#is when you realize the mask has been the real you all along

[drchucktingle]

my masks

hey there buckaroos. due to all of the attention the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION situation has gotten i am going to take a minute to talk about my personal way as an autistic buckaroo. im going to tell you about my masks.

im doing this for a few reasons, some are good FUN reasons full of love and some are not so great. 

lets start with the GOOD STUFF. first of all, i am talking about this because speaking on my way can help other buckaroo feel more comfortable speaking on there own way, ESPECIALLY if they are good at ‘passing’ for neurotypical like chuck is. 

unfortunately the NOT SO GREAT reasons im talking about all this dang stuff are two fold. reason one: i have been put into a position of having to explain and justify my needs and boundaries by the TXLA. this is not something that i WANT to be taking up all of my time, but when large organizations do not make space for those who they have pledged to support, it puts us smaller buckaroos into position where were have to defend our existence. it is not plesent but it is necessary.

the second NOT SO GREAT reason is that ‘passing’ bisexual and autistic people like myself are ALWAYS just seconds from being gatekept from folks both outside and inside these communities. there will probably be a day on chucks deathbed where i take off my mask and say hello to this timeline (mostly so you can all see how handsome i am under here but I DIGRESS). i KNOW with absolute certainty (the same way other bi and autistic buckaroos are probably nodding along right now) that when that day comes i will STILL be accused of ‘not being real’ and ‘faking’ because i ‘dont look autistic’ and i have a beautiful ladybuck partner in sweet barbara.

ALL THAT IS TO SAY, i am taking a moment today to talk FOR THE RECORD about my neurodigence and my particular needs. hopefully i will not have to keep diving this deep every time an organization takes a discrimantory action against me, but i will also say this: at least it is a good fight on an important battlefield

anyway buds, here is the story of my way on the spectrum

when i was a young buckaroo i knew that my thought process was different. i could socialize easily, which is unique in contrast to many autistic buds (it is a spectrum after all), but my social ease was for an interesting reason. I ALWAYS KNEW WHAT OTHERS WERE ABOUT TO SAY. it was like a strange ‘human game’ where someone would say one thing and i would think ‘well you actually mean something else’ in a sort of logical way (this is why i later related to DATA from star trek so dang much). at first i remember thinking ‘well i am just NOT going to play along with this human game’. i quickly learned neurotypical buckaroos do not like this, that there is a BOB AND WEAVE to social interactions that must be learned. 

later i realized ‘actually if i WANT to make friends and prove love is real then i can do this like an expert because i can SEE the game where most cant’. this got chuck many buds and took me on many adventures. please understand, i am not saying these connections are not important to me, they are just different. they are full of love, but i express this in my own unique way.

HOWEVER, while growing up i felt disconnected from this timeline in other ways, like an alien or a reverse twin trotting along in a world that is not quite my own. i did not feel emotions the same way my buds did. they would get upset over the ‘human game’ interactions and i would not be moved at all, HOWEVER i could see the way sunlight hit a window and start crying my dang eyes out over the beauty. so my emotion was still there and VERY STRONG, i just felt it in more existential ways (like hearing the call of the lonesome train). these days that feeling has progressed to where i am pretty much in a constant blissed out state of cosmic emotional connection (make of that last sentence what you will, but it is the truth). when i make existential posts online i am not just FIRING OFF SOME CONTENT, i really mean every word. this is really my trot.

anyway as a young buckaroo these feelings made me worry sometimes. i thought about various mental health dianosises and marked the parts and pieces that matched with myself. am i this? am i that? sometimes, instead of just being’ different’ i worried i might actually be ‘wrong’. 

when i saw david byrne on letterman in my younger days i immediately recognized something connected to myself. i thought ‘wow this is the mystery being solved before my very eyes.’ i could hear it in the music of talking heads too. i started doing research and realized that i might be on autism spectrum, something that was later confirmed by a therapist (back then the diagnosis was called asperger's). it was a glorious and fulfilling moment. i was SO EXCITED TO BE AUTISTIC LIKE MY HERO. i felt very cool because of it, and i still feel very cool because of it.

one of the big reasons i talk so much about being autistic these days is because i want to make sure OTHER buckaroos can have that same moment that i did. they can see chuck and think ‘wow i really like this autistic artist, maybe being autistic is cool’

so what does an average day WITHOUT wearing the pink bag look like for me?

my thought process is exactly like ROSE from CAMP DAMASCUS, which is part of why i wrote the book. we have the same stim (complex order of finger taps), we prepare for social interactions the same way, we analyze things in the same logical trot that neurotypical people might think feels ‘detached’ but for me feels natural (certain reviews of camp damascus are very funny to me in this way. you can tell when a reader is just very confused by existing in an autistic brain for 250 pages.)

from the outside you would not be able to tell that i am on the spectrum. in fact you would probably find me very socially adept. 

the problem is, all of that masking can take its toll. i spent years trotting in and out the emergency room, talking to confused doctors who could not figure out the chronic phantom tension and pain that radiated through my body. i eventually accepted the fact that i would either live a life constantly on heavy painkillers or just stop living altogether.

eventually, however, i started noticing a correlation between the way that i felt, and the space that i allowed for chuck and the pink mask. i was exercising that tension, allowing my mental mask of neurotypical existence to take a rest. i started practicing physical therapy and this time THE RESULTS STUCK because i was approaching from two sides, MIND AND BODY. after a while, i got my pain down to about 5 percent of what it once was. i still have flare ups in times of stress, but the healing has been very real and life changing.

lets get VERY specific now. if i attended the TXLA confrence without a mask and gave my talk i can tell you this: i would do a dang good job. i can work the heck out of a crowd and (not to reveal too much about my secret way) I HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO DO THIS ON OCCASION VERY WELL. however, going home from this event i would very likely be in pain. i would likely need to do physical therapy. i would likely need to stim for a while. i would NOT be emotionally fullfilled in the same way. in other words, without my pink mask i can charm the heck out of buckaroos, but THE SPACE OF CHUCK TINGLE IS NOT THE SPACE FOR THAT. the pink bag is a place for me to not have to put up with that tension. it is a place for me to unmask mentally by masking physically.

this pink bag space SAVED MY LIFE and i am not going to risk blurring these lines. if and when that ever happens it will be MY decision, not someone elses. that is my boundary. the part of me that neurotypically masks could handle a library conference in a purely technical sense, but the part of me that chuck represents absolutely cannot and should not be asked to do that without the pink bag. unfortunately, the complexity of this point makes it even MORE difficult for me to think about and takes up even more of my time, because it forces me to START QUESTIONING MYSELF and my own needs. to be honest, that is the most insidious part of other people questioning your identify and refusing to accept your accommodation needs without ‘proof’.

the thing is, while all of this discussion of disability and accessibility is important, i have a much larger point to make by writing these words.

a conference should not uninvite someone with an unusual physical presentation or a strange way of speaking REGARDLESS of it being classified as a disability. it does not matter WHY i look the way that i look and wear what i wear. i should not have to spend all day writing this post instead of writing my next book, just because my sensibilities are unique and my presentation is unusual. 

fortunately the solution is very simple: let other people be themselves. its not hurting you to simply accept and nod at the buckaroos you think look strange. let us exist

#actually autistic #chuck tingle #tingleverse #buckaroo lifestyle

[ohbo-ohno]

run until you feel your lungs bleeding (ghost x reader)

summary: You're on the run after finally escaping from your abusive husband's clutches, hitchhiking south along California highways. A strange man in a black mask picks you up, and it doesn't take you long to realize that not every hand offered should be taken.

word count: 6.5k

cw: dark fic!, noncon somnophilia, referenced abuse from a past partner, ghost does not care about reader's feelings, mentioned drinking while driving but no intoxication

read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

One of your blisters is about to burst. You’d worn through your only pair of clean socks yesterday, leaving the back of your heel vulnerable to your old tennis shoes and their vendetta against your feet. You can feel your skin rubbing thinner and thinner with each step, know it’s only a matter of time before you’ve got blood flowing freely into your shoe. 

You keep your left arm stretched out, thumb held up in the hope that someone will take pity on your limping form and give you a ride.

It’s not likely, you’ve been hitchhiking for days now and not a single person has slowed down. You’ve got no real destination, just a goal of putting as much space between you and your piece of shit ex-husband as possible. Your end goal is Arizona - you’ve got an aunt somewhere in Scottsdale, if you can get to her you can only hope she’ll help you get back on your feet.

A few people honk as they drive by. In the two days you’ve been walking, none have stopped. You take short power naps at night off the side of the road, pray to every god you can think of that you don’t get run over or eaten by something.

You haven’t yet. But you know if you don’t get a good night's sleep soon, don’t start putting actual distance between him and you, then you might not survive your escape.

The sun is at its apex when the semi-truck pulls up beside you. It’s black, the trailer attached is plain white with no logo painted on. You can hardly believe your luck, gape up at the massive thing as it slows. The door pops open a moment after the truck rolls to a stop, but it’s so high up that you can’t see who’s driving past their hand - gloved - before they pull it back.

You don’t have the luxury of asking questions. You just stumble over, flinching back with a little hiss when you place your palm on the metal of the truck and burn your hand. It takes a minute to finagle your way into the truck, but you manage it eventually, huffing and puffing all the way up. 

The first thing you notice about the man in the driver’s seat is his size - he’s big. Bigger than any man you’ve seen before. You just reach his shoulders even with both of you sitting down, his legs are spread so wide his knees nearly rest on his door and the gearshift, his head is close to brushing the roof. He’s just… big.

He’s wearing a black neck gaiter pulled up to cover his mouth and nose, which strikes you as odd considering he’s driving on his own, but you brush the thought off. His hair is blond, greasy and limp on his scalp, you doubt he did more than run his fingers through it getting out of bed. His eyes are blue, a light shade that surprises you for some reason. You don’t know a thing about this man, certainly not enough to be surprised by anything about him, but the blond hair and the blue eyes… it doesn’t quite fit with the black gloves and the mask.

He’s reclined back in his seat, one hand resting on the wheel and the other on his thigh, eyes scanning you like a king his subject. His eyes linger on your tiny shorts (sleep shorts, what you’d been wearing the night of your escape), skip right past the sluggishly bleeding scrapes on your knees and scan your ratty backpack.

You hope he won’t ask you to empty it. You’d like to keep your gun for as long as possible, can’t imagine this trucker would be ok with the hitchhiker he just picked up having a loaded weapon.

He doesn’t speak when he finally makes eye contact with you. You can’t hold it for long at all, only manage a few seconds before you’re glancing around his truck.

He doesn’t speak. Neither do you.

His car reeks of smoke. There’s a beer bottle in his cup holder, open and helf empty. There are more bottles - empty - by your feet. He doesn’t have the radio playing.

When you look back at him, his eyes are already trained on yours. You can’t help but flinch - the intensity of his gaze feels suffocating, even after only a few seconds of being held under it.

You work up the nerve to speak, take a few deep breaths and a few more long looks around the truck, the space this man spends most of his days in.

There are cigarette stubs on the dashboard, which has clearly been used as a makeshift ashtray. The seats are old, the leather peeling and tempting you to pick, and the dash itself is sunbleached.

“I’m trying to go to Arizona,” you finally say, flickering your eyes quickly to his and away again. His jeans are worn - but naturally worn, like he’s had them for months and washed them so many times they’ve lost their color. “Are… are you heading that direction?”

You look at him long enough to see him incline his head a bit. You don’t think he’s blinked since you got in the car.

“Goin’ south,” he affirms. His voice is a low grumble, British accented. Not necessarily unsurprising to hear in California, but a shock from a truck driver. “I’ll drop you somewhere along the way.”

He pulls away from the shoulder with that and turns away from you, apparently finished with the interaction. 

Being dropped somewhere along the way isn’t necessarily your ideal situation, but your feet scream in relief at the lack of pressure, so you’re certainly not going to complain.

You shift a little further back in your seat, tuck the backpack between you and the passenger door. He could reach it if he wanted, but keeping yourself between this stranger and your prized possessions feels like the right choice. You think about propping your feet up on the dashboard, but decide you don’t want to seem too rude to your apparent savior.

You look out the window. You’ve never been in a car this high, and even the flat California highways look more interesting at a new vantage point. It’s easier to focus on the far-off mountains than the giant beside you.

“So,” you cough lightly, awkward in the relative silence of the truck. The engine is loud, but the driver’s radio is dead silent. “What’s your name?”

He grunts, gives no other response. You glance over to him, a little unsure of yourself. Had you made that bad of a first impression somehow?

He doesn’t turn to you, and he doesn’t answer your question.

Alright, you tell yourself. Maybe he does this all the time, maybe he’s tired of making small talk with homeless and desperate hitchhikers. That’s probably it.

You don’t give him your name. Instead, you tuck your feet up to the seat beneath your thighs, turn your body fully to the passenger window, fold your arms on the windowsill and lay your chin on your elbows.

The drive is smooth enough for you to relax, even though you know that logically you shouldn’t. You’re a young woman who’s just gotten into a car with a strange and intimidating man who could very clearly physically overpower you. Nobody knows where you are. You should have a hand on your gun already, ready for anything the driver might try.

But you’ve been walking for days, and hadn't been sleeping well before that either. You haven’t had a good night’s sleep since your wedding night. The low rumble of the engine, the heat of the sun beaming through the glass, the surprisingly gentle motions of the truck…

You don’t quite let yourself fall asleep, but it’s a near thing.

———————————————————————

The two of you stay like that for hours. Your benevolent driver seemingly comfortable in his silence with you drowsy and relaxing in his passenger seat. You don’t stay in the same position for more than an hour or two at once, shifting your legs and always keeping any pressure off your feet.

You’d like to pull your shoes off, to ask if the man has any band-aids. Maybe any food, any water. But you can’t risk pissing him off, not when your other options are nonexistent. So you settle for slow movements, trying to keep your blisters from being irritated.

He finishes his beer before the first hour has passed with you in his vehicle. Waits another two to have a second. You don’t comment on it, but the scent makes your lip curl, and you bury your face in your arms to hide the reaction. You hope he’s not a lightweight. And despite the heavy stench of cigarette smoke sunken into the interior, he hasn’t had one yet. 

He’s the one who speaks next.

It’s a quarter until 6, and the sun has started her slow journey to sleep. You’ve been watching the sight for a while, entranced by the slow process with nothing else to amuse you.

“Pullin’ off,” he grunts.

You can’t help but jerk up straight at the sound, caught off guard. You’d nearly forgotten about his accent, about how deep his voice really is.

“For gas?” You ask, turning in your seat to glance at him for the first time in at least an hour. He only grunts again, a noise you’re just going to assume means yes. 

“Alright,” you nod, letting your feet drop to the floor from where you’d crossed them beneath yourself. “Are you… do you want me to find someone else to ride with?” You cross your fingers where you tuck them beneath your thighs, pray to every god you know of that he doesn’t make that yes grunt again.

