League of Comic Geeks [TBA--still editing and adding...]
virgo / intp / philosophy major
I collect subaru imprezas and I'm permanently banned from r/shroomIDs. I like fish, plants, drawing & road trips.
If a request interests me, I will do it. I do not write smut--sometimes I write suggestive content.
Follows, likes and sometimes, accidentally, replies come from Planetastoria.
I like writing angst, fluff, pre-relationship shenanigans.
I like to write about readers that are academics, mercenaries, artists or in GLAM--any job I think is interesting. I love a good barista reader, but I also love front desk agent! reader lol.
All of them have a cool car, btw. Even if it doesn't appear--it definitely exists. Mostly Subaurs, but I like Lexus, Mitsubishi, Audi, BMW. Mostly hatchbacks & wagons. I only occasionally tolerate sedans and do like motorcycles.
Mentally, physically, so much energy tightly wound that you are bursting at the seams and overwhelming every one of Dex’s senses like you are aiming for them individually and he loves it, though sometimes still flinches at your volume. He’s found that you have only two settings: loud and screaming.
Dex could hear your laugh across a bustling grocery store but he loves it—makes it easier to find you, lets him know you’re safe and well, yes, drown out his intrusive thoughts with your comic book info-dumping.
Yes, tell him about the progress you’ve made on your ever-growing comic wall and the issues that he only reads to be able to ask you better questions because he likes the way that you retell them more than he likes to read them.
Tell him about how you don’t really care about that cover, so you’re gonna put it away and swap it out with this new one. He is going to pretend that he doesn't notice how the wall is ever-expanding despite being the one who corrects their symmetry because although he loves you, so deeply and so much that your heartbeat could've replaced his own, so much that Dex only knows he has a heart in the cavern of his chest because of how it beats in tandem with yours, but somehow, you manage to hang every comic slightly crooked.
Yes, get into fights with men that are thrice your size because you know that Dex is right behind you; dark, intimidating but carrying your cute little canvas tote under his arm with your laptop covered in stickers poking out slightly with a silly little romance novel while always thinking that you are in the right—even when you are devastatingly wrong because you always believe that Dex is good, even when he is murderous and violent and unhinged.
Dex has, and will kill for you, so beating some motherfucker up isn’t an issue. When that bicyclist yelled at you, when that fool shouted ‘I’ll fucking run you over’ while speeding away and you started shouting that you ‘wished he fucking would’ Dex had thrown a quarter at his handle, watching it ricocheting off the grip and bouncing into his head before the cyclist crashed and laid crumple half down the trail.
You didn’t even register what had happened, not really, it all happened so fast: you were yelling, calling him a cunt and then he was crashing onto the cement of the trail and Dex was ushering you back towards the river.
Dex doesn’t even mind that you are determined to keep your car despite living in New York and almost exclusively using public transit because occasionally, you like road trips. Though Dex is not fond of your solo traveling, hates it really, he doesn’t like going with you either.
He tries not to think about the first, second and third time he attempted to tag along. (he still tries.)
5:59am
Wya pingpong? I’m loading up colette
5:59am
Coming now.
Dex never understood why you named your car.
6:00am
FBI agents aren’t very punctual huh?
6:00am
I’m sorry.
6:00am
Start running then.
You hadn’t expected him to actually start running. You felt horrible afterwards, holding his little face and kissing him all over while saying how mean and awful you were for daring to insinuate he wasn’t punctual—really, you were just so early. It was all your fault, don’t worry, he’s your most precious littlest thing.
He might've been slightly overdramatic so he could bask in more of your attention.
Dex refused to let you drive any other time—you were quick and often unpredictable and he had broken a guy’s side mirror right off for the crime of throwing his hand up at you and cursing behind his window when you parked with a little too much force.
Dex couldn’t stand men that like that: the ones that thought they could berate you until he stepped out from the passenger side, every bit bigger and more murderous than he should be.
You encountered a man who had his sense of self destroyed, his personhood diminished and loved him like someone would’ve loved a hero.
Even when most random carny psychic looked at him and shuddered because this is the world where sorcerers and witches and superpowers exist so some of them really could see how his aura was devious enough to spoil milk.
Though in tandem they might’ve been able to see yours—bright and overpowering, crowding him and suffocating the dark that surrounded Dex.
In the way Dex imagined someone would’ve held a good man, you bundled him to you and acted like he was fragile.
You introduced him as your ‘littlest thing’ when he stood imposing and looking terrifying behind you, you kissed his forehead and you pulled him down to you and swayed with his head to your chest, ‘my littlest thing, my littlest thing’ you would say, leaning into him with your head against his bicep and your arm wrapped around his while he looked terrifying but called him variations of your ‘precious princess’ to your friends. He had seen your group chats—he had never been referred to as Dex.
1:04pm
Is princess allowing u out of the house tonight?
1:04pm
Oh ya whats babygirl got to say?
1:08pm
fairy princess said he’s ok to drop us off and pick us up
So yes, Dex would kill for you. Dex would die for you, even worse, Dex would live for you. It was the least that he could do when all you asked was for him to love you and sit patiently as you explained your most recent comic haul.
It was the least Dex could do when you looked so cute, tapping your foot and huffing in your pretty little pajamas because you wanted to go to bed right now and Dex was in the middle of cleaning his rifle—it could’ve waited, but Dex loved when you whined, when you stomped your foot and inevitably walked over, pulling on his arm, squishing his cheeks and rubbing your face against barely there stubble as you begged him to come to bed because even after dating for a handful of years by this point, there were times when Dex still couldn’t believe you wanted him around. Couldn’t believe that your day couldn’t start without him making you coffee and oh did Dex love making you coffee, he loved how excited you became at his impeccable latte art and his beautiful cold foam and his immaculate flavor combos.
He loved how you hovered around him, trying to look at what today’s drink would be, he loved how excitedly you took photos and as a treat, as a little reward for not spiraling when you went to meet with friends, Dex would sit at your laptop and scroll through your group chats, obsessively rereading.
7:01am
My LITTLEST THING MAKES ME THIS TIRAMISU LATTE AND you guys can’t even get a text back!
with no context, Ollie is leaving a seething nightmare handcuffed to Roy's radiator, telling him it'll just be for a week. It isn't and Roy is deeply unnerved by your coal black eyes and mouth of knives.
a/n: I wasn't sure where I was going with until I saw this video and it all clicked into place
translations
m mac mar an t-athair / like father like son
Tha fios aig an luch nach 'eil an cat a's tigh. / the mouse knows that the cat is not at home
Triùir a thig gun iarraidh – gaol, eud is eagal. / Three that come unbidden – love, jealousy and fear.
plámas - empty flattery
merman Jason
Innately, Roy knew you hated him.
You potentially wanted him dead, your unnaturally large, deep black irises that comprised the majority of your eyes and only allowed for brief flashes of white sclera to appear dependent on the angle held nothing but loathing for him and yet, you called him your husband with the same clinical detachment as a disgruntled marriage counselor.
Your voice was smooth velvet, enveloping him as he awkwardly stepped through the door and at first—Roy had thought it was an odd manipulation tactic for him to uncuff you from the radiator that Ollie had attached you to.
