for their time in the way that you're currently thinking about, so yes, they are actually quite legal.”

“I imagine as a lawyer that owns your own law firm, though,” you began, “you don't exactly need a side hustle as a male escort. And that–that’s a joke, by the way,” you quickly clarified. “You know what? Just forget I said that, I'm just nervous for this interview. I'm rambling.”

“You are, but I'm enjoying it,” he told you. “But our law firm tends to take on lots of cases pro bono, so truthfully, I could probably use a side hustle. I'll keep your vote of confidence as a male escort in mind if I ever struggle to continue paying my bills.”

The bark of laughter followed by your soft curse under your breath had Matt’s cheeks hurting from how wide his smile had grown. 

“Despite how entertaining this call has been, I should really go,” you said. “I imagine they should be calling me back soon and I probably shouldn’t be sitting here looking like I’m having so much fun on the phone judging by the frown the secretary just gave me. I’ve never had one frown at me before and I’d really not like to mess up my chances here. I kind of really want this job so I can actually do something with my degree.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll do just fine, but either way, I wish you luck,” Matt replied. “I should probably get back to work myself, but I’ll admit that you’ve been a pleasant distraction from a case I’ve been struggling with myself, so thank you.”

“Then I wish you luck as well, stranger,” you replied. “I hope you make some progress on your case.”

“I suppose if I don’t, there’s always other viable career options for me that I’ve recently had my eyes opened to,” Matt teased.

He enjoyed the sound of your laugh over the line one last time before you told him goodbye. Almost reluctantly Matt ended the call, lowering his phone down onto his desk. His smile faltered as he once more overheard the sound of Elliott’s fingers typing on his computer. With a defeated sigh he pushed his chair back, rising up to his feet and accepting the fact that he’d need to ask Elliott for help dialing Mr. Philips correctly.

“Matt, this is–” Foggy began but quickly stopped himself.

Matt sat back in his chair, a triumphant smile spread wide across his mouth as he continued to listen to both Karen and Foggy rifling through the documents he’d had printed out early this morning. The three of them were currently sitting in the conference room while Matt proudly sat back, enjoying the sound of the pair of them getting excited over what he’d discovered yesterday afternoon. Apparently taking a step away from the case for a little bit had been just the thing he needed to do to come back at it with a different angle.

“Dude, this is exactly what we needed for that Richmond case!” Foggy finally exclaimed, his head darting up towards Matt. “You’re brilliant!”

“Ahh, well,” Matt said with a smug smile and a shrug of his shoulders. “Just doing my job, Fog.”

“This must have taken a lot of creative thinking,” Karen muttered, still flipping through the papers. “Hell, Matt, I think you just saved this whole case.”

Matt had been about to respond, tempted to make another cocky comment, but the sound of his phone receiving a text cut him off. Brows furrowing together slightly, he slipped his hand into his pants pocket and pulled his phone out. Holding it up to his ear and muttering out a command, he slid back his chair from the conference table before rising up to his feet and walking a few steps away from Foggy and Karen. 

He frowned slightly at the number the automated voice began to read off in his ear almost immediately. It wasn’t one he had recognized. Why would a strange number be texting him? Though when he heard that same automated voice begin to read out the text message he’d received, a small smile easily slipped onto his face.

“Just wanted to let you know that I was offered the job already this morning,” the automated voice read into Matt’s ear. “Apparently you’re my good luck charm, stranger. So thanks for the chat. Hope you made some progress on your case, too.”

For a moment Matt just stood there in shock, holding the phone to his ear and grinning like a fool. He hadn’t expected to ever hear from you again, and he certainly hadn't anticipated the burst of pride at your news. And apparently you’d also been his good luck charm because after he'd dealt with the real Edgar Philips, he finally made a break on the case that had stumped him for weeks. 

Without a second thought, Matt turned around to face both Karen and Foggy, lowering his phone to his side. “Hey, I’ve got to respond to this message,” he told them. “Do you mind if I handle this back in my office now?”

“No, no,” Foggy answered distractedly, the air shifting as he clearly waved Matt off. “Go do your thing, buddy. We've got plenty to focus on at the moment.”

Trying to fight back the growing smile on his mouth as he maneuvered his way back over towards where he'd been sitting, Matt picked up his cane that had been resting against the table. As he navigated his way out of the conference room and back to the privacy of his office, he already began thinking up a response to your message. And he also wondered how strange it would be if he called instead of texted you back.

[loves0phelia]

hi could you rewrite the scene in ep 6 season 2 where Electra (now y/n) and Matt kiss to not get caught by security but add your own twist please? :)))

Faking Kiss

Summery: After years you and Matt meet again during a mission?

Words: 3.1k

Warning: Spicy (not smut), violence, grammar mistakes.

A/N: Thank you for requesting i love this scene!

While girls your age were learning to ride bikes or learning how to count to one hundred you were taught how to take a punch. 

The people who had taken you from your family had taken away your childhood. You never got to dress up for Halloween, to go out and knock on people’s doors for candies. You never fell asleep to your mother singing you a lullaby. You never got to sit in a class along with other kids to learn.

You watch kids do all those things while you were perched on a roof with a sniper in hand. You dreamed of being like them. You needed to be free.

As you grew up you started gaining interest in law and justice so you stole books from local libraries while you were supposed to be on missions to kill and read, read and read again. You taught yourself everything you needed to know.

At the age of 17, you took the opportunity to run away. After reading various magazines about college and teenage life you created yourself a name, a life. Before that, all you were was a number amongst others.

During a mission, targeting a wealthy man, you removed the tracker in your neck, changed into civilian clothing, and stowed away your black leather suit in your backpack

Immediately after losing contact with you, the men you worked for began looking for you. For two years you stayed hidden, away from the radar, until at 19 you applied to college.

Since your escape, your once-short hair had grown long, your body changed, seamlessly blending you into society. With fake birth certificates, you became Y/N Y/L/N without any complications. Your fraud skills even secured you a spot at Columbia University in New York. Admittedly, it may have been risky, but you desired more than anything, to pursue law and justice, to help others unlike those who had disappointed you.

During college, you made your first friends. Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson. It was everything you ever dreamed of.

COLLEGE MEMORY

A very drunk guy with dirty blond hair laughed loudly as he swayed side to side with a white walking cane he held for support. 

“Watch out everybody! I'm blind, Matt Murdock!” he laughed, still walking like he had 5 shots of vodka in his system.

“Most people just say- Matt Murdock” The brunette who wore sunglasses, held his stomach as he laughed. 

“I look like most people?” he asked genuinely.

“I don't know, I can't see” The blind guy answered in a cocky way, proud of his joke.

“Well at the moment that might be a blessing, because I'm the only one who can see the beautiful girl in front of us”  That's what made you look up from your newly bought law book, that you had bought with your very own money. It was the first book you didn't steal from the library since you ran away and you were fascinated by it. 

“Oh?” The blind student stopped abruptly just like his friend had done.

“Hi,” The blond said, catching you off guard. Nobody had yet to try and talk to you on campus since school started about a month ago. 

You looked behind you to make sure he was talking to you and when you realized he was you answered his greetings. Your voice came out more like a whisper.

“Are you studying on a Saturday night?!” He yelled when he noticed the book on your knees that you were previously reading. You nodded and he gasped.

"Hey, Foggy, maybe we should give that a shot too," suggested the other, the extroverted one objected immediately.

“So beautiful lady, I'm Foggy and this boring one over here is Matt what's your name?” his eyebrows wiggled like gummy worms as he flirted making you giggle. 

You didn't know that Matt was starstruck by you. Your laugh, your scent and your aura were something right out of his dreams. 

You gave them your name and like you guys were friends for years, Foggy extended his hand down to you asking you to accompany them on a night of, and you quote, “mischievous adventures”

You grabbed his hand and he pulled you up to your feet before you guys started walking nowhere but everywhere at the same time.

As the night ended and the sun started waking, you walked to their dorm and when you entered, you watched Matt help Foggy into his bed like a toddler who had fallen asleep on the ride back home from the amusement park.

You chuckled as you watched him struggle, and a few minutes later, Matt and you quietly slipped out into the hallway.

“Hopefully we'll see you soon?” His hand brushed yours. You thought it was by accident but if only you knew how Matt had desperately tried to touch a part of your body all night. 

