#HoH reader

[djarintreble]

hiyaaa!! I just read your matt murdock x hoh reader and as another hoh person I adored it! it's so rare to find works that have hoh characters let alone hoh readers. I just wanted to share the amount of happiness I felt reading it and if you wanted to share more of that pairing I'd love to read more <33

im gonna cry. i cant believe i didn’t see this before! i have been having a really rough week with finals and i came on here to get my mind off of school and this was just such a sweet message to find and read. im so glad to know there are other hoh readers out there! that’s why i wrote this. i started writing for myself and what i’d want to read because there’s always someone else out there who needs it too. im so glad that was you! i would love to do more for this pairing! (obvi i did it very much considering me as the reader since it’s self indulgent and im hoh lol!!) but it makes my heart happy to know i’ve touched someone else with it! you don’t understand how much this filled me with joy!

ik ur anon but pls message me!! id love to be friends and send/tag you if i do another one with this pairing! much love!!! 💛✨

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

the lakes - m. murdock

a/n: hey guys so i've been struggling a lot with the fact that i might have hearing loss (i'm going to the doctor next week) and as always i am projecting, but i am not 100% sure everything in this fic is accurate and for that i apologize. but it's my little passion project and i hope you enjoy <3 as always, comments and reblogs are always loved and appreciated! warnings: hearing loss, hearing aids, tinnitus, reader struggling with being disabled, some parts are more vulnurable and don't have the reader being like overly confident in their disability, matt being soft, some suggestive behavior at the end, kissing, nicknames, pretty pg-13 honestly word count: 3.0k summary: your hearing aids run out of battery, and you're forced to struggle through a day of ringing ears and being deaf. matt helps, as he always does. pairing: matt murdock x hard of hearing!reader now playing: the lakes - taylor swift "take me to the lakes/where all the poets went to die/i don't belong/but my beloved, neither do you."

“Are you deaf?”

“What?”

You’re eighteen, home from college for the first time since fall break. Your family sits around for Thanksgiving, and there are so many people talking. There’s about thirteen people at this long dining room table, and they are all talking at once. You’re sitting next to your sister, but you can’t hear her well.

You know she’s speaking, and you’re sure you’re yelling, but you’re frustrated.

“I said, are you deaf? I repeated myself like, four times!”

You feel your face flush.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you. You’re mumbling, and it’s loud in here.”

Your sister looks at you like you’re crazy.

“I’m right next to you, and I’m not mumbling. In fact, no one is yelling, either.”

You poke your fork at your sweet potatoes and feel hot, angry tears in your eyes as you avoid everyone’s gaze.

Your mom sits across from you, and frowns, planning to tell you to make an appointment at the student health center when you get back to campus.

She doesn’t even have to. You’ve booked one by the time she says it to you.

At the student health center, they administer a hearing test, and then refer you to a specialist for further testing. You call your mom, crying and she gently comforts you, before driving to the nearest bookstore and picking up a book on hearing impairments and a copy of ASL for Dummies.

At the specialist, they do another round of tests. Your doctor tells you that you do in fact have hearing issues and that you should come back in a year for more testing, to see if your hearing gets worse. For now, you get a doctor’s note that requires all your professors to take your hearing impairment into consideration. The process for getting that applied at your university is painful, and only gets worse through your years there.

Before you get to law school, your doctor tests you again, and tells you how your hearing has been decreasing in quality in the past few years. He says that you’ll need hearing aids to regulate it. You cry because you cannot afford that.

You get captioning accommodations throughout law school, as well as a note taker for certain classes that are entirely lecture based. You still try to take your own notes, but it frustrates you that suddenly you need all this help. Your own notes are incomprehensible and often miss key parts of the lecture as you sit for a few minutes trying to decipher what your professor had said a few minutes prior.

You go into corporate law after law school, choosing to stay out of court initially because you find yourself frustrated that you wouldn’t be able to process all of what’s going on due to the many voices.

You stay at this company long enough to get your hearing aids, long enough to pay your loans, and long enough to save up a good fund for your hearing aid needs.

You quit your job and get hired at Nelson, Murdock & Page as an interim while you decide what you want to do.

With your hearing aids, life isn’t so frustrating anymore. You find yourself enjoying casual chatter and not worrying about processing what your friends are saying. At family dinners, you take your hearing aids out when you’re mad at your family, to which your stepdad, another hearing aid user, always laughs.

And, despite the pay not being stellar at your job, you love it. You love working with people who need help, love fighting injustice, and you love your coworkers.

...

If only Matt Murdock would reciprocate your feelings towards him.

You’ve been dancing this dance for months. You come into work with coffee and stutter when you get to his doorway.

You wonder if he’ll ever know how desperately you want him.

You go about your days quietly, going to the bar with them at the end of a long week. You love your friends and find yourself hoping they know how much you love them.

Karen and Foggy, as well as Foggy’s fiancé, know about your hearing aids since they sit sort of clunkily on your ears.

You don’t tell Matt, though, not at first.

You know how bad it is, to not even tell your blind crush that you have hearing aids. But you’re embarrassed. It makes you sound like an old person even though you’re in your twenties.

But when Matt crawls into your window late at night, bleeding, you don’t even flinch as he crashes onto your floor behind you. You’re reading, your hearing aids out, and he’s unsure why you can’t hear him. Your heartbeat had no reaction, it’s like you don’t even realize he’s there.

He taps you on your shoulder and you turn quickly, and gasp, before starting to sign at him. Even in his disoriented state, he knows you’re doing something with your hands and moving your mouth. At first, he thinks that he might have stuff clogging his ears, but then he realizes you’re signing, probably because you think Daredevil isn’t blind.

He takes off his helmet.

“Matt?” You say, and it comes out a little louder than it should, because you can’t hear yourself to gage how loud you’re being.

He says something, and your gaze focuses on his mouth, where you can barely make out what he’s saying.

“I can’t hear you.” You say, softer now. You reach over to your bedside table and put your hearing aids on. By the time you look back, Matt has passed out on the ground. Oh fuck.

You get your first aid kit and begin to work on his wounds. When you’re done, you pull him onto your couch, now stained with his blood, and watch as he sleeps. Blood covers your hands, and you listen to him breathing.

When he wakes up that morning, you’re asleep on the couch, and when you feel him start to stir. You grab your hearing aids, and turn them on, before watching him wake.

He says your name softly, and you take his hand in yours.

“Hey.. You.. You’re Daredevil...”

“You’re deaf.”

“Hard of hearing. Not fully deaf, just… My right ear is a lot better than my left, but without my hearing aids I’m close to deaf, yeah…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were Daredevil?”

“I was scared. Scared that… That you would view me differently, scared that you wouldn’t like me as much.”

“I was scared too..”

“When did you start losing your hearing?”

“In college. I realized it when I went home for Thanksgiving, and then it got worse from there..” You tell him. A hand reaches out to your face, and you lean into it, letting your cheek rest in his palm. His fingers trail up towards your ear and gently run his fingers over your hearing aid.

“Thanks for stitching me up.” He says softly.

“No problem.”

“The hearing aid does explain the buzzing I always hear when you’re around.”

“You can hear my hearing aids?”

“Apparently. I can hear a lot of things. I have heightened senses. You use pomegranate shampoo and had red velvet cake for dessert tonight. Your heart is racing.”

Your face flushes.

“I can turn them off if it’s bothering you.”

“How would you hear me, then?” He has a point.

“I just don’t want them to bother you.”

“Don’t offer to hide your disability just to make other people more comfortable.”

You kiss him when he says this, in a careful way. You’re gentle, making sure not to hurt him as you do. He lays there and lets you kiss him, his hands on your face. You realize you had no reason to be scared that Matt might reject you for your disability, because he is the only person in your everyday life who really gets how it is to have a disability that affects all aspects of your life.

You trace the healed scars on his skin as you kiss him gently, careful not to hurt him. You promise that you’ll kiss him more passionately when he isn’t freshly stitched up.

• • •

A few weeks passed after that night. You and Matt start seeing each other more and more as you fall deeper in love. You find it silly that you wasted so many days, afraid of talking to each other and maybe disappointing each other over the fact that you both lack a vital sense.

But Matt never views it that way. You wear hearing aids and it’s perfectly fine because most of the time, you aren’t struggling to hear him and cannot communicate with him, and he can’t see when you can’t hear him.

Instead, Matt loves that he can hear your hearing aids buzzing softly because it always alerts him that you’re there. He can hear your heartbeat and smell you, too, but it’s not quite the same as this soft little buzzing that reminds him often of a bee.

Except for this one day.

You slept over at Matt’s on a Thursday and really, you should have known better. You knew your hearing aids were going to need a battery change soon, but you’ve been so busy with work and with Matt, and worrying about him at night, that you’re tired. So tired that you forget to pick up batteries before your hearing aids die.

You sneak out of Matt’s apartment early, sending him a text that you needed to go get changed before work. Really, you want to avoid the fact that you wouldn’t be able to hear him. But he didn’t respond to your message. You decide that you don’t care at this moment and head out to work, debating the right way to tell your coworkers about your predicament.

When you get to work, Foggy is immediately talking to you, and you are tense.

“Foggy—” He’s not stopping. It sounds like he’s mumbling, and there’s this ringing in your ears. “Foggy, I can’t hear you.” He finally looks to you, and says something, you make it out to be a phrase of confusion. “My hearing aids died.” You tell him. You’re frustrated, and Matt isn’t in the office yet.

You deem this as a blessing and a curse. Foggy goes to tell Karen what’s going on and as you’re settling down for the day, you get a text. You hope it’s from Matt, but when you see Karen’s name, you falter slightly.

‘Hey! Foggy told me what was going on. We’ll have your calls redirected to one of us and you can spend the day doing housekeeping and paperwork.’

‘Thanks’, You respond, “Sorry about all this. I’m usually on top of my battery life.”

“Don’t worry about it. These things happen.”

“Still, thanks. Did you hear from Matt at all?”

“No, he probably just slept in late. He should be in soon.”

You try to ignore your anxieties over his absence even though you know that when he does come into the office, you’ll have to struggle to communicate with him all day.

So, for the first hour or so of your day, you try to get some work done but there’s a light ringing in your ears that’s getting worse and worse as you attempt to try and focus on other things. Everything sounds so muffled. You’re so focused that your teeth grind against each other, your muscles tense, as you attempt to try and block out the ringing in your ears.

You have a feeling that by the time you leave today, those hot frustrated tears will be threatening to pour once more.

You don’t hear Matt as he steps into your office and stands by your left side, where you’re almost completely deaf. He stands there for about ten minutes, trying to get your attention before he realizes the light buzzing of your hearing aids are not there.