Then you had continued once you were free to wander his two bedroom. Roy swallowed, waving at where you sat at the couch, legs pressed against your chest, held by arms that wrapped around them,“May-dean my-hara” he greeted, tensing at his pronunciation and how quickly your habitual distaste transitioned into visualizing the graphic ways you could’ve killed him. You might’ve recoiled, if you had mannerisms even remotely human-like, but instead you harshly corrected him, “maighdean mhara.” While shaking your head at Roy’s insolence in the exact way Ollie had, “I am maighdeann-ròin!”
Roy nodded as if he understood, when really he didn’t get any part of this. He didn’t know why Ollie had bought you to him and he really didn’t appreciate the lack of context. Roy wasn’t stupid—he knew that the series of freshly bleeding wounds on Ollie’s arms that resembled animal bites were from you; the sharp maw of teeth you had going on was evidence enough but Roy didn’t understand your severe aversion to walking and on the rare occasions that you slept, the distressed, pleading voice you mumbled in while begging for a cloak.
The first time he had heard your sleep-talking, Roy had been so concerned that you were cold he had offered you a blanket in the morning.
You had looked insulted at his offering and made an effort to pointedly turn away from him—as much as you could when your arms were cuffed behind your back. Roy wasn’t stupid, which was why he was slightly scared of you. Yes, it was impossible not to be—the pitch black of your eyes, the mouth full of pointed teeth so like a good bitch, he had immediately apologized for daring to think you might’ve needed a blanket.
Ollie was supposed to come back for you, but that was five weeks ago and sometime in the middle of the second week he had seen those big, glossy black eyes staring longingly at the TV when he was playing Real Housewives as background noise when he cooked so he had, stupidly, uncuffed you.
To his surprise, you still hadn’t tried to leave despite his uncuffing coming with secret hope that you would because stupidly, Roy felt guilty, you had the general depressive air as a kicked dog when you thought he wasn’t looking and Roy hated the way the light would catch in your eyes that made them look more sad than abysmal.
It wasn’t the most stupid thing Roy had ever done, but it was definitely in the top ten. You hadn’t tried to kill him, he kept waiting for it.
You just watched Real Housewives. Then you watched Love Island, then you watched the various Real Housewives spinoffs but refused to learn how to navigate the remote yourself so each change was done by Roy.
Then Roy thought, fuck it, he was tired of being forced to watch shitty reality TV, so then you begrudgingly watched The Invisible Man with him and he tried not to be cocky when you ended up liking it, despite initial complaints that Darien and the Agency were unrealistic. Then you two had continued the trend of watching early 2000s television, but only when together.
You were wearing a shirt that teenage Roy had worn, back before he bulked up that he had been meaning to donate, but never got around to. In that same vein, you were wearing teenage Roy grey cargo shorts that were too long for you, but Roy didn’t want to buy clothes for a prisoner that was supposed to be temporary and anything was better than bloodstained night gown that Ollie had brought you in.
You watched Roy’s every movement with open distain, but still asked him to turn on Real Housewives of Austin, still asked him when the two of you would continue watching Buffy, or if you’d finally start Charmed.
The movement of your mouth was less stiff now, when you had first been unceremoniously tossed into Roy’s apartment, your stilted speech and odd mouth movements were reminiscent of someone who hadn’t spoken for a long, long while. You still seemed to find speech uncomfortable, but tolerable with practice though you still rarely spoke more than few sentences in a day.
“You’re already on season 8?” Roy was changing the channel since you finally learned honey attracted more flies than vinegar and had started asking politely for Roy to do things for you.
He had tried to make small talk with you before—it eased the pain of desperately missing Lian. You hadn’t replied yet and Roy wasn’t upset—your sharp teeth showed each time you spoke, so Roy hadn’t been expecting your reply. “It isn’t as good as Real Housewives of Atlanta.” Roy was openly gawking. This shocked him more than the time that he had walked out of his room to get water and tripped over you—crawling on all fours across the floor like the fucking Ring. He hadn’t been proud of the high pitched shriek that had come from him.
“Popcorn?” Roy was awkwardly shifting his weight under your analytical stare. Your eyes trailed from his face, down his arms to his hands. He had been biting at his nails earlier, bit right down to the quick and they were still red and raw, but no longer bleeding.
“am mac mar an t-athair.”
He blinked
“You’re plamássing me.” Roy blinked again.
He still didn’t get it, but recognized that you used a slightly different accent, maybe expecting him to understand that one and he noticed the slight disappointment when he didn’t. He kept waiting for you to blink, then remembered you didn’t and wanted to say something along the lines of ‘Blink, motherfucker, blink’ but didn’t think you’d understand the reference and didn’t want his arms to look like Ollies.
He had already gone through a course of antibiotics from when his hand had gotten to close to your face during the first week and you had bit him.
The doctor had looked at him with wide-eyed concern before telling Roy his test results had came back positive for an infection of Mycoplasma phocimorsus—notoriously resistant to penicillin. Like fuck! Give him a break!
“Fine, I would like popcorn. Have you that caramel?
Finally, words he could understand. “Yeah, M&Ms?” Roy was already halfway to the kitchen. “Yeah.”
Roy was opening cabinets and frowning that he would need to go grocery shopping soon, before Lian came back. The cabinets, the fridge were always empty when she was gone, as if Roy as only motivated to take care of himself through taking care of Lian.
Roy leaned against the counter as he waited for the microwave to beep, too conscious of your large, black eyes following his movements. When the microwave beeped, he turned around to grab two mismatched bowls. He poured more than half the bag into your bowl, tossing in melted caramel and m&ms in layers before dumping the rest into his without the additional effort of layering.
The tips of his fingers brushed yours as you grabbed the offered bowl before Roy awkwardly found his place with his hip pressed against the armchair of the couch.
“Where that child?”
“Hm?” He has never mentioned Lian to you—the reason she isn’t here, so he thinks he misheard you.
“The child.”
Roy’s cheeks were filled with popcorn “Lian?” You nodded, toying with a kernel “Finfolkaheem? Hildaland?” Roy’s brows were furrowed “Huh? What’s that? No, she’s at her Nana’s.”
“What? a nah-nah?”
“Dinah?” You looked even more confused “A nana is a grandmother.” Nothing.
“My mother?” Roy proposed, cringing at the word choice but it worked—you were nodding now, “A nan.” Your eyes sparkled—excited to learn. “Where did Ollie find you?” Roy’s question was rhetoric, he said it as he shook his head with a grin.
“Ollie?”
“The man that brought you.” You huffed, “That melty fucker?” Your gaze went back to Real Housewives of Austin, “Sule Skerry.” Right, you didn’t do sarcasm.
“Where’s that? Australia?”
“Alba.” Roy resigned to do some googling later. The silence wasn’t awkward after that, he wanted to ask you more, the air vibrating with unspoken questions, but Roy finally felt like you didn’t want him dead, so he refrained.
-
When Roy stepped into the kitchen, he didn’t expect the bloodbath. Heavy rivers of blood flowing down from your hand, over your forearm, dripping to your feet and pooling, despite this, you looked criminally unbothered, bored even. You held the large knife with one hand, looking down at the blood covered vegetables. If not for the vegetables, Roy thought you might’ve finally been geared to kill him.
“Husband, I cut my hand.” Your voice was level when you called for him, Roy had been expecting a smack knick—not the huge fucking gash that greeted him.