“Of course” Your smile was shy. You couldn't understand the strange fluttering feeling in your stomach as he looked at you. It was like something you had never experienced before.

After that night you three spent the integrality of the college year stuck together like glue. Every Saturday day was destined to hang out. Matt and you came so close to admitting your feelings but just as you were about to, they found you.

Freshly graduated, diploma in hand, you strode proudly toward the rendezvous point Foggy and Matt had designated. As you rounded the concrete wall outside, you spotted a car with tinted windows. Even though the car seemed inconspicuous, your heart sank as you noticed four men standing beside it. Locking eyes with one of them, a chill ran down your spine as the man pointed directly at you. Without hesitation, they all sprang into action, sprinting in your direction.

You dropped everything. Your diploma you were so proud of, your backpack with the books you had bought and your life.

END

Each passing year saw you found yourself in new cities or even countries, determined to evade their pursuit. But fate seemed to have other plans when you discovered yourself in Hell's Kitchen at the same time as them. Now, it was your chance to turn the tables and finally catch them.

You mapped out their plan and you found out they were organizing a gala to target parents with children they could steal and turn into their hit man.

You dressed up in the prettiest silk white dress you could find, your hair, now dyed in a different colour, was half up and half down curled and even though your features had changed a lot since your college years you applied makeup to make you unrecognizable.

You entered the gala with no problem. You were trained well you knew better than to get caught the first second.

Soft music and the clinking of champagne glasses rang in your head as you slipped away from the scene. You had to find out where they were keeping the children and you needed information. You knew exactly where to get it.

In a vault, in the boss's office. You would find the exact location.

You spotted a bodyguard, guarding the elevator as you made your way to it. You could have taken the stairs but you needed to be the least suspicious possible.

"Sorry, ma'am, but upstairs is off-limits, restricted area," he informed you, eyeing you up and down, prompting you to fake a pout in response.

“Ugh, the bathroom downstairs is all taken and I have to fix my lipstick, really bad” You crossed your arm under your chest purposely putting on display your breast.

You smirked when his eyes shifted to take a look.

“If it's just for lipstick I guess I can make an exception.” 

"Seriously? You're an angel," you beamed, giving his arms a playful rub as he obligingly pressed the floor button. With a ding, the doors slid open, allowing you to step inside. As the doors closed behind you, a smirk crept onto your face. It was too easy, as always. 

Now on the upper floor, you began looking everywhere for what could be the main office.

Your heels echoed loudly on the floor, earning a frustrated groan from you. Why did they have to be so loud?

You tried walking more discreetly until you bumped into a muscular body. The impact made your hair fall in front of your eyes, shielding your vision. His hands grabbed your forearms and before you could try to beat the man you were pushed against the wall in a dark hallway.

As his hand loosened, you quickly pushed your hair out of your face. Your eyes widened in surprise as you recognized the man you had bumped into.

“Matt?” You barely finished the word before his hand was on your mouth preventing you from uttering another word.

“Someone is coming” You stopped mumbling beneath his hand to be let free after he whispered in your ear. Everything was so silent you thought he was crazy until you heard the faint sound of boots approaching.

The guard paced down the dim hallway, clutching his weapon tightly, while you and Matt stood in the shadows. After he passed, you exhaled in relief as Matt gently released his hand from your lips.

“Matt,” you said, dumbfounded. Between all the people you could've run into it had to be him. The guy who you left behind without any explanation.

“You shouldn't be here y/n, it's dangerous,”  He said and your brows furrowed. How had he recognized you? 

“How did you know it's me?” you asked and he shook his head.

“It doesn't matter, you need to leave. These people who organized this gala are bad.” 

“I know Matt, I'm here to stop them” You admitted it wasn't time to come up with a lie. Even behind his glasses, you could see the confusion etched on his face.

“How did you know about them?”

“Why are you here?” You both speak over each other and before you could let him talk again his head snapped to the side, listening to something you couldn't hear.

“One of the guards is talking about you”

“How do you know that-” he shushed you and continued.

“He says you went to apply your lipstick but never came down?” he said, making you groan, you had taken too much time talking with him.

“It's a dumb excuse I used to get up here. Now if you would excuse me I have something to do” You pushed him gently out of your way and went to walk out of the hallway he had pulled you into. His hand quickly grabbed on to your arm again tugging you back.

"You follow me," he growled into your ear and then started walking. You couldn't quite explain why you trusted a blind man to lead you, but you did.

Almost like he knew exactly what you were looking for, he pushed open the door to the main office you were targeting. Flipping the light switch, the room flooded with brightness, light bouncing off mirrors to create an almost blinding effect.

You began opening every door, every drawer looking for the piece of information you needed. But you saw no signs of a vault or anything of the sort. You grabbed your hair in frustration. 

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“Information where the kids they have captive might be. It was supposed to be in a vault in this exact room but I can't find anything”

“How do you know about the kids” 

“Because I was one of them” he listened to your heartbeat, he knew you weren't lying.

He wanted to ask more questions but he knew it wasn't the right time. You were running out of time, not gaining.

As he concentrated on the beat of your heart a harsh buzzing interfered with the soft sound.

He walked and touched the bookshelf with his fingers. He could hear the electricity travelling in the walls. 

He felt an interruption in the current when his finger grazed an old Shakespeare book. He pulled it down, and a secret door revealed itself.

“Holy shit, how did you know?” you smiled and walked into the tiny space the door that previously opened allowed you to walk in.

“I could hear the signal”

“Through the walls?”

"I can hear a lot of things. Look in this drawer," he directed, saving you the trouble of opening every single one by pointing you to the correct drawer.

 The paper with all the information you needed was on top of the files and books. Not very well hidden.

“We have to go, now” You folded the paper and quickly shoved it inside your bra.

You both ran in the main hallway but before you could get to the elevator an alarm started blaring and blue lights flashed. Matt grabbed your hand and dragged you to an empty conference room and through the frosted glass you could see multiple shadows with guns searching for you.

“You have to stay behind me okay? I don't want you to get hurt” You say before tying your hair up. 

"Oh, I know how to fight, sweetheart," he declared just before the men barged into the room where you were hiding. Without hesitation, Matt slid over the table and delivered a kick to one of them in the face.

Impressed but confused you had a sudden surge of energy, you sprang into action, fists flying and they clashed into jaws and noses. The room echoed with the sound of impact as yours and Matt’s strikes landed with an intense force.

Your movements were fluid and precise as you used your kicks and punches against the attackers. You and Matt fought as one, your movements synchronized almost perfectly.

And when the last men fell, defeated and broken, you both stood almost unarmed. But not for long.

you ran to the next level almost getting caught once again. However, you managed to hide again in another room. That's when the idea came to you.

“Kiss me” you whispered as you started to pull down your hair from your ponytail, making them cascade messily down your back.

"What?" he asked, his brows furrowing as he struggled to process what you said. 

"Kiss me, Matt, please," you pleaded. Without hesitation, he captured your lips with his own. 

As you kissed, you instinctively reached for his tie and pulled it. Your hands unbuttoned his shirt and you whispered against his lips.

“Act like we're having sex and act drunk” his lips went to your neck and his tongue laid against your pulse. You moaned loudly, exaggerating it a little.  Without needing to say anything his hand gripped your waist and lifted you on the table you were leaning on. His hands went higher and higher until he was pulling down the straps of your dress. At the same time, you lifted your leg and put it around his hip and his free hand grabbed it and squeezed the skin. His mouth came back to yours and he kissed you until you couldn't breathe.

You let out another moan of his name when the guards entered and put you both at gunpoint. 

“Don't move!” he yelled.

You and Matt put on a show of surprise. Giggling, you swayed on your feet, mimicking the unsteady movements of someone who had too much to drink.

“We are so sorry,” Matt said out of breath and tried buttoning his white shirt.

“We thought we could sneak in here… we'll be right out of here” he laughed before turning and the man grabbed his collar and pushed him roughly. Your heart rate elevated when you saw this.

“Be careful with him!” You said as you tried to wipe the red stain of lipstick that had smudged on your chin.

As the man restrained Matt, he aimed his flashlight directly at his unseeing eyes, prompting an eye roll from Matt that spoke volumes.

