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freak-accident419 · 1 month ago

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‘not your fault’

Bob Reynolds x reader

Summary: After a mission goes horribly wrong, you take a hot shower to unwind. With Bob being your worried boyfriend, he keeps you company.

Word Count: 1.9k

Content: 18+ SMUT, MDNI, gender neutral reader (of course), no pronouns used for reader, brief use of Y/n, reader is a Thunderbolt, shower sex, fluff, penetration (no specified genitals for reader), creampie, Bob may or may not be ooc, a certain stupid reference at the end, Yelena makes an appearance

SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE UNDER THE CUT!!!

Taglist: @g0ry0re0 @deceitfuldevil Happy reading! <3 Reblogs and likes are much appreciated!

You fucked up big time.

One of your missions as a New Avenger went terribly wrong, and it was all your fault. You led your team to the wrong place, made the wrong calculations, and overall was the epitome of a screw up. Most days, you were proficient and prepared, smart and level-headed, so it disheartened you when you let your teammates down. And while you all ended up succeeding by the end and completed the mission, sensing your colleagues' frustration towards you didn't feel so great.

When you all went back to the Watchtower, you went straight to your room without a word, ignoring Bob in the process. You knew that wasn't a good move on your part, but you felt way too ashamed to face your lover.

Your usual remedy was to take a hot shower. You were embarrassed and humiliated by your performance today, so enveloping yourself in flaming, steamy water seemed like the best distraction.

So there you were, standing in the large stall of your own bathroom as the hot water cascaded onto your sensitive skin. Your body had been covered in some debris as a result of the mission, now being washed off in the shower. You wouldn't have removed all of the grime, however, considering that you hadn't even picked up the soaps or even anything at all yet. All this time you just stood there, trying to distract your mortification with the heat surrounding you.

Your back was turned, looking at the ground that the water would land on, not turning your head as you hear the bathroom door creak open. You already knew who it was, so there was no use in questioning it.

The sound of shifting clothes was drowned out by the spraying of the shower. Then, it wasn't too long before the glass door slid open, closing immediately once the figure behind you stepped in.

"Ow—shit—that's hot," Bob flinched clumsily, turning the handle ever so slightly to turn down the heat. In other circumstances, in which you weren’t so depressed, you probably would’ve laughed at his silly response.

You felt your boyfriend's warm chest press against your back as his arms wrapped around your front, hands resting on your stomach. His head was relaxed against your shoulder, holding you close to comfort you. Your wet, naked bodies were practically merged together, in light of the very close proximity. Your thoughts had been drastically spiraling ever since the mission, but at least this felt nice.

For a while, it was quite silent aside from the rushing water, Bob offering his sole presence to ground you. Then, he finally spoke up afterwards, his tone in a compassionate manner.

"It wasn't your fault..."

Great. You assumed the team already informed him about what happened, probably telling him every stupid thing you did during the mission.

"Yelena, uh... She told me what happened," he continued hesitantly, your stiff body remaining against him. "Apparently, there was a whole mislead, uh... fraudulent information, something like that. But I mean, you just did what you had to do, and that's—"

"Don't." You sighed, briefly shutting your eyes in exhaustion. You didn't want his pity, you didn't want to be rewarded for your mistakes. "I screwed up. If it weren't for my judgement, then maybe—maybe all that wouldn't have happened, and there wouldn't be so much collateral damage, and—"

"Y/n." Bob grabs your shoulders, turning your body around to face him. Your expression was wrecked, eyes fearful and guilty. It hurt him to see you like this, especially since your vulnerability is a rare occurrence. "She said it was bound to happen. It didn't happen because of you. You didn't do anything wrong. It was an ambush."

"They're pissed at me," you frown miserably, disregarding his words, "the whole team, they hate me right now."

"That can't be true," he says with a gentle, sympathetic smile, "they're mad about the—the situation and the people involved, but not you. They know how skilled and smart and great you are, so no, they couldn't hate you, definitely not for this."

Usually, you were the one who would comfort and console Bob. Whenever he was going through something, you always talked him through it. Which was why this moment felt so foreign. This time, he was the one comforting you, using his own wisdoms to reassure you. And it worked like a charm.

"You okay?" He asks after a short pause with a questioning look.

"Yeah," you huff tiredly, embracing him closely, "I'll be fine..."

Pulling away from the hug, your hands reached up to cup his face. His eyes were so gentle, looking at you with enamored adoration. His hair was already soaked, some wet bangs falling over his face that accentuated the blue in his irises. Your thumbs stroked his cheeks affectionately, captivated by his effortless beauty. He was so goddamn pretty.

You grabbed his face and crashed your wet lips against his, pouring all your love and appreciation into the kiss. Instantly, Bob followed, kissing you back slowly, firm hands resting on your bare waist.

He whimpered needily in your mouth, parting it with his wavering tongue. He was addicted to your taste, grabbing you closer to his body as things began to grow tense between the two of you. The hot shower didn't seem to make it better, as it only added to the sensuality of this moment.

Bob wanted to please you. He wanted to make you feel worthy of pleasure, he wanted to remind you of how amazing you were. Essentially, he knew how it felt to fuck up and be looked down upon. He could only assume all the emotions you were feeling after the mission, so he made it his objective to distract you from them.

Bob carefully pressed your back against the shower wall, kissing you deeply and passionately. His hands came down to your thighs, lifting you up so your legs could wrap around his hips. He pecked your lips briefly while grasping his cock in one hand, stroking his already hardened length. The sensitive head of his dick throbbed as he guided it between your thighs.

“Ahh…” You let out a soft moan as he slowly entered through your tight entrance, walls fluttering at the stretch from his thick girth.

“Mmm—You feel so good,” he praises meekly, eyes half-lidded once he was fully inside you, “so good for me.”

Your hands were still cupping his face, holding him close to you as you pant under your breath. Bob began to thrust out gently, only to piston back in, making the two of you moan in pleasure. With his fingernails digging into your plushy thighs, he rocks his hips leisurely, taking his time to hit every deep, sensitive spot you had. And after a long time of being your boyfriend, he knew your body as if he studied a manual for it.

Bob was obsessed with making love to you. If not obsessed, then he simply loved it. And right now, he needed to make you feel the gentle love he had for you.

His lips were attached to yours once again as he fucked you softly against the wall, thrusting his cock deeply inside of you. Quiet whines left his throat, as he had always been the more sensitive out of the two of you.

Your hands reached the back of his head, fingers tangling in his soppy brown strands the more he stretched you with his length. Suddenly, Bob’s hand sneaked between your bodies, bringing attention to your sensitive flesh with his touch. Breaking the kiss, your mouth gaped in awe, panting heavily at the amazing sensation.

Noticing you were getting close, he tenderly pulled out in pursuit of a new position. As a whimper escaped your lips from the new-found emptiness, he kissed them briefly as a silent apology.

Bob positioned you with your stomach facing the glass door, standing right behind you as you felt his hard cock resting against your ass. His hands ran up and down your sides in a warm, worshipful caress. Then, his palms moved to your front, feeling sensually for your chest and stomach as your own hands were pressed against the glass, bracing yourself.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against your neck, nipping the skin, “you did so good today... you deserve so much…”

Finally, his dick pushed back inside of you, making you feel the satisfying stretch of your inner walls. Bob moved at a steady pace, still fixated on making slow, sweet love to you. He moaned as he felt your fleshy insides grip his hard length, his hands desperately feeling for your skin.

“Faster,” you murmur, already eager to reach your climax. Bob moans at your words, aroused by your voice as he then obeys you, increasing his pace. Your body was overwhelmed with pleasure, feeling your walls tighten even more around him.

The brunette groans, one hand now gripping your hip, and the other reaching around your front to touch your sensitive anatomy once again. He was already close, just desperate to make you cum with him.

“Ahh!” You cry as his cock dives deeper and faster in your hole, massaging your insides. Your knees wobbled, already weak from the pleasure. The lewd, wet sounds of skin slapping against skin that echoed in the steamy bathroom aroused you terribly.

"I’m close,” Bob whines, his forehead pressed to your back as he pounded his hips against your ass. “Y/n, I’m so close…”

“Fuck!” You moan, feeling close to the edge as well. You felt a warm sensation pool in your lower stomach as he continued thrusting his cock inside of you.

Then, with a soft cry, Bob tenses up against you, cumming deep inside as his hot, white semen would paint your sensitive walls. You came directly after him, flesh tightening around his dick as you moaned in pleasure.

He held you close, peppering kisses all over your face and back. And you would stay in that position until he thought it was time to finally lather your body with soap; not only washing off the leftover dirt from your body, but also the guilt and stress you had once carried.

Later that night, as Bob was fast asleep in his quarters, you went to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Closing the pantry after obtaining said snack, you flinch as you see Yelena standing in the room.

“Hi,” she smiles softly.

“Shit!” You huff under your breath, heart rate slowly stabilizing. “Jesus, you scared me.”