He had expected that maybe blood would’ve just began to bubble, that you would need a small bandaid. That was why his steps were leisured, why he hadn’t jumped from the couch, rather taken a minute or two to roll into a stand.
“Haven’t I told you to stop calling me your husban…..” Roy had trailed off at the sheer amount of blood. It was gushing, the gash was in the soft area between your thumb and from a distance, looked like you were just light handed enough it wasn’t severed off.
“What’s with that ugly face?” his ungrateful houseguest asked, having the audacity to look appalled by his concern as he began to crowd you, rapidly pulling off an excess of paper towels to hold to your bleeding hand. Roy’s free hand covered the knife handle, gently pulling it from your hand and placing it in the sink. “Bathroom, first aid under the sink.” He wasn’t waiting for you to step in line, Roy was pushing you towards the bathroom and ignoring the light dragging of your feet as you tried to readjust yourself. The blood had already fully seeped through the towels and had drenched Roy’s hand.
Roy didn’t ask permission to hoist you onto the sink, dipping under and grabbing the first aid kit without the need to look—he had pawed for it enough to know where it was. He tossed the wadded paper towels into the sink and held thick gauze to the wound—big but still slightly smaller than he thought when the blood was cleaned.
You’re creepy black eyes are boring into him, not looking annoyed or like you hate him—entirely ambivalent but uncomfortably intense, so Roy focuses on the task of cleaning your wound. You flinch when he begins to dab antiseptic, but don’t otherwise provide commentary.
The bathroom is filled with tearing of paper, of Roy’s knee accidentally hitting the cabinet door, his occasional hum.
“Thank you, h—Roy.” He’s surprised at how much he likes when you use his name, rather than the term you’ve made for him. His face is inches from you, slightly hunched to where your eyes are level with his. Roy can see his reflection in your giant fucking eyes, typically used to finding them unnerving but in this moment, is drawn to them.
They remind him of ocean depths, deep and all-knowing—every secret out of reach of prying eyes, he is expecting to be grabbed, dragged under the water but even when you do not move, Roy is, leaning closer until his lips are brushing against yours and he feels exceptionally stupid when your mouth is still
Roy pulls away, his lips burning, his cheeks heated. How quickly he regretted being vulnerable with you gave him whiplash—Your face was stone still, no underlying emotion being revealed as he dug himself into a deeper fucking hole, resting his forehead against your collarbone, shakily holding your wounded hand.
He could see the rise and fall of your chest—it was quickening, something Roy could only tell him his positioning. Your reply was first felt before he heard, a soft reverberation against his forehead. “Triùir a thig gun iarraidh – gaol, eud is eagal.”
Then you were pulling his head up, cold hands a reprieve from the heat in his cheeks.
“What?” You were examining him and he wanted to shrink away, wanted to leave his own apartment just to avoid you, then you were kissing him. Moreso a clash of teeth—you were stiff at first, hesitant, but Roy was pliant in your grip, allowing you to find your own rhythm and was only slightly unnerved by how salty your saliva was—how your kiss carried Roy’s memories of the sea, of him standing at the edge of the cliff and feeling like the world was his to own, his to challenge and the possibilities were endless.
benjamin poindexter who doesn't know how to ask for affection.
it’s not as if he’s never felt that burning sensation on his skin, spreading fire through his chest and making the nape of his neck tingle when he sees you. whether it’s when he spots you in a sea of people on his way home from work, when you’re sitting next to him when he's at the gym or when you’re chatting about your day whilst you’re trying to brush your teeth, his body recognises you as you. he never had to make an effort to learn it; it’s second nature to him to see you as part of his destiny—something as simple as being born, growing up, finding you, loving you and dying before you do. that was the cycle of his life, and he knew it.
you are such an overwhelming feeling that just thinking about it makes his chest tighten. when he’s with you, he doesn’t know if his blood is still red or if it’s turned to water, and flowers have blossomed in his lungs and heart. that ambiguous, strange feeling – you – was what kept him from thoughts of suicide and from taking such dangerous risks, in case the day came when you needed a kidney or someone to make you laugh. that feeling… the name of which eluded him, but which he felt in every fibre of his being.
so, yeah, he's akward enough to restrain his own hands when it comes to you. dex thinks it's stupid for a grown man like him to ask for something so…childish like cuddles and kisses. what is he? a five year old? he rarely remembers hugs and kisses from his own mum, he doesn't need it. it's not like he'll die without it.
he'll just wait for you to initiate, like you always (have to) do.
except that you aren't quite a clingy person either. yes, you take his arm when you’re out in public, and sometimes you kiss him on the cheek when a little voice in your head tells you you’ve been in your own space for too long. you both know that when you get into bed there’s a break where, as you switch off the lights, your hands mingle with each other’s, but that’s it. your way of showing affection wasn’t to be right next to each other at every moment of the day, and you’re killing him. why don’t you rest your head on his shoulder when you sit next to him? why does he have to follow you if you move to another room?
like now, when you’ve got your glasses on and your hair’s all frizzy from spending too long poring over the invoices, too lost in thought to notice that dex has come into the open-plan office and been standing there watching you for a good ten minutes, waiting for you to do something. you’d just got home from work and, after kissing him and complaining about your aching feet, taking a shower and putting on your pyjamas, and telling him you had an excel spreadsheet to finish… you’d drifted off again. you were too far away from him.
he's been debating the whole time if he should just ask you for a kiss, but his feet and mouth refused to cooperate with him, leaving him hanging there to stare at you.
"hey, baby. did you need anything?" you ask, finally noticing him as you wonder how long he's been there. must've been a while.
dex shook his head instinctively, but his lips formed a thin line and his face held a displeased look.
luckily for him, you could read him like a book now. it wasn't easy since it didn't come with some sort of manual or tutorial, but it was definitely worth it since you knew that this meant he wanted a kiss from you.
"do you want a kiss?" you ask again, looking up at him expectantly.
god, you don't think you've seen anyone nod that fast.
ˋ°•*⁀➷ Shoot Your Shot! Or Hit My Brother Trying! ⟢
Pairing: Roy Harper x Batsis!Reader, Damian Wayne x Batsis!reader, Batfam x Batsis!Reader
Summary: Roy's been tryna ask you, the daughter of Batman and beloved sister to many, out on a date, since he was like what? 12? It's gotten worse recently since it seems you only get more beautiful by the day, and your little brother Damian tries harder and harder to prevent the two of you dating.
CW:
Word Count: 0.88k
Requested by my bbg @kitkatscabinet <3
Roy Harper had always known he was screwed.
From the moment he met you as a kid, back when you and Dick used to sneak into Titan Tower together, he’d been a goner, you had him locked since day one.
And over the years, it only ever got worse.
But saying it out loud? Actually asking you out? That was the impossible bit.
And the worst part? He wasn’t alone in it.
He had an army of wingmen behind him.
“Today’s the day,” Dick said, clapping Roy’s shoulder in the Watchtower cafeteria. “Be confident. Be cool. You got this. My sister likes you man don't screw this up.”
Jason snorted from across the table. “Confident? Roy? He’s gonna trip over his own shoelaces and call it flirting.”
“Shut up,” Roy muttered.
Wally zipped in with two coffees, slamming one in front of him. “Liquid courage, my dude. Also, if you blow it again, I’m charging you interest for emotional damages.”
