#shared life experiences? check | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

creatingblackcharacters · 23 days

Text

“Why’s she so rude?” (She’s Not)- Stereotypes, pt2

So I'm sure that you all thought I was going to give a blow-by-blow list of "visual stereotypes to avoid". I'm going to be honest here, I thought about it, and figured it would be redundant. My page already includes sensitivity on depicting Black people. So instead, I'm going to focus on stereotypical "character" concepts, so that you can 1) not write it in your stories and/or 2) recognize it in media (fiction and reality!) and in life!

Two major resources: the Jim Crow Museum website is an EXCELLENT resource to understand the imagery of antiblack racism in U.S. history and society. The other, White Tears, Brown Scars by Ruby Hamad. The book focuses on the many racist stereotypes projected onto women of color and how that purposeful, systemic negative perception of us bleeds into every aspect of our lives- specifically by white women/white feminists who believe that they are not contributing to said oppression.

I'll start with Black women, just because I’m passionate about it (obviously) and there are so many things I wish I had and hadn’t seen growing up. We deserve better by the year of our lord 2024.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: mention of sexual assault, assault

Misogynoir

What I want everyone to understand, before I get into this, is the concept of intersectionality, and more specifically, misogynoir. Misogynoir is the specific type of contempt and prejudice that Black women face at the intersection of race and gender. I say this because you might read these things and go “oh, as a woman, I experience these things!” I get it, but I want you to PAUSE, and remember, that right now, we are talking about Black women’s experiences. And those will often be different, due to that intersection of identities. And that understanding will have an effect on how you understand (and thus, write) those experiences.

The Jezebel

The link goes into much deeper detail, but the Jezebel is the idea that a Black woman or girl who is sexual is somehow “fast”, “salacious”, “a hoe”, “driven by desire/doesn’t understand purity”, and at its worst, unable to be r*ped/a victim because she is less valuable yet somehow inherently seductive to men.

This gets thrown around CONSTANTLY in media and life for Black women (my first experience of treated like I was ‘fast’ was when I was like… twelve?) One major, visible example is Megan Thee Stallion. Meg has a college degree, she likes anime, she’s a brilliant rapper, and has an entire personality and struggles she’s shared… But she also likes to dress scantily clad and have sex. By doing those things, she ‘lessened in value’. And because of this, when she was shot at and assaulted, even Black people questioned her character, rather than understanding that she could have been anyone, and she still wouldn’t have deserved to be assaulted. She's not allowed to be multi-faceted; she "brought it on herself".

Black girls and women who happen to take charge of their own sexuality, to the discomfort of society, are treated as Jezebels- as whores. Think about it- if one of Taylor Swift's recent boyfriends shot at her, would the media question her value or her word? Question her equivalently high ‘body count’?

Question how you write your Black woman- she can enjoy sex! She can be sexy! We love to see it! But if you're punishing her specifically, or judging her within the narrative, versus your other characters who are allowed to safely explore and act upon their sexuality… Check your judgment! Why do you feel the way you do about this character? Why do you think that your Black character is the one that should be judged for her actions. Would you feel this way if it were a nonblack character?

The Sapphire/Angry Black Woman

Ohohoho, I have infinite amounts of feelings about this one.

This is the "sassy Black friend", the "aggressive Black boss", “step on me angry mommy”, the one who does the z formation and makes everyone "uncomfortable". She’s not allowed to be confident, assertive, or self-assured- she’s arrogant, rude, and aggressive.

I discussed it in part one, but I'll reemphasize it: your Black woman doesn't have to be an ‘Angry Black Woman’ in order to be angry! Just like any other human being on the planet, we are allowed to be mad. (In my honest opinion, we have a lot to be mad about, but I digress 😅)

If the only character that ever gets angry is your Black character, I want you to consider why. What is she angry at? Was this something you wanted the reader to understand or empathize with? Are we supposed to disagree? How does everyone around her treat her anger? Is her anger righteous? Is she always shut down or dismissed for it? Is it only meant to defend her friends, but never herself? Does the narrative suggest that it’s only good in use of others and not herself? Would this be the same reaction if one of the nonblack characters was angry? Is this something you did on purpose?

