He doesn't think it's anything special, but Simon knows you like his voice. There's a certain cadence to it when he addresses you that just... does things to you. Coarse, heavy with emotions, and sounding a lot like home. Those were your words. Heh. Fancy that. Goes double with the pet names, though. And yes, the bastard takes advantage of this at every turn, if only to see you flustered, look away in embarrassment, or get all shy and soft on 'im. Aren't you cute, pretty?
Speaking of pretty, whenever you call out to him?
"Yeah, sweetheart?" First time he said it, Simon swore your knees buckled. Then it turned to "What is it, baby?" or "Luv?" That rough but soft lilt, just like you like it.
Oh, but if you thought that was bad, Simon ups the ante with strong eye contact, too. Sometimes he doesn't say shit, doesn't really have to to get his point across, just watches you. And when you catch him, he doesn't stop. Nah, not his M.O., precious. Your lieutenant keeps staring, keeps watching you, the ghost of a smirk on his lips, loving how you get so timid and shit, avert your gaze some, and then come back to him because yeah, you got that hold on him, too, sweetheart.
But the coup de grâce?
"...Simon?"
"...Yeah, beautiful?"
You shortcircuit something fierce, and Simon chuckles in response. Smug bastard's still got it.
And nah, he ain't stopping anytime soon. Get used to it, gorgeous.
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.✦ ryland grace should have known you were gonna create a monster, once you showed rocky human music!
Ryland knew. He should have tried harder not to let you show Rocky human music. But he couldn't deny you, when you both give him this innocent wide-eyed look, well you more-so, but he could tell Rocky was doing . . . something. A small whine escaping your lips, clasping your hands together. “Please?” You begged, Rocky happily, tapping his feet on the ground beside you. “Rocky want to hear human music!” Rocky exclaimed, throwing his front legs up, his three fingers pointing out, as if he was doing jazz hands.
Ryland sighed, nodding, “Okay, you two.” You threw your hands up in celebration, Rocky turning towards you, coping the motion of throwing his front legs back up. “Rocky, let's go!” You motioned towards the exit of the workshop, Rocky excitedly rolling out the door. “Human music! Human music!” Rocky chanted, shouted, his little legs carrying him as fast as he could go.
Rocky barreled through the door not even ten minutes later, things clattering behind him. “Human music! Amaze! Must show Grace!”
Now hear Ryland sits, watching as Rocky, loudly sang the lyrics to 'Espresso' by Sabrina Carpenter with his monotone computer voice. You giggled, watching from your seat, as Rocky did a small wiggle. Rocky tapped his feet, “Rocky work late!” You laughed, adding on to Rocky's buffoonery.
“Because he's a singer!”
Rocky made a small chirp, at your comment. Rocky, making a motion with his front leg, Ryland was guessing he was trying to mimic the dance. “That me espresso!” Rocky did a small twirl, “Rocky, amaze, question?” Rocky tilted his head, towards you and Ryland. You clapped your hands, Rocky preening at your praise. Ryland huffed out a laugh, “Yeah, amaze.”
i was listening to short n' sweet and the idea of rocky singing espresso was making me giggle real bad 😭 this probably sucks ass though . . . this is for real a drabble. planning on making more ryland fics because i'm starving for him
this is a part 2 for the bruce wayne x neglected spouse reader, which can be found here! and here is the next part!
bruce kept his face neutral, and for y/n, that might just be worse.
did he really not care? that’s so typical of him. everything but being batman doesn’t deserve his time. y/n knows that now.
“Mx. y/n, please sit down-“
“I’m sorry Alfred.” y/n turned to the older man. “I’ll be back later to pick this up,” they turn to the paper in front of bruce- who still hasn’t said anything. “-I’ll see you all later. i’m sorry.”
they hurriedly fled the scene, making their way to leave the manor. where to? who knows. bruce doesn’t deserve to know them anymore than they do.
“wait-!” jason stood up from his seat to follow after, but not before giving bruce a glare and slamming a fist down the table, the sound of tableware and plates echoes across the room. “you better fix this, old man.” he grumbles before leaving.
alfred left to assist y/n. probably had something to say to them too.
damian and tim sat on their seats. for once, they were unsure of what to do.
dick turned to follow after y/n and jason, only to falter in his steps and skidded to a stop. he faced bruce.