She walked closer to you with a purposeful expression, raising her eyebrows. “I just wanted to let you know that… None of us blame you for what happened,” she explains in her familiar, thick Russian accent. “I know, we were all angry and pissy, but you barely screwed up. Hell, it was an ambush, there was nothing you could do.”

Her eyebrows softened as she looked at you warmly. “We’re all in this together, Y/n. And none of us are perfect, far from it, actually, so don’t think you’re less than any of us because of what happened today. Okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod appreciatively, mirroring her smile. “Thank you, Yelena.”

Satisfied, she turns around to walk away, until she suddenly stopped in her tracks, eyeing you once again. “By the way… You and Bob might want to be a little… quieter. The Watchtower is still in construction, and, well.. walls and ceilings are pretty thin.”

As she strides away, you curse under your breath, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“But I’m happy for you both!” She calls out, disappearing into the darkness.

You took a worn-out bite into your Pop-Tart. Goddammit.

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redeemingvillains · 11 months ago

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cold comfort - mattheo riddle

summary: mattheo has one rule: any girl can share his bed (and there's been plenty) but none can stay the night. when the unexpected happens, and you're begging to be the first, you find out why he had the rule in the first place.

word count: 4k

soundtrack: between the sheets - imogen heap

a/n: wait this is kind of a saga! it just kept flowing and flowing, but i'm obsessed with it! hope you enjoy!! ♡♡

When Mattheo heard that a first year in Charms cast a spell that backfired so badly it rendered Hogwarts unable to regulate the temperature in the castle, he'd nearly spit out his firewhiskey. The mental image of Flitwick, McGonagall and all of his other professors frantically trying to fix it to no avail gave him sick pleasure as he thought about all the times they'd looked down on him because of his last name. Fuck 'em he thought. Serves them right.

He'd enjoyed his twisted happiness for several days until an unexpected early spring snowstorm rolled off the mountains, leaving the castle a veritable chamber of cold. For two days now it had nearly been cold enough for him to see the white puff of his breath inside. As others scrambled for a place in front of the fireplaces, his mood darkened, making him even more sullen than usual as talk of canceling classes and sending everyone home began to circulate; home wasn't really a place he was looking to go back to.

So now he was sat in the Great Hall in a large sweatshirt with his hood drawn up around his face, the standard dress code long since forgotten, one hand wound tightly around his second cup of black tea in an effort to warm himself while the other rubbed his tired face as he listened to the incessant chatter of his friends.

He was quietly zoned out until he caught a glimpse of you walking through the large entryway. Everyone in the castle looked in disarray: mismatched sweaters, hats and gloves in haphazard layers to stay warm, but not you, you looked like a perfect snowbunny. You were wearing tight black leggings, fur-lined boots, a thick sweater and a headband to keep your ears warm that complimented your hair. Anyone looking closely enough would see the imperceptible tug of his lips into what could almost be called a smile as you made your way to the Slytherin table and slid onto the bench next to him.

It wasn't lost on him that his best friend was beautiful. He was well and painfully aware of the fact and had been for as long as he'd known you. But, despite the thoughts that ran rampant through his mind at the sight of you, he was determined to keep you at an arm's length. Simply put, you were too good for him, too pure. You had a smile that radiated a warmth that he could feel even now, you were caring and compassionate, smart and sweet, quick with a hug and a kind word. You were everything that he wasn't. He told himself, constantly, on repeat, that it was better to have you in his life at all than to fuck it up trying for anything more.

He subtly traced your face through the corner of his eye: your long lashes, the curve of your smile, and your warm, rosy cheeks, and just like no one but you could see his smile, no one but him noticed the tiredness in your eyes. He nudged his shoulder into yours.

"Alright?" he mumbled.

You glanced up at him, his groggy morning voice and the way his curls stuck out from his hood making you feel like you'd swallowed a pixie. You felt yourself flush, your exhaustion wearing down the mask you normally kept up around him, determined to never let him know how you really felt.

"Just tired s'all" you smiled kindly, nudging him back, coaxing what could almost be another smile out of him as you met each other's eyes. "I can't sleep for shit. No matter what I do, I can't get warm, even under a pile of blankets, in my fuzziest pajamas and a jumper" you shivered.

"Skin to skin is really the only solution" Pansy chimed in with a smirk as she sank further into Draco's arms and you rolled your eyes at the two of them. She had snuck out of your room the last few nights, leaving you not only cold, but alone too.

"Couldn't agree more" Theo said, smirking, before lifting an eyebrow at you "ready, able and at your service, babe" he said, opening his arms to you as you swatted him away, laughing at his attempt to flirt with you. He smiled widely and laughed back before glancing over your shoulder at Mattheo whose eyes were narrowed in his direction.

"What, mate, it's not like you're any help, what with your strict 'no sleepover policy'" Theo chirped at him, referring to the fact that regardless of how many girls came in and out of Mattheo's bed, (which was a sizable number) not one had ever stayed the night, always kicked out in the end, despite the fact that they hoped to be the one to break his streak.

You turned to see Mattheo shooting daggers at Theo.

"S'my bed" he muttered, "more than happy to have someone in it for awhile, but a lad's got to get his rest, yeah?" he laughed and the guys laughed back.

You faked a bitter smile, returning your attention to your breakfast in front of you. You weren't naive but that didn't mean you had to sit here and listen to this, you nibbled a piece of dry toast, the mental image of Mattheo with other girls making you nauseous.

Mattheo's smile fell from his face as he watched your reaction, and wished for the thousandth time that he could tell you that he made that rule because of you. Because if he couldn't have you, then he wasn't going to waste time getting closer than necessary with anyone else; the nights he spent alone his bed his punishment for who he was, the fact that he'd never be good enough for you.

You stood abruptly and shot him a small smile as you moved to leave. He said your name quietly and reached for your hand, but you were gone before you realized it.

That night you crawled into cold sheets that felt almost damp with a chill. Despite the pile of blankets and your thick pajamas, you couldn't get warm or comfortable, tossing and turning as small shivers ran through your body and Pansy's words echoed in your head. You were desperate for warmth at this point, desperate for a good night's sleep, but there was only one bed you wanted to crawl into, and it was with the only person who refused to share it.

Surely he would break his rule for you, for his best friend? you thought; things were different between you two. But were you willing to try, to embarrass yourself if he said no? You rolled around for another hour before climbing out of bed.

Mattheo was in a fitful sleep, which was not unusual for him; his nights were frequented by nightmares, leaving him constantly groggy and grumpy, but when he heard your voice, he was sure he was dreaming, a good dream, a great dream at that.

"Mattheo" you were whispering.

He turned to see you standing at the other side of his bed and was incredibly confused, until you moved to get in... and then he panicked. He panicked because he had thoughtfully planned every way to avoid this exact situation from the moment he met you, knowing that at this proximity he wouldn't be able to control himself. And he was right. You were close, too close. He could smell your shampoo, like warm vanilla, and his hands moved on autopilot towards you, his fingers twitching to bring you closer to him before he stopped himself, inches short.

"Whatareyoudoing?!" he whisper-mumbled in frustration, the words coming out angrier than he'd intended at the range of emotions he was feeling.

You froze, your heart shattering. He was angry. He didn't want you here, he didn't want anyone here. He was going to kick you out and you'd be mortified, your friendship would never be the same, you'd taken things too far. You felt a scratch in your throat as tears threatened to spring forward.

Even in the thick darkness, Mattheo could see that he'd upset you, able to read your expressions better than his own. He could see the wobble of your bottom lip as your wide eyes looked at him and he hated himself and the situation all the more for it.

"Please Matty, m'just so cold, I can't sleep" you whispered, using the nickname that was strictly forbidden for anyone but you that made him melt.

He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed deeply, trying in his sleepy state to figure out a solution as he felt his strength waning; the figment of his every daydream was literally begging to be in his bed and he was certain he couldn't trust himself, certain that this only ended one way.

You took in his rigid form and his frustration and began to backpedal, moving to leave.

"M'sorry, it's okay, I'll go, maybe Theo—"

And you didn't even get a chance to finish your thought before you felt his large, warm hands wrap around your middle and tug you across the bed and into his chest, quickly but gently.

"C'mere" he mumbled as he settled you against him, chest to chest, your head tucked under his.

Your arms wound around him naturally, your legs intertwining, the two of you fitting together effortlessly, perfectly, like puzzle pieces. You let out a small giggle as you nuzzled into him, making yourself comfortable.

He could feel your warm breath as you let out a contented sigh, the innocent sound somehow sinful to his ears as he willed his mind to stop wandering in every direction it wanted to as he felt every dip and curve of your body against his own despite the layers of clothing between you. He kept his hands at your back, unmoving, for a moment unsure if he was even doing this right, unable to remember the last time he'd cuddled with anyone.

"Thank you" you whispered, your voice already sounding relaxed and sleepy to him as your fingers traced patterns on his back, a lavish feeling that released every ounce of tension he had been holding.

You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest as his arms hugged you to him firmly and you felt a sensation like melted honey spreading through every inch of you, as he rubbed your back, warming you from your heart to the tips of your toes for the first time in days as you fell into a hazy sleep.

