imthick

[imthick]

Hopelessly Devoted // Bob Floyd

Summary: After Bob gets back from Miramar, he makes a B-line straight for your doorstep. Holding himself together just barely.

Warnings: Angst. mentions of mental health. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x reader. No use of Y/n.

Word Count: 3k

Author Note: Listen, this isn’t my favourite piece but it was just sitting in my drafts and I thought it may as well be shared.

The fall season always brought you much delight. The smell of pumpkin spice from your seasonal candles filled your home. Seasonal decor ranging from ceramic pumpkins to throw pillows that said ‘boo’ and ‘beware’ made your house feel very much like a home. The sound of gentle rain falling outside mixed with the soon to be full onset thunderstorm—rolling in slowly as the claps of thunder grew more aggressive every few minutes.

Lightning lit up all the windows of your living room as you sat curled up with your study notes. Preparing for your assessments. A bachelors in mechanical engineering had your name on it. Soon you hoped to work aboard some of the Navy’s patrol boats. A small stepping stone to where you’d like to end up one day. But for now? You’d do the work.

A gentle knock against your front door broke you from your concentration. You weren’t expecting a visitor this late. Not at ten thirty on a Sunday night. When you heard the gentle knock again your heart leapt from your chest. Jumping up as your papers fell from your lap. Now discarded on the floor in a pile.

“It’s me—“ Bob cooed, his forehand resting against your door as his knuckles softly knocked against your door. As you swung the door open, Bob stumbled in. His uniform absolutely drenched, waterlogged as all hell from the ran that had settled in nicely. His glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose as he dropped his duffel bag. Instantly letting the weight of the world fall off his shoulders as he brought you into a tight hug. His arms encapsulated you over your shoulders. “Hey—“ Bob mumbled as he rest his chin against the top of your head. Holding you in his arms.

“What are you doing here!?” You questioned as you hugged Bob back. His head was now in the crook of your neck as he crouched, letting you off the ground for a moment. Gentle sobs escaped as Bob broke in your arms, his legs felt weak. He put you down and pulled back, Bob took a deep breath in as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “You weren’t supposed to be back till tomorrow afternoon! I was gonna come pick you up and everything!” You questioned.

“Yeah well, I just needed to see you, now—“ Bob admitted. Robert Floyd had been your best friend since the second grade. Some days it was still hard to wrap your head around the idea that the same kid who cried on multiple occasions after finding out bees only sting once then they die, was a weapons systems officer for the Navy—and a damn fine one at that. “Missed you.” It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for Bob to turn up at your door after deployment, but this felt different. Something was off. “Just—“ You could hear it in the cracks in his voice, saw it in the way he held his lips tight to keep his emotions in check. “I just, I just needed to see you.” You kept Bob grounded, and after everything that had happened. The accident, the mission? He could feel himself pulling back from reality.

“You wanna come inside? Have a shower?” You cooed. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.” You smiled softly, grabbing Bob's duffel as he followed you inside. He took in the smell of pumpkin spice, it instantly reminded him that he was home. He was safe. He could relax. Pumpkin spice always reminded him of you—like a warm hug. “I won’t sugar coat though, you look like hell.” You sighed. “You wanna talk about it or—?” walking up the stairs with a huff as you carried Bob’s duffel. Unnecessarily heavy as you asked Bob a question he wasn’t sure what the answer was. He broke it down the best he could as he followed right behind you. Like a lost puppy.

“I look like shit but at least my shirt doesn’t say ‘welcome to the ‘Boo Bunker.” Bob teased. “I haven’t slept since I got off Leyte Gulf.” Bob couldn’t. He’d tried, but the sound of surface to air missiles rang in his head, exploding without warning or rhythm. “And no, not particularly, I feel like a bag of ass.” Sighing, Bob ran his hands down his cheeks in dismay.

“It would be rude of me to agree.” you smirked, handing Bob a fresh towel from your linen cupboard. You missed him. Too much. “Go have a warm shower, have you told your mum and dad you're here yet?” Bob shook his head no in response. Omitting a gasp you shoved his chest softly—with enough force to have Bob letting out a hiss. “Robert Floyd, your mother will kill me if I Harbor you here and she doesn’t know!“ In the very same breath you also noticed Bob's uncomfortable expression. “What, what’s wrong?” You questioned, puzzled as to why Bob's hand lingered on his shoulder.

“It’s nothing—promise.” Bob let his hand settle on the small of your back, drawing you in as he pressed a soft and subtle kiss against your forehead. Closing your eyes you took a mental picture of the moment. “I’ll let my mother know I’m home tomorrow, like I was supposed to be.” Bob reminded you. “She’d only worry more if she knew I was home early.”

“Does that mean I should be worried?” There was a reason why you and Bob had never really settled into a conventional relationship. He thought it would be selfish to ask you to worry constantly whenever he was deployed. Bob loved his job. But he loved you more, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask you to sacrifice piece of mind for him. Looking at you loving, Bob cupped your cheeks, the pad of his right thumb gently rubbed your cheek. Drinking in the sight of the only women he’d ever love. “Ro—“

“You never have to worry about me” he whispered. His eyes roaming every inch of your face. “Don’t worry about me, please—for the love god, don’t spend a second worrying.”

“Yeah well just because you say don’t worry, that doesn’t mean I don’t.” You replied sharply, Bob dropped his hands as you looked at him softly. Eyes so full of love and admiration for him. He could recognise the look because it mimicked his own. There was always an understanding, that underlying unambiguously love between the two of you. But to act on it would be selfish, at least in Bob's mind. He was never sure which mission or basic deployment might be his last. He knew he evaded death by inches this time round and boy it had him spooked.