 Meanwhile, the second guard firmly gripped your arm, holding you in place. With a nod, the guard said in his walkie-talkie that the situation was under control and that neither you nor Matt was a threat.

“You need to leave,” he said and Matt continued apologizing before earning a firm “ Now!” from the man.

You grabbed his hand and walked away from them with a small laugh. You both walked to the now working elevator and entered with nothing opposing, 

“I don't know what you are Matt Murdock but you're not human” You laughed when the door closed. “You can hear through walls and fight while also being blind?” You heard him snort after you finished your sentence.

"We have a lot to talk about," Matt murmured as the doors of the elevator opened, lacing your hands and sharing a light-hearted chuckle at the absurdity of the evening. You both walked out of the Gala.

Making your way to your car, you glanced at Matt, wordlessly telling him your desire for him to join you. Without a word, he understood, falling into step beside you as you unlocked the car door.

You settled into the driver's seat, and he quietly took his place beside you. A moment of comfortable silence passed before you broke it with a teasing tone.

"Are you going to tell me how you did all that?" 

He met your gaze, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Are you going to tell me why you disappeared?"

 "If you spill your secrets first." you shrugged.

 "Fine, I'm Daredevil," he confessed.

 "What?!" your eyes grew three sizes and he simply nodded.

“I have so many questions,” you said as you wondered,

“Your turn” he grinned.

"Remember I told you those men raised me as a child earlier?" you began, your voice trembling a little. "Well, I ran away, and on the day of graduation because they found me. I had to leave everything behind. I loved you guys so much, Matt. I never wanted to leave, but I didn't have a choice."

With each word you spoke, he could feel the sincerity in your voice, and not once did your heart falter or deceive.

His hand grabbed yours for the millionth time that night.

"I was so lost without you," Matt confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Me too," you replied softly. 

"I don't want to lose you again," Matt admitted, his voice filled with a quiet intensity.

You intertwined your fingers in a silent promise. "You won't," you assured him.

At that moment, as you sat together in the car, you knew that you had overcome the past. Nothing would separate you and Matt. If anyone or anything tried to pull you apart you would fight it together.

[sun-snatcher]

JUMPING IN IMMEEEEDIATELY because god I cannot help but think of Matt Fucking Murdock deciding that he hasn’t got a good enough grasp of what you look like after workinf with you for a while so asks to feel your face to learn by touch just!!!!!! Tender workplace tension bro

( beautiful gif, once again, from the incredible @chrlie-cox ! )

𖤓 ─ SUNNY-SIDE UP ! ; a drabble

summ. Nelson, Murdock & Page has a fresh-faced hire. pairing. matt murdock / secretary!f!reader - “Sunny” a/n. Supposed to be a blurb but got a little carried away with this one, so have a drabble instead! Potential series? Who knows.

MATT MURDOCK doesn’t get embarrassed or sheepish; I mean, he’s Daredevil for Christ’s sake. He spends his night cosplaying as a red-horned vigilante that beats criminals up in the name of justice. And let’s not even begin to discuss the irony of how he’s an unflappable pro-bono lawyer by day.

So you can only imagine Foggy’s surprise when his decade-long friend, who’s never had an issue with women back in their college-days, seemed to fumble apropos of you.

( Fawning, almost. Ducked smiles and nervous laughter and the like. )

You— the cheerful, bright-eyed, tenderfoot secretary hired by Nelson, Murdock & Page— who managed to iron out the administrative wrinkles and logistical kinks of the entire office within the first week of you being hired. 

You, who went out of your way to categorise the boxes of legal documents by case type and date, organised stacked client files and contact lists by alphabetical order, and took the time to digitise every document in the office, because: now you guys don’t have to pull long hours in here. Use technology! Go home! Shoo!

( Foggy tells Matt, half-horrified and half-impressed once upon a time: “She’s like Donna from Suits but… sunnier—”

“Hm,” Matt smiles, completely distracted in favour of listening to you titter with a client through the wall. Sunshine? he tries, No— Sunny. Yeah. The nickname suits you.

“—I once saw her type up four subpoena requests while convincing a client over the phone from dropping our firm by scheduling an appointment with them on the dot. And just the other day she handed me my motion documents before I even got the chance to ask!”

“Right after she fixed the old fax machine, too,” Karen adds in passing, “And that was before the coffee was even done brewing.” )

You’re a ‘shot of espresso’ or a ‘bath of sunlight’ or whatever the poets like to call it.

But, still. You’re Sunny. You’re, a woman. And Matt Murdock can be a womaniser when he needs to be, except— it kinda just… haywires around you, sometimes. 

It usually heads that way whenever you breeze past him, and he catches the bergamot scent of your perfume, the tray of coffee orders in your hands— Even worse when he hears your cadent voice lilt across the room:

Idle chatter with clientele; Hum of some pop-song from the radio underneath your breath; or when you throw your head back in a burst of musical laughter:

Light and radiant and warm and—

“Can I see you?” he blurts.

In the 8pm moonlight filtering through the office blinds, pouring over evidence of a defense case with him, you’re wide-eyed in bewilderment as you blink owlishly at Matt Murdock. 

“I don’t know,” you smile, humorously, “Can you?”

He huffs out a laugh from where he’s feeling the brailled tags of the filing cabinets, slotting in a dossier. ( Another beloved story of Matt’s: learning that you had meticulously braille-labelled each drawer and document title for him the first few weeks you’d joined. Christ, how did the office ever survive without you? )

 “I, I mean your face,” he explains, tilting his head. “I don’t know how you look like, so…”

Not that it matters, he thinks candidly. “May I?”

He raises his palm ever so slightly.

You worry your lip. Matt Murdock is a fine man with finer qualities and the finest face of Hell’s Kitchen— you’re not sure your poor heart can handle having his hands roving over your face, especially when Karen’s almost caught you admiring them far too many times to count. Nevertheless:

“Sure. You’ll be sorely disappointed, though,” you shrug, rising from your seat to stretch as you move towards him. “Not the prettiest mug ‘round here.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Hm. Somehow I highly doubt that.”

Your heart rate is speeding up. Matt’s just glad you’re just as shy about this as he is. 

He twitches his finger and you quietly meet his hand halfway. 

The contact buzzes through him like a bolt. 

Here, he hears you whisper. Guiding. Patient. His fingers skate your cheeks— flushed warm from his settling compliment. 

Then he drifts: your ears and temples, the arch of your brows, the dip of your nose bridge. He thumbs across your lashes and down the divot of your lips, tracing its shape and picturing every curve and detail in his mind’s eye.

It’s intriguing to witness and experience all at once. You’re not sure if a blind man could admire— but there’s a softness to his touch and a lightness in his caress that might be it; nigh reverent.

It’s painfully intimate. 

He brushes a strand away. Rests his palm at your jawline and skirts the juncture of your neck.

You want to lean into his touch. He wants to lean into you.

The proximity is intoxicating.

“You’re beautiful.”

A barely-there murmur; drowned in sincere affection.

He can feel your cheeks dig into a timid smile, and he can’t help but dimple at you too. “Hi, Sunny,” he greets, playfully. “I’m Matt Murdock.”

The laugh that bubbles out of you makes his heart sing. 

You’re reaching for his wrist to steady yourself and ducking into his shoulder as you do, and he hopes to God you can’t hear the thunder of his heart against his ribs. 

“You’re not too shabby yourself, Mr. Murdock,” you titter, catching your lip. “But I’m sure you hear that all the time.”

“Oh, yeah,” he waves, making a dismissive face, “All the time.”

You laugh again. 

And good fucking God—

He wants to get drunk on the sound of it.

— send in a blurb request !

[mochinek0]

Daminette December 2023:30-Save Some for Me

Many people of the Justice League were summoned for a mission. Some were hiding in the shadows, others were stuck as civilians. Everything was going fine in the mission until Damian Wayne was suddenly thrown into building. That was the day he learned his two sunshine would go to hell for him.

Damian lay aginst the building. His vision was foggy, at best.

'Concussion. Labored breathing; likely a broken rib or two.'

He hadn't noticed people had started running away and were screaming. He hadn't even noticed Jon and Marinette calling his name until they got to his side.

'Hearing impairment.'

"Don't touch him!" Jon shouted, "He has some broken bones and some bad bruising."