The first thought Mattheo had was that he felt heavy, his limbs felt weighted and his mind felt calm. Rested he realized after a moment. His brain was slowly turning back on, piecing together the dream he'd had, it was a dream, right? You, in his bed, in his arms, pressed against him, nuzzling into him, contented and happy. It felt so real, real enough that he could still smell you, the intoxicating scent of your shampoo, could still feel you in his arms, could still ghost his fingers down your back. You hummed in response and his eyes fluttered open only to realize it was definitely not a dream.

You were here, with him, in his bed, had been all night, your body still wound perfectly in his, neither of you having let go of one another or moved an inch; if anything, it was like you melded together even further. Fuck this is nice he thought as he looked down at you curled into his chest. This was everything, everything he'd hoped it would be. He wanted to stay like this for as long as physically possible, the looming fear of it having to come to an end already upon him.

Suddenly, a pillow came flying onto the bed, askewing the thick curtains that draped around his four-poster.

"Oi wake up, will you, Riddle? Shit, it's almost noon and we've got practice in an hour" came a shout as a cacophony of voices followed behind it into the room.

You stirred in Mattheo's arms just as a hand reached through his curtains to pull them aside.

"Oh. My. Fucking. Days" Blaise drawled, annunciating every word as the others gathered around him.

"I knew it, I fucking knew it"

"Let's gooooooo!!"

"Mattttyyyy!!!" each of them shouted as the jumped up and down in excitement at the sight of you in his bed.

"Fuck off" he said, grasping the pillow they'd thrown at him and hucking it back at them, causing them to disperse as they fell apart with laughter and more cheers.

He felt you shift next to him and looked back to see that you had pulled the covers over your head, just the tips of your fingers and the top of your head visible. He yanked his curtain closed before leaning back towards you and gently grasping the blanket near your hands to pull it back.

While not the wakeup you had hoped for nor expected, Mattheo pulling back the blankets with a soft sleep-ridden smile on his face and his rumpled curls to see you was a mental image that you were sure you would think about every day for the rest of your life. You were swimming in a sea of him, engulfed in his smell, like pine and amber, and you were delightfully warm; he was going to have to pry you out of here.

"Hi" he said quietly in his morning voice.

"Hi" you whispered back.

You looked perfect. He may have thought about waking up to you, with significantly less clothing on and significantly fewer onlookers, but he'd never considered how beautiful you would look, your eyes not all the way open yet, your hair spread like a blanket of its own and fuck if he didn't want to kiss you. His eyes drifted lazily to your lips and back again and he swore he saw a flash of something in your expression in response, curiosity, or perhaps confusion.

"I should—" he started, shaking his head clear.

"—Yeah, of course! Sorry, I didn't realize the time—"

"No problem, take your time—" he said as he rolled out of bed to more cheers and shouts as he shepherded his friends out the door to give you some privacy.

You pulled the sheets back over your heard, burying yourself further into his blankets, reveling in the warmth his body had left before squealing with excitement at the way your day had started.

You were afraid that things would be awkward, but surprisingly they weren't, you were in your easy, unbothered rhythm together. Besides the giggles and teasing from your friends, nothing had changed... including the temperature. As the day went on the warmth you had woken up in faded and you felt progressively more cold settling into your bones, already dreading the cold night ahead of you.

Spending the night with Mattheo was a nice reprieve, but not something you intended to make a habit of, certain you didn't want to live through more teasing nor get your hopes up trying to read into how intimate it had felt.

You were leaving dinner, arms wound around yourself at the chill in the air when you heard a voice calling for you. You turned to see Mattheo jogging after you.

"Hey!" he called.

"Hey" you smiled back, glancing up at him as he fell into step with you.

He smiled readily back at you; he'd seemed peppier today, letting the ceaseless taunting roll of his back with a shrug of his shoulders, the unwillingness to turn everything into an argument or fistfight very uncharacteristic of him.

"Yeah, so—" he started to say, as he looked around for a moment and carded his hand through his hair. He took in how cold you looked and all he could think was how badly he wanted to fix it. "—About last night or whatever...I know it's still fucking frigid, if you wanted to come by or sleep with, er, stay with — in my — yeah, you could do it again if you wanted?"

You couldn't hide the smile the spread widely across your face, nor the way your eyes sparkled mischievously as you stopped walking to face him.

"Mattheo Riddle, are you asking me to sleep with you?" you said flirtatiously, leaning towards him.

He stopped breathing. Your proximity and the words coming out of your mouth snatched every last breath and every last thought he'd had.

"Don't fuck around with me" he said through smirked lips, his voice low and measured, holding a hint of playfulness, but also a warning.

You laughed softly back but didn't back down.

"I'll see you tonight" you said as you continued your path back to the common room, leaving him gazing after you.

Your new outfit that night wasn't lost on him. You were wearing a form-fitting pair of soft pants and a matching top that hung slightly off your shoulder, revealing the lace of a bralette. You crawled into bed beside him, smiling contentedly and curling into his arms like you were married, like this was the most normal, easy, simple thing in the world, and yet it still took him a minute to really comprehend the situation, to relax.

He barely had a minute to catch his breath before Blaise shouted across the room, "Goodnight Theo!"

"Night, Blaise!" Theo shouted back.

"Night, Enz!" Blaise said again.

"G'night!" Enzo replied.

Mattheo rubbed a hand over his face at the antic.

"I swear they don't do this every—" he started.

"—Night, Draco!" Blaise shouted.

"And Pans!" Theo chimed in.

"Full fuckin' house in here" Enzo said.

"Goodnight!" she giggled back.

"Goodnight Mattheo..." Blaise said slowly, drawling out his name.

Mattheo didn't reply.

"GOODNIGHT YN" they each shouted.

You laughed, "Goodnight!" you said back and they cheered as Mattheo turned and buried his head into your shoulder in embarrassment, letting his body weight fall on you in exasperation.

You laughed at his reaction, instinctively bringing a hand to tangle in his curls and hold him to you before you could stop yourself. It was decidedly more intimate than anything that had happened between you before, but it had just felt right, something about pulling him into you, comforting him. You paused after a moment, catching yourself... running your hands through his hair should not make you feel this way; suddenly, you were very very warm.

As if he could sense your reaction, he lifted his head just slightly to meet your eyes, his face inches from yours.

He had to feel your heart hammering in your chest at this proximity, right? As he searched your face, it felt like a veil had come down between the two of you after a night spent together on top of years spent dancing around one another like you didn't know exactly what this could be. On cue, the room around you fell deeply silent as the others settled into sleep.

Your hand slowly dropped to trace his cheek.

"YN" he said in a low voice, cautious, guarded, his tone roughly translating to "Don't".

"What?" you whispered.

"I can't" he said.

"Can't what, Matty?"

The nickname made his heart beat double-time, an impossible feat based on the way it was already drumming loudly in his ears.

"You know what" he said sternly.

"Why?" you asked, innocently, the tips of your fingers moving to trace his jaw, nearing his lips before his hand grasped yours firmly, stopping you, making you jump slightly.

His body was rigid and taught, his expression was serious, maybe even threatening to anyone but you, but all you could see was the look in his eyes that were burning with something else, something much more passionate than anger.

His words were strained, like it was a physical effort to form them.

"I. Can't. Alright? Just let it go" he said as his eyes continued to beg otherwise.

Your next words were so soft, he almost didn't hear them, might have missed them if his entire being wasn't fine tuned to hear the exact phrase.

"Kiss me" you said, somewhere between a plea and a demand.

He caught your eye and his breath caught in his throat at the way you were looking at him: your eyes wide, soft and focused on him, your chest visibly rising and falling underneath him, your body pressing against him as you wiggled your hand out of his grasp to trace his cheek. Surely he couldn't have heard you right?

"I'm not—I can't— that's not a good idea. I can't just kiss you" he said, stumbling over his words uncharacteristically.

"Why?" you asked quietly, sadly.

"No—not—fuck—" he started and stopped, trying not to upset you again.

He paused, trying to collect himself.

"Why do you think no other girl has slept in this bed?" he said seriously.

You pulled your hand back at the mention of other girls at a moment like this, but he responded by reaching to cup your cheek, to force you to look at him.

You were shaking your head.

"Because if I couldn't have you, then I didn't want anyone else. You're fucking it for me, always have been, but girls like you don't end up with guys like me and it's best I don't waste your fucking time and ruin our friendship in the process, alright?" he said resolutely, with finality.

"Matty—" you started

"—Please stop calling me that, please" he said, slamming his eyes closed, "I'm trying to maintain a semblance of self control here."

"Stop holding back!" you whisper-yelled, which caught his attention, causing his eyes to flutter open. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. I want you. I've always wanted you, ask any of our thickheaded friends, they've all known for a long time."

He blinked slowly like each individual word had to register in his head. You could see him swallow, could see the sentence process in his brain as the pad of his thumb traced your cheek and you leaned into him, pressing further against him.

"Kiss me, Matty" you said.

And the last thread of his self control snapped. He leaned in, hovering close enough that you could feel the faintest touch of his lips as they ghosted against yours, teasing you.