“Anyway—“ you sighed. “You’re drenched and must be freezing, I don’t often bring strays into my home so you better go have a shower before I change my mind.” Bob raised his eyebrows at your attitude. Your clothes were slightly damp themselves from the hug he’d drawn you into at your doorstep, but nothing like his.

“You’re kinda rude sometimes—“ Bob snickered, walking past as he made his way to the bathroom. “Be out in a sec—“ shutting the door but choosing not to lock it. Looking at himself in the mirror Bob hissed as he undid his uniform buttons. His shoulder still stiff. Nothing technically wrong, just surface bruises that looked worse than what they were. A stiff right shoulder that had him using way too much deep heat.

“Shit—“ Bob hissed as he threw his shirt into a pile, working to unbuckle his belt. Knocking before you stuck your head in Bob felt like a deer in headlights. Speechless. He knew in that very second what was to come.

“I forgot to mention there’s a box under the cabinet with some random suppl—“ your heart sank as you took in the bruises, dark and littering Bob's torso. Opening the door completely, your eyes welled with tears. “Oh my god.” You cupped your mouth. Shock oozing from you as you stepped closer. Reaching out to trace the bruises that covered Bob's right pec. Your touch left Bob’s skin littered with goosebumps. An undeniable reaction to attraction.

“I promise it looks worse than it really is—“ Bob mumbled. His hand softly guiding you, tilting your chin up to catch your gaze. “I’m okay—“

“You and I both know you’re a bad liar, what in the hell happened?” Your mind ran through a million scenarios.

“Phoenix, my front seater and I had a training mishap.” Bob explained. “We have to eject—“

“EJECT!” You gasped. “BOB I’m literally you’re emergency contact why didn’t anyone call me!!” You panicked.

“I told them not to! I was fine! I mean I am fine!” Bob cupped Your cheeks holding you still as explained himself, god he hated the way your eyes watered. “Ejecting is just hard on the body, and my landing wasn’t all that gracious.” He’d blacked out after tumbling a few times. Hence all the bruises. It wasn’t something he was going to mention—and Bob was certainly going to omit that fact he had to use his secondary shoot.

“You ejected from your plane and didn’t call me?” You shook Bob's hands from your cheeks, stepping back as Bob stood before you, his belt in his hand, his fly half done up. Shirtless. His muscles popping, bigger than you remembered. More defined and toned.

“I didn’t want to worry you!” You scoffed out a sarcastic chuckle in response to Bob's reasoning.

“Oh my god you self righteous asshole—“ shaking your head in defeat. “ I’m going to worry about you! I do worry about you, Bob. I worry about you every second of every damn day and there is nothing and I mean nothing you can do to stop me because me worrying is me caring and I care too much about you to lose you!” You felt like you couldn’t breathe. “I mean look at you it looks like you’d been—you—you’ve been.”

“Ejected from a F-18?” Bob finished your sentence as you let your tears fall freely down your cheeks. Chuckling softly, you gave Bob a look.

“Yes, it looks like you were ejected from an F-18 and I hate that you were!” Bob closed the gap between the two of you, taking your hand to rest it on his chest. “If something ever happened to you I wouldn’t know how to coup—not telling me, not letting me in? It’s wicked, it’s cold-hearted and it’s cruel.” You didn’t take your eyes off Bob for a second as you leaned against him. The gap none existent. “It’s entirely keeping with this self sacrificing righteousness that you Navel men seem to have. It’s ruthless to shut the people out who care about you because in some twisted way you believe you’re doing us all a favour.”

“I’m okay—“ you could feel his heartbeat as Bob spoke softly, his voice deep, his eyes serious, his slight southern accent music to your ears. “I’m not just saying that, I mean it—it’s all surface layers.” You called Bobs bluff instantly as he tried to reassure you he was fine. He wasn’t fine, you could tell by the way he held you at your front door that he was thankful to have to opportunity to hold you again. That’s how much he wasn’t fine—because you could tell.

“How close?” You asked just above a whisper. Bob wanted to pretend like he didn’t know what you were talking about, but he knew. Looking up over your head he shook his head. Eyes watering. Voices he couldn’t get rid of ripping his head apart. Pounding on his skull.

“Phoenix break right! Break—“

“Rooster , two more on your six!”

“Dagger two defending!”

“Payback, same on your nose!”

“Dager one defending.”

“Rooster, tally, tally.”

“Talk to me Bob!”

“On our six!”

“Phoenix break right!”

“I don’t know what you mean?” Bob met your gaze. It was written all over his face.

“This was the one wasn’t it?” You could barely raise your voice above a whisper as the realisation set in. Robert Floyd almost didn’t come home to you. “Bo—“ Bob didn’t let you finish, his lips crashing into yours in some desperate attempt to keep your head from filling with scenarios about his untimely death. His hands cupping your cheeks, his body pressed to yours as he backed you up against the vanity. Gently hosting you up as he broke away—leaving you seeing stars. Lips tingling as your eyes traced every inch of his face.

“It could have been the one, but it wasn’t—“ Bob panted, his chest rising and falling as he stood between your legs, draping down his sides. “It wasn’t and I’m here and I don’t want to think about it because the more I think about it the deeper I fall in and I’m scared I won’t be able to pull myself out.” You let the silence linger for a moment as tears ran down Bob's face. Wiping them away softly you pressed your lips together in a solemn smile.

“If you don’t talk about it, it’ll be what kills you—“

“Don’t Dr.Phil me.” Bob hissed.

“You didn’t come here to be coddled!” You hissed back, snapping as you felt Bob's hand snake along the small of your back. As close as he could be.