“what the hell was that..?!”
bruce’s eyes squinted a bit, before he let out a sigh. his arm moved, fingers pinching the area between his eyes, looking and acting as if this is is nothing more than an inconvenience to him. as if the paper in front of him was just a report that someone from work gave him, and not divorce papers.
that only angered dick more.
“why didn’t you say anything..? why didn’t you stop them?!” he marched all the way up to bruce’s side. “the person you love just left us- and you’re not even gonna stop them? bruce, what about you guys? what about them? what about us..?!”
bruce snapped and stood up, towering over dick. “i don’t love them! there never was anything between us. our relationship was purely transactional. we have made this clear. our contract was clear. if one of us wants to break it off, then we end it.” bruce glared.
“and what about you? what does this have to do with you, or the others?”
dick took a step back, as if he was slapped by what bruce had just said.
tim looked at bruce with an almost heart broken expression, “bruce, you-“
“damian is right.” bruce said. damian looked up, confused.
“y/n and i hold no feelings for one another. for them to break things off because of selina is a bit of an invalid reason. y/n married bruce wayne. not batman.” bruce said with finality.
“i..i didn’t mean it.” damian said, looking away.
“you ARE bruce wayne!” dick said. “you married y/n, how could you-“
“enough.”
bruce took a pen from his shirt pocket, and swiftly signed the papers. as if he wasn’t making one of the worst decisions of his life.
“this matter is over.” with that, he put the pen back in his short pocket. “stay safe on your way back to bludhaven.” he patted dick’s shoulder as he left.
dick can only stand there in shock. it all happened too fast. why was this happening to them? did bruce really not like y/n? he was sure everything was going well. why was this happening?
as time stood up to comfort dick, damian followed after bruce.
as robin and batman walked along the manor, damian noted that it seemed colder than usual.
“father?” bruce let out a hum of acknowledgment.
“do you like the catwoman?”
bruce didn’t answer. and that was more than enough for damian to confirm it.
this can’t be. he won’t allow it. what does father see in her? is it because y/n wasn’t a vigilante like them? he much prefers y/n over kyle. y/n was able to give them a normal parent. someone who gives you hugs with no hesitation. someone who knows you’re hurt before you can even realize it. someone who loves you unconditionally.
it’s not fair.
“i refuse.”
“that’s not for you to decide, damian.”
and the conversation ended there.
—- eeyormm hope u guys enjoyed 😢 —-
if you want another part, let me know how u want it to end🤭
summary: it's not your fault you think soldier boy's just adorable first thing in the morning
pairing: soldier boy x reader (gn) | genre: fluff | word count: 1.5k (this is short, sorry !!)
warnings: soldier boy (language, mostly. sexual innuendos), implied morning-after (implied past sexual acts), probably ooc ben (i have not watched the boys, i just know he curses a lot and looks hot)
notes: clem's idea !! @clemeowntine
Sunlight streams through the window, a faint breeze fluttering the curtains. The shadows of them dance across your back, rippling like waves in the ocean over the sheets twisted between your legs. It’s peaceful, quiet in the way the world gets when you get a moment to breathe. There’s a faint smell of laundry detergent in the air, and you wrinkle your nose, unsure how the scent made it into your bedroom. It’s not a bad one, just a little out of place.
You blink your eyes open, stifling a yawn in the crook of your elbow. You’re on your stomach, a pillow turned vertically under you, wrapped up in your arms. There’s a dent in it from where your head’s been laying, and you note you must have been asleep for a while. Hauling yourself upright, you rest your weight on your forearms. Somewhere, tangled around your legs, in the sheets; hooked around one ankle, one foot exposed to the cool air of the bedroom. You give a half-hearted tug on the quilt, not surprised when it doesn’t give. You settle back into the quiet, turning onto your side and savouring the gentle ache in your lower stomach.
You smile sleepily, recalling last night. For once, it was strangely gentle at your insistence. Something soft, relaxed, no rush. For once, there was nothing coming after you, and you needed to have a night with him that wasn’t a blaze of touches. Not that it wasn’t intense, because it was, but it was intense in the softest way, where emotions and careful touches do the talking. He’d still been Soldier Boy last night, because that façade rarely slips, even around someone he trusts as much as you.
This morning is different. The man beside you in bed isn’t Soldier Boy; not some renegade patriot symbolizing the ghosts of a nation’s war dreams from eighty years ago. No, this morning, it’s Ben who sleeps soundly beside you. He’s sprawled on his back, one bare leg hooked around the blankets, which explains why you can’t move them. One arm is stretched out, and you distantly remember it being under your head when you’d fallen asleep against him. You may have moved, but his arm didn’t, still reaching for you even though you’re right there.