"If I kiss you, that's it then, you're mine" he said, like it was a threat, an ultimatum, and not the best thing that's ever happened to you.

A smile spread across your lips and you nodded against his.

"All yours" you whispered back and he caught the last of your words with his mouth, his lips taking yours as both of his hands came to grasp your face firmly but gently, pulling you into him.

You could barely suppress the hum of pleasure that left you at the sensation, the relief of the feeling of his lips pillowed against yours, the tenderness and softness so opposite of everything that he was, the duality of it all had your body tingling. One of your hands grasped at his sweatshirt while the other wound around his neck, attempting to pull him impossibly closer to you as he moaned into your mouth. His tongue tangled with yours and you swore there wasn't anything in the world but this moment, this feeling with him as you tasted the lingering flavor of cigarettes and peppermint that you would come to associate with him.

It was all grabbing, desperate hands and crashed lips at first, trying in moments to catch up on years of wanting, until it was tantalizingly slow, languid, purely achingly perfect and intimate. You were certain you would kiss him like this every single day, given the chance.

It could have been minutes or hours that you were lost in each other before he pulled back, and the whine that left your lips at the loss of contact nearly had him throwing you over his shoulder and marching you to the first broom closet he could find.

"I've spent just about every day for the last 5 years thinking about this, and I cannot believe I'm about to fuckin' say this, but I'm not gonna rush it. At the very least, I'm not gonna hook up with you in a room full of people" he said, before tilting his head, "Well, at least not the first time... after that, no promises."

You laughed quietly and swatted at his shoulder.

"C'mere" he said, pulling you into him.

You curled into his arms, head nuzzling into his neck, your head resting on his chest as he held you tightly, brushing soft kisses to your temple as you fell asleep.

E P I L O G U E

You had been so caught up in the events of the evening, you hadn't really stopped to consider what happens next, namely, how would you tell your friends? Just make an announcement at breakfast? Put on enough PDA that they drew their own conclusion? Take off the scarf you were wearing that was covering the innumerable hickies on your neck? Your mind was in a heady fog about it all as the group of you wandered towards the Great Hall.

You were glued to Mattheo's side, but that wasn't really unusual; his fingers brushed against your own as he shot you a look out of the corner of his eye, a mischievous smile on his face.

"YN!" a voice shouted behind you.

You turned to see Cedric Diggory jogging towards you and you slowed your pace, as did everyone around you. Boys had to be either brave, stupid or naive to approach you when you were with your guy friends, and you weren't sure which category to put Cedric in as his eyes met their unwelcome stares but addressed you anyway.

"Sorry— yeah, I was just wondering if maybe you'd like to—" he started.

Oh no you thought.

"—Cedric, really, that's so kind—" you interrupted, trying to prevent a scene from breaking out as you felt Mattheo tense beside you.

"—You didn't even hear what I was going to say?" he said with a laugh, somewhere between offended, annoyed and amused.

"Well, think that makes the message pretty clear then, mate" Mattheo said, the anger palpable in his tone.

"Excuse me?" Cedric replied. "I was talking to—"

Oh no you thought again.

And you weren't quick enough to intervene before Mattheo had Cedric pinned against the stone wall of the hallway, his forearm at Cedric's chest, nearly lifting him off the ground as his feet dangled for purchase.

"I don't fucking care who you were talking to. From now on, you don't talk to her at all, alright?"

"What are you, her bodyguard?" Cedric sputtered as he gasped for breath.

"No" ... a pause... "I'm her boyfriend" Mattheo growled.

You tried and failed to hide the huge smile on your face behind your manicured fingers as your friends shouted behind you.

Well, that's one way to do it you thought. ♡

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x you #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #mattheo riddle fluff

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favefandomimagines · 2 months ago

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Nightmare (f.l)

Summary: tough cases have never been an issue for Frank...not until one hits a little too close to home

Request: Some Dad!Frank. Maybe he has a really tough case in the ED about a family that reminds him of his so he comes to see you on the OB floor and you guys go visit your son in the hospital daycare while discussing names for your daughter

AN: i guess possible child death is the warning for this one?

Dr. Frank Langdon stood in the staff lounge of the ER, his scrub top slightly wrinkled from the night before. He took a long, slow sip of black coffee, steam curling up around his stubble-lined jaw. His blue eyes scanned the dry-erase board by the nurses’ station—assignments, patient statuses, shift rotations. Same as always. Predictably unpredictable.

It was rare, but this morning, the ER was quiet. No trauma pages, no shouting down hallways, no beeping alarms demanding urgent intervention.

Frank had learned never to trust the quiet. In his years as a resident, he'd seen how quickly calm could turn to catastrophe. Still, he appreciated these rare moments when time seemed to stretch, almost like real life—the life outside of trauma bays and critical care.

And in that moment, his thoughts drifted upward, literally—to the OB floor, two stories above, where his wife, Y/N, was already starting her day.

Y/N Langdon—competent, compassionate, and a force to be reckoned with in her own right—was six months pregnant with their second child. The baby girl inside her had just started kicking with consistency, and Frank swore he could feel the rhythm of those tiny movements echoing in his chest each time he rested his hand on Y/N’s belly.

Their son, Tanner, had been a whirlwind baby—colicky, high-energy, and charming as hell. Y/N liked to joke that if their daughter had half the energy of her older brother, they'd need a third parent just to keep up.

They’d fallen into a rhythm that worked for them, odd as it might look from the outside: one parent in ER medicine, the other in obstetrics. It meant they sometimes crossed paths in stairwells or elevators more often than at home.

But at the hospital, they could rely on subtle glances, shared cups of coffee, and the occasional quiet lunch. These were the threads that tied their lives together.

This morning had started like many others. Tanner had been a little slow getting up, but Y/N had coaxed him out of bed with promises of pancakes and a new pack of crayons at the daycare.

Frank had ruffled his son's hair and kissed his wife's temple as they walked into the hospital lobby together, then parted ways—he toward the ER and she toward OB, with Tanner tugging her free hand, already talking about what dinosaurs he was going to draw today.

Frank smiled at the memory, the warmth of it softening the usual weight on his shoulders. He glanced down at his coffee and chuckled. Tanner had told him he should drink "orange juice instead of that icky coffee." Smart kid.

It was only 8:45 a.m., and already Frank felt the familiar itch of adrenaline building just under the skin. He finished his coffee and dumped the cup in the trash. He straightened his badge, adjusted his stethoscope, and pulled on a pair of gloves.

Even on quiet mornings, he knew better than to relax. ER shifts had a way of flipping on their heads in the blink of an eye.

He just didn’t know yet that today would be one of the hardest he’d ever face.

The calm shattered at 9:03 a.m.

The trauma pager on Frank’s hip buzzed violently, followed by the overhead page: “Code blue, Trauma Bay 2. Pediatric drowning, four-year-old male. ETA: three minutes.”

Frank didn’t move at first.

Not because he was slow—but because his body froze for just a split second, like his brain needed an extra beat to process what it heard. Four-year-old. Drowning. Unresponsive.

Three minutes.

He blinked, then was moving—swiftly, instinctively—his shoes squeaking slightly against the tile as he snapped on a fresh pair of gloves. As senior resident, he would lead the case until the attending arrived. It wasn’t his first pediatric trauma, but this one came with a brutal twist of fate.

Four years old. The same age as Tanner.

He scrubbed the thought from his mind as he entered Trauma Bay 2. The room buzzed with urgent energy—nurses prepping crash carts, respiratory therapists setting up the ventilator, a med student standing frozen until a nurse barked for her to “either help or get out of the way.”

Frank pulled the trauma gown over his head, cinched it tight at the waist, and let out a deep exhale. He had three minutes to turn into a machine. To put walls up. To forget that upstairs, just two floors away, his own son was laughing over crayons and construction paper.

The EMTs burst through the door, pushing a stretcher with a small, limp form on it.

“Four-year-old male, found in the family pool—no idea how long he was under,” the lead paramedic said, breathing hard. “Dad pulled him out, started CPR. We got pulses back en route, but he’s bradycardic and posturing. GCS is three.”

Frank’s stomach turned.

He stepped up and took control. “Get him transferred. Airway first—let’s get the intubation tray ready. I want a full trauma panel, head CT stat, and—”

The boy's face came into view.

Wet hair matted to his forehead. Pale skin tinged with cyanosis. Eyes closed. Too still.

Frank’s fingers hesitated at the boy’s wrist for just a second before feeling the thready, barely-there pulse. He counted out loud. “Heart rate… seventy-two. Keep bagging. Let’s warm him.”

It was a flurry of movement. Orders given, executed, adjusted. Fluids, warming blankets, pressors. The boy was stabilized enough for imaging, but the damage… That was still unknown.

Frank kept moving, kept his tone clinical and authoritative. But under the calm, his jaw clenched so tightly his temples throbbed. He hated how his heart twisted when he heard the boy’s father sobbing just outside the curtain. It hit too close.

It hit too close.