“I came here because you were the only person, and I mean the only person who was on my mind when I was sure I wasn’t coming home.” Bob admitted. “I’m in love with you, I always have been and I can’t bring myself to ask you to say it back.” Bob let his forehead rest against yours. “And I’m so beyond grateful I was given the chance to live long enough to tell you I love you.”

It was something that you never thought you’d hear Bob admit but it was even harder to admit to yourself you would have waited a lifetime and then some. Hopelessly devoted.

“I know I don’t bring much to the table, I’m—just—“ you didn’t let him finish, no. You crashed your lips against Bobs. Teeth slightly grazed his as you deepened it. Tongues dancing as you moaned ever so gently into Bob’s mouth. Fuck he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. All he could do was savour the moment.

“You are everything I’ve ever wanted, what’s a girl gotta do to make you see that huh?” You asked as you pulled away. Leaning back against the mirror as Bob’s hands traced unidentified objects into your thighs. Sighing in defeat you opted to put yourself. “I love you, Bob I really do—“

“But?” Bob questioned, his heart racing. Trying to read you like he usually could, an open book.

“But you can’t shut me out if we do this?” You pleaded. “You gotta let me in, talk to me, let me worry, tell me when things are bad, when you’re bad! God—“ you paused, tears welling in your eyes once again. “I’d hate to think you were fine and the next day you’re just—gone.” Bob hadn’t really realised when the last time he really opened up was. He’d stopped in order to be less of a handful, and above all wanted people to worry less. Guess doing that was really causing the opposite to happen. “I need to know that when things are bad? They’re bad. And when things are good, they’re great.”

“Deal—“ Bob cooed. “Deal.” Kissing your temple Bob smirked against your skin. “I’ll have a shower, then we’ll talk? About everything.” You nodded, sighed as you slid off the vanity.

“I’ll make you that cup of tea—“ you said softly, the atmosphere around you and Bob heavy with emotion. “Take you time.” It was almost as if you didn’t believe Bob would let you in, you had felt him pulling away but you hadn’t realised just hard far you let him fall behind. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, the way you wanted to leave but your feet wouldn’t move. The way you picked at the skin around your nails when you were nervous.

“You could stay, if you wanted to?” Bob smirked, his thumbs tucking into the waistband of his trousers. “I’ve uh—I can’t say I haven’t thought about you before.” Bob admitted as he stepped closer, watching as you didn’t move a muscle. “You’ve thought about me, haven’t you?” Kissing your neck softly you let your eyes roll in the back of your head as a just audible moan escaped.

“Now's not the right time—“ you tried to keep your composure. Bob pulled away to look at you one final time.

“Will there ever be a right time?” He whispered, his hand coming to push the hair that had fallen around your face behind your ear. “This is it for me, you’re it for me—always have been.” Bob cooed.

“You should have called me—“ you sobbed, dashing into Bob with so much force it sent him stumbling as he fumbled to get a grip on your waist. So much passion in your words, Bob knew it would be a long overdue conversation when you were finished. “Don’t you ever do that again—!” Pulling your shirt above your head Bob couldn’t breathe, was this really about to happen? Stepping into the shower you reached behind Bob, blasting the water as he stripped his trousers off. Still desperately kissing you as he did so. “I wanna know when you get a damn paper cut! Understand?” You hissed, pulled back as you pushed Bob under the stream of warm water—instantly soothing his battered and bruised skin. Pulling you into him as you shed your pyjama pants.

“Yes ma’am-“

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

[imthick]

Soap Bends You Over (18+)

Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content Warnings: Light Dom/Sub play, vaginal fingering, objectification Word Count: 3.9k

Service Dog Johnny Part 10 (full part list here)

“Is Johnny gone already?” you ask the back of Simon’s head when you shuffle to the kitchen the next morning.

“Yeah. Got a complex about being a bother.” Your boyfriend pauses making tea to reach for your hand and bring you to him. 

You make a disappointed sound into his chest, sort of wishing you hadn’t abandoned them for the comfort of your own bed in the middle of the night. Your eyes are still puffy from crying so hard, and you really wanted to thank Johnny for the disgusting amount of emotional support. There are never enough thank-you’s for someone like him. 

“How are you?” you ask Simon, very aware that you haven’t really had a conversation since everything happened. 

He makes a grumbly noise, releasing you. “I’m fine.”

In other words, he’s embarrassed, and feeling like he let you down. 

You tip your head up to get a look at his face, and though he meets your eyes, you can practically see the skull mask hiding his features from view. There’s a certain kind of dismissiveness in his expression, which you recognize for what it is: self preservation. That wall has come up, separating you from his emotions, compartmentalizing them even from himself. 

He took it harder than he let on last night, and that’s stupid because it’s not his fault.

This version of your boyfriend only responds well to two very different sorts of feedback from you. One, the one he’s hoping for, is that you’ll leave him alone. You’ll let him go off to work and become the mask, and you’ll just wait around and hope that he’s feeling a little more like himself when he comes home. Or, option two…

“Don’t give me that look,” you warn, narrowing your eyes and tilting your chin at a playful angle. 

His expression doesn’t shift. “This is my fucking face.”

“Mmm, no.” You set your hands on your hips, staying just inside his personal space and trying to make him as uncomfortable as possible. 

He crosses his arms, giving you a look that tells you he knows what you’re trying to do, and he’s not in the mood. “Going to be late.”

“Tough titties. You should have thought of that before you gave me those eyes.”

The tight silence stretches on, but he should know by now that his usual intimidation tactics don’t work on you. He can flash that dark gaze at you all he wants, but he’s not getting off the hook until you get what you’re after.  