He looks over to you this time, and the two of you make eye contact for the first time since you’d gotten into the car nearly six hours ago. His eyes are brighter than you remember, and the impact of them sends a jolt up your spine.

You’re not sure how long he looks at you. You feel stuck under his gaze, a little wide-eyed prey animal spotted by a predator who can only lay still and hope they move on. You’ve never felt quite so pinned before, quite so unable to break eye contact. You don’t think you like it.

He looks away first, shifts in his seat and drops one hand from the steering wheel to lay on his thigh. You swallow at how tight his jeans are, how his thighs seem to nearly bulge from them. 

“No,” he finally answers. It takes a moment for you to remember your own question, but your sigh of relief is loud once you do.

If you’re lucky, he’ll try and drive through the night. Dangerous, since it’ll make for nearly twenty-four hours on the road, but you’d rather take your chances with him than falling asleep at the wheel then spend another night staring into a dark forest and wondering if there are wolves in this part of the country.

He turns off the highway three exits later, pulls his truck into the first reststop. It’s the only structure in the nearby area, a McDonald’s-Subway-Shell mix with ten pumps, less than half with someone using them. It’s the kind of rest stop you’ve seen on countless roadtrips, one that you know exists off half the exits in the States. The familiarity of it makes your lips twitch up in the corners.

There are several other semi-trucks pulled up getting gas, none quite the size of your driver’s. He parks quickly and easily, in one try, and turns the truck completely off. You shift a little in your seat, unsure what he’ll want from you, but he’s hauled himself up and out of the truck before you can open your mouth to ask.

You settle a bit. He’d said he wouldn’t make you leave but you still can’t fully relax for some reason, can’t bring back the looseness to your shoulders you’ve had since he picked you up. You entertain yourself by watching a middle aged couple try and wrangle six kids that look like they’re all under ten, since I’m sympathy when the littlest one’s face goes red and he starts to wail.

The door next to you opens without warning. You manage to catch your bag before it can go tumbling out of the car, can’t hold back the little yelp of surprise. Your eyes are wide, fingers holding tight to the bag, when you look up through your hair.

The driver’s face looks the same as it has for the last six hours - expressionless. Even with the mask, surely his eyebrows should move at least a bit? He looks almost like a corpse above you - pale face and flat features. It unnerves you. 

“Gettin’ food. You got money?”

You hesitate for a moment - you do have money, small bills you’d snuck from your husband’s wallet that you’d planned to use for a bus ticket. You’re not starving yet, the few granola bars you’d taken in your escape will tide you over for a little while longer.

You shake your head.

He nods, like he’d expected that, and glances over your form from head to toe again. “Alright. You want somethin’ to eat, now’s your chance. We’ll be back on the road for another few hours before I stop for the night.”

With that he turns away, jumps down to the parking lot and stalks off toward the McDonald’s. It takes you a minute to follow him, still a little shocked that you’d gotten multiple sentences from him at once.

The thought of free food is far too tempting to let you linger for too long, though, and you’re throwing your bag over your shoulders and scampering after him only a moment later. You have to trot a little awkwardly to keep up with his long strides. He doesn’t hold the door open for you, but you catch him glancing over his shoulder to see if you’re there.

The teenager working the register looks like it’s their first day, and you assume a middle-aged man leaning against the counter beside her is meant to be showing her the ropes. He’s far more occupied with whatever’s on his phone screen, leaving the cashier to stare up at your driver with wide eyes.

You get it. Standing next to him now, you decide he’s not big - he’s huge. Has to be at least six and a half feet tall, and at least a foot taller than you. Combined with his muscular form - another odd thing for a truck driver - and his all black attire, he seems almost like some sort of monster or omen come to warn about the future.

You step up to the counter beside him, give the cashier your best reassuring smile when she glances at you. It gives her enough courage to stumble over, “Welcome to McDonald’s, what can I get you today?” after only a few stuttering starts. You’re quite proud of her.

“Five Big Macs and fries. No drink.” The man rumbles, his mask umoving. He glances down at you, finally cocks an eyebrow (an expression!) for you to order.

“Uh, just… just ten nuggets for me,” you smile at the cashier, glance up at the driver to make sure you haven’t somehow ordered too much. “And, uh, a Coke?”

“Will that be all for you today?”

“Make it a twenty nugget meal,” your partner corrects, then pulls a worn leather from his back pocket and pays with a shiny card. You can’t help but eye the many bills folded neatly in the wallet.

“Thanks for the upgrade,” you say as the two of you slide onto a pair of stools to wait for your food. “I really appreciate it. I, uh, I can’t pay you back, though.”

He glances at you again, holds you pinned under his gaze and kicks your heartbeat up a few notches. It becomes a conscious effort to keep your breathing steady when he spreads his thighs enough to brush against yours. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

Your meal is largely silent. He all but inhales three of his five burgers, leaves the other two wrapped up presumably for later on the drive. You try and eat all of your nuggets and fries, but your granola bar diet of the last few days means your stomach feels stretched to his limit only a few bites into the meal.

After your fifth nugget, you tuck the little box closed. Shift towards your driver and glance up from the window you’d been staring out to see him already looking down at you.

You clear your throat, take a little sip of your Coke. “I’m done.”

He shakes his head once, reaches forward to pop the little box back open. “No, you’re not. We’re not getting back on the road ‘til you eat at least half.”

You can’t help but blink in surprise at him, not moving to take any more food. He won’t tell you his name, won’t make any small talk whatsoever, but he will worry about how much you’re eating?

He grunts when you don’t make a move to listen to him, pushes the little brown box closer to you. “C’mon. Eat.”

You get through another five under his eye. He doesn’t look away from you, and now you know about the stare. It feels heavier now, like every little twitch from you is catalouged by him. It makes every bite difficult to swallow.

He nods when you tuck the little box closed again, glance a bit wearily at him to make sure he’s content now. He picks up your tray, tucks his two sandwiches in one hand, and leaves. You scramble to keep up.

His strides are a little shorter in the parking lot this time, and the slower pace keeps your blisters from further irritation. You’re not sure it’s intentional, but you’re thankful nonetheless.

The truck is still difficult to get into, but the worn leather seats are a familiar comfort now. This time, your driver flicks on the radio as he pulls out of the rest stop.

For some reason, you feel like maybe he likes you. There’s something in the line of his body that feels a little softer now, the tension in the truck feels a little drained. It could be the music, but you prefer to think that he’s taken a bit of a liking to you. It means he’s less likely to end up hurting you, means you're less likely to have to rely on your non-existent shooting skills.

With the sun nearly fully set and the soft music from the radio, it’s much harder to keep yourself awake. You curl up in the seat, lay your head down on folded arms, and try your best to keep your eyes open.

———————————————————————

You don’t know how long it’s been when you wake up.

The truck is silent now, no engine and no radio, and the world outside is pitch black. You jerk up at the realization, quickly lay a hand on your bag and turn to your driver.

He’s staring at you. You nearly yelp in surprise, bite your tongue so harshly to keep the noise back that you taste the tang of iron.

He looks nearly inhuman in just the low light of the truck. Pale skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, a dark black mask obscuring half of his face. His body is turned towards you, black shirt and dark pants making him look almost like the top half of his face is just… floating. 

“I need to sleep,” he rumbles, keeping you held captive in what almost feels like a staring contest - like if you look away now, you’ll lose something. “You can take the bed in the back.”

That gets your heartbeat quickening, the thud of your pulse loud in your own ears. “Oh… I thought…” you swallow, finally tear your eyes from his to look around. You seem to be at another rest stop, this one a small dark building with two bathrooms and a few vending machines. There aren’t any other trucks parked around you. “I thought I might try and find a motel or something.”

“With what money?”

He’s got you there. You work your tongue against the roof of your mouth, clear away the blood and try to make your mouth not so bone-dry. “Yeah,” you nearly whisper, eyes darting back to his before away again. He hasn’t moved. You clear your throat before speaking again. “But, uh, I don’t want to kick you out of your bed. I can sleep up here.”

“You’ll take the bed,” he reaffirms, with no room for argument in his tone. You can’t help but feel like there’s something more here, like you’re missing something. You don’t feel safe anymore, not like you had after the McDonald’s. Why did you let yourself fall asleep? You could have pressured him to pull off somewhere with a motel, tried to finagle or scam yourself into a room with a lock on the door.

Now you’re stuck in this dark truck, no one else but the driver around for miles.

You swallow again, force down a cough.

You don’t want to sleep in his bed. But a glance over at him tells you that’s what’s going to happen. Your driver doesn’t seem the kind of man to take kindly to disobedience.

“What’s your name?” You ask again, voice weak and quiet. For some reason, this feels important. Like a name will make him more human, easier to swallow.

He only tilts his head a little, face still stoic. “Get in bed. We’ll drive again when the sun rises.”

“Please,” you try, a hint of desperation creeping into your voice. You can’t explain it, but you need his name. Need some evidence that he’s more man than he looks. This moment feels pivotal, and there’s a little voice screaming at the back of your head that things are going in the wrong direction.

“Sleep, doll,” is all he says. His voice isn’t softer, but it’s quieter, like maybe he understands the fear coursing through you.

You squeeze your eyes shut a moment before pushing yourself up, both hands holding onto your bag - your literal only possible defense againt this man - like a lifeline. You know they’d shake if your grips was any looser.

It’s too dark to make out much in the back of his cabin. The bed is a decent size for you, but you wonder if he’s able to stretch out fully on it. You think you can see the outline of a minifridge and a few books resting on the floor. 

He’s still watching you as you sit on the bed, his body unmoved but his head turned towards you. You try to keep your breathing steady as you toe your shoes off, tuck your feet up to the bed with you and curl up on your side.

The bag doesn’t leave your arms. His eyes don’t leave your form. He makes no move to stretch out and sleep like he’d said he would.

You force your eyes closed, no matter how wrong it feels. You try and will yourself to sleep, tell yourself everything will be fine. If he tries anything, you’ll shoot him.

You can still feel his gaze on you when you finally slip into unconsciousness.

———————————————————————

You wake slowly to movement behind you. 

You blink heavy eyelids open, let them fall shut again when there’s no difference in what you can see.  You feel cloaked by sleep still, like your brain has been held underwater and everything moves a little slowly, a little muffled.

The bed dips behind you, and there’s a warmth behind you. A hand at your waist. The top of a foot against the sole of yours. A chest against your back.

Your eyes stay closed, but your brows furrow a bit. Your husband has always hated the idea of cuddling, slept like a corpse on his back and berated you if you dared to touch him in your sleep. You nearly roll over, but figure that might set him off. Your arms still ache from the last argument you’d had.

The hand slips beneath your shirt, rough palm against your waist, thumb smoothing in little circles.

That catches your attention, too - your husband’s hands are soft. He’s never done a day of work in his life, the only job he’s had is some fake title made up by his father at his company. The hand on your skin isn’t soft at all, it’s rough with big, thick fingers that rest heavily on you.

The realization comes to you in pieces.

Your master bedroom was never this dark, the large windows always left wide open to allow moonlight into the room. Your ex-husband’s hands are smooth, boney and nearing on frail. The foot brushing against yours triggers a burning sensation in your blisters.

You keep your breathing even - an effort that feels impossible. 

It’s not your husband at your back, it’s the truck driver.

He’s silent as he tucks himself fully to you. His breath is damp against your neck and you fight down a shudder at the sensation. 

Your bag isn’t in your arms, which means you don’t have your gun. Whatever happens, whatever he does to you, you have no way of defending yourself.

The only reason you don’t cry at the thought is because you don’t want him to know you’re awake. It’s pure self-preservation that keeps your breathing even, your limbs loose, and your breathing slow.

He brings his head closer, his breathing loud in your ear. Every part of him is pressed against you, and you can’t help squeezing your eyes shut more tightly at the hardness poking into your back.

He’s silent as he sets his chin over your shoulder. His groin is tucked right beneath your ass, his knees behind yours and his feet benath yours. He’s just… spooning you.

It feels like an eternity passes just like that. Your heartbeat pounding in every bone, the heat of the driver’s body against yours. His breath is the only noise you hear, ghosting over your ear, heavier than your own.

Eventually, he starts to move. You almost whimper when you realize what he’s doing. 

He’s humping you.

His movements are slow at first, just a little rock of his hips against you. But as the minutes pass he becomes more incensed, his thrusts harder against you, his breathing heavier. He grunts at one point, and it takes everything in you not to flinch away.

You want to scream. You want to open your mouth and shout, to roll over and make him stop.

But you don’t have your gun. And he dwarfs you, every inch of your back covered by him and then some. You can’t stop him.

So you let it happen. You keep your eyes screwed shut, try desperately to go anywhere else in your head and pretend you don’t feel how quickly his hips begin to rock.

His hand moves from your hip to your stomach, his pinky resting on the waistband of your sleep shorts. You don’t think you could stay quiet any longer if his fingers slipped beneath the hem, and you let out a near silent breath of relief when his palm continues up instead of down.

He almost rolls you onto your stomach, angles you so your front is closer to the mattress and he can grind more on you than beside you. His hand slips further up your shirt, and you bite your tongue at the feeling of his rough palm against your nipples.

That gets another huff from him, another low sound that could almost be a moan. You feel him shift again, his hips working a little more roughly. You’re not sure how he possibly thinks you’re still asleep, but you pray he doesn’t take it any further as long as he does.

He doesn’t pinch, just softly strokes over one breast. His hand engulfs it fully, fingers wrapping all the way around the little mound of flesh. The calluses on his palm send little sparks down your spine, and you curse your body for the buzzing sensation between your thighs.

His breath gets heavier in your ear, he’s nearly panting over you. If you weren’t wearing shorts and he wasn’t wearing jeans, he’d be fucking you. His thrusting almost feels like he is. The… thing grinding against you is clearly large, even through all the layers of clothing, and you say another prayer that he doesn’t do more than this.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his chin pushing hard into your shoulder. You almost jerk at the sound of his voice, the evidence that this is real and not some horrible nightmare. 

You wish you could fall back asleep.

You don’t know how long the whole thing lasts. The pitch dark, the driver’s oppressive weight against you, it makes time feel liminal. You’re not sure if he lasts for five minutes or five hours.

But eventually his hips slow, give a few harder thrusts before he goes completely still and lets out a loud groan. Again, you wonder how he expects you to have slept through the noise. 

He shifts back a little in the aftermath, rolling you back to your side with a heavy hand on your stomach. You try to keep yourself as limp as possible, try to make your face go slack.

He lays with you for a while, breathing even and slow. You wish he would leave, wish he would let you start pretending this never happened. His hand stays on your stomach, and you can feel the other crossed over his midsection at your back. His feet hold your ankles to the bed. You hope he can’t feel that you’re squeezing your hands into tight fists where they rest against your thighs.

He doesn’t leave. Instead, he shifts his own thick thigh between your own, the rough denim of his jeans irritating the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He tucks his leg up, settles it right against your core.