You slide across the mattress, curling yourself into his side and resting your head back on his arm. You move slowly, not wanting to wake him. He grunts once in his sleep when your head hits his pillow, but that’s it. Exhaling slowly, you throw your leg over his, toss an arm over his waist, and let yourself soak in the hush of morning.
You don’t know if you fully fall asleep again or not, but the next thing you take note of is that Ben’s turned in your grip, letting himself curl into you. His arm is still under your head, your leg still over his, but he’s made himself smaller. His head rests just in the crook of your neck, soft breathing tickling your shoulder. He’s warm, as always, the serum in him making him a constant space heater; something you’ve taken advantage of many times during the colder months. You smile faintly, thinking of all the times he’s teased you for wrapping yourself around him on the couch despite being in a sweater, eagerly seeking out his warmth.
You reach a hand up to run it through his hair, taming in the wild strands and smoothing them back from where they curl against his forehead. Each pass is careful, teasing out the knots without waking him up. Slowly but surely, his hair untangles beneath your touch, until your fingers pass through it unburdened. Your lips brush his forehead, feather-light and so soft he’d barely feel it if he was awake.
You turn your attention the rest of him, tracing your fingers over his brows, the ridge of his nose that’s crooked from one too many breaks, the ridges of his cheekbones that dip to his jaw. You spend extra time on his cheeks, fingertips touching the freckles that dust his face; there’s a collection of them on his right cheek near his nose that look like an ‘M’ that you find particularly interesting.
“Whatever the fuck is it you're doin', quit it,” a husky voice says, lazily swatting your arm away.
“Ask nicely,” you tease, kissing the tip of Ben’s nose as he grumbles something under you.
“Yeah, yeah, fuckin' please or whatever.”
“Please what?”
His eyes aren’t opened yet, but if they were, you’re certain he’d be rolling them right now. “Quit it.”
“Ask nicely,” you say a second time, giggling lightly at his frustration.
“You’re a pain in my ass,” he mutters.
“And yet, you’re not stopping me.”
You’re right, he’s not stopping you. Your fingers are back on his face, softly tracing along his jawline from one sideburn to the other. The short beard he’s sporting is rough under your hand, but you don’t mind the friction. Then, almost imperceptibly, he sighs through his nose and inches closer to your hand, pressing your full palm to his cheek. Your eyebrows raise in surprise.
“What’s this all about, mister?” you say, attempting a half-sultry tone.
“Oh, lay off it with the fuck-me voice. Ain’t a good look, sweetheart.”
You give him an exaggerated frown, already getting way too much joy out of riling him up. It’s not going to result in anything, and you don’t intend it to. Just ticking him off enough that he pins you under his weight and gives you his undivided attention is all you need. And it’s working.
Ben leans in to kiss you, and you turn your head, shoving your hands against his chest. He blinks, stunned.
“The fuck was that about?”
“Oh, nothing. Just not in the mood.”
His eyes narrow. “You were about to climb me like a tree ten seconds ago.”
You have to try way too hard to hold back your laughter. “And? That was ten seconds ago.”
If it were anyone else teasing him like this, they’d be a hole in the ground by now. But there’s something about you that makes him hesitate. Maybe it’s the way you look like one insult might kill you (it won’t, he very quickly discovered. You can take it just as well as you can dish it). Maybe it’s the gentleness you have whenever you do anything. Ben’s convinced you could look like an angel even taking someone’s head off.
What it really is, in all honesty, is the way you look at him like he’s human. Like he’s more than just a washed-up sex symbol. You look at him, and he sees a future in your eyes, where he’s a person with a face and a name that isn’t tainted by patriotism. Maybe it’s the softness you bring into his life, the chances at all the things he never knew he could have, that make him okay with letting you push him around. Anything to make you stay. And apparently, that includes letting your teeth nip his bicep.
He winces just a touch; not from pain, but the unexpectedness of it. Your teeth nip gently once, twice, three times at the skin on his bicep, and he cocks his head in confusion.
“The fuck’s that for?” he says, voice rough and low.
“Just felt like it.”
“You just felt like it?” he mocks, pitching his voice in a poor imitation of yours.
You laugh airily. “You’re cute in the mornings, that’s all.”