"Concussion. Hearing impairment. Labored breathing." Damian whispered out, "Tired."

" Stay awake. I'll get a medic as fast as I can." Jon remarked, "I'm staying with you. I'll protect you from any more damage."

'That's good. His body can shield me from anymore debris or if there's any bullets.'

Damian felt wet drops fall on him.

'Rain?'

It wasn't until he heard the sob that he realized it was Marinette.

"Angel. I will be fine." he spoke.

He saw her hand turn into a fist and drop her precious earrings into her purse. She shoved it into Jon's arm.

"Marinette?" Jon asked.

He saw Marinette place a small ring on her hand.

"Claws out." she snarled.

Before his eyes, his angel looked like a small version of Selina in her CatWoman outfit. Her hair had turned jet black and was tied in a long braid down to her ankles. Her suit was now black. She was wearing thigh high heels with a green sash wrapped around her waist. Her hands had turned claws. She no wore a black domino mask the looked like his own robin mask and upon her head, were a pair of cat ear, trimmed with green. Then, she was gone.

"You might want to make sure Angel doesn’t kill anyone." Damian spoke, before passing out with a smile.

Jon turned to see Marinette lunging at people and blood splattering everywhere. It reminded him of watching his best friend train with his swords.

'Oh, shit! There's two of them!'

Jon quickly rushed away and grabbed ahold of her, locking her arms. She still managed to move with him holding her.

'I was wrong. She's scarier!'

The Bats quickly rounded everyone up as the rest of the Justice League avoided Ladybug, now turned Cat. She was hissing and clawing, trying to get away from Superboy. He had scratches on him from holding her back and was bleeding. Superman quickly rushed over and knocked her out. Superboy huffed and handed her over to Batman.

"Your son's girlfriend is just as deadly as he is." he huffed.

Plagg released himself from the ring.

"Do you have any cheese?" he questioned.

"What?" replied Superman.

"Another alien?" asked Green Lantern.

"Rude." Plagg answered, "I am the God of Destruction."

"Yep. That fits the bill." Red Hood responded, "Demon Spawn dating a person of destruction."

"Oh, you have it all wrong." Plagg declared "She only used me because she was pissed and you should be grateful, she did."

"She killed ten people." Batman spoke.

The kwami shrugged, "Could have been worse."

"How?" asked Nightwing.

"She could have been weilding her usual, my other half: Tikki, the Goddess of Creation. She created the universe." Plagg explained, enthusiastically, "When she gets pissed, she creates weapons of mass destruction. Instead of ten people, it could have been half the planet."

All the heroes looked at Marinette unconscious in Batman's arms.

"Who's the bad one now?" Plagg smirked, "At least she didn't used Kalki. Could have just teleported them over a volcano or a pit of death."

"So, do you have cheese?" Plagg asked again.

Jon was quick to warn the medical team about Damian's injuries and the extent of them, as he was placed on a stretcher.

"Ah, Loverboy." Plagg declared.

The Kwami of Destruction tapped on the downed Robin and let the green aura wash over him.

"Is that-?" Tim shouted.

"My magic." Plagg stated, absorbing it, "Seems he has a lot of it in him. Not as goo as cheese, but it helps. I'll talk to the bug and she can give my ring to him, for awhile. I should be able to absorb the rest. Same with Helmet Head."

"Really?" questioned Red Hood."

Plagg nodded, "Yep."

"Are you perhaps talking about the Lazarus Pits magic?" Batman asked.

"I don’t know what you people call it now, but that is our magic." Plagg explained, "Someone wished for it so we made it. It's why she works so hard to makes sure it doesn’t happen."

Red Hood shook his head, "They're a perfect match."

"Huh?" asked Wonder Woman.

"Demon Spawn and his 'Angel'. We all know if Batsy, here, wasn't around, he'd be leaving Gotham painted red. Hid girlfriend is the same way, if he gets hurt. You can't honestly tell me if she got hurt, he'd go back to being an assassin." he explained.

The Justice League loked between the unconcious couple.

"I say it's Batman's problem, now." Green Lantern stated, "His kid and future daughter-in-law."

TAGLIST: @maribat-calendar-events@animeweebgirl@a-star-with-a-human-name@meme991001@vixen-uchiha@abrx2002@alysrose-starchild@fandom-trapped-03@dood-space@moonlightstar64@saltymiraculer@marveldcedits20@09shell-sea09@icerosecrystal@animegirlweeb@insane-fangirl-of-everything@blueblossombliss@nickristus-dreamer@megawhitleycalderonpaganus@missmadwoman@meira-3919@princessdaisysolosyourfaves@blep-23@fangirlingfanatic@darkhinauniverse@ravenr22@im-a-satanic-ritual@ravennm84@bianca-hooks123@a-slytherinish-gryffindor@starling218

[https-murdock]

Lunchtimes in the Office - Matt murdock (big fic version)

summary: Matt forgot his lunch, maybe you should drop it off.

word count: ~1.1k

warnings: oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it up!) - porn with tiny plot 18+ MDNI

note: a few people wanted the big version of this after i posted a lil blurby thing so thought i’d try to do it justice! <3

“Gotta be quick.” Matt utters to you, almost believing his own words, that he could fuck you fast and that would be it.

Smiling, you nod in agreement, moving things across his desk and creating a little safe space for your body - Matt didn’t like to throw everything on the floor, and you weren’t about to distract him from what he wanted to do to you.

When you look back over to him, you can see him taking off his tie, letting it fall loosely around his neck as you grab both ends and pull him close to you, sitting on the edge of his desk. “Then you better hurry.” you say back to him, gently lifting the edge of your dress to sit around your waist.

Standing between your legs, Matt grabs your cheeks with both hands and kisses you like it’s the last time he’ll ever hold you. Tongues fighting for dominance, teeth clashing, it almost leaves you wondering if he thinks you’ll disappear if he stops.

“Why are these still on?” Matt says, feeling the lace material of the underwear you put on this morning, ready to enact your plan of hiding his lunch so you’d have to bring it into the office.

His fingers slip into the sides, pulling them down with fervour, leaving you naked from the waist down.

“Matt please, hurry.” It’s your turn to beg for his quick, rough movements now, as he realises he has the upper hand. With no response, he lifts you up by the thighs with ease and puts you on the edge of his desk, dropping to his knees. “Been thinking about this all day.” He mutters, kissing your thigh gently.

Just as you’re about to ask - or rather, beg - for more, he licks a stripe from bottom to top, knocking the air out of your chest.

“F-Fuck.” Is the only word that leaves your mouth in a stutter, as there is no response from Matt below you. He swings your legs over his back, tie still dangling in front of him, most buttons undone on his work shirt.

“Always taste so good.” At this point he’s muttering under his breath to himself, rather than to you. His tongue finds your clit and starts an assault you aren’t sure you’ll come back from in time for Karen and Foggy’s return. “Shit, M-Matt, so good.” You’re stuttering now, unable to fully form your thoughts into a sentence, and you can feel the smirk it drags from his lips, knowing exactly the effect he’s having on you.

He gently sucks on your clit, the sensation making you throw your head back with a moan that people could probably hear outside on the street, but you don’t care as he continues - just needing the final push over the edge as the coil is growing in your lower stomach.

The way he is softly grazing his teeth across your clit, taking his time to focus on every single reaction you’re giving him, every breath.

Matt lifts two fingers to your entrance, and doesn’t waste any time. Knuckle deep within a second, your mouth falls open with no sound, all thoughts have left your brain with nothing to spare. “I’m- hmph, I-“ You try, but you can’t even finish the sentence before your orgasm takes over, his fingers still moving at a pace that’s got you seeing stars, teeth biting into your thighs.

“That’s enough lunch for me.” He laughs, standing up and looking at you, using his hand to try and wipe some of your slick from his stubble as your hearing slowly returns.

“I need you.” You say, and you realise throughout this whole time you’ve barely spoken to him, too focussed on the way his mouth feels against your folds.

Matt has always been a giver, and you can tell by how hard he strains against his pants every time he stands up after making you cum so hard you can barely see.

You can feel how wet you are, and it’s likely leaving a patch on his desk - but Matt couldn’t care any less. As he stands, finally freeing himself from his boxers as his work pants drop to his ankles - you can tell how bad he wants this, needs this even.