Finally he caves. You know the instant it happens, because the corner of his mouth does an annoyed tick. “What’ll it take to get you off my back?”

Immediately dropping your mean-mug, you throw him a pretty smile. “Inspection.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He cricks his neck and lets out a deliciously frustrated exhale, which you love because it means he’s going to play along. After a quick glance at the clock — he has plenty of time — he grabs you under your armpits and hauls you up his chest, cradling your ass so you can comfortably wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Now… Let’s see.” You trace your fingers over his cheekbones, keeping a clinical expression on your face for the sake of the bit. “This is normal… okay… nose is normal… chin is… extra cute.”

His mouth twitches while you trace the scar that split his chin at one point. Got him. 

You take longer on his eyes, diligently studying the depths of them as he stares back at you. You run your fingers delicately over his lashes and eyebrows a little, and then, “Aha! Found it.”

His whole expression softens when you take his head in your hands, then lean forward to place a kiss right between his eyebrows. “There. Fit for duty.”

“Quite sure?” he asks, squeezing your ass a little.

“Afraid so. No sick days for you.”

“Give us one more, just in case.”

Smiling, you press another kiss to his forehead, and then one to his nose, and then his hand envelops the back of your neck, and he gets a good one right on the mouth. It’s not very long, because you can tell he’s brushed his teeth and you haven’t, but you make it extra good by murmuring soft, pretty things at him between presses of your lips. 

“What do you think,” he asks when you pull back a little, “about having Johnny again tonight?”

That’s just the last thing you expected him to say, so you frown a little while you mull it over. “You don’t… need more time?”

“Might be better to get on with it.”

You eye him carefully, trying to figure out if he’s being honest. Logically it makes sense, rip off the bandaid, so to speak. But trauma isn’t logical, and you’re afraid of a regression if he pushes himself too far. 

“That is…” he blinks at you, like he’s just thought of something concerning. “You’re not… sore, are you?”

“Oh, no. I’ve been, um. I’ve been very comfortable.”

“Good.” He sets you down carefully, gives your ass one last pat. “Quality inspection, love.”

“Thank you, baby. Hurry up, for god’s sake, you’re going to be late.”

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

“Look at you.”

Your heels click across the floor as you cross the kitchen some ten hours later, under Johnny’s rapt gaze. “Hi, Johnny. How’s your arm?”

Simon snags your waist before you can walk past him, lifting you one-armed up to his mouth for a kiss. That’s a good mood kiss if you ever saw one. It instantly relaxes you, gets you in the mood for a pleasurable evening instead of an anxious one. 

“Hi, baby,” you murmur, giving him one more peck before he sets you down. He must have just got home, because his hair is still a little wet and messed up from the shower. 

“Arm’s fine,” Johnny says pointedly, clearing his throat to get your attention away from the man-candy. “Foot’s the pooched bit. Got this thing now.” He brandishes the clunky plastic boot on his foot that you hadn’t noticed before. 

“Fancy,” you remark. 

“Pfft, yer one to talk.” Johnny rakes his eyes down your body. “You always show up to work like this?”

“Yep,” Simon answers unhelpfully.

“No.” You shoot your boyfriend a reproachful look, which he simply absorbs with a half-smile. “The district guy’s a misogynist, and he’s finally gone this week, so I dressed up a little to celebrate.”

“What’s that on your hind end, there?” Johnny frowns and waves his finger in the direction of your hip, so you do a confused little twist to try and see what you accidentally sat on. 

It’s not until you raise your eyes again - only to be met with two boyish grins - that you realize he was just fucking with you to get a better look at your ass in the pencil skirt. “Ha ha, very funny, MacTavish. You have a librarian kink, don’t you?”

“Fuckin… who doesn’t?” 

You roll your eyes. “Well I’m sorry to ruin the fun, but I’m going to change before dinner. Are we doing takeout?”

“Thought about going out tonight,” Simon tells you, offering some of the nuts he’s eating. “Fancy that beer place?”

That actually sounds really fun, going out with the two of them. You know exactly what he means by ‘that beer place,’ the one with the outdoor seating and hanging lights, and his favorite beer. It would be nice to do something friend-y with Johnny for a change. 

“That sounds great,” you agree with a smile. Get a little buzzed, laugh at all the dumb jokes, come back and get fucked. You’ll be quite the happy camper for the rest of the evening. 

“Want one last look before I change?” you tease Johnny, twisting to give him a better view.

He smiles at your good spirits, lingering his eyes on the curve of your ass. “Aye, but what do you reckon about a quickie before supper?”

“Oh— um…” You glance around the kitchen for a second, as if you’ll find your sexual desire lying somewhere on the counter for you to grab. “Sh-sure, yeah, I’m just, ahh— historically I’ve had a hard time getting off with quickies, so, as long as you’re good with that.”

He shrugs. “We’ll do it the fun way, make it a wee bit easier for you.”

“The fun way, huh? Okay.” A cursory glance towards Simon tells you he’s good with it, so why the hell not. “What do you have in mind?” 

Johnny inclines his head towards the corner of the kitchen. “Go put your cheek on the table.”

You blink a few times, automatically swiveling your head to stare at your unassuming kitchen table. Put your cheek on it? Like your face kind of cheek? Like… bend over? 

After one last glance at Johnny to verify that he’s serious - he is - you take a hesitant step towards the table, scooting the chair out of your way to make room for what he’s asking. 