He huffs once. “Alright, that’s enough outta you.”
In one smooth movement, he flips you onto your back, spreading himself out over you and pushing you into the mattress with his weight. You laugh in that pinched way you do when something’s pressing on your chest, like the air rushes out faster than it can get back in. He kisses you deeply, tongue sweeping into your mouth for just a second before he lets you go.
“Ben, get off me,” you whine breathlessly, pushing at his chest.
He doesn’t move, just winking at you and quirking his mouth up in a smile. “You had it comin’, sweetheart.”
You bite his arm once more, just because you can, and his brows furrow. “Quit that too.”
“Why? You’re cute.”
You smooth a thumb between his brows, the furrow dissolving against Ben’s will. “I am not cute. Dunno where the fuck you’re gettin’ that idea from.”
“You are cute. You’re always cute.”
He huffs against your neck, sucking a hickey onto your skin in retaliation.
“Ben!” you squeal. “Someone’s gonna see it!”
“Good. Let ‘em know you’re mine. Even if you do weird shit to me.”
The morning drags on, soft sunlight and gentle heat, sleepy warmth tangling up between your bodies. You do nothing more than lay there, letting Ben’s weight on you ground you, reminding you of how lucky you are to get this with him. This is the life he deserves, cuteness aggression and all.
Jason doesn’t believe in the kind of intimacy that glows.
He doesn’t spill himself open in the dark or trace his past with gentle words. He doesn’t talk about his job. Not the blood, not the nights, not the way Gotham hums under his skin long after the city’s gone to sleep. That part of him stays sealed, wrapped tight in muscle memory and silence.
Most nights, you find him already in bed, the lamp turned low like he’s afraid of waking something. Reading glasses slipping down his nose. A book balanced in his hands like an anchor. He looks carved from shadow and lamplight, edges softened by paper and ink. Still dangerous. Still distant. But held.
You try, at first, to meet him where couples are supposed to meet.
“How was your day?”
A pause. A shrug.
“Good. I guess.”
It’s never unkind. Just… final.
Sometimes you get fragments. Dick said something stupid. Damian recommended a book with the air of a challenge. Once, he scoffs about a character being written wrong, like that matters more than anything else. You collect these moments like loose change, hoping they’ll add up to something solid.
For a while, it feels like loving him means sitting beside a closed door and pretending you don’t hear what’s locked inside.
Then one night — tired and unguarded — you nod toward the book in his hands.
“Is it good?”
The question barely exists.
It doesn’t reach for his past or pry at old wounds. It doesn’t ask him to explain the nights that leave bruises beneath his skin or the things he keeps buried because they’re sharp. It doesn’t demand access to a world he’s deliberately built walls around.
Not because he doesn’t trust you, but because letting you in would mean letting you see the parts of him that get people hurt.
It just asks about the thing he’s already holding. The one place he’s allowed himself to be loud without consequence, vulnerable without collateral damage. Paper and ink. A story that can’t bleed on you.
He looks up.
“Yeah,” he says. Then, quieter, more honest, “It’s… complicated.”
And then he starts talking.
About the plot first. How it meanders, how it almost loses itself and then claws its way back. About characters who make choices that ruin them. About anger that burns too hot, about guilt that doesn’t let anyone sleep. His voice roughens, sharpens, warms. His hands move when he speaks, forgetting to stay still.
Time dissolves. The book slides forgotten to the mattress.
You curl closer, listening, realising this is the longest you’ve heard him speak without armor.
He doesn’t notice when his critiques turn confessional.
He says things like ‘I get why he did that’ and ‘sometimes there isn’t a clean way out’ and ‘people don’t stop being dangerous just because they’re loved’. He never says me. He never says I. But you hear it anyway, threaded between the lines.
You learn him through stories.
Through the characters he defends and the endings he hates. Through the way he respects survival more than redemption. Through the quiet reverence he has for people who keep going without being forgiven.
So you keep asking.
What he’s reading. What he thinks. Why it matters.
And slowly it becomes a language.
Books become bridges. Metaphors become confessions. He starts relating fiction to his brothers, to the shape of his anger, to the way fear disguises itself as control. Sometimes he stops mid-thought, jaw tightening, like he’s said too much.
You never rush him.
You just stay. Warm. Listening. Letting the silence land gently instead of closing like a trap.
Jason doesn’t talk about his life the way other people do.