You must not have them in.

So his hands find your shoulders gently, and instead of tensing, you actually relax under his touch, because you realize that it has to be Matt. A slight turning of your head confirms it and you lean into his touch.

Neither of you say much for a while, deciding to let your frustration slowly dissipate as you lean into his warm hands. They stay on your shoulders and upper arms, rubbing gentle patterns into your skin.

After a good ten minutes of this, his body shifts to your right side and he leans down, before speaking at full volume, maybe even a little louder, just to make sure you can hear him. It still sounds like he’s mumbling, but you can hear him.

“Forgot your hearing aids?”

“Batteries died.” You tell him. “You never answered me.”

“My phone died. I forgot my charger, too.. Are you gonna be okay to work all day?”

“Mhm..” You smile softly, “You’re gonna have to help answer calls, though.”

He kisses your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” He says, a soft smile on his face.

The day goes by pretty much as you expect it. You spend it doing paperwork and dodging phone calls, your tinnitus gets worse as the day goes on. By the time the day is finally winding down, Karen sends you one final text.

“Matt’s staying a little late to catch up on some work. Want me to walk you home?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

You realize that because she and Foggy are heading home, you’ll be able to sit with Matt, maybe get a little bit of peace. You’re thankful, too, because you’re about to lose your mind over all of this. The ringing is just getting to be too much.

You wait a few minutes after Foggy and Karen head home before you go into Matt’s office. He smiles at you and gestures for you to come in, and you do. You lean against his desk, as he speaks loud enough now that you can hear him.

“I’ll just be a few more minutes, Bee.” Even the soft-spoken nickname doesn't get you out of your funk, too busy wanting to get on your hands and knees and beg God for your hearing back.

That doesn’t usually happen, but every once in a while you ask him for a normal life.

God sends you a blind man as your soulmate, because he must think that the whole thing is quite funny.

“Okay…”

You feel hot tears pooling in your eyes as you bite your tongue and dig your fingernails into your skin. You almost draw blood.

“What’s wrong?” He can tell that something is wrong. He can always tell, and you’re foolish to think anything less of him, and even more foolish to forget his super senses. A part of you bites back a bitter feeling, since you wish you could’ve had super smell, super sight, super taste, anything in exchange for your hearing. You were not given an exchange, only forced to give, with nothing in there for you.

You forget that your boyfriend has super senses and can taste and smell your salty tears and blood in the air. Damn him.

“Loud… Ringing in my ears, my tinnitus is always really bad when I don’t use my hearing aids for a while..” You say softly. “It’s just.. it really hurts...” You confess, tears slipping down your face.

“Sweetheart..” He takes off his glasses and rests them on the desk in front of him. “C’mere..” You can’t hear that last part, but the way he opens his arms gives you the hint.

You sit on his lap, burying your face in the crook of his neck with a shaky sigh. You feel the thumps of his heartbeat and hold onto it, the ringing in your ears slightly muffled by his skin. It doesn’t fix the problem, but it helps.

His hands linger on your body, gentle caresses of your knee or thigh happening here and there. He just wants you to know he’s there, in the same way he desires when everything becomes too much for him.

“”m sorry..” you say gently, and he just hushes you softly, kissing your head. He traces patterns into your skin. He traces words into it as well.

L-O-V-E.

S-W-E-E-T-H-E-A-R-T

He traces your name, his, and your last names.

You kiss him softly, realizing that you might never be 100% okay with your hearing, but Matt will help. He’ll understand. He loves you, and it’s enough to be confident in your future again.

You spend only a few minutes more in the office before you decide to head home, his hand never leaving yours.

You make it back to his apartment and Matt plugs his phone in in case you need to text him and get his attention. You wind up stealing a pair of sweatpants, a tee shirt, and a pair of fuzzy socks. The two of you wind up tangled together on his couch.

Your ear is pressed against his chest as he gently caresses your skin, occasionally moving your hair from your face. He mumbles sweet nothings, and while you can’t hear them, you feel the rumbling vibrations in his chest, and you relish in them. You bathe in the feeling of his heartbeat thumping against his skin.

You fall asleep like this, with Matt touching you and talking in this low tone to make sure you can feel the vibrations of his voice in his chest and in his throat. It’s enough just knowing he’s there. That this thing you thought would deem you unlovable is no match for Matt Murdock, who on your wedding day will throw up the sign for ‘I love you’ in ASL.

For Matt Murdock, who, when you’re taken for loving the devil, will find you and take you into his arms and kiss you so that you know he’s real.

For Matt Murdock, who touches you in all the right ways so you can hear the sounds of your own pleasure.

For Matt Murdock, who will gently trace patterns into your skin when you need to be grounded. For Matt Murdock, who feels himself slipping further and further in love with you and finds himself searching for the soft buzz of your hearing aids when you walk into the room.

[digitalfishwish]

I wanted to put out a post asking if there are any black nonverbal or deaf/HoH people who use BASL who would be willing to consult on an animation project?

My junior year of art school starts this fall, and I will begin working of my junior-senior thesis 3D animation, where the main character is a black nonbinary person who, in the beginning and ending scenes, is seen communicating with sign language. I am white and more-or-less abled-hearing (I have Auditory Processing Disorder but I don’t know if that counts), but I know there are differences between ASL and BASL, and I wanted to have a lot of sensitivity around using this dialect accurately and respectfully.

The consultation would involve taking videos of your hands as you sign the ‘dialogue’ I have written, which would then be used as a reference in the 3D animation. I am a relatively broke student but I am willing to pay for your consultation. Please DM me if you’re interested!

Note: I apologize in advance if I have mistakenly used any offensive terms in this post, I tried to do a lot of research but I’m sure I have shortcomings and gaps in my knowledge.

[gemini-sensei]

HoH!Lawrence!Reader Headcanons

Contents: chubby!reader, Reader has hearing aids, Johnny is a single dad, protective older brother Robby Keene,

🥋 When at a young age, Reader lost some of her hearing. She got sick and Johnny had to take her to the hospital. He all but burst through the hospital door with a young Reader running a fever. He had no idea what he was doing as a father, he was still figuring it out, but he knew when she was sick. She was very energetic, so he knew something was wrong when she wasn't.

🥋 Watching his daughter lose some of her hearing was hard for Johnny. He didn't know how to deal with that. And he blamed himself because how could he let this happen? He took it harder than Reader.

🥋 The hospital was beneficial and referred him to an ENT for Reader. He struggled to pay for the appointments, but he always saved up to pay for them whenever there was one coming up.

🥋 Life at home wasn't all that different despite the change. Johnny just got louder whenever talking to Reader or calling for her from another room. When she watched TV, she had the volume up really high. She wouldn't hear a knock on the door and whoever was on the other side would either keep knocking until Johnny heard it or leave if he didn't.

🥋 Robby would come over sometimes and he didn't understand all of this in the beginning. He realized that Reader was talking louder than before, and she sometimes wasn't responding to him when he spoke. It took his mom talking to Johnny about it before Robby got some answers.

🥋 It made Robby, who's just a few months older than Reader, very protective. They didn't go to the same school, but Robby knows how mean kids could be. He worried she got bullied for her ears not working like everyone else, but she brushed him off whenever he'd say something like "You just tell me if anyone bothers you about it, okay?"

🥋 It wasn't until a few years later, after some appointments, that she got offered to try hearing aids. Reader got excited and asked her dad if she could do it, to which he worried about paying for them. The nurse assured him that if he had insurance, they'd help pay for it. So, he had to go through the process of getting medical insurance to pay for the hearing aids. He would do anything for his daughter, especially feeling responsible for her sickness that led to her hearing loss. So, he did it, obviously.

🥋 After getting the hearing aids, Reader would get teased from time to time. But there were also those times kids were just interested in them. She would explain to them why she had them and what they did. If someone said something out of line or mean, she hit them like her dad told her to.

🥋 This, of course, led to a parent-teacher meeting that Johnny had to go to, which he didn't want to, but he did. They talked about how to act at school and Johnny argued about how if a kid was laughing at his daughter who has hearing loss, there's a problem there and it certainly wasn't his daughter. After they wanted to punish her for sticking up for herself, Johnny took her and left telling her she did the right thing. He got her ice cream after.

🥋 As she got older, she got tougher. She started not taking shit from anyone. As a kid, she brushed off all the mean things people said, whether they knew it or not. She stopped letting people off the hook because it was bullshit. And every time she told her dad about how she stood up for herself, he was proud.

🥋 That was until someone pushed her down in middle school. That made Johnny mad but instead of going back to the school about it, he decided to teach his daughter karate so she could fight off anyone who wanted to shove or hurt her.

🥋 So, when a boy tried to push her again, she blocked the attack and flipped him over. No one messed with her after that.

🥋 It garnered her attention, unwanted attention at that. She didn't mind but she just didn't think that anyone would be interested in her for her self-defense skills. But that's exactly what drew Eli and Demetri in because if no one was gonna mess with Reader, they might not mess with them if she was their friend. She knew they were likely hanging out with her for that reason, but she didn't care. Her dad kept teaching her karate and if anyone bothered her friends, she threatened to beat them up. She showed off her karate during rec hour and that usually did the trick to keeping people away.

🥋 When Miguel moved into the apartment across the way, Reader was the first person he met. Sort of.

🥋 She was walking through the complex when he spotted her and called out to her to say hello, but unbeknownst to him she wasn't wearing her hearing aids and didn't hear him because his voice wasn't loud enough. She just walked right into her apartment.

🥋 When he met Johnny, he asked about the "girl who wouldn't say hi to him" and Johnny passively mentioned how she's hard of hearing and also his daughter. Miguel apologized for if he sounded rude and not knowing and Johnny just kind of brushed that off because it wasn't any of his business.

🥋 They didn't cross paths again until Miguel's first day of school. He sat with Eli and Demetri. He believed it was just the two of them sitting there, but then Reader came to join them. She smiled and introduced herself to Miguel and he did the same. She was a lot friendlier than he initially thought after the little miscommunication issue that had happened. At that point, Reader knew of Miguel because her father told her about him and how he was going to teach him karate.

🥋 She laughed and teased her father about it when he told her. "You didn't open a dojo when you taught me to fight."

🥋 Johnny didn't think she was all that funny at the time though. He just told her she could be his co-sensei, and she happily took the position because wouldn't that be fun?

[littlemissrbf]

Viktor (Arcane) x Deaf/HOH Reader HCs!

(Kinda Lengthy Author's Note: okay so English is my first language and American Sign Language is my second so I was really excited to write this down. Most of these HC will be based off of some of my experiences and some funny stories. All ASL will be represented by all caps & use ASL grammar. Enjoy!)