There’s a loud slap as his cock hits his abdomen, your eyes finding the happy trail of hair leading towards it. You can’t help but gasp slightly at his size, and however long you’ve been together there will still be part of you shocked each time, an excitement to have him so deep inside of you he’d knock the thoughts from your mind. The desperation in you is building when you can see the precum leaking from his tip as he runs his cock across your slick, coating himself.

“This what you need sweetheart?” He questions, red glasses still on hjs face, and just looking at him, half dressed, you can tell how much he needs this too - how rushed this is between you. “God yes, please Matt.” You groan, and without question he immediately sheathes himself inside you.

With no hesitation, Matt is immediately pounding you into the desk, and you can hear the screeching on the floor from the wood moving.

“Fuck, S-shit. You’re always so tight.” He almost growls, legs still stood between yours as he lets his head fall on your chest, messy hair falling to your shoulder for you to latch onto. You pull gently, hearing him whimper under his breath, almost trying to hide how much he loves feeling your nails run across his scalp, a slight sting when you pull.

“Cum inside me, Matt. Need to feel you.” Both of your sentences are now just words shoved together, trying to make sense to one another as his hips move heavily.

Matt doesn’t stop, no resistance in his hips slamming into yours, and you can feel the coil beginning to spin again as his thrusts get sloppy, still remaining with the strength of his movements. “Fuck babe, cum all over me.” He grunts, fingers quickly moving to your clit and harshly rubbing, immediately sending you into another mind blowing orgasm as his mouth drops open, hitting his too.

Your vision blurry, you feel him paint your inside white, Matt slowly coming to a stop.

“Shit, sweetheart.” He says softly, kissing your forehead and gently pulling out. “I love you.” You say, and realise that after such a rushed fuck, that was probably the wrong time to feel so loved up.

After getting himself and you dressed, looking slightly more appropriate to defend those of Hell’s Kitchen - Instead of laughing as you expected at your sudden show of affection, Matt just kisses you softly and replies the same, his slightly fucked-out voice whispering, “i love you.”

“Aren’t you glad you forgot your lunch?”

-

tagging those who asked for a big version!

@sleepysleepymom @bluerobin35

[danny-likes-sharks]

daredevil but nelson murdock & page opened a tiktok account to promote themselves (karen thought it'd be fun and foggy is trying to get paying clients, matt is a bit reluctant but at the end of the day they need to pay the bills)

their most viewed videos include (but are not limited to):

- justice is blind but so is matt (cue the law and order sound + the info to get in contact with nm&p)

- the kung fu fighting trend but it's foggy and karen doing it and matt is just sitting there kinda confused (caption includes something about "we do the legal kung fu")

- a day in matt's life, recorded by matt and all three of them did the voice over (it's hilarious for obvious reasons)

- several "i'm passing the phone to someone..."

- matt: i'm passing the phone to someone who thinks we're saying words we think sound funny

foggy: meningitis

- several edits of matt

- some news article and that audio that says "wait... is this f-ing play about us?"

there's also a draft:

foggy: i'm passing the phone to someone who's type is "i CAN kill you and i will do it if i have to"

matt: it was ONE time

foggy: karen carries a gun in her purse...

matt: well, two is not a type. it's just a coincidence

foggy: jennifer could snap you like a twig if she wanted to

mat: (silence) i plead the fifth

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

Crystal Clear

A/N- Thank you so much to everyone who shared their own personal likes and dislikes about their glasses 🖤 as a fellow glasses girlie, i really hope this fic did justice to help other glasses girlies not feel as insecure about them 🫶 (i tried my best to tag everyone that left comments on my post to help me a little bit with writing 🖤🖤 thank you all so much!)

Summary- After yet another conversation at lunch about your glasses, the rain changes your mood. Thank god Eddie offers a ride home.

Genre- Fluff

Warnings- Reader wears glasses

Tag List- @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @munsonology @esme-viridian @gvf23 @hellfirenacht @siouxiesiouxtryhard @rememberwhen-it-rained @bylermaxmayfield @capricornrisingsstuff @nymphetkoo @boltonbritreads @vintagehellfire @fan-girl-97 @cielie-voss @architectofimagination @sicknasty03

(my tag list is always open, if you’d like to be added just let me know 🖤)

Word Count- 3.0k words

“Woah!” Eddie said with a laugh, greatly exaggerating his reaction just like he always did, “You can see with these?”

“Yes! Now give them back, i like being able to see.” You quickly snatched your glasses back from his face, carefully cleaning the lenses with your shirt to wipe away the smudges from his fingers.

“Is it really that hard to see without them?” Jeff asked from the other side of the table.

“I mean, it’s not difficult,” You carefully slipped them off of your face and looked around, reading off the few things nearby that you could make out, “I can see the pattern on the table still, and i know that the can across the table says ‘Pepsi’ but i can’t really see much past you guys.” You glanced over their heads and saw one of the few posters hanging on the cafeteria wall for whatever sports event was nearing, “I can’t read what that sign says,” you pointed over to the poster, maybe around 10 feet away, and the boys turned just to see the distance, “i know it’s for some sports thing cause i can make out some kind of ball and i can sort of make out the words ‘varsity’ and ‘friday night’ but that’s really about it.”

“Wow,” Gareth laughed as he turned back in his seat, “you really are blind.”

“Yeah, that’s why i have glasses, dipshit.” You rolled your eyes and placed your glasses back onto your face, blinking a few times as your eyes adjusted back to seeing normally.

You forget how you even got onto this topic, but it always started with Eddie. The amount of times you’ve caught him staring could be counted on both hands, and it always ended up with him making some comment about your glasses. Always poking and prying you with different questions about them. You usually chalked it up to his normal curiosity about everything, always sounding like it was playful teasing but you knew he had the best intentions.

“Do you like them?” Grant asked.

You looked over at him, a bit confused at his question,

“What do you mean?”

“Do you like them?” He said again, “I mean you’ve had them forever, and none of us have them, so we don’t really know what it’s like.”

You thought it over for a moment, shrugging,

“I don’t know. I don’t not like them, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ve had them forever, and they’re kind of a necessity for me, so i haven’t really thought about wether or not i like them.”

“Is there stuff you can’t do?” Jeff asked, his and the other boys’ curiosity getting the best of them, “I mean i know those goggles they make us wear in bio look uncomfortable on you.”

“Yeah, those are definitely one of the downsides to them. And a lot of the times when i open up the oven or the dishwasher they fog up, and it’s the worst when you come inside from the cold cause then they stay foggy for what feels like forever.” You sighed and moved your eyes in a slow circle, following all around the frame, “But i’m used to it all by now. I don’t think i’ve ever had to think about things like that, the ups and downs. It’s just cause it’s all normal to me.”

“I like them.” Eddie piped up, gaining your attention.

“What?” You asked as you looked over to him.

“I like them. Your glasses.” He shrugged and motioned to them, “I don’t know, you just wouldn’t be you without them, you know?”

You shrugged,

“I guess so. I don’t know, sometimes i think about getting rid of them. Getting contacts or something, just so i didn’t always have to feel so different from everyone else.”

“Why would you want to do that?” Gareth asked, “None of us look like everyone else, that’s why we all get along so well.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” You smiled, “I don’t know, i just think it might be nice to not always feel so different…”

Eddie was about to speak, but was quickly cut off by the bell for next period. You and the boys and the rest of the students around you quickly gathered your things, packing up for whatever class you had next. As you sling your bag over your shoulder, you glanced out the window, seeing the clouds in the sky now a deep grey. A storm was coming, and you knew just from the looks of the sky turning grey that it was going to be a bad one.

Eddie heard your groans and quickly picked up his pace to meet you in the hall,

“You alright (y/n)?”

“Yeah,” You sighed and looked out the window again, “you think you’d be able to give me a ride home today? It looks like it’s gonna be a pretty bad storm.”

“Of course, i won’t make you walk home in the rain. Just meet me by the doors after school.”

“Thanks Eds.” You gave him a quick side hug before splitting your paths down the hall, off to your own classes to finish out the rest of the day.

The last of your classes went smoothly, each period you were able to peek out the window to see just how bad the storm was getting. It hadn’t gotten too bad over the course of time, just a dark sky and a sprinkling of rain. But of course, it had to be at its worst when you were finally ready to leave for the day.