He tells it sideways. In margins. In borrowed words.
And every night, in the low lamplight, with a book open between his hands and your heartbeat steady beside him, he lets you read him. One chapter at a time.
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𓏲ּ ❤︎ toothless sneaks into you and hiccup's bed, much to hiccup's annoyance!
༯ genderneutral!reader ⸝⸝ u and hiccup share a bed ⸝⸝ toothless is a third wheel ⸝⸝ bad writing ⸝⸝ lowercase intended ⸝⸝ artist is unknown, if you know who made this fanart, please let me know.
your eyes blearily adjusted to the sun rays peeking through the curtains, the feeling of wet pressure up against your hand. your finger twitched, the scaly nose shoving itself to where your hand was grazing. “toothless,” you chuckled, flattening your hand to slide up against his head. the small little head spikes, that shockingly felt like rubber. toothless purred, his bright green eyes shining in the morning light.
toothless moved his body up further, a gummy smile, on the night-fury's face. “hi, sweetie.” you cooed, scratching his chin with the tips of your nails. toothless cooed back; having no care for the other objects on the bed, toothless clambered his way over the plush of the bed and . . . hiccup, legs pushing hiccup down into the bed. hiccup groaned, “toothless!” hiccup's eyes, blinked open, narrowing in as toothless purred under your touch, not caring about hiccup's annoyance.
“toothless, get out!” hiccup cries in annoyance, pushing himself up to shove toothles's side. toothless let out an offended growl, “hiccup,” you chided, flitting your eyes towards him. “he's fine, don't be mean.” toothless purred in content, curling into your hands, turning to stick his tongue out at hiccup. hiccup gaped, his mouth wide open, “he's manipulating you!” hiccup sighed, “he just stuck his tongue out at me,”
you grinned, childishly, placing your hands under toothless jaw to present his face to hiccup. “this angel?” you questioned, kissing the edge of toothless's nose. toothles's tail smacking the side of bed at the praise. “you're both so annoying,” hiccup rolled his eyes, scooting over to lay next to toothless. throwing his arm around the both of you, toothless eyes closing in delight at the attention. you giggled at the night fury's antics, “you love us,” toothless gave a small hum of agreement. hiccup sighed good naturedly, shaking his head, tightening his arm around the both of you.
Summary: You've got Andrew whipped. Hook, line and sinker...there's no getting rid of you.
Genre: Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort
CW: Gn!Reader as far as I'm aware, no pronouns used, second person point of view, no use of y/n, Reader is very sensitive and empathetic, Reader is extremely observant, I think that's basically it.
Word Count: 1.5k
A/N: I just started watching Animal Kingdom, so of course I'm writing a fic. I'm only on season two so, I did my best not to really include any timeline relevant shit. Anyways, I really like this fic. (More Dustin fics will be coming I SWEAR. I've just gotten a little burnt out so gimme a little bit.) Love y'all!!
ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ⌖ ♡
You were close with Andrew, some may even consider you friends. You talked, hung out, he let you vent to him…but he never vented to you. He never said anything about himself and he was sure you wouldn’t notice. Most people are too self-centered to care much when someone else won’t talk about themselves.
But you weren’t most people. You were…you. You were sweet like sugar, kinder than anyone he’s ever known, and not in the fake way. Not in the way that Smurf was, kind in order to receive something in return at some point.
You were just kind because that’s who you were. It wasn’t even that you wanted to be kind, you were cursed to be unnecessarily caring and understanding. You were empathetic to a fault, feeling everyone’s pain as your own…so much so that you would spiral. Andrew remembers the first time he witnessed it…he could never forget.
“Hey.” You hear his voice call out to you, muffled and warbled. You feel like you’re fucking drowning. “I was knocking for like fifteen minutes…you okay?” He finally rounds the bed to crouch down in front of you. Your face is mostly covered by the blanket, only your teary eyes being visible. “Hey…” He reaches out, voice gentle in a way no one but you had ever heard.
“They killed him.” You choke out, holding back another wave of tears.
“Who?” His brows knit together.
“A police officer.” Andrew feels his heart lurching. “He was…he was patrolling or something. He had a wife and kids, he was an incredible officer. I hate cops but he…he was good.” You swallow. “And they killed him…ran him over with their fucking truck.” Andrew couldn’t believe it. Some man you’ve never met or seen in person a day in your life…and you were sobbing in bed because he’d died.