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊

Viktor's favorite signs are "TURTLE" and "TORTISE" simply because of how cute they look. (seriously, search them up) "ah I see, the thumbs represent the flippers... oh the sign is the turtle swimming how cute!"

He began learning ASL shortly after meeting you, wanting to be able to communicate efficiently with you by learning sign (let's be real, his chicken-scratch writing made communicating with notes a bit difficult)

Picked up fingerspelling ridiculously fast, this dude was fingerspelling the alphabet by memory within days.

His first full sentence to you was "MY NAME VIKTOR NICE MEET YOU". The second he finished signing he gave a small smile of satisfaction (it doesn't matter that you had already met, this was the cutest thing)

He was blessed with a very expressive face, so facial expressions in ASL came very naturally to him.

Viktor learned to use non-auditory signals to get your attention, knocking on the table when you're studying together, flicking the lights on and off a few times, and waving if he was far away.

Whenever he taps your shoulder to get your attention, he does it so gently and his hand always hovers for just a split second (his main love language is physical touch fight me.)

Constantly asks you to teach him new signs and slang, he's currently obsessed with responding to your rants with his recently updated vocabulary of slang including "TRUE-BIZ" and "THAT"

Despite being able to fingerspell well and efficiently, Viktor cannot read someone else's fingerspelling to save his life. You reassure him that he's still learning and this sort of thing takes practice, to which he insists that you test him on fingerspelling everyday so that he can improve.

Constantly signs "ILY"

I mean constantly. He waves goodbye with the "ILY" handshape.

He made the mistake of asking you for a sign name and now he's stuck with "STUPID" (which is awfully convenient, it even has the V handshape in it).

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊

BONUS HEADCANNON: You showed Jayce Viktor's 'sign name' knowing that this idiot would probably use it all day genuinely thinking that it was how Viktor's name was signed. The following day, Jayce asked you for a name sign and you happily gave him one... fast-forward to Jayce excitedly showing his new name sign to Viktor.

"Okay so it's an "J" handshape, well also an "I" handshape, and it goes at your forehead to show that I'm smart!"

"Ah I see. I like it, it suits you."

(Viktor didn't have the heart to tell Jayce that the sign name he'd been referring to himself all day as was actually another sign for the word "IDIOT")

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚

(Another Author's Note: I actually had a lot of fun writing this, some context about sign names is that you can only be given a sign name by a Deaf/HOH person so it's an honor to be given one. That being said, if you pester your Deaf friends for a sign name you will probably end up like Viktor and Jayce.)

[sunny-mercya]

Protective

Poly! Billy and Stu x Male Reader (Mention of HOH – Hard of Hearing)

Masterlist

Unfinished

Stu hadn't felt this nervous since.....actually, he doesn't remember being nervous in the past before. Clammy hands and the need to pick and pull at something, were clear signs of it though, that he knew.

Billy elbows him in the side, ringing for him the doorbell. It wasn't like as if they visit you for the very first time at your home—had been over more than once and the amount of sleepover and weekends staying were countless.

It's a bit different today though, so Billy gets it why Stu would feel hesitantly nervous.

«You think his Dad knows about what had happen today in school?» asked Stu, hands holding onto his school bag, whipping back and forth on his heels.

«Probably. He picked [Name] up during lunch and the nurse or Kelly might have said something.» Billy shrugged his shoulders, debating if they should just go through the garden and into the kitchen. It is, in a way, basically a sort of second home for them.

Billy and Stu had a few fears of their own, everyone does and a few of them they share in common would be; getting caught, losing you—be it by some cruel mishap of fate and accidentally killing you or you deciding to break with them, which they never would allow to happen though—and your dads anger.

They wouldn't say that your dad is one of those rumoured scary type of, single, parent—but the man does know how to bring out a knee buckling cold sweat from them. Especially when the anger might be directed at them, because they have done something to upset you and god forbid to upset you.

Billy was about to ring again, when the doors opens and coming face to face with Kelly, who looked at them with raised brows. As always she wore her sunglasses on top of her head, her brown hair—for once, a rare sight—not being open and in a messy bun.

«Aah! The double package. Before I let you two in, Uncle franny doesn't know details of what had happen, but he knows that something had happen.» Kelly tells them, chewing her gum annoying obnoxiously, moving just a bit away from the door to grant them entrance.

The seductive smell of Lasagna and Pizza—which lingers heavy in the air—was, besides the absolute musical silence today, one of the first things they took notice of.

«You two stay for dinner and overnight, boys?» Francis, your dad had insisted to be called by his first name—privileges only they got to have though—walking out of the kitchen, drying his hands up on a kitchen-towel and giving them a welcoming smile. Out of habit, he had signed the his question.