You can’t help the way your breath hitches at the sudden pressure. You hold it immediately after, then try to breathe normally again when you realize how obvious the sudden change sounds. He doesn’t react, though, so you think you’re safe. 

The pressure increases a bit more before stopping. You’re almost propped up on his thigh, your pussy pressed against him through your shorts. It’s hard not to open your eyes, to look down and see what’s happening.

His hand slips down from your stomach to the waistband of your shorts. You can’t keep yourself from moving this time, already knowing what he’s going to do. You shift your hips a little, make a tiny noise in your throat that you hope comes off as a normal still-asleep sound. The movement only presses you closer to him.

He hums lowly in your ear, fingers stroking across the waistband of your shorts before dipping inside, then past your little gray panties. You can’t help the little squeak you make, the way your hands twitch before you force them still.

The sound he makes is almost a laugh, too low and quiet to really be one though. He hushes you softly, pushes on the meat of your most vulnerable part to still you. 

You don’t know if he thinks you’re awake. You think he must, there’s no way you could have slept through what he’d just done, and you’ve moved twice now. But he doesn’t speak to you, doesn’t become more aggressive.

You debate putting up a fight when his fingers sink lower, his palm resting heavily over your cunt. But the thought of him becoming rough, of him restraining you… it makes bile churn in your stomach.

You resign yourself to waiting until it’s over, go limp against the bed again.

Another hum, and his free hand moves beneath your body to grasp your hip. He moves you slowly, little grinding motions over his thigh. The hand over your heat uses two fingers to spread the lips of your cunt, tucks the gusset of your underwear and the fabric of your shorts to the side so your clit makes direct contact with his jeans.

You keen quietly at the sensation, a little animal noise of fear, of pain. You wish you had your gun, wish you could make this man stop.

But you can’t. So you bear it.

He doesn’t touch your clit with his fingers, doesn’t touch any part of your pussy but to spread you wide. His thigh moves along yours, his hand grinding you against it. You hate the slickness gathering at your hole, hate the way your nipples tighten, the way your breaths become heavier.

You bite your tongue to hold back any other sounds, that tang of blood returning after only a few seconds.

“C’mon,” he says into your neck, his voice a low whisper. “Come f’r me, doll... be good.”

You don’t want to be good, can’t suppress the little whine you make at even the thought. He rumbles low in his chest in response, pushes against you a little harder.

You can’t stay quiet through your orgasm. It’s a slow thing, rolling and deep. You feel it in your toes, in your scalp, and in every vein between. Had you been willing, been with a partner of your choice, you may have thrown your head back and cried out. But here in the truck, with this man you can’t believe you were stupid enough to trust, you squeeze your eyes so tightly shut that tears eek out the corners and bite your cheek until there’s a sore. And still, a moan vibrates in your chest.

He stops grinding you against him when your orgasm is finished. His finges slip from you slowly, tuck your panties back over your mound and give you two little pats before he fully pulls his hand away. 

Both of his hands slip back up your stomach, grab a handful of your chest and massage you there for several moments. Your breathing gradually slows as your body comes down, your limbs going limp again despite the fact that his hands are still on you.

He rolls you to your back when he’s finished. You feel his lips press against each of your eyelids, squeezed shut no matter how hard you try to force your face to relax. Another tear slips down the side of your nose, and he kisses it away before it can reach your lips. You feel his tongue stroke beneath each eye, know that he’s cleaning away your tears. He gives you a final, chaste kiss on your lips before pulling away.

He’s gone a moment later, and you’re left cold and alone in his bed.

———————————————————————

He smokes a cigarette while he watches you sleep. Your nose twitches at the first hint of smoke, and he almost smirks at the expression.

He can’t believe he found you. A perfect little doll of a girl, limping all filthy and sad along the side of a highway, just waiting for someone to scoop you up. God truly does have a sick sense of humor, gifting a bastard like Ghost a gift like you.

He hadn’t planned to keep you at first. He figured he’d ride with you for a while, fuck you a few times to have a warm place to dump his cum before dropping you off at a rest stop for another driver to scoop up. But no, that won’t do now that he’s felt your cunt against his hand, watched you try desperately to hold back every expression because you thought it might keep you safe.

He’ll have to find out where the finger-shaped bruises on your arms are from. After this trip, he’ll find whoever left them and take care of them. He’ll be the only one hurting his little doll, no one else. Might even win him a few brownie points with you, if he’s lucky.

Your feet probably need bandaging, too. He’d seen the redness at the back of your ankles when you tucked your feet up on his seats, felt the blisters against his own feet when he laid with you. He’ll make sure you stay off your feet for a bit, give them time to heal.

That gets another smirk. You won’t be leaving the truck for a long time, there’ll be no need to worry about your blisters after tonight. He’ll keep you off your feet. Maybe have you thank him for taking such good care of you.

He’ll try your mouth next. He bites back a moan imagining your face pressed against his crotch, knows already that the difference in size between the two of you will be absolutely pornographic at that angle. Can’t wait to teach you to deepthroat him, salivating at the image of you holding him in your mouth on the road.

He’d already wasted one load, it’s only right you take the next. You’re his now, which means he shouldn’t have to come in his fucking pants like a teenager ever again. 

But he’d gone easy on you, hadn’t made you take him in any of your holes this first night. Even let you pretend to sleep through the whole thing, though your shifting hips and little scrunched up face gave you away as soon as he pressed himself against you.

It was endearing, really, the way you tried so hard to pretend it wasn’t happening. He can still taste your tears on his tongue, mixing with the acrid taste of nicotine. He can’t wait to learn what your pussy tastes like.

He takes a long pull from the cigarette and considers your little shaking form.

You won’t need much now that you’re with him. Only a few outfits in case he needs to bring you in somewhere, but you’ll be kept naked when in his truck. He’ll have to find a motel sometime soon, get all the grime washed off your skin and the grease out of your hair. He’d like to see it brushed out, see how you might style it for him.

He’ll take good care of you. Feed you when you’re hungry, maybe get some little toys or books if you’re good, fuck you whenever you - or he - needs it. 

It’ll take a while for you to settle, he knows. You’ll spend a bit looking for that girly little gun you’d been keeping tucked away in your bag. But that’s okay. He already knows he’ll enjoy training you, showing you just how to be the perfect little doll for him.

He stubs the cigarette out in an ashtray, climbs back into bed with you and tucks you tight to his chest. Your little sniffling breaths draw another little twitch of the lips from him, and he buries his nose in your hair before shutting his eyes.

Yeah, you're going to be perfect for him.

#cod #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost riley x reader #bo writes #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #ghost riley x you #dark fic #cod x reader #ghost cod #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic

[wingedjellyfishflight]

Lumberjack

König invites you to visit his hometown with him. There is a festival held there every year in celebration of the harvest. You go along thinking it will be like the fairs you went to growing up. Instead, it is a lumberjack festival with all things axes, chainsaws, and big burly men. König forgoes his mask for once in public. He fits in so well with the competitors that nobody stares at him, even with the scarring on his exposed skin.

There are plenty of familiar things here for you to enjoy, like candy floss, donuts, and caramel apples. You have a bit of a sweet tooth, after all. There are also unique things like dumplings in every flavor and spätzle and a dish you can't pronounce, but it seems like a cross between pancakes and a Dutch baby all chopped up. König has to fight to get a bite of that one from your plate.

He picks a front row seat to watch a showcase. You feel for the people behind him as he will absolutely be blocking their view. Right before the show is supposed to start, he excuses himself, leaving you baffled as he hurries away. When the emcee calls out König's public persona name, your jaw drops. He walks out from behind the backdrop shirtless with a large splitting maul in his hands, rolling and tossing it theatrically. Your eyes drag over his torso, taking in the purple and white scars and the way his abs flex as he stretches. You realize his finger is gesturing you to look up. Meeting his eyes, he has the most confident smirk on his face, making you blush.

He begins moving. He tosses the maul around like it is a toy, swinging it to split rounds of firewood in precise strikes. The spins he uses to build momentum make him look like he is dancing. His speed builds. Striking each one faster, he begins adding tricks, knocking one down with the back of the maul only to hit it in the air and split it perfectly against the ground and splitting large stacks all at once. Watching him in action is breathtaking. For most, it looks like this is the culmination of his hard work, but you know that this is simply practice for his real work.

His real work. The work where he uses a sledgehammer against human flesh on the battlefield. You can honestly say you've never been more turned on watching a man work and when he finishes, you beg him to find a quiet corner so you can show him your appreciation with your own private show. You tease him, saying that he will enjoy the clapping much more this time around.

#konig x reader #könig x reader #cod smut #konig cod #lumberjack

[puppy-steve]

i keep thinking about that one bachelor au post so here's my take on it (i've never watched the bachelor or bachelorette so bear with me)

the bachelor au where steve's the bachelor and eddie is a contestant, but not because he actually wants to be, he's just in it for the paycheck. robin is also a contestant but only because her parents sent in her application without her knowing and she isn't out to them yet.

they both think that steve is overrated and definitely over hyped. typical rich kid with enough money to buy people's love, yada yada.

until they both start going on dates with him and then realize that it isn't exactly true. yes, he's rich, but he's also kind and funny and actually genuine once you get past the mask he puts on for everybody. eventually, eddie and robin find themselves looking forward to their dates.

only robin doesn't want to date him. he's slowly moving his way up the ranks to becoming her best friend, sure, but this is still tv. she's still expected to kiss him and confess her feelings for him. and when the time comes for her to do that, she can't.

they're in venice. steve is leaning in and robin is very aware of the cameras filming them. the back of her neck goes cold and her stomach churns and suddenly she's running in the opposite direction. her italian is passable so she ends up getting a taxi back to the hotel production put them in.

she locks herself in her en suite and presses her forehead against the cold porcelain. she doesn't know how long she sits there until her phone buzzes and she checks the notification. the nausea rises up her throat again. she forgot she gave steve her number.

there's a knock on her room door and another text.

r u ok? can i come in?

robin debates it but figures she owes him and explanation. she lets him in and they sit on the bathroom floor. robin tells him why she's on the show in the first place, about how she didn't know her parents signed her up until she got the phone call from the casting director. tells him that even if she gets kicked off, she can still use the money for her student loans.

she stares at the water in the toilet bowl when she comes out to him.

steve is quiet, processing, before he laughs. he's not laughing at her, he promises, but "robin. you're on a show with more than a handful of other queers, you know that, right? i'm bisexual."

and yeah, robin knew that, but it's different when you're not into the guy you're supposed to be romancing at all.

steve reassures her that it's okay, and that he still hopes they can be friends and keep in touch after the show ends.

robin would like that.

she apologizes to the production crew the next day and they're understanding and steve and robin get a re-do of their date. it's much more genuine this time, filled with laughs and digs as they eat gelato along the river and people watch and gossip.

it's the best robin's ever been on.

eddie, on the other hand. he's absolutely head over heels for steve, which is surprising even for him. he's trailer park trash, he's got absolutely nothing on steve harrington. not the name, not the money.

hell, the very first day, he insulted the guy's food choices right to his face without knowing it.

eddie wants the earth to give way underneath him and swallow him whole.

he plays it up on their first date, all fake niceties and empty smiles, until steve tells him point blank, "the guy that said the buffet was shit that first night? i want to get to know him."

eddie's flabbergasted.

steve opens up about all the fake people in his life, the ones who just take advantage of them and use him for their own gains. the ones who don't even bother to get to know the real him. the one that likes to play guitar and hang out with the gaggle of teenagers that follow him around all the time for some unknown reason.

he tells eddie about what he wants to do with his life, not what someone else has planned for him and eddie falls deeper and deeper.

this time, when steve leans in for a kiss, eddie doesn't shy away. their lips press together and it's the best goddamn kiss either one of them have ever had.

the show has a deadline, of course, and steve can't just spend all his time with eddie and robin. there are other contestants. robin knows her rose is strictly platonic and steve has already called her multiple times freaking out about his growing crush on eddie. she knows eddie has this in the bag.

the final night comes and the contestants have dwindled. there's only a small group of them left: eddie, robin, and another guy and girl they didn't bother learning the names of.

when steve chooses eddie after a moment of dramatic silence that kind of puts his own dm dramatics to shame, eddie doesn't hesitate to jump in steve's arms, wrap his legs around his waist, and plant a sloppy one on him right in front of the cameras.

#cj talks #something something steve goes on a tv show to find romance and ends up finding his romantic and platonic soulmates #steddie #steddie fic #cj writes #i liked being your schmuck #platonic stobin #the three muskequeers

[pleasurebuttonwrites]

Irritated

Matt Murdock x F!Reader | Explicit 18+ | 2.2K

Summary Cooking for Matt goes all wrong and your insecurities come out.