You were inconsolable, rotting in bed for two days until he finally came by your apartment.
“I saw it on the news.” Is all he replies with. He climbs into bed with you and holds you close while you cry. For the first time in his life, he truly feels guilty. He’s felt guilt, but never enough to make him crack…cave and tell the truth. You were different, you made him different. The words almost fell past his lips multiple times…this was dangerous.
So yes…you were kind. You were gentle with him and comforted him so easily. It seemed so effortless when you did it, so natural. You never had to try, never had to force it. You held him in a way he’d only ever dreamed of. The way you made him feel was…scary.
Andrew had liked people before, dated before. He loved Cathrine since they were children, he knew love. Until he met you that is, because what he felt for you surpassed every other feeling he’s experienced.
He loved you.
So he knew he had to let you go.
Only his version of ‘letting you go’ was really just pushing you away. He fell away and ignored you, pretended he was busy. You bought it for a while, until you didn’t. That was another thing he loved about you, you were smart. Not book smart in particular, but people smart. You saw things no one else did, understood things no one else could…which is what made him consider telling you everything.
That was another thing he’d never experienced. The need to be completely honest, to spill his guts to you. He wanted to tell you everything he’s ever done or witnessed, and he wanted to tell you how it made him feel. He didn’t want to give you the dumbed down version either, he wanted to tell you exactly how he had been hurting.
He thought he’d gotten rid of you, everyone in his family did. They pat him on the back and told him it was the right thing to do. They didn’t see how horrible it was for him, how broken he was…but you would have, and you did.
“Andrew!” You scream, making him whip his head back, locking eyes with you. You’ve been crying, a lot. Your eyes are red and swollen, lips plump and extra pink, the tip of your nose rosy like Rudolph’s.
He was ready for you to scream at him, belittle him and call him an asshole. He braced himself for your harsh words, but they never came.
You walk up to him, reaching him in only a few strides. He flinches, ready for the worst.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, voice sweet as ever.
“What?” He asks, voice cracking.
“What’s wrong?” You ask again, reaching out to grab his face in your hands. “You’ve been drifting away, pulling back. I see the way your face shifts, holding back tears.” How could you possibly notice that? “If there’s something I did or said, you can tell me. I can try to fix it or if it isn’t fixable then at least I know why you’re pulling away.”
You’re unbelievable…truly unbelievable.
“You didn’t do anything.” He answers simply.
“Then what is it? Does it have to do with your family?” Andrew’s eyes widen just a fraction.
“Why do you think it’s about them?”
“Anytime I mention them you flinch. Your eyes twitch and your bottom lip trembles a few times before you stop it.” You really did notice everything. “Anytime you talk about them yourself, your voice lowers. You sound rougher, angrier. Your jaw clenches and your teeth grit together, which is really bad for them by the way.” The way you slip the comment in makes him smirk.
“How do you notice things like that?”
“Born that way, you know that.” He nods slowly, he did know that. “Talk to me, Andy…you know you can.”
“I can’t.” His voice breaks, gently pulling your hands away from his face.
“Did they do something?” He simply shakes his head, looking away. “Did they say something?” Another shake of his head. “Is this about the whole crime thing?” You question. His eyes go bulging wide as he stares back at you, mouth hanging open slightly.
“How did you-“ He trails off, watching you like you’re the most amazing thing he’s ever seen.
“The dozens of vehicles in your garage. Boats, bikes, cars. The giant fucking house and all the nice furniture. How careful they are when talking about their jobs, and yours. All their voices catch the slightest bit when they lie, including yours. Anytime they talked about your guys jobs, lives, pasts…voices would catch.” Andrew watches you still, head shaking in awe.
“Janine always offers money, always tries to buy her way through. You all have an edge to you too…” You pause. “A certain…vibe I guess. You’re all tough and secretive, sly and cunning. All signs point to criminals…for lack of a better word.” You wince when the word leaves your lips, shaking your head.
“Why are you still here?” He asks quietly. You don’t have to ask what he means, because you always know.
“Because I don’t care.” You scoff, like the answer was so obvious. It was obvious, but he wasn’t hopeful enough to let himself see it. “I love you, Andy.” Your voice wavers, tears gathering in your eyes. “I don’t care what you do, or what your family does. All I care about is being with you, taking care of you when you won’t do it yourself…talking to you when you need it, helping you.”
“You’re too good.” He shakes his head with a smile.