Billy only nodded his head, giving a return of "yes" and "okay" signs, albeit sloppy. Still getting the hang of sign language, even when he and Stu was learning it for 2 years now.

~~~

Walking about the stairs, the boys enter your room without knocking—you wouldn't hear their polite attempt of knocking anyways.

The roller blinds are completely down, window open to let the welcoming chilly air in—but no chance for the ever so sinking sun, to let her last few warming rays of light in—shrouding your room in a darkness.

Your small night lamp, which projected stars on the walls and ceiling, was the only light source. It justifies enough for Billy and Stu, to make out your silhouette of a body lump—being shallowed and covered in blankets—on your bed.

Billy hummed slightly, putting his school bag down—and while Stu mimicking his action and stepping instantly towards your bed—Billy looked around your room, searching for a specific box case.

Stu being a extrovert and overall more emotional person, knows his ways how he had to comfort his boyfriends in time of need. Though, when he gently pried the blankets away from you, he halted in his movements when he heard your loud ear shattering sobbing—which had been muffled with the blankets.

It only had deterred Stu from his mission for a second. Laying down on your bed next to you, Stu put his arms around you and pulled you towards his chest. Running his hand through your hair and down your back, shushing you—even though Stu knows you aren't able to hear it.

Billy rummaging through one of your drawers, being more than certain that the case was in there, had to be—Billy himself had put it in here, for cases of emergencies like these.

Hearing you crying wasn't a first for them, but it was always so damn loud, since you couldn't hear yourself. Though, still, this time Billy felt a kind of uncomfortableness, a squirming rising in his stomach. Giving Billy a ache in his heart.

Aah! There they are! Billy fished the case out, opening it and inspecting them—your old hearing aids, which are a bit broken already and having scratches, but still functional.

Walking over to your bed, Billy crawled over Stus long legs, sitting himself next to you. Stu sats up a bit, leaning against the headboard, pulling you up alongside.

Billy moved your hair aside, putting the aids in as gently as possible—too much force and roughness and it would hurt you.

Like a deer caught in the headlights, wide eyed you looked from Stu to Billy, after they repeated your name to get your attention.

Flushed red cheeks, stained damp with salty tears which keeps going flowing down from your brimming swollen eyes.

A flare of anger rises in Billy, just thinking of what had happen today.

[ghostlyfleur]

steve harrington is a secret hopeless romantic. at least he thinks he’s secretive…. his girl sees right through him, though. she knows better, knows her boy like the back of her hand.

her stevie is long love letters spritzed with perfume that he’s too shy to actually give to you, he’s your lipstick stains on the collar of his shirt, his lover’s scent clinging to him. steve is the color yellow most times, warmth and light and affection, but with his baby he turns red, passionate and desperate and devoted. he is hand holding, shared clothes, wearing his girl’s ring on his pinky finger, heart lockets. written by women, described by taylor swift’s lover album. completely enamored with his baby, loyalty and commitment clear, heart-eyes, forehead kisses. the definition of a puppy boyfriend. head pat, belly rubs, back scratches, butterfly kisses. steve is intimacy, morning sex, make out sessions in the backseat of his car. going down on you for hours, turning his hearing aids up to hear your moans better. your favorite flowers sent to your door with a note filled with his devotion, his adoration. the flowers you give him are kept safely in between pages of your favorite book that became his favorite once you gave him your annotated copy. date nights, drinking wine in the bathtub, cuddling under the night sky. stargazing on the hood of his beamer. slow dancing under the refrigerator lights. talking the ears off of anyone who’ll listen about his beloved. his angel. his best girl. his. your picture on the visor of his car, his bedside table, taped to his mirror, inside his wallet. hand in your back pocket, arm around your shoulder, your smaller hands holding onto his fingers. pinky promises, late night talking and early morning love confessions. dinner at candlelight, picnics surrounded by wildflowers, forehead to forehead touches. kisses. all the kisses. steve harrington is love, reds and pinks and rose gold, ready to kneel at your feet, to worship your body, to shower you in praise. heart racing at the sight of his baby. pulling you closer for a kiss by the necklace he gifted you with an ‘s’ on it. heart-shaped chocolate boxes, teddy bears, red roses, flower petals on the floor, on the bed. the princess treatment. helping to put on and take off your heels. opening doors, hands at the bottom of your spine, carrying you around, piggyback rides. the promise of forever.

[chokememaximoff]

Whenever you need help

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Abstract:In this heartwarming story, Y/N, dealing with hearing loss and annoying tinnitus, discovers solace and love in Wanda's constant care and sweet bedtime serenades. They tackle life's hurdles as a team, and their relationship grows even stronger through it all.

TW:Hearing loss

This is for my soul since I struggle with hearing loss and sadly can't get hearing aids so basically it's comfort for me but I thought someone else might relate too.

In the bustling corridors of New York's prestigious Eastside University, Wanda Maximoff, known not only for her striking beauty but also her sharp intellect, had always stood out. However, her eye was caught by someone entirely unexpected - a girl named Y/N Y/L/N. Wanda was captivated by Y/N's natural beauty, which seemed to radiate a certain mystique. Yet, despite her allure, Wanda found herself unable to muster the courage to approach her.

As the days turned into weeks, Wanda's fascination with Y/N grew. She couldn't help but steal glances whenever Y/N passed by. There was something about her that was simply enchanting, something that made Wanda's heart race every time she saw her. But for all her beauty, Y/N appeared to be an enigma. She rarely mingled with others, always seemed lost in thought, and seldom smiled.

It was during their shared lectures that Wanda's intrigue deepened. She couldn't help but notice that Y/N was one of the most attentive students in the class. Her eyes were always fixed on the professor, her posture was impeccable, and she seemed to hang on every word. Yet, there was an anomaly - Y/N's notes were a mess. Her handwriting was hurried and chaotic, as if she were trying to capture fleeting thoughts. It puzzled Wanda - how could someone so attentive be struggling to keep up?

The opportunity for an explanation came one fateful evening at a college party. Wanda watched from across the room as someone approached Y/N. The dimly lit room buzzed with music and chatter, making conversation a challenge for anyone, but especially for Y/N. She leaned in, her expression a mix of confusion and concentration, trying to understand what the girl was saying over the din.

After a moment, Y/N politely asked the girl to repeat herself. The girl, growing impatient and annoyed, raised her voice, but Y/N's struggle persisted. In frustration, the girl threw her hands up and walked away, leaving Y/N standing there with a slight frown, feeling awkward and isolated.

It was at this point that Wanda, perhaps fueled by a few more drinks than she should have had, made her way over to Y/N. Without thinking, she blurted out, "So, are you that bad at paying attention to everything, or do you just have something wrong with you?"

Y/N was taken aback by the harshness of the question, her eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. "You're an asshole," she retorted, her tone sharp and her eyes filled with annoyance. She pushed past Wanda, leaving the party in a hurry.

Wanda cursed under her breath, immediately realizing that her question had been entirely out of line. She tried to chase after Y/N, but the sea of people at the party made it impossible to find her. She was left with a gnawing sense of guilt and regret.

Determined to make amends, Wanda hatched a plan to subtly apologize. She decided to attend lectures with unwavering focus, meticulously taking notes. Each night, she would painstakingly copy these notes into another notebook, ensuring they were neat and organized.

After a week of this effort, she composed a message on a sticky note that read, "I noticed you struggle to catch the notes in class for some reason, so I made the notes for you. I'm sorry about what I said at the party; I didn't mean it in a rude way. Here's my number, and my name is Wanda Maximoff." She placed the sticky note on the first page of the notebook and left it in front of Y/N's dorm room.

Later that evening, Wanda's phone rang, displaying a message from an unknown number. It was Y/N, and she thanked Wanda genuinely for her kind gesture. Wanda smiled as she saved Y/N's number in her contacts, then mustered the courage to ask if Y/N would be willing to meet her at the benches in front of the dorms.

Y/N agreed to the meeting, and they found themselves sitting under the soft glow of the streetlights. Wanda sighed, apologizing once more, explaining how her curiosity had gotten the best of her at the party.

Y/N, her expression softer now, smiled politely and reassured Wanda, saying, "It's okay, I understand. I'm used to that type of stuff; it happens all the time." She seemed surprisingly forgiving, considering the rude encounter at the party.

Then, Y/N revealed her secret, the very reason behind her struggles. "I'm hard of hearing," she confessed. "I've been gradually losing my hearing for about a year now, so I struggle a lot with classes and conversations in loud places."

Wanda's heart ached at this revelation. She felt a pang of guilt for her previous behavior. She apologized once more, this time more earnestly. "I'm really sorry," she said, her voice filled with regret. "I had no idea. I didn't mean to be so rude."

Y/N placed her hand on Wanda's shoulder, and in that simple touch, a spark ignited between them. She reassured Wanda, saying, "You did the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me to apologize. Your apology is accepted, so don't worry."

Wanda's smile returned, gratitude shining in her eyes. She couldn't help but ask, "But if you struggle so much, why don't you have hearing aids? Wouldn't they help?"

Y/N chuckled bitterly, her expression somber. "Well, I believe I should have them," she began, "but the doctor explained my hearing loss as something related to my nervous system. He said there's no need for hearing aids, so I'm left to struggle."

Wanda groaned in frustration, feeling a surge of anger on Y/N's behalf. "He can't just do that," she exclaimed, her empathy for Y/N growing stronger by the minute.

Y/N shrugged, her gaze drifting into the distance. "I guess he can," she said, her voice tinged with resignation. The weight of her condition, and the helplessness she felt in the face of it, hung heavily in the air.

Wanda couldn't bear to see Y/N carry this burden alone. As they sat together under the night sky, she resolved to be there for her, to help her navigate the challenges of college life with a newfound friendship and understanding. And in that moment, amidst the swirling uncertainties of their young adult lives, a bond began to form, one that neither of them could have predicted when they first crossed paths in the crowded hallways of Eastside University.

...

Wanda and Y/N quickly fell into a pattern of texting each other regularly. They talked about their classes, shared funny anecdotes from campus life, and sometimes just exchanged random thoughts. Through these messages, their connection deepened, and Wanda continued to diligently take notes during lectures, just as she had promised.

As the weeks passed, Wanda realized she had accumulated another notebook full of meticulously transcribed lecture notes for Y/N. She decided it was time to meet up with her and hand over the notes. Wanda texted Y/N, "Hey, would you like to meet for coffee this weekend? I have something for you."

Y/N responded with an enthusiastic "Sure!" and they agreed to meet at a cozy cafe near the dorms on a sunny Saturday morning.

When they met at the cafe, Wanda greeted Y/N with a warm smile. She placed the notebook filled with neatly written notes on the table. "Here you go," she said. "I thought you might find these helpful. If you have any questions or need clarification on anything, don't hesitate to ask me anytime."

Y/N looked at Wanda with gratitude in her eyes. She reached across the table and gently held Wanda's hand. "I really, really want to thank you a lot for this," Y/N said earnestly. "But I also feel bad that you're spending so much of your time on my notes. You should be focusing on yourself."

Wanda shook her head, her own hand comfortably resting in Y/N's. "I want to help you out," she replied. "And you know what? I've noticed that because I pay a lot more attention and write everything down twice, I'm actually learning better as well. So, I'm doing the both of us a favor."

Y/N smiled softly at Wanda's generosity. "Only if it's not a struggle for you," she insisted. "If you ever feel like it's too much, you don't have to continue doing it."

Before Wanda could respond, Y/N insisted on paying for their coffees as a token of gratitude for the notes. Wanda initially resisted, but Y/N's determination won her over. She sighed in defeat and said, "Alright, you win this time."

As they waited for their orders, the waitress came by to take their preferences. She asked, "What type of milk would you like in your coffee?"

Y/N leaned in, trying to hear the question better, but her face showed confusion. She asked the waitress to repeat herself. The waitress repeated the question, but it was clear that Y/N was struggling to process the words.