Except… It's easier said than done. You stand there for a moment with your thighs pressed to the edge, staring down at that plain, flat surface. You don’t know how exactly it’s happening, but suddenly the simple request seems like an enormous ask. There’s a deeply uncomfortable distance you’ll have to lower yourself to reach it, not just with your hands, but with your actual face. And with your stupid heels adding to the height…

It feels like he’s asking you to jump off a building, but naked. It’ll be a vulnerable position, not just in a sexual sense, but also as some kind of primal defense mechanism. Arousal is crawling through your pelvis at even the thought of complying, but at the same time, this bizarre kind of fear is just as intense. It’s literally just a table and Johnny, so why do you feel so exposed? 

Come on, it’s easy. Just do it already, they’re waiting on you.

Tentatively you press your fingertips to the surface, and then you have to bend at the waist slightly to put your palms down on it. Again, that electric shock of shame and fear bursts through your nervous system, and it finally clicks why you’re feeling like this. 

You just blurt out what you’re thinking, because you’re taking way too long at this point, and you don’t want them to think you don’t want it. “I… grew up in a pretty disciplinarian household.” 

“Nothing like that,” Johnny quickly assures you. “Easier to touch you is all.”

Right, sure. It’s definitely not as easy as he’s making it sound, even knowing that it will only result in good things happening to your body. There’s still that innate, self preservation instinct that’s locking your muscles into place, rebelling against the entire concept. 

“We can do something el—“ Johnny starts to say, but you cut him off.

“No, no, I want to. Just give me a minute, it’s just— It’s harder than I thought it would be.”

There’s silence for a moment behind you, while you grip the lip of the table, trying to psych yourself up. Then Johnny says, “I can help, if you want.”

That sounds a lot easier. Having him come over here and guide you down, make you feel a little less exposed with his hands moving your body into place. It sounds far more doable, but—

“I want to do it myself,” you decide, for some reason.

You can feel both of their gazes on you, as you stand there and shift your weight from one shoe to another. 

Rip the bandaid, come on. All you have to do is lean over, and no one will hurt you or make you feel small. It’s just a tiny, first step into kinky stuff - which you want - but at the same time, there’s still that insurmountable wall. The barrier is purely psychological, but, then again, you suppose that’s the point of kink. 

You laugh nervously, palms flattening down again, and again feeling that panic at bending even the slightest bit. “I’m really relating to you right now, Simon.”

It’s your boyfriend’s voice you hear next. “Do halfway.”

A smaller hurdle. Smart. You tell yourself to just go down to elbows, and finally you’re able to move. Your body is suddenly unfrozen and allowing you to bend against the edge of the table, and then it’s so much easier. You’re able to get your forehead down to the wood, and then, huffing a laugh at your own ridiculousness, tuck your hands in beside your armpits.

You feel a hand on your lower back just as you finish settling your cheek against the smooth wood, bringing with it the shocking absence of fear. All of a sudden there are reward chemicals smoothing through your mind, at the same time that Johnny’s fingers run up your back to help brush your hair out of your face. 

“Comfortable?”

Instantly, your pussy catches up to the position you’re in, warming at the sensation of his hand curving over your hip. “Yes, very.”

It’s true. You can just rest here on the table with your ass in the air, and you don’t have to do anything but what he tells you. You can relax and just… take it. 

“Remember your job?” he asks, running his palms down the outside of your thighs.

You have to think for a few seconds, having momentarily lost any specifics amid the storm of feelings. “Put my cheek on the table?”

“Mhmm. Can you keep it there?” The bottom hem of your skirt begins to rise, getting expertly dragged up your ass. Fuck. 

“Yes,” you breathe, closing your eyes to drink in the feeling of him removing your one piece of modesty, bunching your skirt up around the top of your hips. 

He was right, this is the fun way.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears while Johnny draws your underwear down your thighs. You can’t even begin to process how much you like this. Your whole body experiences wave after wave of sexual thrill, with even the smallest movement of his fingers against your skin. It’s almost too much, you almost need a break to adjust to that near-painful flash of arousal.

“God, you’re a sight.” Johnny squeezes your bare ass a little, and all you can do is moan softly as you endure the next lance of heat. You’re just going to have to brace yourself for this being fast and inescapable and hot as fuck. 

You do yourself a favor and edge your foot out wider, the heel of your shoe making a little scuffing sound against the floor while you try to tempt him with a more convenient pussy. Unfortunately it has the opposite effect of what you intended, prompting Johnny to run his hand down the back of your thigh instead. 

“I like these shoes,” he tells you, his fingers unintentionally tickling a little when they near your knee, causing you to shiver in place. 

“I like you,” you mindlessly flirt, in an effort to get your clit touched.

Johnny laughs under his breath, and you feel him step to the side slightly, bringing his hand back up to knead your ass for Simon to see. All you can do is lay there with your pussy clenching in anticipation, and fantasize that Simon likes seeing you like this. That he’s watching Johnny’s thumb brushing up and down the outside of your vulva, teasing over the portion of your outer lips where your clit is tucked away. You can’t open your legs any farther with your underwear around your ankles, so you try to just relax and be patient. 

Johnny makes some kind of noise that you can’t discern, pausing for a few seconds, and then he finally starts to run his thumb back and forth over your clit. 

His other hand gently palms your ass, and you feel so adored in that moment. Objectified, but in the best way, like your body is pretty and soft and delicious to him. That hand on your lower back swipes a reassuring thumb over your spine, and he starts to circle your clit so nice, and the hand on your ass squeezes down to that sensitive connection to your inner thigh—

Waitwaitwaitholyfuck—

That’s three hands.

Your body seizes up and your knees jerk towards each other, and you just start panting in shock at the realization of what’s happening. 

“She’s alright,” Johnny says, when the hand on your ass pulls away slightly. “She just likes it. Don’t you, baby?”

You try desperately to get a grip, for Simon’s sake. Your body is still trembling a little, but you’re able to calm your breathing at least, and reply with a wrecked little, “Yeah.”