“So are you…you just don’t show it all the time. It isn’t obvious, or out in the open. You’re so kind but you hide it, don’t make a big deal out of it.” You notice so many things he’s always overlooked, things everyone’s always overlooked.
“That’s why I love you, Andy. You’re a better person than you think. You aren’t who you envision yourself to be, who you think everyone else sees. I see you, good and bad, I see it all…” His eyes are watering now. You don’t point it out, you don’t wipe away his tears because you know it would make him toughen up again, lock away his emotions. “And I still love you, with everything I have.”
“I love you too.” And he did, he always did. How could he not love you when you were just so kind? So observant and understanding, so smart and generous, so empathetic and honest? He couldn’t not love you. You dragged him in with your charm, and you kept him with your love and unwavering devotion.
Could you do jason x gn reader where reader faints durring sex? Not because of how good it is but because something is wrong. Like theyre sick or hurt or smth.
Idk man I just like whump lol. 😔
Also I know your requests are currently closed so please feel free to ignore this or save it for later. I just got the idea and didnt want to forget.
synopsis: you accidentally get caught up in the heat of the moment, luckily your boyfriend is here to take care of you
notes: mature; for vague depictions of sex and non-sexual nudity but also kinda sexual?
tags: fluff, vaguest hurt/comfort, passing out during sex, whump, soft!Jason, gn!reader, wc: 1.6k
this has been sat in my drafts for far too long, hope you enjoy! ☆
⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧
You hadn't noticed yourself grow so warm—Jason was on top of you, mumbling soft praises into your skin as he rocked his hips into yours, large hands wrapped gently around your waist, pulling you back onto his dick with every thrust.
You did notice the sweat gathering on your brow and the back of your neck, your heartbeat steadily grew faster and faster. You noticed the way your vision swam as you stared up, the swirls in your ceiling's paint coming to life, like lazily, hazy rivers.
But that was just the approaching orgasm.
"Baby?"
Just like that, your heart fell and you went limp.
Waking to Jason gently taping your cheek was definitely a first. You meant to ask what he was doing but all that came out was a dry, garbled sound from the back of your throat.
"Oh thank fuck," Jason mumbled as he sat up a little, no longer leaning over you, but still within your line of sight. The back of his hand gently along the side of your arm, light enough that you hadn't even felt it at first, but the more you focused on it, the more it lulled you, almost hypnotic in its repetition. "Gonna have to stay awake for me, sweetheart."
The petting stopped, brushing your hair out of your face. Jason pressed his fingers to your forehead, then your neck, humming softly in what you could vaguely guess was concern? Not that you quite understood why. The world was still swirling and the heat was making it a little hard to think.
"I need to go grab you a towel," Jason said. He cupped your face, so your unfocused eyes could find his. You weren't entirely sure was he needed a towel for. You were a little sticky — were you already done? Jason was still naked but other than that… you didn't note anything else. What did you want to know? You watched Jason's frown deepen a little as he looked for something: it always bothered you when he did that. It felt like you had spinach in your teeth and he just refused to tell you.
"You're going to faint again." Which wasn't a question, per se. You watched as he glanced between you and somewhere behind him, chewing his lip as he thought. You were reaching out before you realised you were—the tips of your fingers felt a little numb as you raised them but you could just about feel the warmth of Jason's cheek under your skin.
"Hey," Jason gave you a gentle smile as he looked back towards you, gently clasping your hand in his own—his hand was so much bigger than your own. His everything was so much bigger than you. There was no way avoid feeling like the biggest pick-me when you compared his body to you—but it was so fun. Watching his fingers curl over the top of yours, climbing up on various boxes and odd objects laying around to 'see what he sees'—it was fun. Why had you been comparing hand sizes again?
"You fainted," Jason said, his voice pulling you back to shore where you had been lost to the currents, "I'm gonna carry you to the bathroom so I can help you cool down a little, okay?"
Your head bobbed a little, "Okay."
Straining your voice was worth it for the bright smile you got in return—it was almost boyish, his excitement and relief. There was something so pure about Jason's joy you hope he never lost.
Your heart leapt into your throat for the second that Jason dipped out of your view, only to reappear at your other side. He gave a quiet countdown as he gathered you up into his arms before standing and your world spun. You clenched your eyes shut as you tucked your face against Jason's bare chest.
"Baby?"
"Mhm?"