Wanda noticed Y/N's discomfort and gently tapped her hand, making her look up. Wanda repeated the waitress's question, this time speaking louder and using hand gestures to illustrate the choices. Y/N nodded, her face blushing slightly as she responded to the waitress.

When the waitress walked away, Y/N smiled at Wanda, her eyes filled with appreciation. "Thank you for that," she said. "Sometimes, it's the little things that make a big difference."

Wanda grinned, feeling a warmth in her heart. "Whenever you need help," she assured Y/N, "I'm there for you."

As they sipped their coffee and chatted about their plans for the upcoming week, it was clear that their bond was growing stronger, and their connection was becoming something truly special. Wanda had found a purpose in helping Y/N, and Y/N had found a friend who not only understood her struggles but was willing to go the extra mile to make her life a little easier.

...

It was a special day for Y/N - her birthday. Wanda had been dropping hints about a surprise for weeks, building excitement and curiosity. As the day arrived, Y/N couldn't help but feel a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

Wanda arrived at Y/N's dorm room with a cheerful smile. "Happy birthday, Y/N!" she exclaimed, holding a blindfold in her hand. "I have a surprise for you, but you'll need to put this on."

Y/N's heart raced as she considered the blindfold. She was nervous about the idea of losing yet another one of her senses, but Wanda's reassuring presence put her at ease. As they settled into Wanda's car and started driving, Y/N's anxiety began to fade.

Wanda's hand landed comfortably on top of Y/N's knee, and Y/N immediately relaxed. She placed her hand on top of Wanda's, their fingers interlocking. Wanda couldn't contain her happiness, her cheeks turning red as she drove.

After a short ride, Wanda helped Y/N out of the car and carefully removed the blindfold. Y/N blinked, taking in her surroundings. They were standing in front of a private doctor's office specializing in hearing loss.

Y/N's eyes widened as she looked at Wanda. "Wanda, this is... How did you even get an appointment? And it's way too expensive; you shouldn't have done this."

Wanda smiled warmly, holding both of Y/N's hands. "My dad knows the doctor. He's a household friend, so everything is sorted out. Let's go in and get you the help you need."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes, and she hugged Wanda tightly. Wanda hugged back, her own eyes filled with affection and happiness.

The appointment at the doctor's office was lengthy, but it was worth every moment. Measurements were taken for Y/N's hearing aids, and a few days later, they returned to pick them up. Y/N was overwhelmed with emotion as she heard again, almost like she did before her hearing loss.

As they got into the car after the appointment, Wanda asked, "Do the hearing aids feel weird?"

Y/N cupped Wanda's cheeks, pulling her in for a passionate kiss. Wanda was momentarily stunned before she eagerly kissed Y/N back, melting into the moment.

When they finally pulled away, Y/N said with a smile, "I've been wanting to do that for so long."

Wanda raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eye. "You like me?"

Y/N laughed softly. "Of course, idiot," she said, pulling Wanda in for another sweet kiss. They smiled against each other's lips, their connection deepening with every tender moment shared. Y/N's birthday had turned into a day of unforgettable surprises, and her heart was filled with gratitude and love for Wanda.

...

One quiet night, Y/N found herself restless, tossing and turning in Wanda's cozy dorm room. The room, usually filled with the warmth of their love, was eerily silent. Yet, it wasn't the silence that disturbed Y/N; it was the persistent ringing in her ears, a relentless tinnitus that had become a constant companion ever since her hearing had started to deteriorate.

The deafening silence of the room only intensified the sound, making it impossible for her to find peace. Y/N felt the pressure build in her ears, like a vice slowly tightening. It was maddening, and she had grown accustomed to sleepless nights and the frustration that accompanied them.

As Y/N stirred for what seemed like the hundredth time, Wanda, who had been asleep beside her, woke up. She had always been a light sleeper, especially when it came to Y/N's well-being. Wanda reached out and gently caressed Y/N's cheek, concern etched on her face. Her voice was soft and filled with love as she whispered, "What's wrong, love?"

Y/N sighed, her voice carrying the weariness of countless sleepless nights. "Well, a symptom of hearing loss is my tinnitus," she explained softly. "So, I haven't slept normally in a year since I started losing my hearing. My ears keep ringing, and sometimes, I feel intense pressure in them."

Wanda frowned, her heart aching for the person she loved. "You should have told me, baby," she said, her voice laced with concern. "I want to help."

Y/N sighed again, resignation in her tone. "There's no cure for tinnitus anyway," she mumbled. "So, what's the point of burdening you with it?"

Wanda, not willing to accept defeat, gently pulled Y/N's head onto her chest. She started running her fingers through Y/N's hair, a soothing gesture she had perfected over time. "Well," she began, her voice tender, "now I'm going to sing for you until you fall asleep. And then, I will sleep too, after you do."

Y/N protested softly, "But, Wanda, baby, you need rest too. I'm used to this. I don't want to keep you awake."

Wanda shushed her gently before she could finish her sentence. "I said, when you need help, I'm there. So now, let me help you."

And with that, Wanda began to softly sing. Her melodic voice filled the room, drowning out the incessant ringing in Y/N's ears. It was a sweet lullaby, a soothing melody that seemed to reach into Y/N's soul and calm her troubled mind.

Wanda sang the songs that held special meaning for them, their lyrics weaving a comforting cocoon around Y/N's restless thoughts. As Y/N listened, the tension in her ears began to loosen, and the relentless ringing slowly faded into the background.

Sure enough, in just a few minutes, the sound of Wanda's singing had worked its magic. Y/N had found solace in the familiar voice, and her eyelids grew heavy. She drifted into a peaceful sleep, cradled in Wanda's loving arms.

Wanda smiled down at her girlfriend, brushing a strand of hair away from Y/N's face. She leaned in and kissed the top of Y/N's head, whispering, "Sweet dreams, baby."

With Y/N finally at rest, Wanda closed her eyes, grateful that she could provide comfort and relief to the person she loved most in the world. She knew that there would be more nights like this, nights where Y/N's tinnitus would wage a battle against her sleep, but as long as they faced them together, Wanda was willing to sing every night if it meant bringing peace to Y/N's troubled dreams. The love between them was stronger than any challenge, and in the embrace of sleep, they found solace in each other's arms.

[jadewritesficshere]

Steve likes to be the one in charge when it comes to sex. He likes to watch as you come undone beneath him. He loves to be depended on and in control (he likes to feel needed but he can't say that. He likes how you look at him for guidance and feels he can do something right, not that you wouldnt make right decisions, but he loves that you look up to him and have faith in him to help you). He loves the way you grab his arms and look at him through half-opened eyes. Steve tries not to be arrogant, but he loves how you go cock drunk and babble making no sense, knowing only his cock can make you feel that way. The way you look at him with adoration, only able to say "uh-huh" and nod at him (he is 99% sure he could ask you anything and you would agree, because you aren't even thinking). Steve always makes sure his hearing aids are charged so he can hear all the sounds you make (he especially loves the way you moan his name). When you two are finished, he holds you close as you cuddle into him. You smile at him with a delirious look on your face. "I love you." You murmur, and his heart flutters.

You do love Steve. And on this particular night, you decide to show him. You push him on the bed and his eyes widen. You nip and kiss his skin, going slowly from his thighs up closer to his leaking cock. You make sure to worship his entire body, kissing everywhere and muttering praises to him. His skin is flushed and he has a light sheen of sweat, trying not to blow his load. You haven't even touched his dick yet! When your hand finally wraps around his cock, he only lasts two strokes before he cums all over your hand and on his stomach. He would feel embarrassed, but his brain is too fuzzy, and you are whispering to him how good he is and how much you love him. He doesn't realize he has shed a few tears until you gently wipe them away. Steve slowly opens his eyes to see you lick the cum off his stomach. He moans wantonly as he starts to harden again. When you ride him you chuckle a bit. Now he's the one babbling and unable to form a coherent sentence. When you both finish, his legs are shaking. Typically he would go grab some water and a towel to clean you both off, but he can't even stand. Steve has never been this fucked before, but he could get used to it.

[achqn]

Hmm is it still consider as spoiler now that Soundwave become leader in skybound comic

Bcs I've been waiting for someone to write him took S/O like queen/king

My vision or is it just me wanted to be his sic or such

[hetaliaimaginesin2022]

I'm sorry if this is weird, but do you have any head canons for a Hard of Hearing/Deaf America? I head canon him as HOH and I love your writing so I'd like to hear your take

Wow, I can't believe hoh America is canon

Hard of Hearing America Headcanons

He's not completely deaf, though he has severe hearing loss in his right ear and mild loss in his left

He became hard of hearing back during the Revolutionary War during cannonading, something that wasn't too horribly uncommon

At the time, before sign language (ASL) was established, he found the communication barrier between him and everyone else incredibly frustrating, so as a result, even now, he gets incredibly excited whenever anyone can speak any form of sign language

Most days, when he's out of the house at a meeting, at the gym, or grabbing food from somewhere, he often has his ITE hearing aids in, though when he's spending the day in, he prefers to keep his hearing aids out, opting for a break from them

He'll often converse with Canada via sign during times like this

Overall, he actually prefers conversing through sign as opposed to using his hearing aids

They're cool and all, but they can get pretty uncomfortable and just plain annoying after a while

This is a side note, but during World Conference meetings, he'll often turn the volume down on his hearing aids when other personifications are trying to argue with him

[cooljadejacksonthings]

ok so i’m hard of hearing and i just feel like the representation in our community is not represented enough or not completely factual, so… i would love to write something with either eddie munson or steve harrington being with HoH or deaf reader so if i could get some feedback on that it would be greatly appreciated

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

wildest dreams - m. murdock

a/n: i have literally not been inspired for two weeks then i was STRUCK with the urge to write this. guys. i am so proud of this one i am not even going to lie. this one is dedicated to @bunmurdock because i am literally always thinking about professor murdock.... i really hope you guys enjoy this one, because i enjoyed writing it :) warnings: SMUT! inappropriate dynamic, P in V smut, so much cursing, lots of inappropriate thoughts and pining, power dynamics, dirty talk, reader does an edible and is high for a small part of this fic, reader isn't stupid in this one! she is just horny! she is also deaf, and there is yapping of readers daddy issues word count: 6.3k likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! <3 summary: you have a huge crush on your professor and spend many days desperate for him. pairing: professor!matt murdock x hoh!reader now playing: wildest dreams - taylor swift (taylor's version) "i said, "no one has to know what we do"/his hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room"

You could treat him better than any of these other horny grad students.

Seriously, that is your only conscious thought watching this man move around the front of this lecture center. You’re not dumb, you know everyone sitting here wants him—Those who are attracted to men want to fuck him and those who aren’t seek his approval. But you are built different, you’re also lacking a major sense, besides, your brain runs ramped with disgusting thoughts about the man.

Today’s focus is on the man’s outfit. It’s his last class of the day, and it shows. His clothes are a bit more wrinkled, and his hair is messier than it had been when he started the day. But most importantly, his jacket is thrown on the back of his chair, meaning you have a phenomenal view of his torso.

He wears a white button down, with the cuffs of the arms rolled up to just below his elbows, the bottom of the shirt tucked into the waistline of his pants. The shirt is tight, maybe a little too tight, especially around the arms. Maybe it’s because he works out. Or at least, you assume he works out.

That brings us to his tie. Oh, his tie. It’s nothing special—a pure black tie, just hanging from his neck. Your mind wanders. It starts at the dissection of a key court case in the subject of minimum wage, but from there, it starts drifting to his tie.

You think about the tie moving back and forth above you as he thrusts into you, brushing against your face, pulling on it to bring him closer. You think about that soft half chuckle he does, before he says something dirty like—