Eddie was there at the doors, waiting for you patiently with a smile on his face,

“Hey,” He perked up as you approached him, “ready to make a run for it?”

“I guess so…” You sighed as the two of you braved yourselves for what was about to come.

It was pouring out, so much so that it made it difficult to see past the water running down the glass of the doors. And of course Eddie had to park as far away from the doors as possible.

He took a deep breath and pulled you close, fixing up his jacket to go over his head and moving the side of it to cover you up as much as possible,

“We’ll go together alright?” You nodded and quickly pulled your glasses off of your face, fearing that the mixture of running and the heavy raindrops would make them fall off your face. You blinked a few times to get yourself used to seeing without them, holding onto them tightly in your hand before starting the count.

“Ready? One…” You were dreading having to run outside and get yourself soaked, “Two…” It wouldn’t be a far run, but all you were worried about was making sure you had a tight grip on your glasses, Eddie noticing as he looked down at you and saw the frames missing from your face,

“Got ‘em?” You looked up to him and nodded before Eddie quickly said, “Three!”

He shoved the doors open, and within seconds you could feel the puddles soaking your shoes and pant legs, and Eddie’s jacket wasn’t much help either. Yours and his hair was completely soaked, sopping wet before you were even halfway towards the van. All you could think about was just getting yourselves to shelter, out of the rain, and as soon as you reached the door he quickly opened it for you and helped you inside. Always a gentleman, even in the pouring rain.

You quickly shook your hair out, wiping the water away from your eyes and reaching down into your pocket to put your glasses back onto your eyes but you felt nothing there. In a panic, you search in every pocket you could, not being able to remember when they may have fallen out of your hand or your pocket or wherever it may have been where you lost them. Eddie climbed into the drivers seat, but as soon as he saw your panicked state he knew something was wrong,

“Everything ok? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find my glasses…” You said quietly, already feeling the tears welling up in your eyes.

You could barely see as is, and now with your glasses gone you didn’t know what to do.

“We’ll find them, don’t worry,” Eddie said, doing his best to reassure you, looking down at the floor of the van to try and spot them, “they’re here somewhere.”

“I think i dropped them outside…” You sniffled, overwhelmed with not knowing exactly what to feel. All you knew was that you were blind and the one thing keeping that from happening was now gone.

Eddie leaned up and looked out the window of the passenger door, a determined look on his face before pulling off his jacket and handing it to you,

“Here, the inside is a little dry, just try and clean yourself up a little ok? You’ll be alright.”

You sniffled again, taking the jacket from him and doing your best to wipe away the droplets on your cheeks. You couldn’t tell if it was rain or tears but at this point it didn’t matter.

Before you could even analyze what was happening, you heard Eddie’s door slam shut again, and when you looked over he wasn’t in his seat. You glanced out the front window and saw that he was back outside, in the pouring rain without his jacket, retracing your steps back towards the door. He was looking all over at the ground, keeping his steps quick and careful as he slowly made his way back towards the doors of the school before leaning down towards the ground and picking something up, moving as quickly as he could back to the van.

You reached over and opened his door for him as he jumped back into the van, now soaking wet from the rain outside. You squinted your eyes in an attempt to see better as Eddie wiped the water out of his eyes before reaching into the back and pulling out one of his old spare shirts, and it looked almost as if he was cleaning something in his lap.

“Are you crazy?! It’s pouring, what did you go back outside for?”

He looked over the object in his hands and he reached over to you, the semi-dry shirt in his hands as he carefully wiped the rest of the water from your eyes, and he carefully slid your glasses back onto your face,

“These are important, i didn’t want to leave without them.”

You blinked a few times to adjust your eyes back and Eddie was completely soaked from head to toe, a bit of water pooling on the seat beneath him,

“You went back outside for them?” Your eyes moved over the frames to check for any damage, but they still seemed to be perfectly fine, save for a few smudges from his shirt on the lenses, “That’s so sweet Eddie, thank you…”

Eddie smiled to you as he tried his best to dry himself off with the shirt in his hands, but he knew he would be waiting a while, especially with his mop of hair still completely soaked. You smiled back at him as you watched him gently scrunch his hair in the shirt,

“You didn’t have to go out in the rain like that, you’re soaked now, i’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” He asked with a laugh, “I know those are important, you need them, and i can’t have you being blind all the time. Then you’d be an even bigger pain in my ass-“ He was cut off by a quick, playful punch to the arm.

“I am not a pain in your ass! You’re a bigger pain in mine from how often you like to steal them and stretch the legs out with your big head.”

“My head is not that big!”

A few laughs were exchanged, followed by a comfortable silence. The dim yellow light of the van, the sound of the rain hitting the sides, the darn atmosphere outside. One might even call it romantic. The thought brought a bit of blush to your cheeks, and you carefully took your glasses off of your face, moving just a bit closer to Eddie,

“You know, i never do get a good look of you in them.” You gently moved a few strands of his wet hair out of the way, carefully sliding your glasses onto his face and keeping yourself close to him to be able to get a proper look how how your glasses looked on him.

He blinked a few times to let his eyes adjust to them,

“How do i look?” He asked with a smirk.

“Good. Not as good as me, but good.” You giggled, “They do make you look a bit smarter.”

“I feel smarter.” He pulled down the sun visor and took a quick look at himself in the small mirror, “You think i can borrow them for when i take that english final?”

“No! I need them to see when i take mine.”

Eddie smiled to you, and though you couldn’t see much, you could see how sweetly he was looking into your eyes. His hand reached up and he gently removed the frames from his face, being sure to keep his careful pace as he turned them and slid them back onto yours,

“I think they look better on you anyways.”

His hand lingered on your cheek and you could feel the way his touch gave you butterflies like no one else had. He was so sweet, so kind, and watching him run back out into the pouring rain just for you was nothing short of romantic. He was being so gentle with you, and though you didn’t notice it at first, your faces were inching closer and closer to each other.

You could almost feel his lips against yours and you just couldn’t take it anymore. The moment was too beautiful to not take advantage of.

Your hand moved up quickly to his cheek, finally pulling his lips to yours and closing the space between you. It was a surprise to you both, but not an unwanted one.

His lips were soft, still slightly wet from the rain, but you never wanted to pull them away from yours. It was so perfect, everything felt so right.

As you slowly pulled back, his hand stayed on your cheek and yours behind his neck, still staying close to one another. Neither one of you was sure what to say, and all you could do was laugh.

It was all you could think to do at the situation.

“Should we do it again?” Eddie asked in between giggles.

“Of course,” You scooted in close to him, your hands moving his wet hair off of his shoulders as your arms pulled him in close, “it’s not weird that we kissed right?”

“If i thought it was weird,” Eddie’s hands moved to your waist, holding you close to him, “i wouldn’t be asking to kiss you again…”

Eddie pulled your body close to his, keeping a firm yet soft grip on your waist as your lips met once more, moving so softly and so sweetly with one another.

It was almost funny, and just the thought of the situation brought a smile to your lips as you kissed him. The whole ordeal seemed like something out of a hollywood movie.

The rain, the gesture, even Eddie reciprocating these feelings that were buried so deep down it felt like magic just to be able to finally express them. He had always given you butterflies but they’d never been like this.

As he slowly pulled his lips from yours, he glanced out the window just past your head, seeing that the rain was nowhere near stopping, and he looked to you once more as his hand brushed the hair from your face,

“I’m starting to dry off a little. Did you want to just sit here for a while? I don’t think we’ve ever really had the chance to just enjoy being with each other…” You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as he spoke, “And i really like being with you (y/n).”

“I like being with you too Eddie.” Your hands moved from behind his neck to carefully hold his cheeks, moving his face down as your lips gently pressed to his forehead, “I really do.”