You felt his chest cave as he let out a sigh of relief—Jason readjusted his grasp on you before he began making his way to the bathroom; usually, any other occasion you would be delighted. You loved being carried in Jason's arms. You felt like a princess, watching his biceps flex to support your weight—and if he struggled he certainly didn't make a sound.
But right now you just wanted to laid on the cool, hard tiles of the bathroom. You wanted to be let down. You were squirming in his arms like an impatient cat—which arguably, this amount of activity was supposed to be reassuring, right?
Your wish was granted soon enough—but still yet you squealed softly as the feeling of the cold tiles against your back. Jason bent your legs, cushioned your head with a clean towel before kissing your forehead and kneeling beside you.
"Still feeling faint?"
"A little bit," you mumbled as you closed your eyes, the only thing you could think of to dull the growing ache in your head. "M not warm anymore."
"That's good." Jason's hand was warm against your belly but you didn't mind much—his thumb idly pet your skin as Jason watched you breathe. "I'm going to get you a glass of water and then I'm gonna clean you up. Does that sound okay? Sweetheart?"
"Huh?" You looked up at him, and you didn't want to admit just how blurry his face had become in the span of no time. You blinked away the fog before nodding. "That's… that's fine."
"We should get you down to Doctor Thompson's-"
"Nooo." You sounded like a whining brat but the thought of standing and leaving the cold hard ground made you want to cry and heave. "Later."
"Later," Jason agreed before setting off to work.
Jason stood, and even in your less than ideal state, you could appreciate the view in front of you—his ass wasn't within reach, curse his long legs, but the urge to pinch his ass was still. You still tried though, which got you a snort and soft chiding.
"Even when you feel like shit? Really?"
"Mmh, always."
Getting you to sit up was a bit of a challenge—Jason helped you lean against his chest as you sat up, before helping you bring the glass he filled for you to your lips. You were trembling a little more than you realised you would, holding something fragile was a bit of a risk right now.
"Slow sips… that's it, baby." You followed his instructions as best you could, especially as his praises reached you, filling you with a soft pride—which was so silly, but it worked. Jason set the glass to the side once it was empty, but didn't lay you back down, both of you content with your current position. "Would you like to wipe yourself down?"
You nodded—you could now identify the stickiness for what it was, which was not in fact cum like your muddled brain had first assume. It wasn't gooey like that, instead just sweat and lube and other bodily fluids that had cooled against your skin, leaving you feeling quite unpleasant, even with the whole feeling faint thing.
Jason handed you the damp rag, and pretended not to notice as you struggled a little, your trembling hands try to wipe away the mess from between your legs. It only took thirty seconds of struggling before you wordlessly held out the towel and he took over for you, apologising softly when you shivered.
"Better?" He waited for you to nod before he wiped himself down quickly with a clean corner of the rag and tossed it into the sink above you.
"Sorry."
"Hmm?" Jason looked down at you before kissing your temple, "What are you sorry for, baby."
"Fainting." The moment the word left your mouth, you pulled a face—it sounded, stupid, to put it lightly, but you meant it. You hadn't meant to faint, obviously, but you felt bad for prematurely ending the sex. You already had such limited time together, and usually that time together was spent sleeping because you both had such busy lives. Sex didn't happen nearly as often as either of you would like, and when you finally manage to, you pass out.
Jason laughed, and it wasn't mean but you still buried your face in his chest, unable to face him as your face warmed.
"You know that's fucking ridiculous." You grumbled. "It's not like you chose to faint."
"Yeah, but still."
"No." You squealed as Jason pinched your waist—you glared up at him with all the effort you could muster, which wasn't much, even if you felt significantly better than you did twenty minutes ago. "Don't say dumb shit like that. I'm sorry for not noticing."
"It kinda just… crept up on me. I don't know what happened."
"We should definitely get you down to Dr Thompson," Jason said before kissing the crown of your head, "I didn't count, but your heart was definitely beating a little fast for my taste."
"I'm probably just a little deficient in something."
"Still." He brushed his knuckles across your stomach. "Do it for your scaredy cat of a boyfriend."
"Fine… can I take a nap first?"
"After we get some food in you. Deal?"
"Deal."
"Oh, by the way, baby?"
"Oww! Quit pinching me!"
"Quit scaring me like that."
I love whump too ♡ I should honestly write it more often
anyway ☆ more from me here (masterlist + wips list ❀˖°) — for requests please check this post ✧˖° thank you