Warnings smut, oral (f receiving), angst with a happy ending

A/N First time writing for Matt. The perfectionism was strong with this one - this has been sitting for months and I'm finally posting.

~~~

The cloud of smoke is quickly filling the apartment. You had turned the burners off, but the charred mass in the skillet is still sizzling. You crank the vent hood fan on high, and open a window. It isn’t enough.

—

As he’s racing home across the rooftops, the smell singes his nostrils. His body is exhausted but it gives him a dose of adrenaline before he realizes that it’s not a fire, just a burnt dinner.

Dinner? At this time of night?

That’s when it dawns on him. The smell is coming from his apartment. Maybe it’s my neighbor, he hopes with half-hearted optimism. With the way his night has gone, he doesn’t think he’ll get that lucky.

—

You’re fanning the smoke out of the window, using one of Matt’s law document tomes in Braille, when you hear the door to the roof. You speed up your fanning, as if that will in any way remove the smell from the apartment.

His footsteps are on the steps now and you turn to apologize — with some self-deprecating humor to relieve your anxiety — when you catch the irritation on his face. Cautiously, you say, “I’m sorry about the smoke. I was just trying to cook and I don’t know what—”

“It’s fine.” He cuts you off with words a little too flat and forceful to be sincere.

That familiar feeling washes over you. You had expected it to happen sooner or later, and here it was. He was finally figuring out that you were more trouble than you were worth.

He tosses his mask on the chair and yanks off his gloves, his mood infecting every motion. Without another word to you he retreats to his room and closes the door behind him.

—

From the other side of the door, Matt catches the way your breath hitches, hears you gather your things and walk out. He wants to stop you but the devil still has a hold on him and he knows he could only make things worse now.

He knew this would happen sooner or later. He knew he’d drive you away. Took longer than he thought it would. He tells himself the smart thing to do would be to let you go. Just let it end here.

But he hears your footsteps on the pavement outside. You’re walking home instead of taking a cab. He throws a shirt and pants on over his suit, and chases after you.

—

You only make it a block before he walks out of the shadows and strolls along next to you, not even winded from catching up.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone. You could get hurt.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, resentfully even. If he’s there out of real concern for you, rather than a sense of duty, he doesn’t show it. You say nothing to that and he doesn’t speak again.

The walk seems to take longer under the weight of the silence between you. When you finally get to your building’s door, you unlock it quickly and step inside. You don’t even look at Matt as you push the door closed behind you. But before it can latch, he catches it.

“Sweetheart,” he begins. “I’m sorry about the way I— the way I acted. It had nothing to do with you. I had a shitty night and I should’ve cooled off before coming home.”

When he puts it like that, it makes you seem unreasonable. Softly, apologetically, you say, “No, you should get to cool off in your own home.”

The words you’re not saying hang in the air between you but you feel too foolish to speak them so instead you stand there in the doorway, picking at your nails, looking down at them instead of him. He reaches out and stills your fidgeting, his warm hand enveloping both of yours. “What is it, sweetheart? Will you talk to me, please?”

Your first instinct is to lie, but the way he subtly turns his ear to you lets you know he’s listening to your heartbeat. Your pulse picks up just from knowing he’ll know if you lie.

You let out a sigh. “I just— I feel like I can’t do anything right.”

His brows furrow and he lifts his chin. You wait for him to prompt you but he’s going to keep silent until you tell him everything. He’s stubborn like that.

You remind yourself that he actually wants to know. He’s asking you for the truth. You take a deep breath, gearing up for an act of trust, and you let it all spill out. “All I do is make everything worse. I mean, I don’t bring anything to this relationship. But I thought maybe I could make you a nice meal. Then I’d be good for something. And that blew up in my face. Almost literally.”

A thick silence follows and you think he must be struggling and failing to dispute anything you’ve said. But you realize you’ve read it all wrong when he says in a quiet and deadly voice, “You think you don’t bring anything to our relationship?”

That voice — his devil’s voice — never fails to light a fire inside you. The sudden heat on your skin makes the night air feel that much cooler, and you shiver. His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, taking in all the ways your body has reacted to him.

He steps forward into your building, and you step back. “It seems I haven’t properly showed you how important you are to me.”

As he advances, you back down the hallway. You can’t take your eyes off his face. The naked desire, the grim determination, the devil stalking his prey. You nearly collide with the staircase banister, but he gently guides you out of the way with a hand on your hip. One he doesn’t remove until you get to your door.

He plucks the keys from your hands and feels for the right one before quickly unlocking your door. It swings open but you both stand at the threshold.

“Matt,” you begin. As much as your body is begging for him, you feel guilty that the whole situation got turned around. You were trying to prove something to him and now he’s the one putting in the effort. Again. “I just feel like I haven’t yet earned your love.”

He hangs his head, exhaling his frustration. “First of all, you don’t need to earn my love. Secondly, if you even think for one second that you don’t deserve it, then I’ve failed you.”

“No, stop! I’m the one who fucked up, okay?” You storm past him into your apartment. He follows you inside, shutting the door behind him.

He draws in a breath to say something, but thinks better of it. He nods and says simply, “Okay.”

It’s the way he gives in that has you on alert. He never just gives in; he’s planning something.

“Make it up to me, then,” he tells you.

“How?”

“Take off your pants.”

“Matt—”

“I said, take off your pants.”

“That can’t be all I’m good for.”

“Sweetheart, I promise you we will find a way for you to feel deserving in this relationship. But right now, let me surround myself with your scent so I can get this smoke out of my nostrils.”

How were you supposed to think straight when he says things like that to you? You really wanted to give him what he wanted, but it didn’t feel right. “Well then that’s just you doing something for me again and I still can’t give you anything.”

He flashes that grin he uses during cross-examination when he’s about to tear the prosecution’s case to shreds. “You wanted to feed me. Now let me eat.”

—

You don’t know how he does it. But as soon as you stopped protesting, he had you naked with your ass at the edge of the couch and him kneeling in front of you.

“Spread your legs for me,” he says in a low, soft voice. You do as he says. He takes one deep breath and whines, his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip. “I can already taste you.”

He starts on your thighs, pressing kisses from your knee to the hinge at your hip all along the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You feel the heat of his breath pass over your cunt before he kisses his way down to your other knee.

He’s doing it on purpose. Taking his time and lavishing you with kisses. Giving again. The guilt washes over you. “Matt—”

He shushes you just as the pad of his thumb brushes at your entrance, collecting your slick before sliding up to your clit. Your eyes roll back into your head and your words die on your lips. He applies just the right amount of pressure as he works circles over your sensitive nub. You whimper at his touch and he gives a satisfied hum in response.

It feels so good yet it’s not enough. “Matty, please.” Your voice is barely even a whisper but he hears you loud and clear. He lifts his thumb to his lips, moaning as your taste hits his tongue at last.

You expect to feel his mouth on you but instead he brings his hands together and says, “Bless us O Lord and these Thy gifts—”

“Matt—”

His name is no sooner from your mouth than his lips wrap around your clit, and you cry out from the pleasure. His skilled tongue slides through your folds and dips into your entrance. You clench around nothing, pushing more of your juices onto his greedy tongue. You don’t have to worry about making a mess on the couch. He’d never let one drop of you spill.

You honestly don’t know which of you are making more noise. He’s so vocal even with his mouth as busy as it is. He grunts and moans with every exhale, and every inhale is a heavy intake through his nose — when it’s not pressed into you.

Your hand, outstretched at your side, grips a throw pillow, the stuffing clumped beneath your palm, your fingers wrinkling the fabric. Matt clamps his hand over yours — while his tongue continues swirling — and guides you to the crown of his head. You grip a fistful of his hair and instinctively pull him even tighter to you.

His moans muffle but grow more desperate. In truth, you try hard not to make more sound than your breath, just to catch every unhinged noise of his.

You’re so close now. You can’t help but raise your hips a bit, humping his face as his tongue works you over. The vibration of his growl sends you over the edge. No matter how quiet you’ve been trying to be, the force of your orgasm rips pleas from your lips. “Matty…fuck! Oh, Matty, hngh…”

As you come down from your high, you loosen your grip on his hair and he slowly pulls away from you. You take in the sight of him. A bit of his Daredevil suit peeks beneath his shirt. His hair is mussed, hairline damp with sweat, and his mouth and chin are coated with you. He licks his lips and smiles and it’s totally unfair how pretty he is just like this.

You let your head fall back, your breathing slowly returning to normal. But the drop in your heart rate coincides with the rise of your thoughts, and the feelings of guilt, shame, unworthiness. You don’t know why you can’t just accept his love. But no matter how much you try to trust that he means what he says, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve fooled him somehow. And he’s going to wake up one day realizing his mistake.

Almost as if he can read your thoughts —

“Sweetheart, if you need me between your legs to chase away your thoughts, I’m more than happy to be of service, but it’s probably not the healthiest way to deal with it.”

“Matt Murdock’s lecturing me on what’s healthy.”

“I know. I know.” He gives you that wide smile. So comforting that it’s impossible to feel anything but warmth when he smiles at you like that. Then he gives your thigh a little smack and says, “Let’s get cleaned up.”

—

Later, while you’re laying in bed together, his body cradled around yours, you’re both too tired to continue the conversation you know you need to have, a conversation of the ongoing variety. In the quiet and the dark you both feel your insecurities rise. Matt is pretty sure he’ll end up driving you away. You’re pretty sure he’ll realize you aren’t as great as he thinks and leave. But both of you really want this to work and you’re both willing to work on it.

Your thoughts hazy, your breath becoming rhythmic, you speak into the dark. “I don’t have to cook for you, you know. Like if you don’t want me to. Do you want me to?”

He hums in response, sleep nearly stealing his ability to speak. “If you want to… then I want that…too. But you don’t have to. But you can. You can use my kitchen whenever you want. If you want.”

You’re both quiet again and you nearly fall asleep then he says, “Just not for a few days. Let the smoke clear. ‘M staying at yours til then.”

#matt murdock fic #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x fem!reader #daredevil fic #matt murdock fanfic #daredevil fanfic #matt murdock smut

[fazedlight]

Supergirl the show poses a question: Who is the real Kara?

Kara Zor-El, Kara Danvers, Supergirl. Who's the mask?

In the beginning, Kara doesn't even know. In the aftermath of Krypton's and Kenny's deaths, she did everything she could to appear as normal as possible - there was little room for her own innate traits to shine through when she was being as nondescript and people-pleasing as possible.

But that's not who Kara is.

We get the first glimpse of who Kara really is during Flight 237.

This is not about her being Supergirl or her powers (though both are relevant). Kara has suppressed herself for over a decade. She's not going to make waves - until she has to. Our first real insight into who Kara is now is as a devoted sister. It wasn't until Alex's life was at risk that Kara started breaking out of her shell (and then there was no holding back).

Our protagonist is a mid-20s adult - this isn't a coming-of-age story in the traditional sense. But it is a story of finding oneself and what it takes to get there.

And it starts with defending found family after a lifetime of loss.

So Kara creates the Supergirl persona. I think the cape is a crutch.

People say "a crutch" like it's a bad thing. But crutches are actually pretty fucking useful. They support you when you need it, whether it be short-term or long-term. They help you get around when you otherwise may not be able to.

Kara was deeply traumatized by losing everyone and everything she ever knew, being thrown into a world that overwhelmed her senses and made even her most casual movements into dangerous ones, and was told she needed to suppress everything - who she used to be, what she was going through now - to survive.

To find herself again, maybe she'd need a tool to get past what she had been through! The cape became that tool. She was able to unbury the heritage she had been hiding, she was able to embrace the powers that had burdened her, she was able to find her own bravery (and reactivity, she's got flaws in there too).

Keep in mind, in the scene above, Kara isn't "human for a day". Kara is powerless... just like she spent the first 13 years of her life. Her bravery isn't about her powers or Supergirl; they just help her get started.

That's not where her growth ends.

Kara's instincts for helping people start getting unburied in season 1, and she is excited to tag along someone else's quest to figure out where future threats may lie, or figure out how she can use her powers in service to the DEO.

But it's not until this moment that she realizes that Kara Danvers can be more, too. Lena unintentionally launches Kara's career - a second pathway for Kara's desire to help people, growing into a passion she is going to pursue (even if she gets fired). Her worth is no longer just about her sun-granted powers or being Superman's "younger" cousin.

In season 4, we even see her realization that Kara Danvers can be more powerful than Supergirl, because some fights can't be won by fists. That's a real discovery for herself.

Which I think, looking back, might becoming especially baffling for her... because Kara Danvers was originally an identity imposed on her when she needed to hide.

It's important to note that, while Kara Danvers was originally a facade that Kara gets at thirteen, she doesn't stay a facade - even in the suppression era.

We don't see enough of who Kara is when she's on Earth, left to her own devices. But we see glimpses - we know she likes baking (and we know we shouldn't try what she makes), we know she paints, we know she listens to NSync and Britney Spears. She's a goofball (even when she puts on the cape). Kara Danvers starts as a facade, but becomes a vehicle for Kara to continue developing her personality, now in her new context.

Would she have the same interests on Krypton? Maybe some and not others, maybe some new ones that don't exist on Earth. We're all products of our environments, after all. Her interests as Kara Danvers aren't necessarily fake just because they're different than what she expected.

Though she'll never know who she would've become on Krypton.

Which brings us to Kara Zor-El - the identity that is frozen.

Most people aren't the same person as an adult that they were as a child. Interests, tastes, personality, world outlook, philosophy - all of these shift over time, sometimes dramatically.

Parts of her are going to be deeply rooted in Krypton, and she's going to have ties to a culture that no one else on Earth has. It's not an aspect of herself that she can erase. But it's also not an aspect of herself that was able to develop for the remainder of her childhood and early adulthood.

She, like all of us, was destined to lose pieces of herself. But some of her loss was very sudden, and the pieces she lost probably weren't going to be the same on Krypton. Of course, she has no way to know.

And I think that frustrates her.

I guess my answer to "Who is Kara?" is that the three personalities clash with and harmonize with each other. None of them are truly her. All of them inform who she is.

There's a young Kara Zor-El as her root that was torn from the ground before she could ever grow.

There's a Kara Danvers who formed the bulk of her life - a mask that was given to her, the only vehicle for her personality, who ultimately became someone she could embrace as worthwhile in her own right.

There's a Supergirl who distinctly separates from those around her, but lets her move past her numbness and reclaim her heritage.

And it's that clash that makes her a particularly compelling character.

Maybe that's a cheating answer to the original question.

But there's still a missing piece to the puzzle - because it's not just about Who is Kara? but also about Who does Kara want to be?

I think Supergirl is something that could fade if needed. If Kara lost her powers, she would find a new normal, so long as she was able to pursue her desire to help the world in some capacity.

But the truth of her is somewhere between Kara Danvers and Kara Zor-El. The truth of her is in what Supergirl allowed her to unbury, even if not directly tied to Supergirl herself. But Danvers and Zor-El are burdens, in a way. Lena is one of the few people who sees the person in between, who understands Kara on her own terms. Which is why Kara is terrified of Lena's rejection.

I think it's one of the most telling lines in the show - to be just Kara is to be free of her own baggage, to be able to embrace herself despite the pain in her history. Something I think we all want, that is never entirely possible.

But the pursuit is still a worthwhile one.

#kara danvers #supergirl #character study #headcanon #longpost #mel stuff