Kyle leaned back in his chair, already sketching a dramatic “Roy + Y/N Forever” doodle in emerald light. “Just say the words, man. The universe wants this.”
Even Ollie, from the sidelines, was like: “Kid, I’ve shot arrows blindfolded. You can handle asking out a girl.”
Barry chimed in with a smile. “Honestly? You should’ve done this years ago.”
And Clark, good old Superman himself, patted his shoulder with an encouraging, paternal smile. “She’s fond of you, Roy. Just… be honest.”
Roy exhaled. Okay. I got this. They believe in me. Today’s the day.
You were in the Batcave that night, perched on the hood of the Batmobile, fiddling with some gear. Perfect. No distractions. No Titans. No League. Just you and him.
Asking you out was the real reason Roy was even in Gotham to begin with, he came over to the manor with the intention of becoming your boyfriend, but Dick asked him to make some boscaiola, which for some reason took extra long, and now he's gotta talk to you like an hour before patrol.
Roy strolled in, rehearsed lines ready, heart hammering.
“Hey,” he started, leaning on his bow. "How'd you like the boscaiola?"
"It was good." You responded politely. It wasn't good, it was next level cheeks, but Dick and Jason seemed to love it, and you liked Roy, and while you did feel bad about lying to his face, you didn't wanna hurt his feelings.
“So, uh… I’ve been meaning to ask you something for a while now—”
“Don’t.”
Roy froze. “…Don’t what?”
And out from the shadows stepped Damian Wayne.
Arms crossed. Glare locked. Deadly serious.
“Don’t even try.”
You sighed. “Damian…”
“No.” He pointed directly at Roy, like he was calling out a war criminal. “The ginger interloper will not taint the one sibling I actually like.”
Roy’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?!”
“Do you need me to spell it out?” Damian sneered. “You. Are. Unworthy. My sister deserves the utmost best.”
You pressed your lips together to stifle a laugh. “Dami-”
“Silence. I will protect you from this man’s tragic decision-making and garlic powder stench.”
Roy threw his hands up. “I do not smell like garlic powder!”
Damian arched a brow. “Prove it.”
"You for real don't need a paternity test you're just like your dad."
The next attempt was during a mission debrief in the Watchtower. Ollie, Barry, and Clark were literally watching from the corner, arms crossed, smiling like proud dads. Dick and Jason had even set up a betting pool.
Roy sat beside you, clearing his throat. “So, uh, when this mission’s done, you and me-”
The lights flickered. The holo-map glitched. And suddenly Damian was on the comms.
“Abort mission,” his voice rang out. “The interloper is attempting contact. Negative. I repeat: negative.”
Roy’s face turned crimson. “WHY ARE YOU EVEN ON THIS CHANNEL?!”
Oracle’s voice piped in, amused. “Because he asked nicely.”
Jason wheezed, clutching his stomach. “Oh my god, this is better than any CW show”
By the fifth attempt, Roy was ready to explode.
He cornered you in the Manor library, away from all comms and League backup, determination blazing.
“I’ve liked you since we were kids,” he blurted out. “Day one, Y/N. Locked in. Everyone knows it. Hell, I’ve got the entire Justice League running PR for me, and I still can’t get two seconds alone with you because your gremlin brother thinks I’m Satan incarnate. So I’m asking now, before he drops from the ceiling again, will you go out with me?”
You blinked. Then smiled. “Finally.”
“…Finally?”
“Roy, I’ve been waiting for you to ask since we were like sixteen.”
His brain short-circuited. “Wait, you - you like me back?!”
“Obviously.”
Roy dragged a hand down his face. “I hate this family.”
“Not me though.”
“Not you,” he admitted, grinning despite himself.
From the balcony above, Damian’s voice cut in, smug as ever:
“I still don’t approve.”
Roy groaned. “Oh my god, go to bed, demon.”
“No,” Damian replied. “I will watch.”
You just laughed, tugging Roy closer. “Guess you’ll have to get used to the ginger interloper, Dami.”
Roy smirked up at him. “That’s Mr. Interloper to you, kid.”
Damian hissed like a feral cat and vanished back into the shadows.
Roy sighed. “…Yeah, I’m never winning this war.”
You only grinned. “Doesn’t matter. You won me.”
A/N: My sister's bf made boscaiola on Thursday it was so cheeks and I love pasta idk how he screwed it up so badly
Hope you all enjoyed this! Likes, comments, reblogs and requests are highly appreciated! Requests are open!
Sources! -
Dividers - @hyuneskkami
Icon Header - pinterest
Property of suigenerisisadiva, do not repost my work pls & ty
Being into jiu-jitsu, you'd seen your fair share of men going in and out of your martial arts academy.
There were decent men. But you always had the occasional bodybuilder who got folded like laundry by a girl half their size. Or the godforsaken edge lords, who walked in with an "i see red" attitude, only to drop out because their ego couldn't handle seeing black. You know... after getting choked out.
But one day, a new guy walked in, and stood out.
Dex was frustratingly tall and broad. He had a strange energy; dangerous and competent, with a military walk similar to some of the brown belts. But Dex was... insecure? Even if his ego was manageable? You couldn't really pinpoint what his deal was.
He'd gone into martial arts by suggestion of his friend Nadeem, who insisted it would help him socialize more, and maybe even get a girlfriend...
At first, Dex hadn't gone to jiu-jitsu. He'd chosen a striking sport: Muay thai. The aggression of it was appealing, plus it was a healthy way to externalize his emotions.
Dex was competitive, a perfectionist even. He would obsess over proper form and learning how to use openings to land the best strikes. He never missed when he did, which got on the nerve of a lot of lifelong practitioners.
He was smart too. He actually stretched, unlike the average man, who thought themselves immune to injury til the day they got a sprain that would force them out of the mat for the next month or six.
And though Dex was socially awkward, he managed to (barely) swallow down the competitive nature for good sportsmanship. (He knew he'd get kicked out otherwise).
Then... Dex started getting attention from the other jiu-jitsu girls, who insisted he should do a trial class.
"Just once" he would hear from honeyed voices. "You'll like it."
But he only entertained the idea the day you approached him.
It was between the end your jiu-jitsu class and the start of muay thai that followed right after. He was going through his pre-workout stretching routine, and you conveniently decided to do your post-workout stretches right beside him.
"Have you ever done grappling?" You started. "You have the physique for it."
His brain short-circuited like the windows bluescreen of death. He wondered if you were actually talking to him, then went "...huh?"
"You're tall. Heavy too, but you're not slow despite the muscle mass." You looked at him analytically. "Your forearms are big, which is good for grip strength. Have you wrestled before?"
"I uh- I've been in the military, so they teach some grappling basics. For close combat." He clears his throat. "But I'm not a fan."
"How come?" You pry.
Dex thought about how to best answer that. Grappling was a sport with much more physical contact, which meant having people's sweat all over him, which he IMMENSELY disliked.
But how could he explain that without coming off as a guy who thought he was too good and clean for everybody else? Thankfully, you cut in.
"You don't have to explain yourself if you don't want to. I'm just nosy." You smile. "But if you ever get curious, I can teach you some stuff."
A shiver runs down his spine, the idea suddenly very appealing.
"Won't the coach have a problem with that?" He asks awkwardly.