He didn’t see a patient. He saw Tanner. His wide brown eyes. His wild mop of hair. His SpongeBob floaties that he insisted on wearing in the bathtub just for fun.

Frank swallowed hard and barked another order to a nurse who wasn’t moving fast enough. His tone was sharper than necessary, and she flinched. He immediately felt guilt, but the pressure inside him was starting to mount.

Dr. Robby walked in just as the team began prepping the boy for transfer to the PICU. Robby scanned the vitals, looked at the chart, then glanced at Frank.

He didn’t say anything at first.

But when the boy was wheeled away, the room slowly quieting in his absence, Robby approached. His tone was low, compassionate but firm.

“Frank. You’re good, are you alright?"

Frank didn’t respond, not verbally. He just stood there, sweat on his brow, eyes fixed on the door the boy had disappeared through.

“Hey, go upstairs,” Robby continued. “Take a break. See Y/N.”

Frank gave a short, barely-there nod. He peeled off his gloves slowly, methodically, and tossed them in the trash. As he unhooked his gown, his chest felt heavier than ever.

He didn’t speak again until he was out in the hallway. Even then, it was just a whisper to himself:

He’s not Tanner.

But his chest didn’t loosen.

He made his way to the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time, as if climbing toward air. Toward something real. Toward someone who could remind him that his own son was alive—safe—just a floor away.

He needed to see Y/N.

Not just as a colleague.

Not just as a doctor.

But as a husband and a father trying not to unravel.

Frank took the stairs instead of the elevator. He needed the movement. The burn in his legs. The steady rhythm of his own breathing to drown out the suffocating weight in his chest.

By the time he reached the OB floor, his hands were clenched in fists at his sides. He paused outside the glass doors that led into the labor and delivery wing, collecting himself. The air here was different—lighter somehow. Where the ER smelled of antiseptic and urgency, this floor carried a faint sweetness, a calmness. The scent of baby lotion and soft cotton.

For a brief second, he felt like an intruder in a world that wasn't unraveling.

He scanned the floor until his eyes locked onto the nurses’ station at the far end. And there she was—Y/N.

She stood behind the counter, her posture graceful despite the noticeable curve of her pregnant belly beneath her fitted maternity scrubs. Her ID badge dangled just above her stomach, and she was animatedly discussing a geriatric pregnancy case with one of the residents, flipping through a chart, gesturing with one hand while the other rested protectively on her bump.

Frank watched her for a long moment without saying anything. Just breathing her in.

She hadn’t seen him yet, but somehow—maybe by instinct—her movements slowed. She turned slightly, her voice tapering off mid-sentence. Her eyes lifted, finding his.

Her expression softened instantly.

She gave the resident a gentle squeeze on the shoulder, said something Frank couldn’t hear, and then moved toward him, weaving around the nurses' station like she’d been expecting him all along.

“Robby called me,” she said quietly as she reached him. She rested a hand on his arm and looked up into his face. “I didn’t get details. Just that it was bad.”

Frank nodded, jaw working but no words coming. His throat burned with the effort of holding himself together.

Y/N didn’t push. She simply guided him to a quiet alcove just off the hallway, where there were a few padded benches tucked under a window. They sat side by side, knees brushing, and she waited.

“I can’t shake it,” he finally said, his voice hoarse. “It was a little boy. Four years old. Drowned in a backyard pool. We got his pulse back, but… he was hypoxic for too long. His brain… we don’t know if he’ll wake up. And if he does—what will be left of him?”

Y/N’s brows drew together, her hand finding his. “God.”

“He’s the same age as Tanner,” Frank whispered, shaking his head. “Same size. Same mop of hair. Even his shoes were the same light-up ones he begged us for. When they wheeled him in… it was like I was watching my worst nightmare unfold right in front of me.”

Y/N’s fingers curled more tightly around his. “I can’t even imagine. I mean—I can, and that’s what makes it terrifying.”

Frank let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I tried to keep my head clear, to compartmentalize like I always do. But every time I gave a compress or checked a monitor, all I could see was Tanner. I kept reminding myself—he’s fine, he’s safe, he’s upstairs playing with dinosaurs. But I still felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

Y/N leaned in and kissed his temple. “That’s what makes you a good doctor, Frank. And an even better father. You never forget that these are real people. Real kids. You feel it.”

He turned to her, his eyes tired but soft. “And that’s dangerous sometimes.”

“It’s human,” she said gently. “You’re allowed to feel. You’re allowed to hurt for a little boy who may never get the life our son is getting. That doesn’t make you weak. That makes you present.”

He exhaled again and rested his forehead against hers. “I just needed to see you.”

“I know,” she whispered, threading her fingers through his.

There was a pause—one of those deep, grounding silences between two people who didn’t need to speak to be understood. Then, Y/N shifted back and looked toward the ceiling thoughtfully.

“Do you want to go see Tanner?” she asked.

Frank looked at her like she’d just tossed him a life ring in a churning sea. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Come on.” She stood, taking his hand and pulling him up with surprising strength.

They walked in comfortable silence down the corridor, hand in hand, Frank glancing occasionally at her rounded belly. It never failed to amaze him—how someone could carry life with such grace while surrounded by so much loss in their work.

As they entered the daycare wing, he heard Tanner’s voice before he saw him—a peal of laughter, loud and full of joy, echoing through the playroom. And in that moment, Frank’s shoulders finally dropped and he felt like could breath again.

Their son was crouched on the playroom floor in a fortress made of oversized foam blocks, holding up a crayon drawing and enthusiastically explaining it to anyone within earshot—though mostly, it seemed, to himself.

“That’s a T-Rex,” he was saying. “And this is Daddy, but he’s not scared, ‘cause Daddy’s brave. And this is Mommy, but she’s not scared either ‘cause she’s a doctor and doctors win.”

Frank’s heart gave a painful tug.

Y/N smiled and gave his hand a little squeeze. “Go ahead.”

Frank stepped forward and tapped lightly on the glass. Tanner’s head whipped around. The moment his little eyes landed on Frank, he lit up.

“Daddy!”

The boy shot to his feet, foam blocks tumbling around him, and sprinted across the room like a rocket.

Frank crouched just in time to catch him mid-leap. "Hey, buddy!"

Tanner wrapped his arms tightly around Frank’s neck and giggled. “I drawed you!”

“I saw,” Frank said, hugging him so hard he was almost afraid he’d never let go. “You’re an amazing artist.”

“Ms. Holly said I could keep drawing after snack ‘cause I was focused,” Tanner said proudly. “Wanna see my other pictures?”

“Absolutely.”

Y/N had stepped inside now too, easing herself down slowly into one of the low daycare chairs with a sigh. “We’ve got a gallery coming, huh?”

“Yeah!” Tanner beamed. “I drawed a baby too, for the baby in Mommy’s tummy. I think she’ll like dinosaurs.”

Frank sat down beside Y/N, Tanner still half-perched on his lap, legs swinging.

He looked around the daycare. Bright colors. Innocence. Noise, but the kind that didn’t echo with alarms or sirens. Here, kids yelled because they were playing. Because they were happy.

Here, everything was right.

And for the first time since the trauma case, Frank’s lungs filled all the way with air.

They sat like that for a while, Tanner climbing down to show off his work: a purple brontosaurus with a bow, a fire truck chasing a velociraptor, a rainbow with a tiny stick-figure family beneath it. Frank and Y/N. Tanner in the middle. And now, a tiny baby drawn with an extra-large head, circled in pink crayon.

Y/N smiled, resting a hand on her belly. “So much love waiting for this girl.”

Frank looked at her, letting his eyes linger on her face. Her strength. Her quiet brilliance. Her calming presence. How she carried so much and still found ways to give him light.

As Tanner ran back to his drawings, Y/N nudged him gently. “Hey.”

Frank turned toward her.

“What do you think about the name Ruby?” she asked, voice soft.

He blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift—but not in a bad way. Her timing, as always, was perfect.

“Ruby?” he echoed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Hmm.”

Y/N tilted her head, gauging his reaction. “It popped into my head this morning during rounds. I thought it sounded sweet. Strong, too. A little spark. Like her.”

Frank leaned back a little and looked across the room, watching their son pick out new crayons with intense concentration. Then he looked back at her.

“I like it,” he said. “But what about Maisie? It’s got heart, it's gentle but still has strength. She's bound to be a force to be reckoned with."

Y/N laughed, rubbing a slow circle over her belly. “Tell me about it. Maisie...I love it.”

Frank reached over and covered her hand with his, his thumb brushing the soft fabric of her scrub top. “Maisie Langdon,” he murmured. “It sounds right.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, letting the moment stretch out between them. The warmth, the safety, the ordinary sweetness of their son playing nearby, of naming a daughter they hadn’t met but already loved.

Frank glanced at Y/N again, voice low. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For this,” he said simply. “For knowing when I needed to breathe. For bringing me here.”

She turned to face him fully. “You don’t have to thank me for that, Frank. We’re each other’s people. That’s what we do.”

Their foreheads touched again, a soft, grounding kind of intimacy.

Somewhere across the room, Tanner shrieked with delight as he discovered the glitter glue bin.