[hypewinter]

3 HC/AU Prompt Thingy (3)

1). Box Ghost hears he was powerful and feared I'm the Dan timeline, gets ripped

2). Jason, as a reverent can hit ectoplasm ghosts

3). Guys Night Out (choose whatever ghosts you want)

(I love making these and your the only one who writes for them, :))

Ok hear me out: Full DILF box ghost. Don't scroll away and just give me a second of your time ok?

Boxy gets swoll. Real swoll. His gimmick might still be dumb but now he's so strong that no one dares to point that out anymore. That being said, he is still the best dad ever to Boxed Lunch. I'm talking about helping her tie her shoes, being a willing participant in her tea parties, tucking her in at night, the works. He's such a good father that when Boxed Lunch asks for a super rare Orphan toy that was only ever distributed in Gotham, he immediately agrees to get it for her.

Johnny 13 hears about Box Ghost's little outing and invites himself along as he wants to get Kitty some new jewelry to make up for their last fight. Thus begins a wild night for Boxy and Johnny as they both have a heart to heart (now that Johnny 13 can't make fun of him for fear of being punted through a wall) plus they even bond over how much they love the women in their lives.

All is going well. The boys have done some fun stuff around the city, gotten up to a little mischief, and even picked up Johnny's apology jewelry. The only thing left is Boxed Lunch's toy. As they're scouring an abandoned warehouse full of discontinued toys that's when Jason drops it. He'd been getting reports of strange occurrences all night from his men and he'd finally been able to track it down to this warehouse. Of all the things Jason anticipated, it was not two weird looking metas going through boxes. But nevertheless he has a job to do.

He aims his gun at the two metas and demands they step away from the boxes. They don't. Why would they? They're ghosts, this human can't hurt them. Sure enough when Jason eventually fires at their knees after a couple of warning shots, the rubber bullets go right through. Jason is shocked to say the least. And now his mind is whirring a mile a minute trying to figure out how those two just did that. Meta powers? Hidden tech? How is he going to deal with this? He doesn't want to go through the embarrassment of calling for backup.

Johnny 13 on the other hand, is pretty peeved this guy won't leave them alone. He's ruining their night out! So he decides to scare him. Maybe that will make him leave. So Johnny gets right up in Jason's fac- er mask and lets out a pretty impressive ghostly howl if he does say so himself. Except instead of running away, Jason instinctively punches him. In the nose. And it hurts. A lot.

So now Johnny is reeling in pain, Jason realizes he can take care of these guys the old fashioned way and Boxy has finally found the Orphan toy. "Oh no!" I hear you say. "The fight of the century between Boxy and Jason is about to go down!" Actually no. Not really.

Box Ghost has been teaching Boxed Lunch about conflict resolution recently and he is not about to let his actions contradict his words. So he explains the situation to Jason. Jason for his part is a little miffed but understanding. You're just trying to be a good father. I get it. Besides these toys are just gonna collect dust in here anyways. Oh but you do have to return the jewelry. *Sad (and pained) Johnny 13 noises*

Jason kinda feels bad for the whole, punching Johnny in the nose thing (even though it was totally his fault) so he offers to take them to find non-stolen jewelry for Kitty instead. Thus the boys night continues! Now with extra shenanigans.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #winter answers #thanks for the ask! #who knows #they might even make this hang out a regular thing

[audiblehush]

Okay, so post-P1 trailer, the thing I’m MOST excited about for is Colin and Penelope’s ACTUAL friendship!

Because while Colin has always viewed Penelope as a genuine a friend, she has always had the added lense of “I’m in love with you,” and that changed the way she interacted with him.

But now, to Penelope, Colin has essentially closed the door on him ever seeing her in a romantic light, both with his end of S2 words AND their “friends” handshake in S3. “Okay,” she probably thinks, “that dream is dead but friends. I can do friends.”

But what this opportunity does is this give us Penelope functioning in this friendship as an ACTUAL friend, and not just “yes sure friends but I can’t get the heart out of eyes enough for it to be truly genuine because I’m wearing a mask so you like me” - That didn’t make her a bad person; it made her a girl with a strong crush worried about his view of her; it’s normal! But it also obviously led to her putting on airs around him, while also having him on a pedestal and not seeing him as a fully realized person.

But these “lessons” allow for them to be around one another without expectation. That scene of them giggling in the ballroom like dorks, as if no one else was around them??

ABSOLUTE PERFECTION!!!!

Colin will begin to see Penelope as a true friend because she’ll LET him; she’ll drop her guard enough to be real instead of trying to impress him all the time. THAT is (hopefully) when Colin starts to realize his feelings: because Penelope will finally be her authentic self… while feeling more confident because of her new wardrobe. He’ll be attracted to her new confidence, and her ACTUAL personality she’s letting him finally see, not just her physical glow-up (the candle symbolism!!!!).

COLIN will now have heart eyes for her, and maybe the one to have her on a slight pedestal… only for the LW reveal to happen and shake his world… letting us see his hurt, his anger, his worry…

Once they work through all that is when these two see each other for who the other REALLY is, flaws and all, fighting to grow individually, as a friendship, as a COUPLE… and choose each other every time.

THAT. IS. MY. JAM.

I still have my concerns about the season. I do NOT want Colin only realizing his feelings once some other guy pays her mind. I NEED him to already be struggling with and analyzing his feelings before Debling get involved. If I had to guess, it will be more than Colin is like “okay, I’m pretty sure I have feelings for Penelope, but how do i know for SURE when I’ve thought that before?” (thanks S1…) … but then Debling comes along looking for a wife, and Colin is suddenly between rock and a hard place because now he has a sort time limit to sort through really complicated feelings.

Violet says “ what more could SHE want?” mostly likely about Penelope and Debling, because Debling is wealthy, titled, and has strong interests and beliefs he is committed to (based on his promo info, anyway). This has already been an insecurity of Colin’s since S1. He’s a third son (with wealth, yes), but he has been searching for “his purpose” for ages now; it’s all over S2 how lost he is and how that frustrates him. His family tends to tolerate him at best and kind of ridicule him at worst, and so he flits by being easy-going and “charming” when he just wants to know who is and be accepted for it. So Violet says all this and Colin says “but you said friendship is the best foundation” and she tells him to follow his heart.

But that’s the problem: Colin struggles to KNOW HIS OWN HEART, and not just romantically! So I just want to know how much of his feelings for Pen has he grappled with at that point? How much exploration outside of his Pen stuff has he done regarding his own person? Because he IS a person outside his relationships, but HE doesn’t feel that way.

EDIT: Also, ALSO Yes, Colin is hyping pen up, but I want her to hype HIM up once she sees that he’s not as confident as he acts. She’s seen glimpses of that in S2, but S3 can let her be like “actually, you are AMAZING…” and without romantic intentions, just her telling her friends he has so much to offer the world.

I’m also scared Penelope will make some awful choices (Nicola hinted at this in interviews) and like, i get it we need conflict, but my poor heart can only take so much…

At the end of the day, it’s all speculation. It’s so hard to say with how trailers are cut, and I know they can’t include it all, and most people are here for the romance so that is what they would lean into… so I’m really trying to avoid doom-theorizing, or even getting attached to things I WANT to happen. We won’t know until it’s out, so I’m just trying to contain both feelings of nervousness AND excitement.

I JUST LOVE THEM SO MUCH, YOUR HONOR!!!!

#polin #bridgerton #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton

[respectthepetty]

What does this mean for Phee and Jin? Did Phee set out on a revenge plot but developed real feelings for Jin?

Anon, I've been obsessed with this show since the very first episode, and I have never been on the "Phi and Jin are end game" ship because I think that

Jin had to be the worst of them.

Recap:

I wrote that Phi was sus af in the very first episode, and one reason was because he didn't hear the noise that Jin heard.

This happens again when Jin and Phi are running from the masked killer, and Jin is the only one to see a bloody Mr. Keng.

Some people are defending Fluke's actions because he didn't actively do anything to harm Non, but he also knew about the broken camera and said nothing, so I think whatever Jin did was even worse. He couldn't just have known about the bad stuff happening to Non. He must have also intentionally turned a blind eye and LEFT Non, which is exactly what Phi subtly calls him out on in the first episode, and probably why Jin is leaving Thailand for good.

Because I also mentioned that these boys have known each other longer than we were told in the first episode. The boys said Tan and Phi came AFTER Non disappeared, but I think Jin knew Phi way back in the tutoring days, but hadn't realized Phi knew Non since Jin said Mr. Keng's name like Phi knew who that was (because Phi probably went to tutoring too and that's how he "met" Jin).

I think White is gonna be the final gay, and Tan is the second killer because one of them has to be Non's brother, no? But I think it's Tan because homie always got twenty million questions and White wasn't even supposed to be on this trip.

Either way, Jin has never been on my "gonna live to the end" even though Jin is the main character,

And he already wrote his end. All the boys are dying the way they forced Non to change the script, which is why Phi is following Non's script this time around. He is making sure these boys get what they asked for. Hell, even the driver was the first to die in the original film, and was the first to die in the present, and Fluke watched Non's fall into hell at the hands of Tee and Top, and now he is being tasked with watching his friends as they die.

Once again, I think Jin was the worst because he acted as Non's protector and he started having feelings for Non,

Yet Jin might have betrayed Non somehow since Phi dropped this line in the coffin.

And Phi seems to have strung Jin along for a bit, which makes me believe that Phi is giving Jin a taste of his own medicine.

Tan asked Phi if Phi and Jin were "better" and Phi said that Jin won't even look at his face, and I feel that is pivotal to this plot. Phi wants Jin to trust him . . . the same way Non trusted Jin?

In the original film, Jin and Non were running away from the masked killer, and Jin left Non behind. It was just a film, but maybe, perhaps, possibly, Jin really left Non behind somewhere.

Phi has been playing the long con with these boys, so this shit is hella personal. If Phi was with Non and wanted more with Non, yet was doing the devil's tango at one point with Jin, I truly feel that Phi is committed to having Jin care about him.

Just so he can be the one to betray him.

*applying clown makeup* Jin fucked up big time somehow, and Phi has been playing him the longest because he wants Jin to feel every bit of pain he caused Non.

What did you do, Jin? What. Did. You. Do?

#dead friend forever #dead friend forever the series #I'm on another level #I'm so happy! #this is my favorite show of all time #I'm obsessed #dead friend forever spoilers #spoilers #Jin has the be the worst #because what is all this for?! #Phi is committed to the bit #and being Jin's protector is the bit

[drchucktingle]

Is there a reason you didn't include an acknowledgements section in Camp Damascus?

yes actually, as man name of chuck i have spent a lot of time FINDING MY IDENTITY through masking and unmasking. in early days there were many more layers hiding me away and it took a while for me to understand WHY. over the last ten years buckaroos have very much seen me find myself through art, accepting and talking about my sexuality, neurodivergence, and gender.

there is ALWAYS a layer to protect my privacy, and to allow myself room for POETRY. example i like to give is that if i post 'i pet a dog today' i might have actually pet a cat, but everything i say is true is some sense. in the early days that truth was stretched farther because even i did not quite understand it my dang self, and it has been my journey to strip away as much of this mask as possible (sometimes called removing my skin) and BECOME MYSELF on this timeline (which is something i have always talked about)

if you have been following chuck for the last decade you will see my older posts were much more abstract and difficult to parse, they reference themes that i have since come to terms with, and this journey to find myself is WHY i have been able to do this. some could say it was the journey of a reverse twin adapting to their new timeline, others could say it was the journey of a neurodivergent artist allowing themselves the freedom to find a healthy expression and conquer their chronic pain from constant neurotypical masking.

FOR INSTANCE this is why i am wearing buckaroo suits on tour now, an outfit that is more true to the INNER ME. i used to answer interview questions with metaphor and now i just answer, only hiding certain details when i need to. i talk less about figures in my life back in billings who were REAL IDEAS and PARTS OF MYSELF but sometimes not flesh and blood or ghostly buckaroos. this is my trot, and this is why i am so strongly against gatekeepers in the buckaroo community. i have been becoming myself long before i knew what that meant.

so when it came time for acknowledgments i realized i would have to acknowledge buckaroos who helped along the way but also ABSTRACT IDEAS who helped along the way, symbols and themes that i have since decided i wanted to leave behind. it was important to me to create a new era of my expression where those abstract layers are respected but also stripped away. i have to respect the inner truth i am trying to cultivate, for way of my mental health and also my physical health.

so i DID write out acknowledgments and sent them to my buckaroos privately, then i said please do not include this in the public book. these days i want to hide behind as few layers as possible, that is my artistic journey now. buckaroos were very respectful and supportive.

very quick before we finish, there was one other small and important reason. i am so sincere ALL the dang time it is kind of my natural state to get very emotional and thankful, that i kinda thought 'i am going to give myself space here to NOT stress out over this for once'. i am constantly thinking about acknowledging others and i LOVE this part of my trot, but doing it in a way that is so defined and specific and maybe even performative (gotta write your acknowledgments now bud. HAVE to do it) felt at odds with my inner way.

anyway thank you for this very good question what a dang treat to talk about this detail and how much it means to me to find truth in my inner trot.

#chuck tingle #tingleverse #acknowledgments #camp damascus

[the-ninjago-girl]

Ya wanna know what I just realized? The overall theme of scarlet and violet isn't actually about our treasure hunt, or making friends along the way,

It's obsession.(and how it hurts those around us.)

In the base game of pokemon scarlet and violet, we learn that the professor,(sada or turo depending on which version you play.) was absolutely obsessed with the paradox pokemon within the scarlet/violet book. They were so obsessed with these pokemon that they wanted, NEEDED to make them a reality by bringing them into our own. Their obsession was so bad, that they not only lost their significant other, but neglected their son to the point of completely abandoning him, all for the purpose of "paradise". Not realizing they already had one with their son.

The obsession has been with the professor since their childhood. As seen in the secret cutscene at kitakami's crystal pool with terapagos in your party, it brings the professor from iirc 10 years before the events of the game start. When they ask to trade for the book ms. Brair wrote they offer their copy of the s/v book and tell you "this book captured my imagination as a child and never let go." They were obsessed. It costed them their life, completely ruined arvens childhood, and almost caused the destruction of the Paldea region because they were too obsessed with having pokemon of the past/future along side them.

Then we go to kitakami, and meet Kieran. A boy who is obsessed with the ogre, a.k.a ogerpon. Kieran believes the two as kindred spirits, outcasts in kitakami because they were different. Though rightly upset at you and his sister for not telling him about meeting ogerpon, takes it too far when he steals the mask from his grandfather. As a result of winning the battle to get the mask back from him his obsession shifts, not really about befriending ogerpon anymore, but about beating you/being as good as you are. He becomes mean and ruthless to those around him in blueberry academy, becoming champion in order to try to be strong enough to beat you.

In the underdepths of area zero his obsession with beating you causes him to seek out terapagos, and catch it so that he can finally beat you.

And finally ms. Briar, obsessed with terapagos and proving it was real. Her ancestor, the original author of the s/v book, heath, was claimed and told to be nothing more than a liar after writing what he had found in area zero. Briar was obsessed, determined to prove terapagos' existence to clear her ancestors name, and that everything in the s/v book was in fact real. In kitakami she was more concerned with figuring out the terastal phenomenon than helping to guide the students from the 2 schools on their field trip.

And once in blueberry, she asks you, carmine and Kieran to join her in area zero to find terapagos. Once in the underdepths she puts herself in danger because of a strangely terastalized glimmora, of which you battle to protect her and the siblings. In the final chamber of the underdepths, she eggs on Kieran to take terapagos(in crystal form) out of the tera crystals around it to finally see the pokemon she's been trying to get to for so long, and then tells him to terastalize the pokemon, putting everyone in danger. As the amount of Tera energy is too much for the little pokemon to control, and thus it goes out of control, destroying the environment around it, nearly causing a cave in.