You huff out a laugh. "No, as long as we use open mat hours to train."
"Okay." He said simply.
"Okay?" You raise a brow, a smirk creeping on the side of your mouth.
"When do we start?" The words stumble out of him, making his face go red at his own eagerness.
Part 2?
This is most self indulgent thing ive written in my fucking life but it was a little break from my longer stalker dex fic. Tagging @n3ptoonz because you said youd like it :)
Please read the warnings before reading any FF. Most of them are +18
<part18 | library | part20>
July 2026
James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes
☂️Microscopic? try massive by @slutdier | +18 | You spent the night roasting Bucky’s dick like it was the size of a Tic Tac. He spent the night proving it’s a weapon of mass destruction. By morning, your throat’s wrecked, your legs won’t close, and the only word you can choke out is “big.”
☂️Your Filthy Heart by @sweeterthanthis | +18 | series | Since the moment Bucky Barnes entered your life, you knew you wouldn’t be able to resist him. The fact that he was marrying your mother was just a minor block in the road. As you embark on a raunchy affair with your new Stepfather, you realise there’s a lot more to Bucky Barnes than first meets the eye.
☂️steel and vibranium by @sheriff-bodecker | +18
☂️drunk on you by slutdier | stucky x reader | +18 | You only wanted them to prove how sorry they were, but with Steve’s sweetness, Bucky’s hunger, and both of them tangled around you, forgiveness has never felt this filthy.
☂️need a ride? by @superbassbuck | +18 | When you stole your dad's car keys to sneak out of the house to go to a concert, the last thing you expected was to break down in the middle of nowhere. So, you do the one thing a young, impressionable woman should never do: you stick out your thumb on the side of the road and hitchhike.
☂️go go juice! by @barnesandnoblecauses | +18 | Ouch! Your boyfriend cheated on you! What’s there to do other than day drink and text stale Hinge dates? That is, until your best friend’s dad enters the picture (accidentally) and shows you how a real man should treat a lady.
☂️COMING IN HOT by @vyxcondessa | +18 | series | When your best friend Sarah recommends a mechanic of her brother’s trust, all you can think about and pray is that he doesn’t rip you off. Your car is your prized possession, and amidst all the worry and concern of your medical studies, drowning in even more debt sounds as suffocating as it would be.
☂️he'll break first by @godmadeaterribleerror | +18 | you and Bucky get stranded on a mission, and the hotel... well, you know the rest
☂️The Chain by @herejustforbuckybarnes | +18 | 13k | What happens when fate has declared that two individuals belong together? You can run, you can deny it, you can complain, or you can surrender, but the chain that joins them will keep them together.
☂️Barnes & Son Mechanics by @bucky-is-my-favourite | +18 | You'd been coming to the Auto shop needing Bucky to take care of more than just your car.
☂️real people by @kinanabinks | +18 | series | you're popular among horror fans. he's well-respected among film critics. though you work in the same industry, you couldn't be more different - but your managers think a pr romance is just what your careers need.
☂️The Garden by @sjsmith56 | Architect Bucky Barnes, accepting his part in the possible end of his marriage, decides on one final attempt to save his relationship with his wife.
☂️i can't do this anymore by @wwilsonbarness | You overhear Bucky’s conversation with your friends and assume the worst but you couldn’t have been more wrong.
☂️Wildflower by @superbassbuck | +18 | series | After your grandmother's passing, you inherit not only an empty house but also a failing floral shop teetering on the edge of closure. as you settle back in town, your bad day only gets worse after a horrible run-in with none other than the grumpy local farmer and single dad, Bucky Barnes.
☂️I feel it turning into addiction by @sinner-as-saint | +18 | series | He was too old for this. Crushing on his next door neighbour? Unbelievable. He should leave the poor girl alone. But fuck, he couldn’t. Could he? After all, you were so sweet, and gentle, and kind, and always baked things in the middle of the night and left boxes and baskets filled with sweet-smelling treats at his doorstep for him to find almost each morning. And what did he do in return? He imagined all the sinful ways he could make you whine and whimper for him. He was bad for you, he knew that. People called him all sorts of things: criminal, gang leader, outlaw. Bucky Barnes was bad news. But did that stop him? No. You being so forbidden just solidified his addiction. Bucky Barnes never claimed to be a good man, so he’d do whatever it takes to get whatever he wanted. And all he wanted was you.
☂️Fear by @imhereforbvcky | When Bucky is out, someone comes for him in the home you share and you must defend yourself. Problem is, you’re no hero and you don’t know if you can morally compartmentalize like one.
☂️Tew Noitanicullah by @perdidosbucky-yyo | +18 | What started like a great day for Bucky Barnes ended up a complete nighmare.
☂️Approve it. Approve it now. by @imnotjustreadingg-volume-two | +18
☂️exit wounds by @buckysleftbicep | +18 | after you put yourself in danger once again during a mission, bucky finally snaps.
☂️plums and peaches by @rkiveinmarvel | pissing bucky off is one thing, making him fall is the same thing.
☂️VIOLENT DELIGHTS by @jamesbbcrnes | bucky barnes is head over heels for a girl who could say i love you and simultaneously try to kill him in the same breath.
☂️RUN, RABBIT by @dogboystory | +18
☂️Missed You by @mrs-elsie-barnes | +18 | You and Bucky have been dying for some alone time and there's a new thing he wants to try.
☂️Needy Little Puppy by @buckybabieboy | +18 | Bucky breaks one of your most important rules, don’t cum without Mommy’s permission, so you edge him until he’s trembling and sobbing for you to let him cum.
☂️love at first buzz by @w1nter-fairy | +18 | Most boyfriends give jewelry or flowers for Valentine's Day. Bucky Barnes ain't just a regular boyfriend. He gives you a battery powered gift and your Valentine's celebration ends up with you trying your new toy... together.
Benjamin "Dex" "Bullseye" Poindexter
☂️ you're too young for me by @clawxmoon
by @aquaticmercy
☂️ Dex’s Very Own Three-Body Problem
☂️Anatomy of a Smile | After breaking out of prison, you find out that Dex thinks you never broke up.
☂️Finding the Perfect House with Dex
☂️I Could Drown Myself In Someone Like You | Dex was doing just fine being the only prisoner in Enhanced Supervision Housing until they put you in the cell next door.
☂️10 p.m. on a Tuesday | +18 | You finally find out who your neighbor really is.
☂️You Accidentally Push Dex Off The Bed
☂️Dex Takes Your Graphic Shirt Literally | +18
☂️For When Else Would I Hear You? | +18 | 13k | You fall for Dex, a faerie hunter. Little did you know, he has already decided you belong to him.
☂️One Bad Day | +18 | Dex has to learn that you can have bad days, too.
☂️Dex Thinks He Can Lock You Up In His Basement “For Your Own Good.” He Didn’t Expect This. | +18
☂️You and Dex Have a Complicated Relationship | +18
☂️Family Business | +18 | You invite Dex to your birthday dinner at your sister's apartment. Unfortunately for Dex, your sister is Elektra.
☂️north star by @mcrdvcks | series | After spending years overseas with Doctors Without Borders, you finally come back home to Hell's Kitchen. When you meet a guy named Benjamin, you think things are finally going back to normal... except apparently your friends seem to know him, and not in a good way.