Frank chuckled. “Well. There goes his shirt.”

Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately. “And probably his shoes.”

He pulled her hand to his lips, kissed it gently, and leaned back in the tiny plastic chair with a sigh.

#imagine #imagines #the pitt imagine #the pitt #frank langdon imagine #dr frank langdon x reader #dr frank langdon imagine #frank langdon x reader #dr frank langdon #frank langdon #fics

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eternallyhauntingthehouseoflove · 2 years ago

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Bat-Boys in Bed

I couldn’t find a good gif, sue me

Dick Grayson’s mouth is filthy. And he gets enough praise, so I think he’d be into praising you instead.” You’re so pretty, all fucked-out and dumb…just for me” as he pounds into you, panting in between words.

He’d also be into touchy sex positions, like missionary where he can hook his nose into your neck and wrap his arms around you. Dick would be into you giving him hickies.

I think Dick has an insane stamina—round after round. His hips would meet yours at a punishing pace as he muttered out praise,” this cunt is so warm and wet for me. My beautiful girl.” And he place wet kisses to your neck and cheeks.

Dick isn’t above moaning, but he’s not pornographic about it.i see him whimpering and begging if he’s getting a blow job or if you’re on top and teasing him, but I don’t see him moaning as much or more than you.

Jason Todd isn’t much of a talker during sex, but I do believe he moans. He’d be a lot more gentle with you than popular belief thinks. Especially if we’re talking older, mature Jason who’s passed his “fresh from the pit madness.”

I do believe Jason has a choking kink and I’ll die on this hill. And it doesn’t have to be his hand around your throat or vice versa. It can be him shoving his cock to the back of your throat and feeling you pulse and throb around him.

He enjoys, mature Jason too, seeing your eyes go wide and glassy. Jason loves to pull his cock from your mouth after you’ve had enough and seeing your lips plump and pink. He loves the slight flush of your tits.

Jason is a lot more eager to switch roles and be on the bottom than Dick. If you’re feeling top-ish and want to ride. Jason wouldn’t argue as you ground down on him, rolling your hips and leaving a trail of slick on his pelvis.

He’d beg through covered lips as you shushed him and picked up your pace, driving your hips forward and giving Jason the release he’d been craving.

I don’t know enough about Tim or Duke, sorry.

Bruce is harder to read because there’s decades of lore, canon, and stuff that’s not in the main continuity. Many writers have different versions of him that some favorite—however, here goes.

Bruce is a control freak. Whether you planned it or not, you’d end up in a dom/sub dynamic. He’d be choosing your clothes, picking which jewelry he buys, telling you when to cum before you even realize it.

I also think he has a power imbalance kink, just a little bit. Nothing extreme or megalomaniacal. So I truly believe you wouldn’t be rich (sorry lol); you’d maybe be a lesser known vigilante, and that’s if Bruce is healthily interested in you. I believe you’d be a civilian, but a smart and compassionate one. We know Bruce isn’t one to dumb himself down for company; we know Bruce is attracted to smart women, but none of his past relationships worked because they didn’t have a heart ( I love Talia, but he real; she wasn’t Mother Teresa).

This one may lose people, but I believe Bruce has a breeding kink. It would be a chance for him to restart. His only blood child is an arrogant, cold assassin and the rest of his children are masked vigilantes who dance with death nightly. But with you, his love, he could have a child not born in pain and anger. He’s older and wiser; he’s not as vengeful and mission oriented as he was when he adopted Dick and Jason; Tim sought him out, and Damian came with a chip on his shoulder.

Bruce is unyielding in his refusal to switch places. He’s too paranoid and enjoys control too much to bottom. The closest you’ll get to topping is bossing him around from the bottom.” faster, pretty boy.” You reached up and caressed his face as his pace stuttered and he spilled into you, gasping and groaning as he did.

You wouldn’t be fucked in the suit or the Batmobile. And he hates being called Batman in bed. The closest you’d get to mixing sex with his vigilante life is getting fucked in the Batcomputer seat.

Damian Wayne is the kinkiest Batfam member. I see Damian, who didn’t undergo such a beautiful arc, having a blood and bondage kink.

Damian preferred to tie you down rather than tie you up. He cares for you, and tying you up puts you in an uncomfortable position (he doesn’t want that) and it screws with your circulation. And if he ties you down, he can see your face as he places the vibrator right on your clit. He can see you try to knock your knees—to no avail.

Damian loved to take a small knife and inflict a wound, if you can even call it that. It was feather soft, and you loved when he would wrap his mouth around the wound and suck the blood. Then he’d kiss you, letting the saliva and metallic taste mingle.

I believe Damian would be into hickies and spanking too, but not the for the violence like I see from the kinkier side of the fandom. He would be into hickies, spanking, bandage, and blood play for the markings. It all boiled down to markings. And that’s not to claim that those activities didn’t get you both off, but Damian’s true enjoyment stemmed from the possessiveness of it all.

That’s why he likes to untie you and massage the rope imprints, then walk you to the mirror and spin you around, letting you see all the prints and marks. He could feel himself harden again, but he knew he’d break you if he ever tried to impose his libido and stamina on you.

Don’t kill me, but Damian isn’t into cunnilingus. He also wouldn’t bottom, not like you’d want him to. If, and that’s a huge “if” ( it’s months into the relationship too), he does bottom, it’s not traditional bottoming. Damian would top from the bottom,” go slower, grind harder, beloved.” And he’d grip your hips hard enough to leave prints, because marks, duh!

Damian likes sloppy blow jobs. I know he’s proper and clean, but trust me. Spit, moans, and whimpers; that’s what gets him off. And seeing your cheeks flush and your breathing quicken, but you keep going lower and taking more of him in. He appreciates the determination, and it makes him feel in control, huge, and dominant which strokes his ego.

#yandere damian wayne #damian wayne #jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x plus size reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x female reader #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x female!reader #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x oc #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x you

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ghostyuri · 6 months ago

Text

eyes without a face

please click! happy 2025 :]!! may this year bring u so much joy i love you

pairing…ellie williams x fem!reader x abby anderson

in which…your relationship with abby doesn’t stop ellie from liking you.

before you read…angst. modern au. pathetic losertron 5000 ellie :[ this is just me really wanting to write #that scene from tpobaw which is a warning within itself. truth or dare trope. established messy relationship with abby. dina gets mistreated by ellie </3 did i mention ellie is a loser

it’s not hard to make ellie uncomfortable.

throw her in a crowded party or put her in a room where you’re clinging to abby, and it’s done. easy. like now. her eyes are betraying her, not daring to blink or look away, while abby’s whispering shit in your ear that has you giggling sweetly.

she can’t hear you, the music and chatter are way too loud, but she already knows what the noise sounds like. it’s when she makes a stupid geeky pun as you’re studying in her dorm, that the light laughter turns her face beet red— another thing that’s not hard to earn from ellie.

not from you, at least.

when your fingertips trace her fern tattoo, leaf to leaf, ellie holding her breath and arm in place. showing up to hang out in one of her hoodies you have assumed are yours by now, she’ll let you believe it, because she doesn’t want to change it.

telling her how smart she is. how funny she is. and some vulnerable, teary-eyed, post-argument with your girlfriend nights, how you wish abby were more like her.

compassionate...understanding...kind. things your girlfriend lacks, you had told her. it was one of the more severe arguments and surely said out of resentment, but ellie secretly and happily took it as a win.

if she was blunt, free from nerves that taunt her regularly, ellie would agree. maybe free you from her. become a villain to abby and her friends, the loved group that already despises ellie and her too close proximity to you, and her entire ‘no good’ existence.

but she would be your hero. that’s how she would like to think of herself— but ellie is very self-aware and knows that’s not a reality in any universe. her confidence is nonexistent, and reaching out to you would be reaching for the stars. two things she will only dream of.

you’re with her, that ellie cannot change that. she shouldn’t even be so fucking invested in you or your relationship.

she almost has her own, after all. sort of. it’s complicated, her and dina never put a label on what they were. she couldn’t use the term ‘distraction’ without seeming like the biggest jackass in history, but that is what she is.

searching for the qualities that you beautifully possess, in an entirely different person, and being disappointed she cannot find them. ellie feels bad about it, but somewhere in between those guilty thoughts, she wonders if it’s the same for you.

if you looked at abby and tried to find her in there somewhere, if the same sad realization that they were nothing alike, and you're with the wrong person, hits you as it does her.

shamefully, the idea makes ellie happy.

watching abby lead you away, out of her eyesight, did not make her happy.

“got us drinks,” dina chirps, plopping down onto the couch beside ellie, the auburn-haired girl honestly not noticing dina had ever left in the first place. she hasn't been paying attention to much besides you.

“thanks,” ellie makes sure to tell her, taking the red solo cup, sniffing it, and scrunching her face. the fuck is in that punch? she doesn’t know, but the brunette doesn’t seem to mind, sipping while nodding her head to the beat of the music playing throughout the house.

ellie, trying to be normal, shows a smile and brings the cup to her lips, gulping down the harsh alcohol all at once. she hates it, and she’s surprised she doesn’t throw it up immediately.