This is really happening. Simon is touching you, and your job is to keep your cheek on the table, and this isn’t at all how you imagined it happening, but it’s so good. 

The finger on your clit wanders up to your entrance, and Johnny just presses straight into you without further teasing, forcing an undignified groan out of you. That easy slide tells you everything you need to know about how ready you are, how you’d take pretty much anything at this point, no questions asked. 

That pressure against your g-spot is so exactly what you need, it takes you a moment to realize there’s something else, a wet, gentle finger brushing against your clit now. 

You practically choke on air, head spinning and heart pounding in a tangible slam against the wood of the table. 

“Breathe,” Johnny directs, pulling his finger out of your wetness to palm your ass again. 

Okay, yeah, you can do that. Obediently your gulp down a few lungfuls, mourning the complete absence of Simon’s hand ever since Johnny decided you need to calm down. 

“Doing okay?” Johnny asks, once you’ve started flexing your legs in a silent bid for more attention. 

“Yes… yes, I’m just… please, more.”

You don’t want to specifically ask for Simon, so you won’t put pressure on him in case he’s not able to continue, but god do you want it.

“Tap the table if this gets to be too much,” Johnny says, and fingers find your clit again, casually rolling and playing with it. 

That’s absolutely not going to be a problem, but you just nod pathetically because you’re incapable of coherent speech. Your entire vulva feels soaked against the air of the room. You’re so fucking turned on, and helpless to the way your body is responding to this entire situation. 

When that extra hand finds your hip again, you don’t dwell on the implications of your boyfriend touching you for the first time. You don’t wonder if you’re scaring him off with the sounds leaving your throat, or with the pussy that’s uncomfortably wet and swollen against his fingers. Your mind has completely whited out, latched onto the only two things that matter in the entire world — Johnny’s voice, and Simon’s fingers. 

It’s as if your pussy is connected to your lungs, the way that first, thick finger pushes a whimpery breath out of you when it presses inside. You can’t help but clench down on it a little, desperate to identify exactly who it belongs to. Logically you know that Johnny’s hand is still on your back and his finger is busy with your clit, but you wish you could see.

“S-Simon? Is that your finger inside?” It slips out before you can stop it, with how dumb and impulsive you are in this state.

It goes still, deep in your pussy, but he doesn’t pull it out. Then you hear the most wonderful, low, “Yes,” you’ve ever heard in your life.

“Hhhuh,” you pant against the wood of the table, failing to prevent another internal hug around him. “Can you give me another? It feels really good.”

Johnny curls his fingers approvingly against your spine, and drops his other hand away so you can feel every bit of the stretch when your boyfriend slides a second finger into your willing body. 

“Baby,” you groan, blissfully full, and just wishing he’d give them to you a little harder. 

You need something consistent to latch onto, need something faster than what they’re giving you, but you don’t dare ask for it. You don’t dare do anything but what you’re supposed to do right now, letting Simon use your pussy however he wants. You’re prepared to offer your aroused body to him for as long as he needs it, keep it wet and exposed for him, even if it means you get denied what you’re currently weeping for. 

“Fuckin pretty, isn’t she?” comes Johnny’s voice, squeezing your ass again in a way that spreads your pussy a little. “Feels good on your fingers, when she’s soaked like this.”

“Johnny.” Simon exhales heavily through his nose. “You’re fucking killing me.”

Johnny laughs quietly, thumbing your clit again and making you tighten up around Simon’s fingers. “Don't think it’s me that’s killing you, mate.”

You have to bite down on your lower lip to prevent a moan of disappointment, when your boyfriend pulls his fingers out of you. “Sorry, love,” he whispers. 

“It’s okay, baby,” you manage to say, clenching and unclenching your fingers to cope. “It’s okay.”

You can practically feel him withdrawing, physically and mentally. He’s only taken a step or two away, but there’s a Simon’s shaped vacuum somewhere behind you now, where he’s supposed to be. It hurts that he’s gone. 

Johnny steps around the table to where your head is, bends down to look you in the eye. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m good.” Simon’s fingers are supposed to be inside you, and they’re not. 

“D’ya want to cum, or should we be taking a break?”

You do want to cum. You’re so worked up right now, it’ll be painful if you don’t. But it’s just you and Johnny now, and your boyfriend touched you for the first time. His fingers were inside you, and you can practically feel them still, how nice and thick and lovely they were, gently fucking you just like you’d always imagined. And if Johnny fucks you now, the lingering feeling of Simon’s fingers is going to be erased. 

Simon finally put his hands on you, and you want to hold onto that for a little while longer.

“I— I don’t know,” you say, swallowing and trying to figure out a nice way to let Johnny down, even though your brain is mush. If you don’t continue, he won’t get to cum either. 

“Break then. Stay there a sec, I’ll get you sorted.”

Johnny disappears from view, and soon your underwear is getting put back into place over your aching pussy, and your skirt is getting pulled back down with measurably less finesse than if it were you fixing it.

Maybe Johnny wasn’t very into what just happened. Maybe he didn’t get hard, because he wasn’t expecting to fuck you.

When you shakily push yourself off the table and straighten up, it’s an interesting scene, there in the kitchen. There’s you, practically knock-kneed and cramping between your legs. There’s Simon, absolutely bricked up, leaning against the counter and failing to meet your eyes. And there’s Johnny, with a slightly sheepish expression, rearranging his erection in his pants. 

Jesus, what a team. 

“You guys want to hang out in the room while I get dressed?” you offer, reaching back to unhook your bra. “These shoes are killing me.”

Next Part

Thank you to @forgotten-lego-piece for beta reading! I appreciate you so much!