“Did you have something to add?” His voice right in front of you snaps you out of your trance. Fuck. You were not paying attention.

“Uh, No, Professor..” Your face is a deep red, embarrassed. You wish you could take off your hearing aids to stop listening to all the giggling from around you, from peers who are thrilled that Professor Murdock’s little (not-so) secret admirer got called out for her staring.

“Hm,” he taps the table in front of you, “Then I want you paying attention.” He says, before going back to his lecture. You could die right there. Everyone is laughing at you. He embarrassed you.

Okay, so you have no proof that he’s ever wanted you in the way that you’ve been so god damn desperate for him, but it’s still crushing that he’d single you out in that way. That maybe while you were increasingly needy for him, he found you fucking annoying, in such a way that he felt the need to embarrass you in front of your peers.

You want to melt—Melt into a puddle with just your boots and your hearing aids left behind so you never have to face him ever again. That’s why you’re so relieved when he dismisses class right on time (Well, right on time for him. He always ends class five minutes early to leave room for questions) and you quickly gather your things.

Because of the sheer level of embarrassment he has caused you, the other students in the class who want him try to flock to him, sensing that you no longer have the confidence to engage with him—But your desire is still there, as you messily shove your things into your backpack. You turn when you’re finished, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

Your face is still flushed, part because you’re embarrassed, part because you are out of breath from rushing. But you are faced with the view of your professor, all alone. Your breath hitches when his hand moves up to the top of his tie, as he smooths it out, running his fingers down the fabric.

“I read your essay on the expectations of the courts and law versus the realities of it. I loved it. The argument using Gideon versus Wainwright to justify the existence of the right to counsel as a civil right and not a liberty was fascinating, especially considering your other arguments about how race, class and gender play into those realities. Well done. I thought it was some of your best work.”

Your face is flushed for a new reason now. Wasn’t this the same man who was mad at you for not paying attention?

“I thought so too.” You confess, and he just smiles. He loves that you’re confident in your work. You’ll make a great lawyer one day.

“Oh, and,” He digs through his leather satchel to pull out some notes, running his finger over the folder tab to make sure he has the right folder, “Here are the printed copy of our notes from the last few lectures.” It’s part of your accommodations that professors give you a copy.

“Thanks, Professor.” You smile gently, reaching out to take the papers. Your hands meet and as you grip the notes, the tips of your fingers just barely brush against his. Neither of you say anything. Neither of you let go.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you today.” He starts, “But you’re bright—Smarter than most of your professors, I bet. And I don’t want you to fall behind.” He says softly, and without saying it, you know he’s worried because of your hearing. He was disabled in law school once upon a time, and he recognizes your potential.

“It’s okay.” You say softly, softer than your voice usually is. “I get it, really. It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” He says gently, letting go of the papers now. As you clutch them close to your chest, his hand goes back up to mess with his tie again. Does he know what he’s doing? Does he know how wild it drives you? He must. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“See you on Thursday.” You agree, and that’s when you leave the classroom.

As the door closes behind you, he listens intently. He hears your nervous heartbeat, could practically feel the heat radiating off you. But he knows your routine by now. You’re about to start playing music, and he likes knowing what sort of mood you’re in as you leave his class.

A smile spreads across his face when he hears the opening notes of that new Hozier song, ‘Too Sweet’.

• • •

You are a straight A student. You study days in advance for exams, you write elaborate study guides and most of all, you do not miss class, unless you are dying (no, seriously, the last time you missed class you were rushed to the hospital, sick with pneumonia after a big exam, which you aced). So, when you’re not in Matt’s class on Thursday, he tries not to panic.

You’re a grown woman, he tells himself, and he doesn’t have an attendance policy, having told the class on syllabus day that he trusted them to know when to come to class and when they should go lay in the sun or stay home with a bad cold.

But you once came to class doped up on cold medicine with a mask on, just because you didn’t want to miss any important information. He heard it before you got to class, so he faked a family emergency to cancel class early that day. He could hear your rattled sigh of relief as the other students flooded out.

And he knows for a fact you didn’t show up today because of how fucking loud you are; You don’t mean to be, but he can hear the light buzzing of your hearing aids, and you wear these big work boots that stomp even when you’re trying to step lightly. And he heard neither buzzing nor stomps today.

Oh, your boots. He’s spent years with everything being too loud, but he just can’t help but think about the boots—What color were they? What were their texture? He has this fantasy that lives at the very back of his mind of putting you in heels, heels too big for anyone let alone a girl who only wears clunky work boots, that way he would have to help you, take care of you, and it is a fantasy that will probably live at the back of his mind until he dies.

Sure, he’d probably get married, settle down with someone his age and never worry if she might be dissatisfied with an older man, and she’ll be quiet. No hearing aids, no big boots. They’ll have kids, they’ll be happy together. He’ll still go to you when he can’t sleep, and no one will ever know.

Wait, what was he doing? Oh, right. You weren’t in class today.

His fingers move over the keyboard to look you up in the system. He clicks on the audio assistant to read him your information. It reads out your first and last name, middle initial, then your grade in his class (A+), your accommodations (Notes, time and a half, things like that), your birthday, and—

Wait, he takes a moment, and his fingers go over to his braille calendar, realizing that you’re taking a day off because it’s your birthday. A laugh escapes his lips, because how silly was he being?

His fingers move again to find your email address. He debates for a moment before adding the subject line, “Absence Today.” Then, he erases it and changes it to, “Class Today”, hoping you wouldn’t freak out before reading the email.

And just for a moment, he lets himself dream. He writes the following email to you,

“Hey, sweetheart—

Happy Birthday. I’m so happy you’re taking a break, you deserve it, more than anyone else I know. Are you doing something fun for it? Going out and getting wasted? Hooking up with some college guy who couldn’t fuck you properly?

If I could, my birthday gift to you would be a day spent with my face buried between your pretty thighs, although that might be a birthday gift to me and not to you. I’ve always been a selfish man, and you seem to be something I am entirely selfish about. I want your hands tangled in my hair, tugging on it as I taste you. I want you all to myself. I didn’t hear the buzzing of your hearing aids or the clunking of your boots, and I felt this striking yearning.

I can’t stand being around you without having you. It’s torture.

Happy Birthday,

Matthew.’

He thinks about it for a minute, before completely erasing the email, and sending you this one instead:

‘Missed you in class today! We went over the reading for Chapter Seven. Happy Birthday! Professor M’

He sends it, and then rubs his face, a long sigh leaving his lips. He is completely enamored by you, and it is so unfair.  You’d be in class on Monday, he told himself. He’d see you then, and it would be like getting his fix of you.

Then, he turns to the distraction of trying to grade papers. It won’t work. He’ll still have you on his mind all day, and there will be no relief in sleeping. Hopefully he’ll dream of that long day between your thighs.

• • •

Truth be told, you were not drinking and fucking some random guy when Matt emails you. You were cuddled up in bed, giggling and eating snacks, so many snacks, because, well, you took an edible with a bunch of your friends and now are high out of your mind.

Some animated shows are on in the background, and when your phone buzzes, you pick it up and almost melt when you see the email from your favorite professor. You start giggling like a kid, your fingers clutching your phone as you read the email over and over again.

One friend looks up to you from her place on your floor and asks, “Are you alright?”

You don’t answer at first, but then you nod, and pull your blanket close, imagining Matt’s arms around you. Your brain paints you a picture of him holding you against his chest and gently playing with your hair.

It’s a nice fantasy.

• • •

For being a law student, you really fucking hate it sometimes. Okay, that’s not true. You love being a law student and are so excited to go out into the world and make that difference. But you’d be lying if you don’t sort of contemplate dropping out and getting a sugar daddy over certain assignments.

Maybe Matt is in the market. Then you shake your head to get the thought out of there, before opening your laptop to check your professor’s office hours. The one that assigned this assignment is an old bat who does not have office hours except for during your other classes on Fridays.

Then, you look at Matt’s office hours. He has office hours right now. You click the pen in your hand a few times, thinking. Contemplating. Would he want to see you at this point? Would you be able to control yourself?

You give the question you’re working on one more time before you lean down and grab your boots, starting to lace them up. Then, you pack up your bag, heart beating nervously over what—Asking him for help with an assignment?

You make it all the way across campus, the whole time worried about if you’ll walk in on your professor with some other girl. You almost laugh at that thought, because you think you’re silly for how dramatic you are about the man.

You stand down the hallway from his office for a few minutes, just contemplating. You could just turn around and not at all open the possibility of being around him, and everything stays the same. Nothing changes, and your relationship with your professor maintains it’s strictly professional relationship.

You walk towards the door, knocking on it before holding your breath.

“Come on in,” He calls from behind the door. Now or never. You open the door, and smile in his direction.

“Hey, professor,” You greet, a soft smile on your face. His tie is loose around his neck. You blink away whatever daydream your brain wants to dive headfirst into.

“Hey,” He greets, “I don’t think you have any assignments due, so what’s up?” He asks, tilting his head in your direction. As you think about it, you realize that you do not need help with an assignment.

“This is going to sound like a lie. But I had trouble with this assignment earlier, and suddenly I walked in here and realized I knew exactly what I was doing. I’m sorry for bothering you.” You explain, but you make no attempt to turn around and leave.

“Let me guess,” He starts, gauging by what year and academic proficiency you’re at, “Professor Reid’s estate planning class? That assignment about the will and testament of an old lady with a marriage less than 90 days and estranged kids?”

You groan and take a seat in one of the chairs in his office. He laughs in response, shaking his head.

“That old bat.” You roll your eyes. He just smiles and shakes his head.

“You’ll be fine. Just remember to cheat on your final.” He tells you, and you give him a perplexed look.

“What?”

“Well, for the final, there’ll be a question about a super niche argument on inheritance. Just cheat on it.”

“You’re a professor, telling me to cheat?”

“I cheated on it,” He shrugs. You suddenly remember that he used to go to school here and has taken all the classes you’re struggling with right now.

“You’re being unprofessional.” You tell him, and he smiles again. Your heart skips a beat, and somehow, his smile grows. As if he knows exactly what sort of effect he has on you. As if this is all a game he likes to play with you, his eager and willing participant.

“Okay, forget that I told you to cheat on Reid’s exam. We have to talk about something, it would be awkward to just sit here in silence. Uh, what did you major in in undergrad?”

“English. I minored in Disability studies.”

“So why Law?” He asks curiously, leaning forward and clasping his hands together, before resting them on his desk. Jesus Christ.

“I’m tired of being poor.” The answer slips out before you can really stop yourself. He laughs again, and something in you stirs. As if making him laugh is the newest way you feel good about yourself. How twisted is that? “I’m being serious!” You laugh too, unable to contain it.

“I’m sure,” he promises, “I grew up poor too, I was sick of it too. But if you’re going to be a lawyer—”

“You need to have respect for the law and the people taken advantage by it,” You finish, “I get that, really, I do. And I want to help people. I want to go into divorce law and help all the poor and battered women like—” You’re forgetting yourself. You’re forgetting that this isn’t a date and that this man is your professor.

“Like..?” He prods you to finish, curious. He is on the edge of his seat about you. This is more than he has gotten of you in the past few weeks you’ve been taking his class.