Ms. Briars obsession with finding terapagos nearly caused the group to get killed because she was so obsessed with finding terapagos. Obsessed with proving that heath was telling the truth all this time.

Pokemon scarlet and violet showed that obsession can hurt and harm those around you. That an obsession like sada/turo, Kieran and ms Briars', will cause the pain of others and themselves in order to reach their goal.

#pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon scarlet #pokemon violet #pokemon arven #pokemon sada #pokemon turo #pokemon kieran #pokemon briar #pokemon carmine #the hidden treasure of area zero #pokemon terapagos #pokemon the indigo disk #pokemon the teal mask #pokemon the hidden treasure of area zero

[harusaki-hugo]

Hello! I just saw your requests open i wanted to ask how would yandere: sanzu, hanma, ran and kakucho (separately) react to reader that is also yandere for them if not more? Thank you 💗🫶

Fandom: Tokyo Revengers Characters: Sanzu, Hanma, Ran and Kakucho. Genres:Yanderes Note: Ah, yes red flags trio. Kakucho is green flag forever in my heart, shut up. also, i don't know if you want hcs or short story so i make hcs. I might overdo this T-T

Sanzu Haruchiyo:

Sanzu is quite a picky at choosing his lover, he wants, no, he needs someone who similar to mikey. If Mikey his king, you either his queen/monarch or someone he tolerates.

The only reason he dates you at first mostly because of amusement, just some pawn for him to play. He accepts your confession because he thought you are easy to manipulate and he need it to stay out of police ranges because, well, mucho.

And boy he thinks he hit the jackpot because you are the most loyal and dumbest pawn he ever sees, you agree with everything he said, go along with everything he does, hell, you even turn your eyes away from the crimes he does.

At first, he thought that he keeps you around because you are a perfect alibi to use but slowly, he starts falling in love with you. like deeply in love, his amusement turns into obsession, from pawn to his new king/queen/monarch.

He now become extremely loyal to you, he become nicer and touchier, and do everything that you want. He will kill anyone who dare looking at you or has slight interest on you. He already claims you and there's no way he going to let you go.

But he never expects that one day you present him the head of the girl who insult his scars. Smiling proudly as you hold the head, a crazed look on your eyes that rival, no, more than him.

He now realizes that from the start you date him not because you found him interesting, no, you worship him more than he worships you. If he thinks of you as king/queen/monarch, you see him as a god.

You been killing all the people around him without even leaving a single trace or suspicion. You take care of his problem before he even knows about it, you make a shrine of him, you have a room with his pictures, you memorize his schedule, you know where he goes because you already put a chip on the mask he always wears.

Sanzu has mixed feeling about this, but he knows one thing, he f*cking love you.

Hanma Shuji:

For Hanma, you are just some random kid who always stalking him. Following him everywhere he goes and secretly take his picture, he thought that you were some gang informants or something, so he let you follow him around.

He thinks it's cute and adorable that you think he didn't know you follow him, the way you try to hide around the corner or act dumb. It's flattering that someone give him this much attention, and honestly, he starts catching feeling. Just a bit. Okay, like a bit too much.

When you not around following him, Hanma can't help but feel jealous and angry that you not there to pay attention to him. But if you appear again next day, his mood brightens that even kisaki weird out by it.

He became obsesses with you to the point he follows you back home, before you can close the door, he appears behind you and force himself inside your house. Telling you that next time you can just talk to him as he walks in, but his words die on his tongue when he sees that your whole house filled with his pictures.

There is a shrine with his picture and the things he throws away, hell, even the shirt with blood. He then sees that there's wall full of his past enemies that mysteriously disappear after losing a fight with him. All of them are now dead.

Oh, oh~ if he like you before he loves you now. He realizes that you are perfect for him. Someone who worship him to the point that you willing to be his slave. To do everything he order you. Surely you won't mind if he stays here, right? After all, why bother take a picture when you have the real one in front of you~

Haitani Ran:

You are Rindou friend who somehow always following the younger haitani around. Rindou sometime bring you back to home to hang out with, so ran thought that you are his brother side chick or something. Turn out you and Rindou are really good friend, you two meets when you stay at his side when he blacks out from drinking too much and you two just click from there.

Ran don't really care as long you didn't hurt his brother but his opinion on you changes when you buy him favorite Mont Blanc from expensive bakery in Tokyo. "They our friend now, rin." Ran say as he munches on the dessert.

Day by day, Ran start getting interest on you. You like the perfect friend, you know when to come so you didn't disturb his sleep, not making too much noise, buy him food every time you visit. He starts thinking, is this how it feels having a lover? He slowly getting obsesses with how you treat him and start falling in love with you and now he the one follow you around that even Rindou can't hang around with you without Ran sitting in the middle.

Luckily Rindou know that his brother smitten with you, so he uses this chance to leave you with his brother while he goes out drinking. So, like now every time you come to their house, rindou leave you with Ran. This becomes routine, heck, Ran even drag you with him to his room for a nap every time he feels like it, treating you like his personal teddy bear. So, you guys like, dating now? Yup, dating.

"You know, i never told them anything about you." Rindou exclaim one day, "I never told them you name or your sleeping schedule. Thinking back, when we first meet, they know my name already."

So, Ran and Rindou decide to follow you home and break in when you not home because they can. And much to their surprise are that your room are filled with Ran pictures from age 10 to the time they two being send to juvenile detention center and after they get out. There also a list of his enemies and half of them mark red and dead. Ran then realize that you been stalking him ever since he safe you from those bully long time ago, no wonder you look familiar. Usually, he will get creep out with this thing but it's you, the one he obsessed with. If anything, he feels flatter and proud that you love him to this point.

So next day you visit him, he told you how he loves you more now and want to stay with you forever.

Kakucho:

You, Takemichi and him are childhood friend. Well, more like he like you and Takemichi is wingman since he lives near you. Before he got in accident, he plans on telling you his feeling, but he lost contact with you after he is sent to orphanage. He thought that like Takemichi you forgot about him too, so he often stays away from you after finding out that you still live in the same house.

The only reason he finally sees you are because Izana getting annoyed of him disappear every day just to stalk you from far, so taking a lead he kicks Kakucho toward you when you walk down the road. Imagine how happy he is when you call out his name in surprise when you see him, you didn't forget about him even after he got a scar on his face.

Izana who wants the best for his servant allow him to take one month off from Tenjiku so he can spend time with you. And boy, he uses those days off wisely. Catching up with you, taking you out and make sure that he stays close to you, so you won't leave him again.

What make him happier that you confess to him, that you too like him since you two a kid. So now you two dating, and boy, he become more clingier to the point he drags you around even in Tenjiku meeting which Izana kick him.

One day you told him that you have business outside Tokyo, and it take a week for you to return. So Kakucho drag Izana to your house with excuse that someone might break in and that someone is him. He just wants your shirt because he misses you.

Imagine Izana and Kakucho reaction when he sees that your room are filled with pictures of him. Pictures of him and you, torn up pictures of him with what seem like Takemichi, pictures of him at orphanage, pictures of him with Izana. Turn out you been stalking him since forever, you also manage to find the orphanage he in and stalk him there.

Izana found a list of Tenjiku enemies on your wall, half of marked dead and half being torture. If Izana didn't approve you two reaction he is now. Which make Kakucho happy because his king approve his lover.

Next week you come back home, Kakucho greet you happily and told you how proud he is with you and how he loves you.

#Tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #x reader #sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu x reader #ran haitani #ran x reader #kakucho #kakucho x reader #hanma shuji #hanma x reader #izana kurokawa #tokyo revengers x reader #gn reader

[prettyboykatsuki]

are you awake yet

is it time to talk about boot humping bakugo

safe with you | k. bakugou

✮ cw ; afab + gn!reader, boot-humping but loving akjdkjd, mutual masturbation, facials, the title sir, sub!reader, soft dom!bkg , praise and adoration bc its bkg <3 18+

✮ wc ; 1.5k (??)

✮ a/n ; i am awake sorry this came at 3am though ajhjdjk. also they have a very established switch for switch dynamic. writing my yearly dom bkg content lmao

also this is not the most original concept but its my iteration so i hope thats alright

It's not even that he's being particularly demeaning to you. You'd have to initiate it, because Bakugou always has been a simple person during sex. He's always busy but he's home today after early dismissal. Has on those thick, black boots with hefty rugged soles.

He's cleaned them off after coming from his job. So clean the light of your living room is bouncing off the bronzey metal.

And you're sitting on the floor of your living room. You come crawling towards him mostly to rest your head on his lap or just give him a nudge. You notice he looks good. He always does. Has the most handsome face even when it's twisted into a scowl - at home it's relaxed. The soft curve of his jaw, the pull of his lips - all flat nose bridge and pretty, straight lashes.

Clean, shiny boots. His costume is still on. Mask is pulled up and pushing his hair back. He hasn't even taken off his gloves today, not yet. His arms are muscular stretched over his head in exhaustion. enough to see his midriff coming through. Wispy blonde hairs in a trail above the low hand of his pants.

You rest your chin on his knee and he looks at you fondly. Lovingly. even though he usually looks so mean there's a warm, watery look to his eyes as he reaches his hands out towards you. He rubs your cheek with his gloves on. Pets your head so tenderly it makes you feel like you'll melt into the floor.

"Hey," He hums, a small smile on his lips. so full of mirth you can't breathe "Miss me so much?"

"Stupid question."

"I'm rubbin' off on you more and more everyday," He says. You laugh because it's true.

"You look really good right now," You offer bluntly. His face splits into a grin. A smirk, really - the kind where it barely flashes his teeth. In another life he has canines, fangs sharp enough to rip through you.

"That right?"

This part of him, so riddled with confidence, always makes your stomach feel like it's burning. So often Bakugou is rational and relative. A little irritable, a little ridiculous. It's been a long road, and he's finally at that place where the confidence is well-earned. No longer misshapen inferiority tacked together with anger.

But real, unshakeable confidence. He believes you when you tell him that he looks good. He gets a little cocky about it, and it only ever makes him sexier. Only he could ever pull it off. A wave of desire washes over you, a heat. You nod absently, and it's like something switches in him. A tenderness that's sharpened with love, with want.

"You wanna do something about it?" He gathers, maybe from the look in your eyes. You nod and he smiles again, a little fiercer this time around.

"And what's that? Gotta tell me or i won't know for shit."

"On your boots. Wanna—"

"Wanna hump my fucking boots?" And he laughs, breathless, a tent pitching that you can see from where you sit "Really?"

"Uh-huh. Can I?"

"I'd never say no to you, sweetheart." he says, clicking his teeth like it's the most obvious thing in the world "Go ahead. Do it like you fucking mean it."

"Yes, Sir."

A switch flips off in him. You can see it on his face, the realization washing over him. He laughs a little to himself. So it's like that, written all over his face. You rest yourself on his leg, a feeling welling up inside of you that you can't describe.

You scoot a little. Line yourself up along the edge of his boot, your clit touching the roundest part. You're glad you're wearing shorts, even though you're so certain that they're going to be soaked through because the direct contact might too much. You're worked up and wet and aching.

Bakugou is gentle. He's kind, a sort of pride rolling off him in waves as he guides your head to his leg. You press your cheek against his thigh.

"Want somethin' to watch, baby?"

"Yes. Please." You answer back. Small and simple. He laughs a little but abides your request. You watch carefully with your head tilted, as he pulls his cock out from his pants.

Half-hard, thicker than it's long with the tip and aching red that leaves heat crawling up your neck. He reaches forward to you, cupping his palm and giving you a tilted smile. The removal of his gloves is so painfully deliberate. Calloused hands, but beautifully thick fingers. You spit in his palm obediently, staring as it drips down his shaft. He goes slow, palms fisted around the base of his cock as he strokes it.

"Go on," He encourages, tender but teasing "Make yourself feel good."

So you do. It takes a little effort to work up to the right rhythm. You have to hold onto his leg - feel the hardness of as you anchor yourself up enough to roll your hips. It doesn't feel good until it does. Until there's enough pressure on you that you moan out. Your eyes are fluttery as you stare Bakugou.

And he's watching you so intently, fixed on the sight of you underneath him. There's something that always borders on obsessive when you get like this. Makes his chest swell up with pride that you want this, want him enough to hump against the steel toes of his work boots. You look damn good doing it, eyes hazy and shorts slowly riding up - curve of your ass and the bend of your knee making it hard for him to breathe.

The room is so thick with lust you can taste it in the back of your mouth. Bakugou strokes his cock, melting into the couch - head thrown back but always looking at you. He reaches a free hand out to touch you, using his thumb to wipe drool from the corner of your lips.

"So damn messy," He say, tucking his thumb into your mouth "You're gonna ruin my work pants, baby."

"Sorry." You hum. He chuckles.

"Making a mess of my boots too, probably." He hums, low as you suck his thumb "Gonna 'em all shiny, huh?"

A whine escapes your throat, a garbled and desperate sound as something gets all knotted up inside of you. The descent is slow and impatient. Makes your breath hitch hard with such utter need. You can feel it, how good you're feeling. How wet your getting, how even through the material there's more of a slip than it would be. And every time you open your eyes up - Bakugou is staring at you.

Peering at your needy expression with red eyes, thumb over slit and shivering from his sensitivity. It's the sight of you that he's using to get off. He's excited watching you be desperate, watching your expression change into one of utter devastation.

You're his favorite, messy angel. The sweetest thing in the whole world when you're like this. It makes Bakugou want to take care of you. Guide you gently, patiently towards the edge. Pushes all of his pride down and replaces it with devotion hard enough to swallow you - to make the glassy look in your eyes feel so fucking earned.

He does earn it. Earns his titles, always. Like Sir is just as important as Mr. Dynamight. Always earns that sweet fucking face you make when he fucks you into a stupid mess. You're beautiful like that, really. Beautiful when you're ruined, when you give him the wheel to take you where you need to go.

He softens his voice for you, just enough timbre to make your insides hot and sticky. "You wanna cum, don't you? Wanna cum humping my fucking boot."

"Yes, Sir."

"So well-mannered when you want something." He praises, though it sounds a little mean "Look at you. Didn't even get to take my work clothes off."

You want to say sorry. You're too close to think of the fact he's teasing you and that part of you makes him wrought with affection.

You feel hot as you whimper.

"C-can I cum, Sir? P-please, oh, pleaseplease."

"Close your eyes, sweetheart." He says, a tremor in his voice "Let's cum together."

You close your eyes and listen well as you let yourself go. It takes you a minute to get there, but the minute you pulse the first time - you feel something hot spill out against your cheek. You think it gets on your clothes too but you can't really tell. You're too busy cumming with him, all of you unravelling as you pulse and thrash and hold on so tight to Bakugou like your life depends on it.

You cum hard - eyes still closed. You hear Bakugou mumble something above you as you catch your breath. Some plastic crinkling and the feeling of something wet wiping off your cheeks. You wait until he's done to peel your eyes back open.

"Still with me? Feeling okay?" He checks in. You yawn but don't move.

"Yeah. Wanna say here for a bit though."

He laughs, petting your head.

"You look real comfortable."

You laugh with him.

"I am. I kinda see why you do this so much."

A flush spread on his face.

"Shut up."

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou smut #bnha smut #writing tag #return to sender #its a miracle i managed to write this without collapsing into a fit of dust