☂️SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL by @winteryn | +18 | 9k | dex escapes prison only to end up sleeping in half-frozen alleys, surviving on stolen food, spare change, and whatever shelter he can find before the winter cold kills him. until, on a freezing december night, you hand him a stack of blankets and a cup of hot coffee.
☂️messy by @layla4567
by @interloved
☂️play wife pt2
☂️pathetic loser boyfriend
☂️squirmed by @saintlea | +18
☂️middle of the night by @dexgirlfriend | three times bullseye wakes you up in the middle of the night, and one time you're waiting for him
☂️446.5 ly by @thenightwinggf | out of everywhere you've woken up after a night out drinking, wakin' up in your sullen, vaguely scary neighbors apartment after too many drinks might be the worst one.
☂️front & back by @poinandshoot | +18 | dex and shane
☂️freak by @mayhemi | +18
by @lonelypony-m
☂️virgin part 2 & 3 | +18
☂️easy fix | +18
☂️ball in your court
☂️Kiss It Better by @paniniimpressed | +18 | 15k | After witnessing something you weren’t supposed to, there’s a price on your head. It would be easy for the excellent marksman to finish the job, but something about you makes him reconsider.
☂️What goes up must come down | +18 | Drug dealer x goody two shoes. What could go wrong?
☂️Brat tamer!reader x brat!Dex | +18
☂️a bet by @chvoswxtch | a handsome stranger makes a bet with you, and you're the prize.
☂️CHERRIES AND TIES by @machiavellia | One month after the violent incident at your workplace, you wake up in an lonely and unknown place. . . Tied up, sore, and bewildered, just to then realize you have been kidnapped.
☂️dex by @spaceyaemonds | the devil of hell’s kitchen saves your life. or, at least he looks like him.
☂️stains don’t fade by @kruegerspillow | fluff
☂️benjamin poindexter takes nights very seriously by @daystarpoet
☂️dex who loves to make you sweat by @little-miss-dilf-lover | +18
Other
by slutdier
☂️while mama's is out | lee bodecker x reader | +18 | maybe possibly a late night where the readers mom is gone out late with her friends and lee and the reader get some alone time which they kinda have this established relationship
☂️i trust you by sheriff-bodecker | nick fowler x reader
☂️Middle of Nowhere by @yearningforsolitude | +18 | shane maguire x reader
☂️blowing by @holeinthemattress | shane maguire x reader
☂️house by clawxmoon | shane maguire x reader
☂️Stardust by @after-avenging-hours | +18 | Chris Beck x Reader | After a mix up with NASA’s resupply, you find out that you’re going to run out of your suppressant medication. The commander tries to come up with a plan to deal with your approaching heat, but how easily will she be able to control the only unmated Alpha on board?
by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor
☂️Director's Cut | +18 | Nick Fowler x reader | series | Powerful director Nick takes interest in a new project; you.
☂️Night Moves | +18 | Nick Fowler x reader | series | Many might complain for the short attention span of the male kind, but you can't agree.
☂️Blurred Lines | +18 | Nick Fowler x reader | series | Your relationship with your boss takes an unpredictable turn.
☂️False Flag | +18 | Nick Fowler x reader | series | A normal day turns out to be entirely unusual after you find yourself the target of some unseemly criminals.
☂️Nightlife | +18 | lee bodecker x reader | series | He helps you.
☂️Only Yesterday | +18 | Nick Fowler x reader | series | Isolated and lonely in your life as your grandmother’s caretaker, you find yourself living vicariously through your neighbour.
☂️Unannounced | +18 | Charles Blackwood x reader | The reader is caretaker to the widow of the manor but one day she returns to an unexpected visitor.
☂️good enough to eat by @buckytakethewheel | +18 | lee bodecker x reader
with no context, Ollie is leaving a seething nightmare handcuffed to Roy's radiator, telling him it'll just be for a week. It isn't and Roy is deeply unnerved by your coal black eyes and mouth of knives.
a/n: I wasn't sure where I was going with until I saw this video and it all clicked into place
translations
m mac mar an t-athair / like father like son
Tha fios aig an luch nach 'eil an cat a's tigh. / the mouse knows that the cat is not at home
Triùir a thig gun iarraidh – gaol, eud is eagal. / Three that come unbidden – love, jealousy and fear.
plámas - empty flattery
merman Jason
Innately, Roy knew you hated him.
You potentially wanted him dead, your unnaturally large, deep black irises that comprised the majority of your eyes and only allowed for brief flashes of white sclera to appear dependent on the angle held nothing but loathing for him and yet, you called him your husband with the same clinical detachment as a disgruntled marriage counselor.
Your voice was smooth velvet, enveloping him as he awkwardly stepped through the door and at first—Roy had thought it was an odd manipulation tactic for him to uncuff you from the radiator that Ollie had attached you to.
Then you had continued once you were free to wander his two bedroom. Roy swallowed, waving at where you sat at the couch, legs pressed against your chest, held by arms that wrapped around them,“May-dean my-hara” he greeted, tensing at his pronunciation and how quickly your habitual distaste transitioned into visualizing the graphic ways you could’ve killed him. You might’ve recoiled, if you had mannerisms even remotely human-like, but instead you harshly corrected him, “maighdean mhara.” While shaking your head at Roy’s insolence in the exact way Ollie had, “I am maighdeann-ròin!”
Roy nodded as if he understood, when really he didn’t get any part of this. He didn’t know why Ollie had bought you to him and he really didn’t appreciate the lack of context. Roy wasn’t stupid—he knew that the series of freshly bleeding wounds on Ollie’s arms that resembled animal bites were from you; the sharp maw of teeth you had going on was evidence enough but Roy didn’t understand your severe aversion to walking and on the rare occasions that you slept, the distressed, pleading voice you mumbled in while begging for a cloak.
The first time he had heard your sleep-talking, Roy had been so concerned that you were cold he had offered you a blanket in the morning.
You had looked insulted at his offering and made an effort to pointedly turn away from him—as much as you could when your arms were cuffed behind your back. Roy wasn’t stupid, which was why he was slightly scared of you. Yes, it was impossible not to be—the pitch black of your eyes, the mouth full of pointed teeth so like a good bitch, he had immediately apologized for daring to think you might’ve needed a blanket.
Ollie was supposed to come back for you, but that was five weeks ago and sometime in the middle of the second week he had seen those big, glossy black eyes staring longingly at the TV when he was playing Real Housewives as background noise when he cooked so he had, stupidly, uncuffed you.
To his surprise, you still hadn’t tried to leave despite his uncuffing coming with secret hope that you would because stupidly, Roy felt guilty, you had the general depressive air as a kicked dog when you thought he wasn’t looking and Roy hated the way the light would catch in your eyes that made them look more sad than abysmal.
It wasn’t the most stupid thing Roy had ever done, but it was definitely in the top ten. You hadn’t tried to kill him, he kept waiting for it.
You just watched Real Housewives. Then you watched Love Island, then you watched the various Real Housewives spinoffs but refused to learn how to navigate the remote yourself so each change was done by Roy.
Then Roy thought, fuck it, he was tired of being forced to watch shitty reality TV, so then you begrudgingly watched The Invisible Man with him and he tried not to be cocky when you ended up liking it, despite initial complaints that Darien and the Agency were unrealistic. Then you two had continued the trend of watching early 2000s television, but only when together.