Dividers by @the-aesthetics-shop

Chronological Read-Through Path

[imthick]

really need something good to happen to me

[imthick]

you don’t talk too much. you aren’t too loud. you aren’t too needy. you aren’t too sensitive. you aren’t too this, or that. you aren’t too much anything. you will never be too much: you are you, and you are allowed to take up space. you are allowed to exist however you choose.

[imthick]

It-Girl Checklist ✓

ෆ stay pretty

ෆ manifest daily

ෆ make reading a hobby

ෆ wear clothes that make you feel pretty and confident

ෆ be a pilates princess or do yoga

ෆ drink water daily

ෆ ignore drama

ෆ pray and practice gratitude

ෆ turn your pinterest/vision boards into reality (start creating and living out your dream life)

ෆ meditate regularly

ෆ dress well

ෆ make self-care a daily routine

ෆ observe more

ෆ learn as much as you can

(be hungry for knowledge, educate yourself on things you’re not sure of)

ෆ journal regularly

ෆ be classy

ෆ get rid of anyone or anything that no longer serves you

ෆ keep your hair clean

ෆ shower regularly

ෆ practice good feminine hygiene

ෆ don’t take shit from anyone

ෆ know that you’re THAT girl

ෆ be original

ෆ do skin care routine daily

ෆ speak your mind

ෆ keep your nails and toes clean & done

(cut them, shape them, clean them, polish, mani/pedi, acrylics optional)

ෆ don’t hide your emotions

ෆ affirm daily

ෆ keep your breath fresh

(brush your teeth at-least twice a day, use mouthwash and floss)

ෆ don’t let anyone bully you or walk all over you

ෆ don’t skip meals

ෆ be nice <3 being a mean girl is so not it!

ෆ wash off makeup before bed

ෆ be confident

ෆ stand firm on what you believe in

ෆ only accept princess treatment

ෆ delete, block, unfollow or mute anything that disturbs your peace

taking proper care of yourself mentally, physically and emotionally is the ultimate ItGirl thing to do! make sure you make yourself a priority and remember you’re beautiful, smart, kind, capable of anything, worthy of love and all great things! don’t ever let anyone make you think otherwise or make you doubt yourself. walk with your head held high and surround yourself with pretty things only, nice people only, positive energy only and peaceful vibes only. sending love always, bestie ‹𝟥

[imthick]

healthy habits i love :)

introduction:

hi loves! i wanted to share some healthy habits that i really enjoy for my body and my mind. these are things that make me feel better and work with my life :)

physical health:

staying active. i have practice for 2 hours on weekdays and like to do home workouts using small dumbells or just pilates on weekends.

stretching. stretching is so important to prevent injuries, improve mobility and balance.

eating 3 meals a day w/ fruits and vegtables.

taking vitamins. i have anemia so i've been taking iron tablets everyday w breakfast to help.

drinking enough water. i always track how much water i have- i usually drink a whole water bottle at school, 70ish% of one at practice, and more water at home.

having a skincare routine.

having a haircare routine & learning to style my hair.

at-home face massage. theyre just really relaxing

mentality/mental:

planning for the future. i like to think about what i'm doing after graduating high school (college) and how i'm going to get into my dream college. i make a plan to follow.

avoiding drama. honestly there's not much drama at my school to begin with, but either way i just avoid talking shit about people

reading! i read every night and when i finish my schoolwork and have nothing to do. it's relaxing

learning about current world events. i also like to stay up to date on what's going on in the world. it can be really sad but i think it’s important to be aware of what happens.

praying. i pray every night and i find it really peaceful and a way to be grateful by thanking God for all sorts of things in my life. sometimes i'll also just pray if i'm anxious, before a water polo game, or really whenever i feel like i should.

gratitude & reflection. i like to reflect on how i'm acting and also remind myself of everything to be grateful for. sometimes really small moments, like when i was getting my braces tightened i thought about how i'm lucky to even get to have dental work done.

journalling. i have a diary i write in every night which is just for fun, and then a spare binder w some lose paper where i vent when i'm feeling bad.

having hobbies. i like to keep myself busy so i have a lot of things i like to do at home like writing, reading, photography, sewing.

having a clean space. i keep my room clean (nothing on the floor, everything where it needs to be) and cleaning my backpack just so everything is easy to find and get.

beginning:

the key to growing is literally just doing small things everyday. overnight change is never attainable. if you want to add different habits/change something you need to make small, attainable, adjustments everyday.

do the best with what you have. this is the biggest point. there are certain things you might not be able to do because of your circumstances, so just do the best with what you have right now.

self respect. and of course, healthy self improvement is based in loving yourself and wanting to be better for the sake of improving your life. this is a whole journey within itself.

[imthick]

just girly things

beauty sleep, wash hair, make tea, journal, bubble bath 🎀

[imthick]

being an it girl like cher horowitz

introduction:

since i've been talking about fictional it-girls recently (elle and rory) i want to talk about my personal fav, cher from clueless! cher is my ultimate it girl- i love how she is giving and helps other people (tai's makeover and volunteering at her school), is serious about self improvement AND has such a cute style!

school:

make your school routine fun. in the morning make your routine fun- maybe listening to your favorite music while you get ready.

put effort into how you look. cher always dresses up for school and honestly it does make it so much more fun to wear cute clothes and do your hair for school. do what makes u happy! i like to do overnight rollers so my hair has volume for school and also just painting my nails and wearing cute accessories.

be friendly to your peers, especially new kids. make small talk with the people who you sit with in class. if you have a compliment in mind for someone, give it to them even if you're a little nervous. go outside of your comfort zone when it comes to being social.