“thirsty?” dina jokes, earning an awkward chuckle from ellie, who is still eyeing the crowd before her, waiting for your reappearance.

maybe it will be without her, and she can finally talk to you alone, free from the prying and judgmental eyes of your damn girlfriend. she could barely even greet you when she arrived, the blonde's arm wrapped around your shoulder, subtly pulling you away after ellie got a ‘hi,’ in. asshole.

she will never know what you see in her. why you complain about her one night and then fuck her the next. she understands you with everything, besides your relations with her— unless she is your distraction. she’s hot and everyone with working eyes can tell. you two look great together, but you don’t work great together. not in ellie’s opinion, anyway.

ellie starts to drift now, the muffled noise of whatever story dina was telling and the noisy crowd blending, a headache of a symphony. or perhaps it’s the vile drink already hurting her head. or both and she should just ask dina if they could leave this stupid fucking party.

then she sees you. alone, visibly upset, locking eyes with her for a split second, but that’s all she needs. you don’t stay still, you’re walking away once more, but ellie thinks of it as an invitation. you liked to be with her when you were sad, even if ellie sucked at processing emotions, or giving any sort of advice regarding them.

you noticed this when she kept her mouth shut after ranting about something wrong abby had done, and poor ellie just didn’t know what to say. she never seemed to. you didn’t take issue with it, because the most important thing was, that she listened to you. she let you sob and held you in her always welcoming arms. it was enough for you, and why you’ll always appreciate ellie’s friendship.

you find yourself in the snowy backyard, colorful lights thrown messily on a large tree that young adults stand beneath, smoking a joint. you’d join them if you had the energy to be around people, but your previously high spirits had now gone. it was something little-- but the little nitpicky things somehow always led to a dramatic feud with your girlfriend.

you let out a deep sigh, taking a few steps away from the door and leaning on the house, everything a bit more quiet. your thoughts aren’t, though, not until you see her from your perpetual vision, making her way toward you. her gaze is heavy, examining you and keeping a small distance as she also leans against the brick exterior.

“something happen?” ellie asks, knowing both the answer and the cause.

“what do you think?”

“right…” ellie nods, face flushing red at your bitter sarcasm, which you regret immediately. all she’s trying to do is help. ellie doesn’t take it to heart, though, recovering quickly with a joke. half joke. “want me to beat her up?”

it earns a light chuckle from you, ellie smiling to herself as result.

“no…no…she just…never mind.”

she chews her lip, keeping her focus on her scribbled converse, wishing you would elaborate. not because she specifically wants to hear about what happened, but so you would. you would say the words aloud, rehashing it, rethinking where your relationship stands with her. that’s what ellie wants most.

“i understand,” ellie says, a safe response. much safer than where she’s about to lead this conversation.

“where is she?”

“hm? i don’t know?” you ask back, confused about abby’s whereabouts being relevant to right now. you don’t even care, you don’t want to see her. you turn to ellie, “why?”

she opens her mouth, then shuts it, and opens it again.

“i mean…if my girlfriend and i fought at some stupid party…i wouldn’t leave her alone…” ellie speaks quietly, nervously, fiddling with her fingers, “especially you…”

you don’t get the last part. not how ellie wants you to, green eyes parting from her shoes and to your face, waiting for a reaction— for the realization that you’re standing out in the cold with her, not your girlfriend, who is seemingly pretending nothing happened while mingling with her group of ghouls.

but after letting her comment linger, you laugh slightly. “isn’t your girlfriend alone in there right now?”

“she’s not my—” ellie corrects you too damn fast, gulping, “we’re just friends.”

just friends. dina would probably wear that desolated frown if she heard ellie say that, the brunette was more interested in ellie than ellie to her, it makes sense ellie could never really help you with your relationship.

she was struggling with hers, or whatever she had going on with dina. you just hope she’s happy, and being taken care of, and feeling loved. you wouldn’t know, she doesn’t talk to you about any of that. like it’s too personal, but nothing was ever too personal between you and ellie. you hadn’t thought so.

“well, your friend is probably wondering where you are…you should go back in.”

“i want to be with you.”

again, she speaks too fast. you’re looking at her with unreadable eyes, and it makes her feel weird.

“i-i want to make sure you’re okay,” ellie adds, your lips curling into a soft smile that turns her pupils heart-shaped. always so selfless, putting you before her or anyone else.

you're not surrounded with many people like that, like ellie, making you feel like a priority instead of a burden. wanting to be with you, instead of feeling like she needs to simply because you're not okay. she's the sweetest girl you know.

“you’re my favorite friend, you know that?” ouch.

ouch ouch ouch. yeah, that’s what she is, but when you say it it sounds wrong. as if it’s diminishing what she truly is to you, which is so much more than that cursed f word. and still, she smiles, only half fake. at least she’s your favorite something, she thinks.

“dina is a lucky girl.”

the words take ellie back for a moment, mouth parting slightly despite not having a thing to say. it’s almost teasing her, surely not intentionally, but ellie would forget about dina— or any single person if you had wanted her to. if you wanted her. do you?

there’s a comfortable beat of silence between you two, the snow now beginning to fall lightly. it doesn’t bother you, but you do shiver, and ellie takes notice. she’s already peeling her brown trucker jacket off before you could protest, knowing if abby had seen it, it would start another fight.

abby thinks you’re closer than you should be, and if you truly believed it was solely a concern because of your relationship, you’d be a respectful partner and listen to her complaints. but it’s not.

it’s personal, a vendetta against ellie and everything that she was that you admired. a loser with hardly any friends, a nerd that doesn’t even belong to this party tonight, a freak that’s obsessed with you...abby wasn’t kind to her.

you defend her, but usually, it makes it worse. you couldn’t fix that— them. especially because it’s mutual, though ellie never flat-out said anything cruel about abby. she just never said anything nice either.

“thank you,” you tell ellie as her jacket engulfs you with warmth, and the spicy scent of sandalwood that you only associate with her. it makes you feel like you’re being hugged tightly by her.

it’s the perfect moment. the party is dying down, and the muffled chatter is even quieter. everything is hushed currently, the blanket of snow coating the ground making sure of it. it’s so peaceful— and intimate. maybe even romantic, ellie mesmerized by how beautiful you appear next to her.

she was always amazed by winter images, how the pale snow has a magical contrast to whatever object is in focus. and right now you look like an angel, one she'll be sure to draw in her journal when she gets the chance. immortalizing a nice memory while also impressing you. a win-win.

and the moment is interrupted. “there you are!”

both of your heads turn to dina, an enthusiastic smile on her face as she approaches you both. she notices ellie’s jacket on you, but unlike abby, dina doesn’t care. she had started messing with ellie well aware of her close relationship with you, actually finding it adorable how much ellie cared for you. dina thinks she’s a great friend; that’s it.

“here i am,” ellie responds, showing a tight-lipped smile. a cup is given to her from dina, the brunette then looking to you. “do you want mine?” she motions to the drink in her hands, “i would’ve brought another but—”

“oh— no, designated driver,” you inform her, dina letting out a quiet ‘oh,’ in return.

“okay, well,” dina redirects the topic, eyes drifting to ellie, “they are playing truth or dare and i want you to play with me.”

“i don’t—” “c’monnn.”

dina places her hand on the sleeve of ellie’s flannel, a gentle grip on her forearm as she attempts to pull her away. from you. ellie really doesn’t want to leave, especially to play a stupid fucking no-good game with people she barely knew, but her feet are already moving with dina.

“have fun,” you tease ellie, catching the rolling of her eyes.

then you’re lonely, again, and you despise it.

you accept the defeat of who will apologize first, pushing yourself off the wall and going inside the house. the music is turned off, a few people talking from the living room, and you scan the area hoping to see her.

you don’t— it’s her friends, a few faces you’re not too familiar with, plus ellie and dina. your eyes meet with ellie’s first, sitting on the wooden floor crisscrossed like a child. then her eyes drift behind you.

“hey.”

abby’s voice nearly makes you jump, hip brushing against yours as she stands next to you. she takes in the same sight, people giggling in a circle on the ground, while ellie williams is staring at her lap, appearing so out of place. abby snorts quietly to herself— you pay no mind to it.

“hey,” you copy, shifting out of the doorway and slipping into the kitchen, not wanting this conversation to be held in front of everyone, and ellie. she follows, somehow only now noticing the jacket that doesn’t belong to you clinging to your body. she forces herself to drop it for the time being.

“i didn’t mean to cause a fight. was stupid,” she apologizes without apologizing, folding her arms, bomber jacket tightening around her biceps. she’s right, it was stupid, so stupid you don’t even remember the exact reasoning, as it was so insignificant— a reason to just let it go.