You were wearing a shirt that teenage Roy had worn, back before he bulked up that he had been meaning to donate, but never got around to. In that same vein, you were wearing teenage Roy grey cargo shorts that were too long for you, but Roy didn’t want to buy clothes for a prisoner that was supposed to be temporary and anything was better than bloodstained night gown that Ollie had brought you in.
You watched Roy’s every movement with open distain, but still asked him to turn on Real Housewives of Austin, still asked him when the two of you would continue watching Buffy, or if you’d finally start Charmed.
The movement of your mouth was less stiff now, when you had first been unceremoniously tossed into Roy’s apartment, your stilted speech and odd mouth movements were reminiscent of someone who hadn’t spoken for a long, long while. You still seemed to find speech uncomfortable, but tolerable with practice though you still rarely spoke more than few sentences in a day.
“You’re already on season 8?” Roy was changing the channel since you finally learned honey attracted more flies than vinegar and had started asking politely for Roy to do things for you.
He had tried to make small talk with you before—it eased the pain of desperately missing Lian. You hadn’t replied yet and Roy wasn’t upset—your sharp teeth showed each time you spoke, so Roy hadn’t been expecting your reply. “It isn’t as good as Real Housewives of Atlanta.” Roy was openly gawking. This shocked him more than the time that he had walked out of his room to get water and tripped over you—crawling on all fours across the floor like the fucking Ring. He hadn’t been proud of the high pitched shriek that had come from him.
“Popcorn?” Roy was awkwardly shifting his weight under your analytical stare. Your eyes trailed from his face, down his arms to his hands. He had been biting at his nails earlier, bit right down to the quick and they were still red and raw, but no longer bleeding.
“am mac mar an t-athair.”
He blinked
“You’re plamássing me.” Roy blinked again.
He still didn’t get it, but recognized that you used a slightly different accent, maybe expecting him to understand that one and he noticed the slight disappointment when he didn’t. He kept waiting for you to blink, then remembered you didn’t and wanted to say something along the lines of ‘Blink, motherfucker, blink’ but didn’t think you’d understand the reference and didn’t want his arms to look like Ollies.
He had already gone through a course of antibiotics from when his hand had gotten to close to your face during the first week and you had bit him.
The doctor had looked at him with wide-eyed concern before telling Roy his test results had came back positive for an infection of Mycoplasma phocimorsus—notoriously resistant to penicillin. Like fuck! Give him a break!
“Fine, I would like popcorn. Have you that caramel?
Finally, words he could understand. “Yeah, M&Ms?” Roy was already halfway to the kitchen. “Yeah.”
Roy was opening cabinets and frowning that he would need to go grocery shopping soon, before Lian came back. The cabinets, the fridge were always empty when she was gone, as if Roy as only motivated to take care of himself through taking care of Lian.
Roy leaned against the counter as he waited for the microwave to beep, too conscious of your large, black eyes following his movements. When the microwave beeped, he turned around to grab two mismatched bowls. He poured more than half the bag into your bowl, tossing in melted caramel and m&ms in layers before dumping the rest into his without the additional effort of layering.
The tips of his fingers brushed yours as you grabbed the offered bowl before Roy awkwardly found his place with his hip pressed against the armchair of the couch.
“Where that child?”
“Hm?” He has never mentioned Lian to you—the reason she isn’t here, so he thinks he misheard you.
“The child.”
Roy’s cheeks were filled with popcorn “Lian?” You nodded, toying with a kernel “Finfolkaheem? Hildaland?” Roy’s brows were furrowed “Huh? What’s that? No, she’s at her Nana’s.”
“What? a nah-nah?”
“Dinah?” You looked even more confused “A nana is a grandmother.” Nothing.
“My mother?” Roy proposed, cringing at the word choice but it worked—you were nodding now, “A nan.” Your eyes sparkled—excited to learn. “Where did Ollie find you?” Roy’s question was rhetoric, he said it as he shook his head with a grin.
“Ollie?”
“The man that brought you.” You huffed, “That melty fucker?” Your gaze went back to Real Housewives of Austin, “Sule Skerry.” Right, you didn’t do sarcasm.
“Where’s that? Australia?”
“Alba.” Roy resigned to do some googling later. The silence wasn’t awkward after that, he wanted to ask you more, the air vibrating with unspoken questions, but Roy finally felt like you didn’t want him dead, so he refrained.
-
When Roy stepped into the kitchen, he didn’t expect the bloodbath. Heavy rivers of blood flowing down from your hand, over your forearm, dripping to your feet and pooling, despite this, you looked criminally unbothered, bored even. You held the large knife with one hand, looking down at the blood covered vegetables. If not for the vegetables, Roy thought you might’ve finally been geared to kill him.
“Husband, I cut my hand.” Your voice was level when you called for him, Roy had been expecting a smack knick—not the huge fucking gash that greeted him.
He had expected that maybe blood would’ve just began to bubble, that you would need a small bandaid. That was why his steps were leisured, why he hadn’t jumped from the couch, rather taken a minute or two to roll into a stand.
“Haven’t I told you to stop calling me your husban…..” Roy had trailed off at the sheer amount of blood. It was gushing, the gash was in the soft area between your thumb and from a distance, looked like you were just light handed enough it wasn’t severed off.
“What’s with that ugly face?” his ungrateful houseguest asked, having the audacity to look appalled by his concern as he began to crowd you, rapidly pulling off an excess of paper towels to hold to your bleeding hand. Roy’s free hand covered the knife handle, gently pulling it from your hand and placing it in the sink. “Bathroom, first aid under the sink.” He wasn’t waiting for you to step in line, Roy was pushing you towards the bathroom and ignoring the light dragging of your feet as you tried to readjust yourself. The blood had already fully seeped through the towels and had drenched Roy’s hand.
Roy didn’t ask permission to hoist you onto the sink, dipping under and grabbing the first aid kit without the need to look—he had pawed for it enough to know where it was. He tossed the wadded paper towels into the sink and held thick gauze to the wound—big but still slightly smaller than he thought when the blood was cleaned.
You’re creepy black eyes are boring into him, not looking annoyed or like you hate him—entirely ambivalent but uncomfortably intense, so Roy focuses on the task of cleaning your wound. You flinch when he begins to dab antiseptic, but don’t otherwise provide commentary.
The bathroom is filled with tearing of paper, of Roy’s knee accidentally hitting the cabinet door, his occasional hum.
“Thank you, h—Roy.” He’s surprised at how much he likes when you use his name, rather than the term you’ve made for him. His face is inches from you, slightly hunched to where your eyes are level with his. Roy can see his reflection in your giant fucking eyes, typically used to finding them unnerving but in this moment, is drawn to them.
They remind him of ocean depths, deep and all-knowing—every secret out of reach of prying eyes, he is expecting to be grabbed, dragged under the water but even when you do not move, Roy is, leaning closer until his lips are brushing against yours and he feels exceptionally stupid when your mouth is still
Roy pulls away, his lips burning, his cheeks heated. How quickly he regretted being vulnerable with you gave him whiplash—Your face was stone still, no underlying emotion being revealed as he dug himself into a deeper fucking hole, resting his forehead against your collarbone, shakily holding your wounded hand.