get involved in extracurricular activities. this is great to make friends and also just a good way to spend your time.

study smarter, not harder.

self improvement:

do work for your community. after the pismo beach disaster cher helped by donating things she had and volunteering for fundraisers. cher knew that she was priviledged so she helped other people.

read one non-school book per week. cher mentions doing this in the movie, and it's just good advice! personally i read before bed and once i finish my schoolwork. (i have a block schedule so my classes are long and we get a lot of free time).

do self care. cher is serious about taking care of herself. skincare, haircare, etc. take care of yourself and pamper yourself :)

take better care of your health. cher makes sure to eat well and stay active. i think it's good for all people to learn more about nutrition, eat more balanced and create fun ways to workout. we only have one body so we need to make sure that we're taking good care of it.

build your vocabulary. cher likes learning new words and using them. having a better vocabulary makes people take you more seriously, and also it's just good to learn new things ofc.

conclusion:

be authentic to who you are, while also being your best self. being kind and helping other people, having a good heart, those are the important things. remember to take care of yourself, your health and also just pampering yourself once in a while. work on taking care of your body and your mind. :)

[imthick]

Eating is good.

Eating is necessary.

Eating is normal.

Food is nothing to be scared of, we need it to live.

Being skinny is not important.

Being skinny isn't my biggest goal.

I am allowed to look the way I look.

I will never starve myself again.

[imthick]

Wait what the fuck? What is going on? Should I be concerned?

“if he offs himself its on them” 

That might be the most grotesque thing I’ve read today.  

It is definitely not on the fans if this happened. To try to insinuate it is because no one wants to send money to a scam is complete and utter bullshit. Chris has so many people ACTUALLY in his life that could help if any of this were true. You want me to believe Lisa motherfucking Evans wouldn’t be stepping in and helping? The woman who he called immediately after losing his virginity? You want me to believe he’d ask his fans for 23k before his mom?

LMAO! I may be gullible as fuck, but I’m not THAT gullible. Karma is real and it’ll come your way. 

[imthick]

I HAVE TO HEAR ALL YOUR MARTIAN HEADCANONS THIS INSTANT!

i hate when something im hyperfixated on is mainstream but not in the way that i need. theres not enough deranged queer people in the martian fandom to support my mark watney is a trans guy headcanon.

[imthick]

yayy, okay so this fic is like a sequel to the book, like difrectly after, when mark reaches the ship, and it is SSOO well written. it is like the books writing but better ig? but it has a lot of angst which i dont know if youll like or not. but to me it seems like an accurate of what would happen after everything. it has a part before and after, in which the before talks about marks pov while in mars, and the after is when all reach earth. but the best one is the one ima send i love it sm and i wanted someone else who read the martian to see it. good luck surviving the angst and tell me your thoughts :)

I Win, Mars - Chapter 1 - chuckisgod - The Martian - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own] also if you wanna talk abt it more my dms are open :]

Oooo I’ll be sure to check it out when i have a second! Sounds like something I’d like, I’ll let ya know what I think when I get around to it :o)

(Sorry for the late reply, I’m easily distractible lol)

[imthick]

I love how when I talk about the media I adore I get all excited and loud about it.

if you see this, try to say something nice about yourself / compliment yourself!

i'll go first: i love how creative i am

[imthick]

IS THIS WHY I HAVE TO TURN FRIENDS ON SO I STOP CRYING????

The next time you are having a bad breakdown, cuddle up in your bed, lower the blinds and put on your favourite show, even if you don't feel like it or are still crying. Your brain will pick up on the show and start following it and stop thinking about the reason you are breaking down. It helps.

[imthick]

Mark wants to be on buzzfeed unsolved when he dies and watches true crime all the time.

Mark Whatney (might be misspelled because audiobook) would love the Murderbot Diaries. And Murderbot would enjoy The Martian.

[imthick]

AND having chronic illness sucks. You are essentially dying, all the time, and you can feel it happening, slowly and painfully. What Steve was getting was making him WORSE. To add on to his hard home life, Steve’s dad was highly abusive. He severely beat Steve and his mother, before dying in the war and leaving them even broker than they were. Maybe Bucky worried about Steve and helped him out. But by no means was he solely providing for Steve, and he sure as hell didn’t have it worse than Steve did.

I'm a little miffed by the way that people in the fandom tend to be all "Oh poor Bucky" about STEVES disabilities?? As if it's Bucky who's primarily affected by Steve being chronically ill. Not Steve himself, Bucky.

It's Bucky that people always write as the hard worker, slaving away to buy Steve his medicine and keep a roof over his head and clothes on his back, as if Steve wouldn't have most definitely had multiple jobs to provide for his Mother and be her main caretaker considering he probably wouldn't have been able to afford hospice for her? As if Steve isn't the one experiencing the pain of having chronic conditions at all, with limited resources to begin with, and having to turn to a healthcare system that most likely either not help, or wouldn't have the resources to help him, living in a time where eugenics was at it's height in America, as if he wouldn't be the one at risk of violence due to being from an irish immigrant background and chronically ill in early 1900s America?

Like, theres nothing wrong with writing Bucky as someone who wants to help provide for Steve, but like, don't act like Steve had to depend on him for EVERYTHING. Because he absolutely didn't, and saying that reeks of ableism to me. He helped Steve out when he needed it, and Steve accepted that help, but he wasn't completely dependent on Bucky to do everything for him.

It just always FUCKS with me when people take Steves autonomy or only mention Steves ailments in relation to Bucky. Idk, it just rubs me the wrong way. Please stop infantilizing pre-serum Steve.

[imthick]

I beg you all to answer so I can have a clear understanding of your preferences!