Eddie smiled big, and you could tell from the look on his face that he never wanted this moment to end. He adjusted his body on the seat, carefully laying himself out and leaving just enough room for you to squeeze in with him,

“Come here sweetheart,” His arms wrapped tightly around you as you laid with him, your head resting against his chest and your arm moving over his torso to hold him back, one of his arms around your shoulder as the other held your hip, “I want to enjoy this for as long as i can…”

He took a deep breath as he settled in with you, and you carefully adjusted yourself as you tried to find a comfortable position without your glasses pressing into your face. Eddie could feel you trying your best to get comfortable and his hand reached to carefully pull your glasses from your face,

“Here, let’s put these away for right now,” he folded the legs and carefully placed them onto the dashboard, leaning back into his comfortable position and allowing you to move yourself as you pleased, “and i’m putting them right up here so we don’t lose them again.”

You giggled and quickly leaned up, placing a soft kiss to his cheek as your head went back to resting on his chest, his arm moving back around your shoulder as the two of you settled into the comfortable velvet seats. It wasn’t the perfect place for a romantic moment, but that didn’t matter to you.

Eddie liked you for you, terrible eyesight and all, and it was so comforting to know that he would always think you looked better with your so called ‘imperfections’.

You both stared out the front window of the van, watching the rain hit the glass and keeping an eye on the clouds for even the slightest hint of sunlight.

You hated the rain, but wished it would pour all night.

[rainylana]

“Do it for me.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: reader’s past struggles come back to haunt her.

warnings: reader has an eating disorder, talk of anorexia and weight gain/loss, throwing up food, angst, tears galore, panic attack, depression, language. requested by @eu1a i hope i did this justice to what you wanted as of how serious the topic was. thank you for requesting and enjoy reading:)

“Fuck,” You sobbed, hands gripping the toilet as you sat on your knees, rocking back and forth through cries. You sniffled and snotted, choking on cries that echoed through the bathroom, an absolute mess. It was shocking how one little comment send you into hysterics. You thought you’d gotten so much better.

All it took was one comment from your sister about your weight to ruin your whole day, to send you into the bathroom. You tried not to stick your fingers down your throat, but you were so upset you thought you’d throw up anyways.

You’d always struggled with anorexia ever since you were in middle school, but you’d been doing good ever since you’d gotten together with Eddie. He was good for you, kept you positive. He knew about your past struggles, but you knew he had a hard time understanding it. You didn’t blame him, you didn’t understand it all either.

You’d never had a healthy relationship with food, but being with Eddie healed you. He taught you to love yourself, be kind to the body that you were given. Even if you didn’t want to be, you faked it till you made it. Being with him had helped you get to a healthy weight, put on the pounds you needed to keep your immune system up and healthy.

Your dinner was sitting uncomfortably inside your belly, so you stuck your fingers down your throat and threw up your food, gagging as you did so. It didn’t make you feel better, though, and you sobbed as you drooled all over your hand, eyes watering and chest burning as you vomited your stomach contents.

One comment sent you into a spiral, and you didn’t know how bad it was going to be.

•

You were exhausted, and the loud boom of cafeteria chatter didn’t help the pounding headache that you were trying to fight off. Eddie was to your left, arguing with Gareth and Dustin about something regarding to their newest campaign. You’d tried to focus on what they were talking about, but you hadn’t been sleeping very good. Everything seemed foggy, cloudy, hard to see through and felt as if you were underwater.

Your stomach rumbled for something to eat, but you denied it almost every time, making you look pale and sickly. It had been a week since your sister’s comment, and it had been a week of straight hell. Your body was undergoing your own torture, and you were certainly paying the price for it. You felt so guilty, going behind Eddie’s back and doing everything you could to keep him from finding out that you were sick again. He never saw you like it before, not really, only having heard your stories. You didn’t want him to see you week. You were afraid he’d find you disgusting.

“Angel?” Eddie’s voice echoed in your ear, becoming clearer when he grabbed your left hand. “You with us, baby?”

“Angel,”

“Baby,”

Dustin and Mike cackled like chickens as they made fun of their dungeon master. Eddie rolled his eyes, giving them the bird. “Sorry,” He chuckled, laying an arm over your shoulder. “You good? You seem quiet.”

You smiled as best as you could. “Yeah- just..just tired. I stayed up all night studying for our science exam.”

Eddie bopped your nose. “That’s my good girl. Keeping up with those grades, huh? Well, maybe you should ditch the rest of the day and head home for a nap, yeah? Might do you some good.” He kept eye contact with his big brown eyes, making you fall harder in love with him. Made you feel more guilty.

You couldn’t describe your feelings. You knew you weren’t overweight by any means. You were healthy and were you needed to be. You hadn’t even been insecure about your belly that wasn’t as smooth as it had used to be, or the extra meat on your thighs. You worried about eating, what the food would do to you if you got out of control. What would happen if you weren’t pretty anymore? What would happen between you and Eddie?

You didn’t see yourself as ugly, but you feared food would make you hideous. The solution? Simply not eat.

“Yeah, maybe.” You nodded, looking down to your lap.

“Not eating anything?” He noticed your empty space on the table.

“Not hungry.” You shrugged your shoulders.

“You’ve not ate much this week.” He acknowledged, giving you an odd look. “You’re not coming down with something, are you?”

“No, no,” You shook your head. “Just been really tired. Not had much of an appetite.”

He frowned and scooted his bag of pretzels towards you, pointing so you could eat before he turned back to his friends, giving you a kiss on the cheek as he did so.

It took you five minutes before you could eat one.

•

Your gagging sounds filled the bathroom dreadfully, hunched over the toilet as you heaved out everything you had consumed that day, which hadn’t been much. You cried like a baby, guilt eating you alive. You didn’t know what to do. You knew you couldn’t go down this path again. You’d gotten so bad last time. You needed to talk to Eddie. You knew you had to.

The idea terrified you. He’d be disgusted of what you were doing wouldn’t he? He didn’t judge you before, but that was before.

You sobbed as you flushed the toilet and stood on shaking legs, walking to your bedroom to look in your mirror. You lifted up your shirt with trembling hands. You couldn’t even see your reflection from how hard you were sobbing, your heart broken and body wracking with guilt.

Before you knew it, you were calling Eddie.

His tapping on the window came as a relief and terror all at the same time. You pushed open your curtains to reveal his terrified face, and he jumped in as quickly as he could. “Baby, are you okay?” He grabbed your shoulders. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

You’d regretted it, though, now. It had given you a chance to calm down, his drive over there, and you were suddenly wishing you hadn’t called him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” You waved your hands, not looking at him. “I’m okay, now, I was just upset.”

“About what?” He pressed, warm palms on gone shoulders. “What had you so upset, darlin’?”

“Nothing, I’m okay.” You dismissed halfheartedly.

“Baby,” He said firmly. “Tell me what happened! Are you hurt?”

“No, Eddie, I’m fine!” You snapped harshly, making him jump. “I’m fucking fine!”

You obviously weren’t, because your tears had come just as quickly back again, and you covered your face with your hands as you sobbed behind them.

“Y/n,” He tried to reach out to you but you jerked away. “Please, you’re scaring me, what happened?”

“I can’t tell you!” You wailed, making him recoil slightly. “You’ll be so mad at me!”

“Sweetheart,” He softly and carefully wrapped his hands around your shoulders. “Calm down,”

Your breathing got out of control, and you pushed him away to put your hands on your knees. “I can’t,” You choked, gagging on your own breath. “I’m so-”

“Breathe,” He tried not to panic along with you, holding your torso as he brought you to the bed. “Breathe, honey,” He brushed your hair out of your face. “Shh, it’s alright. I’ve got you.”

You sobbed like a lost child, snot dripping down your nose as you hiccuped and choked. “Shh,” He soothed you. “Shh, I’m right here. Don’t rush, just breathe for me, alright? Need you to calm down.”

The panic attack drifted away after a few minutes, the terror washing away with an overwhelming amount of relief that made you sigh dramatically as you looked up to the ceiling. “Oh, god,”

He pushed your hair away from your sweaty face, adjusting your shirt that was falling off your shoulder. “Are you alright?”

You nodded heavily. “Thirsty.” You panted, getting up to shakily walk to your dresser for your water battle. He stood, watching you carefully to make sure you didn’t fall over.

You swallows your drink roughly, throwing down the bottle when you were done. “Oh, fuck, Eddie I’m so sorry.” You said exhaustedly.

“Y/n, honey, it’s okay.” He frowned, coming up to you. “But you’ve gotta talk to me, okay? I’m freaking out here. What happened that got you so upset? Did someone hurt you?”