He could see the rise and fall of your chest—it was quickening, something Roy could only tell him his positioning. Your reply was first felt before he heard, a soft reverberation against his forehead. “Triùir a thig gun iarraidh – gaol, eud is eagal.”
Then you were pulling his head up, cold hands a reprieve from the heat in his cheeks.
“What?” You were examining him and he wanted to shrink away, wanted to leave his own apartment just to avoid you, then you were kissing him. Moreso a clash of teeth—you were stiff at first, hesitant, but Roy was pliant in your grip, allowing you to find your own rhythm and was only slightly unnerved by how salty your saliva was—how your kiss carried Roy’s memories of the sea, of him standing at the edge of the cliff and feeling like the world was his to own, his to challenge and the possibilities were endless.
really, he's pathetic: sweaty & disgusting, you are constantly seeing him at his worst.
a/n ; I rewatched venom trilogy
You cannot blame your bad decisions on blue—who is decidedly against Eddie. This is your own fault, your own mistakes that are determined to coalesce into this moment: Eddie after too many beers and too much drunken wandering, his back pressed firmly against the scratched hardwood of your apartment you pulled him up to—bright neon lights are bleeding into the dark, the main ambient sounds is the typically police sirens and married couple screaming at each other from across the hall but tonight, it is your heavy breathing mixing with Eddie’s with everything else as background noise to your poor decisions.
He’s pathetic. Blue reminds you, but are all too aware that your symbiote just hates Venom for reasons they refuse to disclose yet insists spans a millennia.
Really, you imagine that even if Venom hadn’t ended up with Eddie, blue would’ve hated any host and it is just their luck Venom’s host is a loser whose waist you are currently straddling with your hair is falling around you while you don’t think you can continue to deny how desperately you want to kiss this pathetic, sweaty, disgusting man, you know that one you start, you won’t be able to stop—the tension is tangible, it is an electrical pulse and it is feeling his beating heart under your palm; frantic like a bird in a bag.
Eddie is looking at you, pathetic and weak and pleading to just put him out of his misery—this old man who follows you like a dog but never makes a move just ‘cause you’re a handful of years younger, bursting at the seams with potential despite your own feelings of inadequacy buried under your anger. You, who Eddie had believed to loathe him and maybe he isn’t wrong—you did have a mean right hook—His lip is split and bleeding as evidence of that, a small trickle of blood from his nose and brow intermingling on his cheek.
He is at your mercy, you are his warden.
“Venom is quiet tonight.” You clutch at the damp cotton of the faded Roswell shirt. “He is freaking out in my head.” His voice is hoarse, his eyes are locked on your mouth. You don’t tell him that blue is too; a cacophony that started as firm denial, rejection and head splitting that devolved into unintelligible screeching when she realized you were seriously, painfully close to kissing Eddie Brock.
He wants you to kiss him sober, make him forget he’s a fucking loser whose only claim to your love is that he swears your symbiotes might’ve been the alien equivalent of a toxic, vindictive divorce.
You watch his eyes avert towards your bed, then briefly to your eyes before settling on your lips as if he can will the distance closed, “I didn’t peg you for the race car bed.” You guessed Eddie might’ve pegged you for a cot in the corner with a single threadbare fleece blanket thrown over the end but you won’t tell him that you used to be bursting at the seams with something akin to whimsy but this is the start of his rambling, the beginning of him turning a situation awkward and uncomfortable for everyone involved and you can’t fucking bear it so you are kissing him and it feels so, so good.
Total euphoria while telling yourself moaning into his mouth isn’t a total collapse of that badass nonchalant soldier vibe you’ve got going on.
Eddie’s mouth is everything you thought it would be: slightly salty, slightly dried out, he is so awkward and horrible at attempting to kiss you back that it has circled into the best kiss you have ever participated in and you are using the hand not clutching his chest to palm his face, keeping him steady as blue continues to shame you in the background.
Eddie’s mouth is warm, his breath so hot against your face as his stubble brushes your burning skin and you cannot stop picturing the sensation trailing across your chest, your stomach, your thighs and—his hands are roaming your body, the black undulating ectoplasm telling you that it isn’t fully Eddie, but it’s fine because now there is blue, moving with a speed matching Eddie’s heart as she begins to spread across you, connecting with Venom in a manner you distinctly feel is angry, resentful and violent as their slightly different coloring crashes and blends and retracts.
usually, he'd wake up at six on the dot, but that's before. now, it's maybe a quarter past seven when he shoves at you again, gentle. he'd be stressed if it was anything else, but your touch, your presence is enough to distract him. your eyes are still closed, and you swing a leg over his again—his hand comes up instantly, thumb smoothing over the skin just by the hem of your sleep shorts—and you drag your mouth down his neck.
"baby," he groans, and you sigh into his skin, it's too early. he resorts to pleading. "i need to get up, i'm sorry, i love you—"
"if you really loved me, you'd stay in bed with me," you grumble, shifting your leg so his fingers slip under the fabric. tempting. he wants to take the bait, he almost does—and then he slides your leg off, slips out from where your head is on his chest (there's a sticky patch right across his pecs where you drooled in your sleep; for someone who moves around a lot at night you sure do attach yourself to him securely) and pats you once on the shoulder like a work colleague before he sits up on the edge of the bed, back to you. you almost start crying before the broad expanse of his (clothed, unfortunately) back shifts your attention from loss of boyfriend to need to bite, yum.
when he stands up, stretching, the joints of his back crack like mini gunshots. you roll over and swat his ass, and he yelps at the contact, the sound tumbling out unbidden before he can stop it. you snicker, slightly more awake than before, and he turns around to glare down at you before it melts into something softer, more besotted. gorgeous, he murmurs. you don't know what he's seeing in you right now, messy and sleep-deprived, but you won't question it. not when he looks at you like that.
dex tugs off his shirt, grimacing as it separates slowly from his skin, and stumbles into the bathroom, still rubbing at his eyes. you take the loss and follow him, zoning out against the door frame as he takes care of his business, before sitting down on the closed toilet seat. from here, you get a remarkable view of both his back and front, all of his rippling muscle as he brushes his teeth and shaves. you brush yours too, if only so that you can scam a quick make out from him. he kisses you hungrily, hands grabbing at your hips, breath hitching when you drag your nails down his abs. he tastes too much like mint and not enough like him but you're too far gone to care. this time, he's the one trying to keep you a moment longer, chasing your lips and giving you the best puppy eyes he can muster when his eyes are glazed over and his lips are all pink and swollen. and then he pretends that none of this phased him and goes on his merry way like you didn't just readjust the axis of his world with your hands alone.
breakfast is much of the same, stealing kisses from him where he stands at the stove between sips of coffee while he complains about you not allowing him to focus completely on the eggs. you watch him fondly; he's such a good househusband when he's not out killing people. but no one's perfect, right?
halfway through his workout, you finally win him over; he abandons all pretenses and lets you kiss him silly right there on the floor, acting like this isn't what he's been waiting for the whole time.
for those of you concerned about my disappearance: it's really hard to write fanfiction because i'm watching criminal minds rn (started ~10 days ago?) and im on s3 and spencer reid makes my 🅱️enis hard so i can't think of much else. with that being said, requests are still open, reblogs are welcome, etc! 624 words iloveyoudex