“it’s fine, baby,” you reassure both her and subconsciously yourself, closing the gap between you two. her head is lowered, still feeling unsure about it, not looking you in the eye.

your soft hand cradled her jaw, tilting it upward, finally meeting those stormy irises of hers. they seem so distant, like you cannot look through her and understand anything she is feeling— or thinking. you can’t help but wonder if it’s due to the slowly fleeting tension, or something more. something too much to unpack in a house party.

your lip twitches, “we’re okay.”

abby accepts that, as do you.

the room over is suddenly and loudly in an uproar, abby and you sharing an exchanged look, knowing it was probably something very stupid— and probably abby’s friends. your friends.

“they’re having fun,” abby points on the obvious, a switch in her demeanor that you recognize. she’s tipsy and hungry for you.

you sigh her name when her hands find your sides, dipping her head into your neck to kiss the area. she's taking advantage of the empty kitchen, subtly walking you into the nearest counter, still devoted to the soft flesh of your throat.

you give in, shutting your eyes in bliss for a split moment, before the room over is once again in a loud fit of laughter. it’s too distracting for a make out session.

“let's just—” you gently push her away, ignoring the groan that came with it, “—join them.”

“wha—”

you pull her with you to the other room, dragging her to where ellie sits, and inserting yourselves in the game of truth or dare.

you, of course, next to her, knees nearly brushing, while abby is on the other side of you, a gap between you. the women meet eyes briefly, but leave it at that.

ellie is agitated— she feels hot, not in a good way. maybe it’s the mysterious alcohol, or maybe it’s the fact abby is by your side again. a sight she already dreads, but now, after you made it abundantly clear she had upset you, and you just move on from it. it was easy, and so hard for ellie to witness again and again and again.

dina puts her hand on her thigh, squeezing as she chuckles, bringing ellie back from her dire mind. she tries to mirror everyone else in the room, a bleak smile that doesn't make it obvious she's not enjoying her time here.

this is boring. she doesn't care about someone being dared to suck the toe of another or having to reveal some dumb secret from a truth. she cares about you— yet looking in your direction only bothers her; the girl next to you bothers her.

ellie hates this.

“earth to ellie,” her head snaps to the direction of the voice, recognizing it as one of your better friends made through abby, nora. “truth or dare?”

“i— uh,” she wants to say truth, but she means to say truth, but it doesn’t leave her lips. “d-dare.”

you’re surprised. she's surprised. ellie is often shy in settings like these, especially around your friends where she feels the need to watch everything she says and does. luckily, she's cheered on, everyone expecting her to play it safe, or in meaner terms, be a pussy.

you’re also glad ellie’s fate is in the hands of someone you trust, someone who wasn’t harsh on ellie or your friendship with her. it’s an easy dare, something that doesn’t embarrass her at all, and make her the laughing stock.

“i dare you to…” nora speaks, looking between ellie and dina, “kiss the prettiest girl in the room.”

such an easy dare, it’s almost lame, those aware of ellie and dina being a duo now, groaning to themselves.

but ellie doesn’t do anything.

she’s frozen, not even looking in dina’s direction, but rather yours. you think she’s searching your eyes for courage, but you don’t know what for. this shouldn’t be difficult. seconds are passing, everyone waiting for her to get it over with so they can continue the game.

just kiss her.

ellie can’t. she can’t break eye contact with you. and it’s not hard to understand why that is, your cheeks burning up while the rest of the room seems to go dead silent; also realizing what was playing out before them.

“i’m…i’m sorry,” she speaks hardly above a whisper, low mumblings from around her that embarrass her even more. judgement. it is possibly the worst thing she could’ve done, an awkward tension now between her and dina, and you and her. ellie wasn’t working up the courage to kiss dina in the first place. it was you.

but she wouldn’t do that— only in her head, watching the scene play out while everyone is watching her.

ellie quickly gets up, muttering something you don’t catch, and swiftly walks away. she heads to the front door, everyone’s short attention span already moving on, continuing the game. you cannot.

you stand up, a hand on yours holding you in place, preventing you from moving. you look down at abby and her pleading eyes, letting them do the talking. don’t follow her. stay.

you don’t. you retreat your hand, glancing at a distracted dina who was sipping on her drink, probably trying to ignore what ellie had just done, and you leave the living room.

you too exit the house, spotting ellie approach her truck across the street. you call her name out, the woman hardly turning her head over her shoulder, continuing to get inside the red vehicle. you understand she doesn’t want to show her face now, but she cannot hide from you. no, this has to be addressed.

even if you don’t really know what to say, or how to say it. you jog to her car, welcoming yourself inside, boring your eyes into her, while hers are on the windshield, snowflakes coating the glass.

“what was that, ellie?” you ask her, a soft tone as if you’re trying to understand her, rather than pass judgment. she’s sensitive, and she’s also shown empathy to you in times you’ve made mistakes. but that’s the problem— it wasn’t a mistake. she wanted to kiss you. there was no doubt about it.

“i’m with abby,” you continue when she stays quiet, “and you’re with—”

“no, i’m fucking not,” ellie cuts you off before her name leaves your lips, finally finding the strength to look at you. her brows are lowered, shaking her head, visibly irritated. “we aren’t— i don’t want —i want you.”

there it is. you mentally flinch at the confession, a confirmation on her feelings for you; something that cannot be undone and now will haunt you moving forward. it’s not like you can say the words back, because what you said is true. you are with abby.

your friendship with ellie is a friendship. you sigh her name, lowering your head. for some reason, ellie had hoped this moment would come and it would be different. something out of a coming-of-age film, you coming to terms with feelings she’d like to pretend you had for her. abandoning your girlfriend for her.

but you’re too sweet, and that simply is not happening.

“you...you know that i love you.”

she makes it worse. it has been said between you several times, but not like this. she means it in an entirely different, much deeper, meaning.

you don’t reply.

her brows tilt down, tears beginning to form as her body feels on fire. she’s not overcome with pure sadness, she’s frustrated. really fucking frustrated and confused and feeling alone with the feelings, wondering why you’re so calm— like you don’t care.

she thought you did, but she thinks lots of things about you. the idea that maybe, just maybe, it was mutual. you treated her like it was, you made her feel the most loved compared to everyone else in her life, because you knew the most.

the things that brought her joy, that you went out of your way to fill her life with.

a trading card from ebay. a vinyl she spoke about once. her gas station order after getting high together. the kindest things done with the purest intentions, and nothing more. she’s not ungrateful— she just doesn’t get it. she doesn’t want to.

“y-you can’t not feel something,” ellie sounds like she’s trying to convince you, stages of grief already settling inside her. denial, lots of it.

“ellie—” “you can’t.”

“i don’t,” you rush the words out, voice raising an almost unnoticeable level, but still makes ellie sink into her seat. those building tears are now free, a silent cry while she watches you, avoiding to look at her.

“i’m with abby,” you repeat, wondering why it feels like more of a reminder to yourself, than ellie. why it seems like a shield, protecting some sort of lie, or a truth. you take it further, “there was…never…anything between us…”

she talks beneath her breath, “fucking bullshit.”

“ellie.”

“you’re a liar,” ellie doesn’t care for the stern tone in which you spoke her name, a dark cloud of negative emotions hanging over her head. “she’s not fucking here and you’re trying to spare her feelings…what about me?”

you finally look at her, her glossy green eyes appearing so desperate. like you’re her life line. her heart in your hands. but you can’t give in, or give her what she’s yearning for. you cannot give yourself to ellie.

“you’re my best friend, ellie,” you say, watching whatever light leave her eyes at the comment, “and i love you…just not…”

you stop.

ellie holds her breath. a car honks in the distance. an intoxicated person shouts something inaudible. a chill from the cool wind seeps into her truck. the world is moving quickly while everything feels in slow motion for you. then she swallows thickly, “right.”

she wipes her tears, and you take off her jacket that was still on your body, holding it in your lap momentarily. your fingers trace the fabric, a small gulp before you speak in the quietest voice, “you should go…i need to get back before she gets mad.”

there’s a short, dry, scoff laugh from the girl beside you. “wouldn’t want that,” she mutters, “who would you run and cry to?”

there’s venom on her tongue that you’re not familiar with, hell, ellie doesn’t even know where it came from, biting her lip when you look at her with wide eyes; a cold stare that is equivalent to spitting in her face.

“i’m sorry—”

“i’ll tell them you were being stupid. they’ll forget about it next week.”

you had cut her off, a monotone voice that she despises. you open the car door, exiting despite ellie using your name, not wanting the night to end like this. the winter air sends chills down your spine, and yet it’s more comfortable than sharing the same space as ellie in her truck.

“y/n—”

“drive safe.”

her mouth hangs open, watching you shut the car door and walk away, no hesitation or looking back.

you return to the house, to your girlfriend, while she sits lonely in her pickup truck, not being able to turn on the engine. she can’t move. all she can do is cry; but she’s freezing and the tears feel like frost.

she wishes she had you to wipe them away, as she did for you.

#-insertcatemoji #ellie williams x reader #abby anderson x reader #the last of us fanfic #tlou fanfic #wlw fanfic #ellie x reader #abby x reader #ellie williams fanfic #abby anderson fanfic #ellie williams angst #abby anderson angst #ellie x reader x abby #ellie williams x reader x abby anderson #why are you still reading this? do you want me??

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