“Like my mom.” You finish suddenly looking for something to do with your hands. Anything, really. “But the check that comes with it isn’t exactly deterring me, you know?”

“I get that,” he says earnestly, “I was an orphan, one of those dirty scrappy ones you feel bad for,” he does that half chuckle that makes you want to go over there and kiss him. “Never knew my mom, and my dad died when I was young. So, I get it. Being poor and wanting to do better for yourself. For your parent who sacrificed for you.”

But it clicks for him, the hidden meaning behind your ambitions. You have daddy issues, and he can tell that’s part of your crush on him. Though, he’ll never say it to you. He’ll let it be something unspoken between the two of you.

“Yeah, I guess you do get it.” You smile softly. But this is dangerous. So so dangerous. The two of you are dancing this dangerous line—Well, more like you’re damn well dancing clear over the line and ignoring it. But you don’t know how to stop it. Maybe you don’t want to stop it.

“Well, uh, maybe you could finish that assignment while we’re here.” He clears his throat, straightening his tie and you try to connect the wires in your brain to focus on the assignment. You pull it out of your bag and place it on his desk, smoothing it out a bit. Matt gets up and starts to wander around the office, and you look at him curiously. “I think better when I can move around.”

You should’ve known that much, you have stared at him doing lectures, wandering from end to end of the rows and rows in the classroom.

“Yeah, totally,” You nod, focusing on the assignment. It’s on paper, the old bat refuses to use online assignments. You’re practically flying through the assignment, and it’s at the point where you are forgetting your company. In fact, you really don’t notice him.. Until you lean back and stretch, jumping when you realize that Matt has taken a spot right behind you, his hands on the arms of your chair, leaning forward. You’re practically leant up against him.

“See? Was that so hard?” Your face flushes, his voice right next to your ear. He has to know; he has to know how you’re affecting him. You tilt your head a bit, and your eyes are level with his chin. His stubble moves as he sets his jaw. He doesn’t smell much like anything… except the faintest hint of clean sheets and this slight scent of mahogany. It would go perfect with a whiff of whiskey.

“No,” you say quietly, and he almost shudders at the feeling of your warm breath against his cheek. “Not at all, Prof—”

“Call me Matt.” It’s almost begging. You’re kind of into it, but that’s not surprising given how incredibly attractive you find him.

“Okay.” You say quietly. He has reduced you to one-word answers. The two of you stay quiet for a while. You’re unsure what to say. Matt is contemplating his options. Anyone could walk in on the two of you like this. The door isn’t locked, and you want to bring this up, but the words die out in your throat. His head tilts a bit towards you, and you get a glimpse at those perfect lips of his.

“You know—” He starts, but before he can get any farther, you lean in and kiss him. You kiss him intensely, your hand on his cheek, and for once, you are not filled with regret at a bad decision. He doesn’t react at first, and for just a second, you’re nervous.

Then, He kisses you back, letting out this deep hum as he deepens the kiss. He tilts his head to get deeper into your mouth, and his hands make their way down to your hips. He focuses for a second, before wrapping his arms around you to pick you up and sitting you on his desk.

His hands trail down as the pair of you kiss, landing on your thighs. His fingers rub back and forth, and you gasp when he squeezes your thighs. He grins and takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your clunky boots hit against his desk and he practically growls at the sound. He pulls away, his teeth biting your bottom lip as he does.

You’re completely out of breath, and so is he. He stumbles back a bit, his lips swollen and bright pink from kissing you. He wipes his mouth as he pants, and inhales deeply. You run your fingers through your hair, brushing the hair that has fallen onto your face.

“We..” he mumbled gently, running his hand over his chin. “Holy shit, kid—”

“Don’t call me kid—”

“Listen,” he goes over to you and brushes the hair from your face, “That was.. it was phenomenal, but someone could’ve walked in on that, and.. Fuck, if we do that again, I won’t be able to keep my hands off you.” he confesses, his hands on your cheeks.

“When I was staring off into space last week, I was thinking about your tie.” You tell him, your hands are finding the base of it now. He tilts his head, curiously.

“What were you thinking about?”

“Was daydreaming about it brushing against my face as you fuck me.” You could swear his face is red. You grin.

“Yeah?” He laughs, taking the tie from you and bringing the tie up to brush against your cheeks, “Like that?” he teases, and you laugh back. Dick.

“Mhm,” You giggle, and your hands find his, wrangling the tie out of his hands, and tugging on it, before bringing him in for another kiss. He inhales deeply as he kisses you, taking the taste of you in for a moment before pulling away.

“I’m serious, sweetheart, this is dangerous.”

“Sweetheart?” You grin. He takes your chin and grips it between his thumb and pointer finger.

“Hey. Pay attention.” He says, and you want to argue that saying things in that low gravely tone will not help you pay attention, but you can tell he’s serious. That he wants your attention focused on him, this is important. “Listen. I like you. I like you a lot, but we have to be careful if we want any of this to go further. We have to be subtle and watch our steps.” He says softly.

“Okay.” You promise, “Okay, we should be careful.” He smiles gently and leans in to kiss your forehead.

“Good pup.” He hums, and your face flushes.

“I like ‘pup’.” You like sweetheart too, but your stomach flips when he calls you pup.

“Yeah, I know you do.” He grins. “Wanna get out of here?”

“I thought you said we have to be careful.”

“Okay, then I’ll give you my address and you can come over.” He shrugs. “I know how badly I need you, I can only imagine how you feel.” He hums, and you grin.

“Okay, Here, give me your phone.” Matt fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to you. You put your number in with your name, sending yourself a quick text before handing the phone back to him. “There. Send it to me.” He steps back so you can hop off the desk, before putting your homework back in your bag.

As you sling your bag over your shoulder, he grabs your wrist in his hand and pulls you close, just to kiss you again.

• • •

Your hands are shaking as you drive over to Matt’s apartment. You’re so full of desire for him, and you take a second after parking the car to adjust your hair and makeup. Luckily you had no plans with your friends so it’s not like you’re hiding anything from anyone.

Are you about to sleep with the professor you’ve had a crush on since the beginning of the semester? Hopefully. You take a quick glance down to the apartment number he sent you before climbing out of the car, locking it behind you.

Then, you manage your way through the building, finding yourself in front of his door for the second time tonight. You hesitate. Though, you’re not sure why. Well, maybe you do. Maybe you’re terrified that this is going to be bad. Or maybe that you’re scared you’ll be bad, and he’ll hate you.

Maybe you just need to get over yourself. Although, you can’t really do much more convincing because Matt swings open the door and grins at you. You almost die at the sight of him. His tie is gone, and his shirt is unbuttoned by three buttons.

“You’re so hot,” You blurt out as you hand him a cheap bottle of wine you picked up on the way here.

“You’re cute,” he hums, grabbing your arm and pulling you into the apartment, leaving you giggling as he closes the door behind you. You look around his apartment, your eyes catching on the giant billboard. You’re standing in front of the window when he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. His lips gently kiss your neck, up and down, biting your shoulder gently. “Enamored by the billboard, sweetheart?”

“Your windows are so big, probably a lot of light in here during the day.” You say softly, and he smiles against your neck.

“Mhm, one day, I’ll fuck you against those windows—”

“Matt,” You groan, but he just shushes you and kisses your neck again.

“I know, pup,” He hums, “But don’t worry, I’ll show you a very nice time, hear all those pretty noises you can make for me.” You blush, turning to say something to him but he wraps his arms around your waist again, before throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you to his room. You’re laughing all the way there, before throwing you onto the bed.

“Mean.” You accuse, but he shrugs.

“You’ll get over it, sweetheart, I promise.” He hums, and you sit up on his bed. He stands between your legs, leaning down to kiss you gently, his hands finding your cheeks again. He kisses you like this for a few minutes, before slowly kneeling in front of you, never breaking the increasingly sloppy kiss. You pull away from the kiss to study him. He tilts his head, his hands finding your thighs to rub them again as he did in the office. “What?” he asks gently.

“I spent all those lectures only being able to study you from a far.. Just let me really look at you for a while..” You request. He grins gently as your fingers run over his stubble again. Your hands move up to his glasses. “Can I take these off?” You request, tilting your head.

Matt hesitates, just for a second. He’s not really used to it, to someone truly wanting to see him, every part of him. But he trusts you, wants you to see him. So he nods, letting out a soft ‘yeah’ as you pull off those circular red glasses, gently folding them and setting them down somewhere safe.

Then, you take a good, long look at his eyes. They’re this deep brown, almost black, irises that are drop dead gorgeous. The skin around his eyes is scarred, but the scars are old, yet, you rub your thumb gently against that scarred skin. You lean in and press a kiss to the corner of his eyes, first the left one, then the right one.

He leans up and kisses you after that, his hands slowly making their way down your legs. Your hands find his buttons of his shirt starting to undo them. He pulls away from the kiss, before slipping off his button up, throwing it away somewhere in the room. Your eyes drift down to these scars on his collarbones, and your fingers run over them. Then, you notice other scars on his skin, and your hands find those too.

“Your boots are so loud,” he hums, and you’re taken back by it.

“What?”

“Your boots.” He hums, “I hear you stomping around with these things on, they’re.. Like a bell, you know? I like knowing you’re around.” His fingers go down to the laces of your left boot, slowly untying them. Then, he does the same with the right boot.

He pulls off your boots, before running his fingers over your socks.

“They’re multicolored. Bright and patterned.” You confess, and he grins, before pulling them off. Then, he stops, realizing you have another pair of socks on. He blinks, before starting to laugh.

“You have two pairs of socks on?” he chuckles, your face flushing.

“My boots are just a little too big!” You tell him, and he laughs, resting his head against your thigh. He finishes taking your socks off, before working on the buttons of your jeans. When he finally gets those undone, he pulls off your pants, throwing them somewhere close to his now abandoned shirt. His hand comes up to rub you through your panties, and he lets out a scoff as he does.

“So wet for me, pup..” He mumbles, coming up to gently kiss your cheeks and then your jaw, as you whine. “I know, baby, I know,” he says softly, rubbing your clit gently. You whine gently at the feeling, gripping his wrist. He chuckles softly, kissing you to shut you up a bit.

He pulls his hand away from your throbbing cunt to pull off your tee shirt, throwing it wherever. He starts to kiss you as you fiddle with the buttons of his pants and pull them off, letting him step out of the before he casts them away.

You grin into the kiss, before he pulls away.

“What? What’s got you so giddy, pup?” he asks, a grin on his face too.

“Briefs,” You hum, fiddling with the waistband of his briefs, and he laughs, shaking his head.

“Thinking about your professor’s underwear?” He teases, leaning in to bite your neck. “Dirty, dirty girl.” He grins, and you swat at his shoulder, which causes him to laugh. He likes having fun with you, even if it’s not inherently sexual.

His hands come up to run gently over your skin, trailing from your hands up to your shoulders, and then all the way to your ears, where his fingers gently run over your hearing aids. It’s a nice gesture, really, but as soon as his fingers brush over your hearing aids, you immediately retract, the feedback shooting through your skull, uncomfortably.

“Ow—” You cringe, leaning your head back to try and get away from his fingers. He cringes, hearing the feedback, not as badly as you do but knowing it’s there and that you’re in pain pains him.

“I’m sorry,” he coos softly, his fingers moving down to cup your jaw. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I hadn’t realized—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” You hum, tilting your head to kiss his palm gently. “It happens, It’s why you should never touch them while I have them on.” You shrug. He leans down and kisses your stomach a bit, before going back to kiss you again, deepening the kiss a bit before roughly shoving you back on the bed. You giggle as he climbs on top of you, caging you in between his legs, as he slips his tongue into your mouth again. He kisses you with passion and need, and it drives you entirely too wild. As he pulls away, one hand comes up to grip your chin, before he leans down with his head against yours.

“Want me to fuck you, pretty thing?” He asks gently, his voice sweet as honey as he talks so obscenely to you. You whine, finally getting what you want after weeks and months of waiting. He just smiles and shakes his head, “No, no, puppy, you gotta say it to me.” He requests.