“No,” You whined. “Stop asking me!”

“Y/n,”

“Eddie,”

“Fine!” He snapped. “Fine, what the fuck ever then!” He growled, stomping with heavy boots over to the beat. “Forget I fuckin’ asked.”

You gritted your teeth and crossed your arms, the familiar guilt swarming over you like buzzing bees. You carefully set down beside him, fidgeting with your fingers. Your eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry.” Your voice cracked.

“I’m just…I’m afraid of what you’ll say. I don’t want you to be angry with me.”

Eddie looked over at you with saddened eyes, reaching out to grab your trembling hand. “Sweetheart, I promise I’m not going to loose it, okay? I just want you to talk to me.”

He watched you sit in silence, big tears rolling down your cheeks as your lip quivered. He wanted to pull you into his arms, but he knew you needed your space.

“I’ve been throwing up my food again.” You let out a whimper, face burning with shame. “It’s just been a couple weeks.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Throwing up…your food? As in when..”

“Yeah, like before.” You rushed, finishing for him. “I know it’s disgusting and I should stop. That’s why I’m telling you.”

Eddie looked to the floor, trying his hardest to figure out what to say. He should’ve seen the signs, should’ve realized you hadn’t been acting right, because you hadn’t, and all the pieces were finally connecting together:

“Two weeks?” He looked back up at you. “What happened?”

“My sister.” You sniffled. “She said that I was getting fat. Well, no, she didn’t say that. She said I was putting on weight, but you- well, you get it.” You stumbled, bringing up a nail to bite.

“Who, lizzie or Micah?” He said quickly.

“Lizzie.”

“That little brat.” He gritted his teeth. “I outta-”

“That’s my sister, Eddie.” You finally looked at him.

“I don’t care who it is.” He stood up, pacing. “Nobody should ever talk that way to anyone. That’s just messed up.”

“It’s not her fault.” You defended. “She’s right. Don’t be mad at her, Eddie.”

Eddie gave you a look. “Are you serious? You’re not gonna sit there and justify what she said to you, especially with…with your health.” He was flustered and red, pacing a whole in the floor as he walked from one end of the room to the other.

“Are you okay?” You asked him, causing him to stop.

“Am I- no, no, baby, are you okay?” He came down to his knees in front of you. “I mean- you know that I don’t know anything about this, so you just gotta be honest with me. I mean..well, are you alright? Don’t you..should you eat something?” He was rambling and he knew it, terrified of saying the wrong thing.

“I’m not hungry.” You blushed.

“How long has it been since you ate?” He regretted the word choice as soon as he said it, especially the way your face turned beat red, but he had to ask.

“This morning.” You answered.

“And did..did you, uh- throw it up?” He said carefully, looking up with big, brown eyes.

You were beginning to feel very small, not able to keep your eyes on him. You started to cry again. You held your belly and sniffled, his hands on your knees.

“Baby, it’s okay,” He tried to sooth you. “I’m not mad. I’m glad you told me. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Yeah.” You said hoarsely. “I’ve not been able to keep anything down.”

“Okay,” He said gently. “Thank you for telling me. Have you been doing anything else?”

“No,” You shook your head. “Just that. I’m scared I’m going to get bad again, it’s just so hard to stop.”

“What’s it feel like?” He tried. “Is it..like addiction? Are you addicted to it or is it something else?”

His slender fingers came up to wipe your tears, soothing your aching anxiety. “I-I..I,”

“Slow,” He stopped you. “Shh, calm down, slow, slow,” He guided you through your breathing.

“I’m too big.” You blubbered, coiling over and grabbing his arms. “I’m too- too, uh, big!”

“No, you’re not, y/n.” He shook his head, holding your shoulders. “You’re healthy. You’re exactly where you need to be.”

“But, what happens when I’m not!” You cried. “You’ll leave me!”

“What?” His eyes crinkled in surprise. “Honey, what, no. No matter what you look like I’m staying. No matter what.” He lifted up to hold your face.

“Sweetheart, you’re healthy and where you need to be.” He squeezed you. “It doesn’t matter if you loose weight or gain it, none of it matters to me, do you understand? All I want is for you to be happy and healthy. I want you to be the healthiest version of yourself that you can be.”

“I can’t do it,” You leaned your forehead against his. “I’m too stupid. I hate myself.”

“Do it for me.” He kissed your nose. “Please, just try to love yourself. Be kind to your body. I will help you in anyway that I can, you’ve just gotta be honest with me.”

You cried and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck. He didn’t realize how fast his heart was racing until he felt it vibrate against your own. He took a deep, shaking breath, allowing his own eyes to water.

[doumadono]

Hi! Could I ask for an Emergency request please? Of course it’s only if you’re feeling up to it💖

I recently got drugged at a university function, nothing happened to me past that, but it was still unsettling and I don’t know who did it. I just reported it to the correct authorities, but my anxiety has been trough the roof. Do you think you could cook up some comfort with Bakugo? He’s tough but he protects those he cares about (of a bit clumsily worded at times).

Thank you, and I hope you are well and that the November darkness isn’t hitting too hard💖

A/N: I'm so sorry to hear about what happened to you. It must be incredibly difficult. Please take care of yourself, and I hope things get better soon

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

The university atmosphere buzzed around you as you stumbled out of the lecture hall, feeling disoriented and anxious. It was the aftermath of an ordinary day, and yet, something wasn't right. Your steps were unsteady, your mind foggy, and a creeping unease clung to you.

Just as you were trying to make sense of the situation, Bakugo, your friend from UA which you graduated togerther, spotted you in your distressed state. His sharp gaze honed in on your uneasy demeanor, and without a second thought, he approached you. "Oi, what the hell happened to you, nerd?" Bakugo demanded, his voice laced with genuine concern.

You tried to offer a reassuring smile, but it faltered as the anxiety gripped you tighter. "I don't know, Katsuki. Something's off. I just feel… weird."

Bakugo's expression hardened. "Weird how? Did someone mess with you?"

You recounted the unsettling feeling of being drugged, and the subsequent anxiety that had settled in.

Bakugo's eyes narrowed as he listened, his fists clenching at the thought of someone harming you.

"I bought a coffee from a machine, and that's when it started. The symptoms, the disorientation," you explained, your voice shaky. "I mean, I left it in the lecture hall for two minutes because I needed to use the bathroom…"

Bakugo's protective instinct kicked in, and he gently rested a hand on your shoulder. "You should've told me sooner. Don't worry, I'm gonna handle this. But first, let's get you somewhere safe."

He led you to a quieter corner of the campus, away from prying eyes. You slumped against a wall, and Bakugo crouched down to your eye level. "You're okay, don't ya worry your pretty head about that. We'll figure out who did this, and they'll pay for it."

Tears welled up in your eyes as the weight of the situation hit you.

Bakugo, despite his gruff exterior, wrapped you in a comforting embrace. "Hey, none of this is your fault. Don't cry, silly."

As you cried into Bakugo's shoulder, he murmured reassuring words, promising to stand by your side. "I won't let anyone mess with you. I'll find out who did this, and they'll regret crossing us."

Eventually, your tears subsided, and Bakugo pulled back, his gaze softening. "We'll report this properly. I'll make sure they investigate every damn coffee machine in that place, as well as fucking everyone who entered that goddamn hall. No one hurts you and gets away with it, dammit."

You nodded, grateful for Bakugo's unwavering support. In that moment, despite the anxiety and fear, you felt a glimmer of strength - Bakugo had your back.

"I'm going to the provost's office. Stay here."

You nodded, anxiety gnawing at you as Bakugo disappeared down the corridor. The seconds felt like hours until, suddenly, his enraged screams echoed through the hallway, making your heart race. It was a sound that sent shivers down your spine, a ferocity reserved for those who dared to harm someone under his protection.

Time dragged on, each passing moment amplifying the tension in the air. The weight of uncertainty pressed on you until finally, Bakugo emerged, his expression a mix of fury and resolution. "They'll investigate the situation promptly," he declared, his voice steady despite the rage in his eyes. The promise of justice hung in the air as Bakugo stood by your side, a formidable guardian in the face of adversity.

Bakugo locked eyes with you, "No one, and I mean no fucking one, is going to mess with the future number one hero and his best friend. I'll make sure of that."