[scoops-stevie-archive]

i keep thinking about that one bachelor au post so here's my take on it (i've never watched the bachelor or bachelorette so bear with me)

the bachelor au where steve's the bachelor and eddie is a contestant, but not because he actually wants to be, he's just in it for the paycheck. robin is also a contestant but only because her parents sent in her application without her knowing and she isn't out to them yet.

they both think that steve is overrated and definitely over hyped. typical rich kid with enough money to buy people's love, yada yada.

until they both start going on dates with them and then realize that it isn't exactly true. yes, he's rich, but he's also kind and funny and actually genuine once you get past the mask he puts on for everybody. eventually, eddie and robin find themselves looking forward to their dates.

only robin doesn't want to date him. he's slowly moving his way up the ranks to becoming her best friend, sure, but this is still tv. she's still expected to kiss him and confess her feelings for him. and when the time comes for her to do that, she can't.

they're in venice. steve is leaning in and robin is very aware of the cameras filming them. the back of her neck goes cold and her stomach churns and suddenly she's running in the opposite direction. her italian is passable so she ends up getting a taxi back to the hotel production put them in.

she locks herself in her en suite and presses her forehead against the cold porcelain. she doesn't know how long she sits there until her phone buzzes and she checks the notification. the nausea rises up her throat again. she forgot she gave steve her number.

there's a knock on her room door and another text.

r u ok? can i come in?

robin debates it but figures she owes him and explanation. she lets him in and they sit on the bathroom floor. robin tells him why she's on the show in the first place, about how she didn't know her parents signed her up until she got the phone call from the casting director. tells him that even if she gets kicked off, she can still use the money for her student loans.

she stares at the water in the toilet bowl when she comes out to him.

steve is quiet, processing, before he laughs. he's not laughing at her, he promises, but "robin. you're on a show with more than a handful of other queers, you know that, right? i'm bisexual."

and yeah, robin knew that, but it's different when you're not into the guy you're supposed to be romancing at all.

steve reassures her that it's okay, and that he still hopes they can be friends and keep in touch after the show ends.

robin would like that.

she apologizes to the production crew the next day and they're understanding and steve and robin get a re-do of their date. it's much more genuine this time, filled with laughs and digs as they eat gelato along the river and people watch and gossip.

it's the best robin's ever been on.

eddie, on the other hand. he's absolutely head over heels for steve, which is surprising even for him. he's trailer park trash, he's got absolutely nothing on steve harrington. not the name, not the money.

hell, the very first day, he insulted the guy's food choices right to his face without knowing it.

eddie wants the earth to give way underneath him and swallow him whole.

he plays it up on their first date, all fake niceties and empty smiles, until steve tells him point blank, "the guy that said the buffet was shit that first night? i want to get to know him."

eddie's flabbergasted.

steve opens up about all the fake people in his life, the ones who just take advantage of them and use him for their own gains. the ones who don't even bother to get to know the real him. the one that likes to play guitar and hang out with the gaggle of teenagers that follow him around all the time for some unknown reason.

he tells eddie about what he wants to do with his life, not what someone else has planned for him and eddie falls deeper and deeper.

this time, when steve leans in for a kiss, eddie doesn't shy away. their lips press together and it's the best goddamn kiss either one of them have ever had.

the show has a deadline, of course, and steve can't just spend all his time with eddie and robin. there are other contestants. robin knows her rose is strictly platonic and steve has already called her multiple times freaking out about his growing crush on eddie. she knows eddie has this in the bag.

the final night comes and the contestants have dwindled. there's only a small group of them left: eddie, robin, and another guy and girl they didn't bother learning the names of.

when steve chooses eddie after a moment of dramatic silence that kind of puts his own dm dramatics to shame, eddie doesn't hesitate to jump in steve's arms, wrap his legs around his waist, and plant a sloppy one on him right in front of the cameras.

#steddie #steddie ficlet #platonic stobin #the three muskequeers #something something steve going on a tv show to find romance and ending up finding both his romantic and platonic soulmates #cj talks #prompts

[forever-rogue]

i’m in real missing peter hours 😔 could we maybe get a tasm!peter/blackcat!reader in the future where he’s starting to get over gwen? hints of angst but he’s mainly just avoiding his real feelings and reader is the distraction. probably smut but you’re the author so you can do whatever your heart desires. hugs and kisses hope you’re well!!

AN | Blind fools in lust and  love! Enjoy ❤️

Pairing | tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Warnings | Language, Smut [piv] - 18+ only

Word Count | 4.7k

Masterlist | Main | Peter

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Nope,” you grabbed his arm and pulled him along as best as you could. You managed to at least get him out of harm’s way, “not today. The Spider’s mine!”

The big white eyes of the mask blinked at you a few times and you knew, despite not even seeing his face, that he might have a concussion or at least took a good hit to the head. With a groan, you crouched next to him and put your hand on his cheek, “wha-whas goin’ on?”

“Stay here,” you kept your voice soft but firm, “please listen to me for once in your life, Spidey.”

You left him before he even realized what had happened, hoping that he’d actually wait for you under the little bit of cover you managed to get for him. 

The last thing he remembered was watching you walk away.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Peter’s eyes fluttered open slowly as he rolled onto his side, hissing at the sharp, shooting pain. He took a moment to study his surroundings and realized he wasn’t in his bedroom. Not unless he’d decided to change it up into pinks and pastels and to be very aesthetic as MJ would say. He sat up and rubbed at his tired eyes, trying to remember what happened.

“Hey,” at the sound of your voice he stiffened, looking up to find sitting at your desk across the room, “take it easy, Parker. You took quite a beating yesterday.”

“You…saved me,” he whispered incredulously as you waved your hand to dismiss his surprise, “why?”

“Because Peter Parker,” you walked over to the bed and sat at the edge of it, keeping a small distance between your bodies, “if anyone’s going to kill you, it’s going to be me. And, well, I guess you could say I’d grown fond of you over the years.”

He leaned back against the headboard and crossed his arms over his chest, “the Black Cat has a heart after all. Funny, especially for a criminal.”

“I’ve always had a heart,” you put your hand on his calf and gave it a gentle squeeze, “and I’m hardly a criminal - I…confiscate things from rich individuals that don't deserve them and redistribute the wealth.”

“According to the law, that's still criminal.”

“We both know you’re never going to do anything about it,” you leaned in closer, keeping your face a few inches from his. He was somehow even prettier up close; golden flecks in his eyes and the faintest of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and very kissable lips, “are you, Spidey?”

He reached for you, hands settling on your waist as he easily maneuvered you into his lap. You made a small sound of surprise but put your hands on his shoulders, eyes locked on his, trying to figure out what was going on in his mind.

“What do you think?” he brought his hand to your face and brushed his knuckles over your cheek. You couldn’t help but lean into his touch. You’d been playing your little cat and mouse (or rather cat and spider) game for so long now that somewhere along you had developed genuine feelings for him. If something were to happen to him, you weren’t sure what you’d do, “hmm?”

You took his face in your hands and kissed him without hesitation. If you had thought about it too much you’d never get the nerve to actually kiss him. And you’d been wanting to do that for a long time now, you’d thought about it a million times probably.

When he didn’t kiss you back for a moment you worried you’d overstepped, but then he pulled you closer to his body, kissing you back just as eagerly. His hands wandered under your shirt, splaying over your ribs, causing you to make a pretty sound into his mouth. You refused to pull away until you were desperate for air, the two of you exchanging almost shy smiles. You pressed your forehead to his as you tried to catch your breath, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m fine,” he promised, tugging on the hem of your shirt in a silent question of whether or not he could remove it. You nodded and held up your arms to make it easier for him to take off, “I heal fast.”

“Promise?” you asked as he marveled at the sight of you in your bra. 

“Promise,” he went back to kissing you, hands roaming all over your bare skin as if he was trying to commit everything to memory, “you’re beautiful.”

The words, whispered soft but loud and clear, made a shiver run up and down your spine. You leaned into his touch as he unclasped the back of your bra, eagerly pulling it down your arms and tossing it to the side. You swore there was a hint of a bubblegum blush spreading across his cheeks as he looked you over with eager eyes. 

“Your turn,” you tugged at the hem of his t-shirt and he practically ripped it off in one fluid motion. You studied the golden skin that was revealed, admiring how broad and strong he looked. There were freckles scattered across his skin…along with a lot of bruising and some lacerations. A frown tugged down the corners of your mouth as you ghosted your fingers along his side, “Pete…”

“It’s okay,” he kissed along your jaw, working his way down your neck, nipping and biting at the skin just enough to some pretty lavender bruises, “they’ll be gone by the morning. You won’t hurt me.”

You took his pretty face in your eyes, looking into his eyes to make sure he was being completely honest with you. When you were satisfied that he was telling the truth, you kissed him slowly and deeply, trying to get as much from him as possible. You could feel that he was already hard as you slowly ground your hips into him, pulling some moans from his lips.

He quickly flipped you so you were under him, caged in by strong arms and overwhelmed with all of him. You practically melted into the bed as he kissed his way down your body, worshiping the soft and hard lines of your frame, even the areas you were insecure about. He stopped at the waistband of your shorts, catching your eye to make sure it was okay to take them off. At your enthusiastic nod, his lithe fingers easily whipped off your shorts and tossed them into the pile with the rest of your clothes. 

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” his gentle praise was enough to make you even more wet, “can I taste you?”

“As much as I want that Parker,” you slowly sat up, leaving him with a disappointed look on his face, “I need to feel you. Want you inside of me.”

You took advantage of his momentary surprise and flipped the script, pinning him under you as you straddled his hips. Those pretty brown eyes were almost black with lust as he looked up at you in wonder.

“Is this okay?” you tugged on the hem of his pants and he started to push them down his strong legs without any ado, “oh. I see it’s very okay.”

“Thought about this a lot, you know?” you most definitely knew. You’ve pictured this very moment more than you’d cared to admit. You watched as he stroked his hard cock, amazed - and mildly worried - about his size. A smirk grew on his face as he reached between your legs and scooped some of your slick onto his fingers before wrapping his hand around himself again, laying back and stroking his hard cock, “you’re going to feel so good, I just know it.”

“For the sake of science, why don’t we find out?” you shoved his hands out of the way, and took his cock in your hand, stroking him a few times before lining him up at our entrance and slowly sinking down on him. You couldn’t help the lewd moan that escaped your lips at the stretch as he filled you up. Peter’s hands were on your hips, fingers digging in tightly, sure to leave bruises, but you didn’t care, “well, Spidey? Everything you dreamed of and more?”

“Fuck,” he hissed quietly under his breath, closing his eyes and biting his lip almost hard enough to break the skin, “you feel so perfect.”

“You feel pretty good too,” you leaned down to kiss him, moving slightly and pulling an almost pathetic whimper from his lips.

“You keep moving like that and I’m not going to last long,” his hands went to your ass, greedily squeezing your soft, plump flesh, “this is ever better anything I ever imagined.”

“Lucky for you, I’m up for multiple rounds,” you started to move up and down his cock, kissing whatever parts of him that you could reach, his skin was soft and delicious. You knew that you weren’t going to last much longer either, but you’d take him however he wanted, “if you are.”

“Yes,” he started to slam up into you, causing you to gasp at the feeling and display of strength, “you’re mine.”

Yeah…he was definitely making you feel some kind of way with his possessiveness. You knew it partly just from the moment, but you didn’t mind. He took back a little bit of the power he’d let you have, thrusting into you over and over, “you can cum in me, you know. I’m on the pill.”

“You’re just a fucking tease,” and he wasn’t having it any longer, flipping you back under him and pounding you in mercilessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist and let him take what he needed, “for years now.”

“Didn’t know you wanted me for that long,” your heart started to race, not just from the pounding he was giving you, but his surprisingly sweet sentiment. You’d thought about him too, but had never thought he’d actually reciprocate those feelings, “you’re such a softy, Peter Parker.”

He laughed at that, a sweet sound that you wanted to bottle up and keep forever, “we’ve all got some soft spots.”

“I’m honored,” your words were swallowed up by a moan as he reached down where your bodies connected and played with your clit. You closed your eyes as you felt the heat bloom in your core, “fuck, yes Peter. Just like that.”

“Good girl,” alrighty, apparently you’d had some sort of praise kink that he’d managed to tap into. He kept one hand on your hip and the other was massaging your breasts, “look at you, so pretty.”

“S’are you,” you managed to choke out as his thrusts started to grow more erratic and sloppy, “gonna fill me up?”

“Shit,” he groaned as he felt your velvety walls start to hug him even more tightly. It was like the sweetest vice grip. Your release came on faster than you’d expected and you felt that rush buzzing through your entire body as you became jelly under him. He managed to thrust into you a few more times before he came, spilling deep within you and almost collapsing on top of you, “holy fuck. Fuck.”

You looped your arms around his neck and pulled him down on top of you, using his warm body as a blanket. You both tried to catch your breath, his head on your chest as he pressed kisses to your shoulder. You ran a hand through his dark hair, trying to process what had just happened, “I’m not going to lie, Pete, having sex with you wasn’t on my bingo card for today…or ever.”

“Oh it was definitely on mine,” he lifted his face and grinned at you, the true dork he was underneath it all was showing through, “you’re beautiful, you know?”

“You might have mentioned that a few times,” you pressed a kiss to his lips, “you’re not so bad yourself.” 

“Hmm,” he reached for your hand and laced your fingers together, “whatever you say, honey. Give me another few minutes and we can go again.”

“Okay,” you agreed through a small yawn, “can we just lay here for a little bit first?”

“Yeah,” he rolled off you and onto his side, pulling you into his body and wrapping an arm around you, “that sounds perfect.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’d been seeing Peter - more or less - for almost six months at this point. Usually it involved a late night text from him asking if you were free, the guise of attempting to watch a movie or eat dinner, and then ended in sex. Not that the sex was bad or anything, it was mind-blowing, but that was the problem in and of itself. 

You really liked Peter, and your feelings only seemed to blossom with the more time you spent together. You didn’t just want him for the sex, you wanted to experience everything with him. It was almost scary how easy it was to fall for him, but it happened and now you were left with more emotions and feelings than you’d ever intended on having. The worst part was that you were almost positive that Peter didn’t feel the same way. You’d tried to convince yourself that nights spent together were enough; some nights it worked and other nights it hurt even more to watch him go. 

This was bad; you hadn’t meant to fall for your former arch-nemesis. In an effort to preserve your sanity, you made the decision that it was time to start distancing yourself from Peter. You’d stopped responding to his texts, slowly at first and then pretty much entirely and if you knew that he was going to be in a particular place, you avoided that place as well. 

You had no clue what his current feelings were or if he’d even noticed your lack of communication. Your hope was that maybe he wouldn’t even realize anything was different and things would go back to how they used to be. 

But - and you were well aware of this little fact - Peter Parker was a genius and things rarely went unnoticed. 

It shouldn’t have surprised you at all to find him tapping on your bedroom window. You hadn’t heard him and startled jumped slightly at the rhythmic taps. You looked over and found him waving meekly. Despite your best judgment, you closed your laptop and walked over to the window, unlocking it so he could come in. 

He hopped in, landing on his lithe feet and pulling off his mask. Peter turned to you and leaned in to kiss you, but you stopped him, putting your hand on his chest and gently pushing him back. His brows furrowed as he looked at you with a pouty expression.