“Yes, I want you..” You groan, bucking your hips a bit at the thought of him finally fucking you.

“Want me to do what?” he asks, innocently.

“Want you to fuck me, please..” You request, and this finally seems to satisfy him. His hand comes down to unhook your bra, throwing it behind him with the rest of your clothes, before his lips begin to travel downwards, kissing down your jaw and neck, before he’s kissing the valley of your breasts, his hand going down to rub your clit again.

He groans against your skin at the feeling of your wetness soaking through your underwear and listening to your moans. His hands begin to work to take off your panties, and as soon as those are gone, your hands come up to his briefs, wanting them gone.

“Off, off, off—” You huff, and he laughs as he slips them off. Then, he reaches over and grabs a condom from the bedside table, but you grab his hand, shaking your head, “No, no—I’m on the pill, promise.”

“You sure?” He asks gently, and you nod, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips.

“Sure.” You nod, and then you’re kissing him again, your hand going down to stroke his cock, and he gasps into the kiss, before chuckling. He pulls away to mutter out to you--

“Needy girl,” he purrs, before moving to kiss you again. As you’re kissing, he slips his cock into you, and you moan into the kiss, tensing at the feeling, “Relax for me, pup.. So fucking tight for me.” He groans, his hand coming down to swat your thigh. “Relax.” He tells you, his voice sterner this time.

You nod, trying to form a more conscious thought than the pure bliss you feel, your hands wrapping around his neck, scratching down his back a bit. He groans softly, as he starts to slowly thrust into you. He is using every ounce of self-control he has, resisting the urge to absolutely violate you.

But he’s trying to be gentle, be nice.

“Faster,” You gasp out, your fingers pulling on the hair at the nape of his neck. He does that half chuckle, and it makes you whine as he begins to speed up.

“Beautiful little pup..” he says lowly, “Been staring at me.. Wanting your professor so badly these past few weeks, dirty little thing,” he hums, “Fuck, so.. fuck..” Your legs are beginning to shake the longer and harder he thrusts into you. “So fucking good for me..” You whine into his lips as they crash into yours, one hand going down to rub your clit gently, the stimulation too much for someone who hasn’t had sex this good, ever, but especially because you haven’t had sex at all in the past.. well, six or more months.

“Matty, ‘m..” You can barely get the words out as he fucks you harder,

“I know baby, come on, cum for me, pup,” he coos, his thrusts nor rubbing slowing down, maintaining his pace. Within a minute, you’re coming with loud moans into his ears, and he’s following suit shortly after, coming deep inside you.

But for the few minutes after the two of you finish, he continues his thrusting, relishing in the pretty moans and the sound of his deep thrusts into you. Eventually, he slows down, remaining deep inside of you. He pulls you close, kissing you deeply before flipping the pair of you over, and holding your legs close to stay buried deep inside of you.

For a few minutes, there are no words spoken, just deep, frantic pants and sweaty skin against each other.

“You know, that was as good as I’ve been fantasizing about for weeks.” You pant, “Better, even..” He laughs and nods.

“Me too..” he kisses you softly. “Let me take you out somewhere.”

“I thought we had to be careful..”

“We’ll go away somewhere then. Just the two of us for the weekend. I need to be with you, I can’t get enough of you now that I’ve had a taste.. Besides, I haven’t even eaten you out. Now that, that is going to be fun.” He grins, and you swat his arm.

“Evil, mean man!” You gasp, and he just laughs, kissing your forehead.

“I’m sorry, pup, let me make it up to you,” he hums.

“How?”

“Calling you pup a few times, ordering Thai food and teaching you how to suck me off?”

“I know how to suck you off,” You scoff.

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head, leaning in to kiss him. Then, lips still against yours, he whispers, “Prove it, pretty puppy.”

[chocokeyboard]

FINNALY finished brothers in arms OMLLLL GRAHHHEHHHHHHGEHAHAHHHHH I WINN I WINNN

[gemini-sensei]

Hiiii I’ve been so obsessed with your writing lately!!

Anyways 👀 I’ve had this thought about Robby with a deaf or hoh Reader and how he would feel if she’d press her fingers lightly against his throat to feel him grunt or whine during 😩🙏🏽

omg 👀 I love this. Thank you for bringing this to my attention because I love it so much.

Just in the middle of doing the do, Robby wouldn't understand at first why she was doing that but quickly realize why. It would just take him a moment to think about it and he wouldn't mind. He's rather vocal during sex to begin with, so he's not going to over-perform with grunting or whining just for her sake - he doesn't have to. He's a touch-starved, needy guy, he's already making so much noise and if she wants to put her hands on his throat to feel that for her own benefit, so be it. He'd love it.

[thirstyfortaglines]

R.B. Chef de Cuisine Ryoshu content cause I can’t find any elsewhere

A 1.5k word fic for Ryoshu from Limbus Company. No sexual content but contains mentions of gore and implied cannibalism. Chef Ryoshu has tainted my perception of affection irreparably, but I hope you enjoy regardless.

You awaken to find your arms pressed firmly to your sides by leather belts while metal cuffs restrain your wrists on the arms of what feels to be a plastic chair. Prying your eyes open proves a painful task as your eyelids feel heavy and sealed shut; upon finally getting them open you immediately shut them again, as a bright light shining above sends my mind reeling. Upon a more metered approach, you manage to slowly take in your surroundings: an iridescent bulb hangs barely in sight at the center of the room, illuminating at the opposite end to you a door with a small, barred window. You lazily trail your gaze to the left of the room, seeing hooks upon hooks of meat, some clearly in the process of decaying given the pungent smell wafting in the air. Your groggy state had kept you in a sedated state despite your current situation, but soon adrenaline began coursing through your veins, waking you from your fog.

Why?

Because you just noticed the pile of human corpses on the right of the room. 

Splayed ribs. Arms removed from their sockets. Human skulls, some of which still have eyes, others being completely removed. You can’t tell which is more horrifying. A river of blood snakes from the scene towards the center of the room and into a drainage pipe clogged by bits of skin, flesh, and hair. You fight the urge to hurl as terror wells up within the deepest parts of your mind, screaming at you to leave. You begin to jostle desperately at your constraints, giving into panic as your arms and wrists burn from your struggle. Panic quickly gives way to hysteria; you begin shaking harder and scream out in a rugged voice for help. A voice in the back of your head tells you you’re being irrational but to no avail. You scream louder, stomp your feet harder-

Until you hear footsteps from the door.

Every footfall is muffled, as if covered by cloth. Is your killer wearing a cloak, to embody death itself? 

Your heartbeat quickens as your imagination races unhelpfully to paint every gruesome death you might experience at the hands of whoever trapped you here; your breaths quicken and become shallow, cutting off oxygen from your already pounding head. The footsteps continue to get closer. In some cruel turn of luck, your breaths become slow and shaky, in rhythm with your oncoming demise.

(Breath In) 

3 steps until they reach the door

(Breath Out)

2 steps until they reach the door

(Breath In)

1 step until they reach the door.

This time, you hold your breath, hoping, praying, that somehow they might-

“I know you’re awake.”

A rough female voice comes from outside the door, temporarily replacing your terror with morbid curiosity. “Usually, the serial killers are men, especially the ones that eat people” you thought to yourself, still holding your breath. You hear the jingling of keys as the woman presumably goes to open your cell; the keys, you think, solidify your fate as you begin to come to terms with your death. “At least,” you think, painedly, “I want to see the face of my killer.” Your vision tunnels on the door as you

Listen to the keys slot into place, jingling cheerfully as though to mock you. 

Hear the locking mechanism become undone, once your obstacle and now your last hope, dashed. 

And watch as a short woman with a sword almost her size walks into the room, dressed head to toe in a chef’s uniform. Blood stains spot her white clothing, giving the air of a butcher more than a cook; nevertheless, as your terrified eyes trace her body your gaze settles on a single name tag hanging above the left of her chest: Ryoshu. 

“So, you’re up” she said without a trace of emotion, looking at you as though the only difference between you and the meat in the corner was that you could still talk. She walked over to you, her stride never breaking as her eyes continued to be locked with yours; the entire scene felt like something from a nature documentary, where the predatory stalks up to their prey in the middle of the day, because the prey has nowhere left to run. You were the prey here. And she

She was your predator. 

As she gets closer, your heart rate begins to climb again while your mind, still foggy, tries to comprehend everything that is going on and how you might escape. Of course, there’s nothing you can do now, as the chef looms over you, reaching out a hand towards your face. You squeeze your eyes shut as the the hand of death

Tenderly touched your forehead. 

You open your eyes to find her own staring back at you, concerned. Relief is soon overrun by confusion as you continue to watch her as she traces the side of your face, grip still light but firm all the same. Her hand follows your jawbone towards the back of your head, feeling around. You hadn’t noticed before but your head is badly injured and her touch sends waves of splitting pain ricocheting around your skull and down your spine. “Tch” she scoffs, upset, “I told him to be gentler with this one.” As she takes her hand back you notice the array of tools hanging from her waist: stabbed into the fabric is a kitchen knife covered in a concerning amount of blood followed by several syringes filled with a red, gelatinous liquid. She catches you eyeing her tools and lets out a low, half chuckle as she grabs both the knife and a syringe. “This,” she said, waving the dirty knife, “is for kids who don’t listen.” “This one,” she continues, now holding the syringe in her free hand, “is for obedient kids. I wonder which one you’ll be.” 

Ryoshu continues to watch you, her eyes flitting across every stretch of skin as if she were browsing her inventory rather than a detained, terrified person. A warm hand is pressed against the underside of your ribs, pressing directly into your gut as if to feel around for further damage; her eyes are filled with professional care as she moves on to the rest of your torso, being as thorough as she is gentle. Were it not for the restraints and surroundings, you might’ve mistaken this for romance. Your breaths are shallow again, hitching whenever her fingertips inspect another portion of your flesh; she mutters to herself as she touches on different muscle groups across your body, noting their quality before ever learning your name. She stands over you again, seemingly done with her inventorying, and once again presses a hand to your head before nodding to herself. “Because you behaved yourself,” she said, eyes looking almost past you, “I’ll give you a treat.”

Her hand moves towards her weapons again, sending you back into a panic. Tears begin to roll down your face but you refuse to scream out of fear of her retaliation. 

The hand hovers over the knife for an excruciating length of time before moving on to one of the red syringes. With the other hand she cups your chin, securing your face and steadying your trembling lips.

“Say ‘Ahh’.”

Her thumb peels back your bottom lip, touching your teeth and rubbing them absent-mindedly. You know whatever’s in that vial will lead to your death, but your fate was sealed the moment you wound up here in the first place. Your vision swirls as your head churns both from nausea and terror and yet, in your haze of hysteria, tears, and sweat, her red eyes never stop watching you; the blood red dots in your vision, despite how long you felt like you were sitting there, never ceased their observation. 

Well, the syringe will hurt less than the knife.

“Good choice.” 

Your head swims as the concoction enters your bloodstream, leaving a residual sweet taste on your tongue. Your eyelids grow heavy as your heart slows, making your fight to remain conscious all the more strenuous. “It’s rude to refuse a gift,” the girl says, leaning in close to your ear, “especially one that cost so much.” You can’t tell if she’s talking about the syringe or you. Not that it matters to your half-conscious brain much. Her hand once again approaches you, settling on your neck this time. Her thumb plays at your jugular, circling. You can’t decide if it’s endearing or threatening. Out of the corner. of your vision. you see her lips move. but you can’t hear. anything.

She smiles at you. Or maybe it’s. A sneer.

It doesn’t. matter. 

because you. can’t. 

think. 

…

The shop opens for the day, bearing a sign for a special they’ll be offering today. Patrons pour through the door, frothing at the mouth like rabid dogs for the promise of a new flavor. “Chef Ryoshu! What’s the special?!” a curious, frantic man calls from the crowd. Her thin figure appears behind the counter, lips spread thin in a smile only fanatics of the craft could appreciate.

“Meat pies: Baked with L.O.V.E.”

Living Objects Voluntarily Exterminated.