“The window was locked,” he mused as you took a step back from him and crossed your arms over your chest, “you’ve been ignoring me. And now you don’t want me to touch you. Oh honey, what’s going on, huh?”

“Pete,” you sighed heavily, “I can’t…I, fuck. I can’t do this anymore.”

“What?” he huffed, almost in amusement as his hands settled on his hips, “what are you talking about?”

“I don’t want to keep hooking up with you,” you groaned as you pushed past him and headed towards the kitchen. This definitely called for a glass of wine, if not something stronger. Peter trailed after you, a string of incomprehensible murmurs escaping his lips. You grabbed the wine and a glass and dumped out a hearty pour before turning to Peter, “do you want some wine?”

“How can you-” he sighed before coming into your space, caging you in between his arms against the counter, “I don’t want wine.”

“Oh,” you brought the glass to your lips and took a dainty sip before he took the glass out of your hand and set it onto the counter, “shame, it’s really good. Nicked it from some millionaire’s stash.”

“What’s going on, huh?” he took your jaw in his hand and turned your face up to his. If you weren’t experiencing a million other emotions, you definitely would have been turned on, “tell me.”

“Peter,” your voice softened as you allowed yourself to meet his soft, dark doe eyes, “I think we should stop whatever you want to call what we’ve been doing.”’

“Why?” his eyes were inquisitive but the harsh edge had started to disappear, “I thought we were having fun.”

“We were,” you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and gently pulled his hand away, “but it’s not enough for me. I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I realized that I want…more. I don’t just want to hook up and then have you leave in the middle of the night. I’m sorry, Pete, but that’s the truth.”

“What happened?”

“I think that I realized I have feelings for you,” you looked away, closing your eyes to stop the tears from spilling over, “I didn’t think this would happen but there it is. I really care about you and I want more but I know you don’t want more. And maybe it’s selfish but I’d rather just stop now before I get even more feelings.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, shaking his head, “I thought you said you were okay with this, with how we had things.”

“It was fine at first,” you shrugged lightly, “and then it slowly changed. And now I’m telling you. So…yeah.”

“You know I don’t do relationships,” he took a step back and you felt like you could breathe again. But you could tell that things had definitely and inexplicably shifted between the two of you, “I can’t do relationships.”

“It’s not my place to tell you what you do or don’t want,” you swallowed thickly, “I’m just telling you how I feel and what I want. Nothing is going to change the fact that I care about you, Parker. I hope you know that it's okay to care for people and let them care about you. You’re allowed to be happy. Gwen-”

“Don’t,” he took a big step and held up his hand. You’d touched on a nerve - and you knew you would - but it was the truth. It had been almost ten years since he’d lost her and you knew that he wasn’t over what happened. Not that you expected him to just be over it; he never would be entirely and he’d always love her. You respected the hell out of that, but at the same time you wished he would understand that it was okay to love again, “don’t you dare talk about her.”

“I won’t,” you whispered, “I would never disrespect her and I’d hope you know that by now. And you should know that I respect you and your feelings. And I think I deserve the same from you. And right now I think it’s best if you leave. I don’t know if we’re ever going to see eye to eye on this so we should just stop.”

He closed his eyes before running a hand through his messy hair, “you want me to just leave?”

“Of course I don’t,” you insisted, “but we don’t want the same things. So, let’s just cut our losses and move on.”

“Fine,” he pulled the mask back over his face, wanting anything but to look you directly in the face. You chewed on your lip, something that drove Peter crazy. Today you were driving him crazy in an entirely different way, “fine. I’ll go.”

“I am sorry,” he hated how upset you sounded. He hated that he was the cause of your heart even more, “for what it’s worth.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, already sliding your window open again, “me too.”

Without any further preamble, he jumped back out in the dark night, leaving before you even got the chance to close the window. He didn’t think he could bear looking at you again - not if he wanted to stick with his plan of detachment. He thought he was stronger than he apparently was. 

He was weak-willed and pathetic in his mind, especially because he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t fall in love again. 

You watched his figure swing away until the red and blue of his suit was out of sight before closing the windows with a heavy sigh. You missed him already.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It had been four weeks - four whole weeks - since Peter had last seen you. 30-days to be exact - not that he was counting or anything. But, to put it lightly, it fucking sucked. He missed you terribly. 

He wasn’t exactly sure where along the line he’d fallen in love with you, but he had been so sure that just ignoring his feelings would work. But he should have known better…after all, when did ignoring a problem ever actually solve it? Never. And this case was no exception. 

“Are you…ever planning on not moping around all the time?” Peter’s eyes snapped to Miles so fast that the younger boy laughed nervously. Here he was, thinking the whole time that he was acting normal. But apparently he had been anything but. 

“I’m not - I am not moping,” Peter hissed, trying to convince himself as much as Miles. When he realized that he definitely wasn’t going to be able to, his shoulders sagged and he let out a slow exhale, “fine. I guess I am. Sorry, I just…it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“That’s exactly what someone very not fine would say,” Miles walked around the table, studying some of the blueprints that Peter had drawn for some new gadgets. He felt his mentor’s eyes glued to him, “‘m just saying.”

“Miles…”

“Is it a girl? Are you in love? Is Petey experiencing lots of big feelings?”

“I swear I will take away all of your Spider privileges,” Miles snorted in amusement knowing fulwell that there wasn’t a damn thing that Peter could do, “fine, I’ll do something!”

“You could try to talk about it?” he suggested lightly, toeing the line and leaving just enough room for Peter to make whatever decisions he wanted to, “if you want to. No pressure, but I’m here if you need someone to word vomit to. Spider-Man to Spider-Man.”

“It’s a long story,” but maybe it would feel good to let it all out. Maybe he really just needed to talk it out with someone. It could feel great…it could also feel terrible. 

“I’ve got time,” Miles hopped up and sat on the table, swinging his long legs back and forth, “if you’ve got the time.”

“Yeah,” Peter mirrored his actions and sat down next to the boy, “I do.”

Peter wasn’t sure where he should have started at first, so he started at the beginning, with Gwen. It had been a long time since he’d spoken to anyone about everything that had happened. Maybe he’d just been waiting for the people to come into his life and make him feel safe again; Miles did that, you did that.

And while it was incredibly scary, he knew that it was just a small leap of faith.

But this time around, he wasn’t afraid to jump.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Despite not having heard those familiar taps for weeks, as soon as you heard them, your heart skipped a few beats. With slight trepidation you padded your slippered feet over to your bedroom window. 

Just as expected, there was Spider-Man sitting on your fire escape. He perked up when he realized you were coming over, waiting with bated breath to see if you'd even open the window.

"Spidey," you leaned on the window, resting your chin in your hand as you looked him over, "what are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," if you didn't know any better, you'd have thought he sounded nervous, "can we talk?"

"Peter," you let out a long sigh before shaking your head and moving to close the window again. Peter was quicker and managed to web your hand before you could literally and metaphorically shut him out, "why?"

"Please?" The desperation in his voice was clear now and it made your iced over heart thaw just a little bit. You managed to unstick your hand before stepping back and waiting for him to come in. Peter’s nerves seemed to get the better of him as he almost tripped and stumbled over his own feet. You couldn’t help the small smile that managed to cross your features at the sight of the clumsy boy. He stood back up and ripped his mask off before looking at you nervously, “h-hi.”

“Hello Peter,” despite your best efforts you couldn’t help but touch his face, lightly tracing your fingers over the bruising along his jaw with a deep frown. He stiffened under your touch before wrapping his fingers gently around your wrist, “what’s going on, bub?”

“I’m an idiot,” his admission sounded almost pathetic as you cocked your head to the side and raised an eyebrow, “and a moron.”

“I’m well aware,” you pulled your hand out of his touch, causing a wicked blush to color his cheeks, “but that doesn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”

“I’m been thinking-”

“Oh dear…”

“And I realized you were right. Well, I talked to Miles, did a lot of thinking and self-reflection or whatever it’s called. And yeah…you were right,” that caused you to stop with your mouth open before blinking at him several times, “about what you’d said.”

“I’m usually right,” why were you suddenly nervous? You waved your hand around dismissively before crossing your arms over your chest, “what - what was I right about?”

“I was - am - scared about being in a relationship again,” the boy swallowed the lump in his throat, finding it hard to put exactly what he was feeling into words, “I’m scared what it could mean if I loved someone again.”

“It’s always going to be a little scary, Pete,” you whispered softly, “loving someone and letting them love you is the most vulnerable thing anyone can do. But that doesn’t mean we should completely stop ourselves from experiencing it.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, eyes still intently trained on your carpet, “I realize that now. I, ummm, I-”

You couldn’t stand it any longer, and grabbed his face, pressing your lips to his. It took Peter a moment to catch onto what was happening, but as soon as clarity hit him, he kissed you right back, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his body. Neither of you wanted to pull apart until you were desperate for a breath of air. 

He pressed his forehead against yours before closing his eyes and sighing softly, “I, ugh, I have feelings for you too.”

“Yeah?” your simple question was so sweet and innocent that he couldn’t help but kiss you again, “but do you…want more?”

“I do,” he confessed, finding the simple revelation both freeing and nerve wracking, “I’m not sure I’ll make the best boyfriend but I’m willing to try. I-if you still want that anyway.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think I’d be the most conventional girlfriend,” this wasn’t exactly how you’d pictured this scenario in your mind - any of the many times you’d imagined. But it was still perfect in its own way because it was you and Peter, “but I’m willing to try.”

“Me too,” he promised; you knew he meant it this time, “sorry for being an idiot and taking so long to realize the obvious.”

“You got there in the end,” you couldn’t help but pull him back to your lips, breaking into laughter as he effortlessly picked you up and started walking over to your bed, “wait - you’re really sure about this, Parker?”

“Yes,” he promised, peppering your face in kisses, “I’m all in. Are you?”

“I am,” you whispered, “all in.”

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter park x fem!reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x reader #andrew!peter #andrew garfield #spider-man

[fire-lizard-ro]

Aventurine angst/comfort

CW: spoilers for 2.1, Aventurine’s real name, talk of death/genocide, deep seated trauma, trying to heal from trauma, Aventurine's past, talk of slavery (his time as a slave), self loathing, esteem issues, talk of ego and sense of self, identity crisis???, a bit of a character study I think, meandering around because I cannot structure my thoughts whoopsie, there was a single Projecting Moment oops my b

Long post, so buckle up. I might add more later ehe-

No mentioned gender for reader.

Writing under the cut (SFW):

I had the sudden realization that Aven probably doesn’t know as much about the culture he lost as he’d like. Or at least as he’d secretly like to know. For years he was preoccupied with surviving and putting on a mask seared so deep into his ego that he might have forgotten those wishes were even there. But when the dust has settled, and his job is done? Once he’s “slipped the collar” and found his freedom? There’s… a lot less external noise to distract him from the noise inside.

It's just like he said. You must first fool yourself in order to fool everyone else. Aventurine must have tried his damnedest to forget the silly little wishes of Kakavasha. Those wishes needed to be buried in the dirt along with his name. They could never come true, so what was the use of having them in the first place? But that doesn’t stop the heart from yearning for the things it lost.

The longer he’s away from the stage, that place full of dazzling lights where it was always all eyes on him and he was always the circus act of balancing on a tight rope- always gambling on the knife’s edge between life and death… The more Kakavasha seems to remember what he used to dream of. It’s like the slow trickle of water from a crack in the tank.

Once he’s with you and he’s comfortable enough to tell you about his story… Once he’s given time to really trust you. The tank breaks and it’s like he’s a fish out of water, all of his “self” exposed under your gaze. It’s terrifying. But at the same time… healing. You’re his safe space. He’s never needed anyone to save him- that’s not what you are. You’re not some savior swooping in to save their damsel in distress. Sure, maybe it would have been nice had there been someone there for him back when he was just a scared child who had just lost everything he’d ever loved. But he fought, tooth and nail, for what he has now. Clawed his way out of the bodies that littered his past and wiped the blood from his mouth in order to finally gain his freedom. He doesn’t need someone to save him. Doesn’t need someone to fix him. But he loves you because you’re there to hold his hand while he finds his way to the end of the tunnel.

Nowadays he feels more Kakavasha and less like Aventurine. It's a struggle, because he doesn’t know if he should be Kakavasha.

Kakavasha was the name of the coward scared boy who could only run when his sister told him to run. Kakavasha was the name of a boy who lost everything and it was his fault. Kakavasha was the name of a boy made slave who was only seen as a pretty face and a tool it was all he was good for. Kakavasha was the name of a boy who could do nothing to save anyone all because of this damned blessing curse favor. Kakavasha was the name of a failure.

But he also didn't know if he was allowed to be Kakavasha.

Kakavasha was also a child who was untainted by the greed of life.

Kakavasha was an innocent child who knew how to trust people.

Kakavasha was allowed to want and to have. Kakavasha was loved.

Could he ever be loved? Having done what he'd done? Been what he'd been? Been who he'd been?

Was he Aventurine? Or was he Kakavasha?

Who was he, really?

Back then it was so noisy. He just wanted to cover his ears to shut out the screams and the voices of the people who wanted to use him and the chants of those who wanted to kill him-

But now all the noise was inside and he couldn't just cover his ears. It wouldn't help. It wouldn't stop these thoughts from running rampant in his head.

Sometimes it felt like Kavasha was a lifetime ago, detached from Aventurine when his mask he always wore took hold of him again. Both a helper and a jailer. He couldn't stop himself from falling into old habits.

But sometimes Kakavasha was all he could be. Remembering what his sister's smile looked like and how his mother's lullabies sounded and how his father's hugs felt.

Remembering how those last hugs felt and those last goodbyes weren't supposed to come so soon.

Remembering what it felt like to be chained up like some unruly pet dog and what it felt like to kill a man.

Remembering what how it felt to bury his past and his name and his family and everything else he ever loved and become a new person.

Remembering what it felt like and what it took to become Aventurine.

With time, your encouragement and support, and some self reflection (and likely some therapy)... He slowly allows himself these things.

But it gets worse before it gets better.

He learned how to hate himself long before he had the notion that he could love himself.

He learned to love others before he learned to love himself.

He gives away all the love he cannot give himself. To you

(There's the projection help- THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE FUCKING HOUSE-)

With time he learns that he is not the sum of his actions. He can be loved. He IS loved.

You help him find what things researchers have managed to scrounge up from the remains of his people's home- from Sigonia. What they recorded even while they were still around. He sifts through painful memories to find the good ones. Remembers the once forgotten feeling of his people's language in his mouth. Teaches you all the curse words first just for fun but doesn't tell you what they actually mean. Gives you a nickname in that pretty mother tongue of his. Murmurs stories and sweet nothings in your ears while you fall asleep on his chest, the rumble of his voice and the beating of his heart lulling you to sleep.

You help him regain some of what he lost. You stayed and weathered the storm with him. You didn't leave and you made him realize with eyes wide open that you love him. That he's worthy of being loved by you. That being worthy was never even a question in the first place.

And he can never thank you enough for it.

His shoulder to lean on, his hand to hold, his ear to listen.

He is Kakavasha and he loves you.

#Roro writes #Aventurine #hsr Aventurine #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x gn reader #hsr x gn reader #aventurine x gn reader