Very often, we're called 'angry Black women/girls' to invalidate our emotions. My therapist once said anger is a protective emotion. We might be hurt, overstimulated, sad, depressed, frightened, anxious… But we are often not allowed the grace of others digging deeper to see that. Even if the other characters do not understand her anger, even if her motives are not meant to be understood at the moment… you as the writer should be aware. But if every time it’s time to show anger or upset, it’s your Black character… consider why this is the one you thought would best convey that message, and how your Black readers might feel seeing that this character (who may not even be the ‘bad guy’) is the one that is ‘only’ angry. No other development, no other emotions, just… there to be mad.

I take this one to heart, as someone who feels very passionately about things… this is one of those things where I wish, in life and in media, people would have more grace for Black women. We're human, too. We have feelings, too.

The Mammy

This one isn’t as visually blatant anymore in media as it was in the past (like every Mammy doesnt look like Aunt Jemima), but you may have seen this one as "the mommy figure". The "lesbian that parents the silly gay boys". The one that’s always encouraging the ship of the white boys, but never the one allowed to be in the ship (especially when her ship is canon!)

A good example of this was how people expected Jessica Drew from ATSV to be "more loving" to Gwen, rather than the mentor and boss she was (plus, as a Black woman with a Black mother… trust and believe, she was quite direct and gentle). And in comparison to her counterpart, white man Peter B. Parker, was decried far worse for similar detrimental actions.

The Mammy often serves in opposition to the Jezebel and Sapphire/Angry Black Woman. What makes the Mammy particularly annoying is that it implies that the only good Black woman character is a ‘nice’, demure, unthreatening, homely, motherly figure whose job it is to make sure to center the (usually) white ones. The Mammy is expected to coddle everyone, to her own detriment. She's a ‘good Black’ because she causes no issue, raises no fuss, never shows a negative feeling, knows that she has to ‘be strong’ but to always defer because the white characters know best. She’s ‘not a threat’, and that’s why she’s ‘allowed’ to be around. We shouldn’t have to be those things in order for our stories to be heard and understood, in order to be empathized with or treated like someone of value.

The Strong Black Woman

If I never hear this phrase again in my life, if we eradicate it from future generations for Black girls and women, I'll cry of joy lmao. I hate it, and it's not for the reasons most nonblack people would expect. Lord, this one. Anyway. The ‘strong Black woman’ is meant to protect everyone, no help needed! Whenever something is wrong and we all need a pickup, here she comes to ‘let me do it’ and everything is going to be okay! She did all the necessary suffering so that your characters don't have to! She can sweep in and save the day!

Now here's the dissonance kicks in. This one on its surface probably sounds like a good thing. She's a hero! She’s resilient! She's great! Who wouldn't want to be superwoman? Who wouldn't want to reject being a love interest, all women are always love interests! Let us be the badass that kicks ass and shows the men what for! Who wouldn’t want that, 24/7?!

The answer: US. 👍🏾🤣

This is a long, separate conversation on its own, but we have to understand that Black women (women of color, really) and White women do not always share the same end goals and understanding of "strong woman character" or even feminism. We certainly aren't always the love interest. Very usually not, in fact. We are always pushed to the side. We are already the hero in our lives, we're already the "strong woman".

Not everyone yearns to be the Singular Hero who will Fix It All as many of us are already expected to do. It's exhausting having to swallow your own needs for everyone else all the time, especially when it's suggested that you have no value otherwise if you don't. Heroism is Exhausting, and it's something worth looking into when you’re characterizing your Black girls and women. I’m not saying that we can’t be strong! We are, and it’s impressive! But I also want us to add some nuance to that strength, the way we would for any other character. What it means to have community, rather than to do it all alone. How even if she wants to be the hero (and that’s okay! That’s fine!) how it would still wear on her. Surrounding your Black girl character with unconditional support, to have a lover that actually wants to pull some weight- that's something many of us actually would like to see, because we're usually shafted to the side as 'someone who can do it all herself' (in order to hide that no one thinks we need or are deserving of the help).

It's okay to let your Black woman and girls show weakness, to rest, to be taken care of! It's not "less feminist" to accept that we're humans that need help and can't carry it all, too. That it’s okay to want to feel valued and protected. Because god knows, I wish I didn’t grow up strong and resilient, I wish I grew up knowing that the world cared that I was safe.

Standards of Beauty

These standards are not the same! I've mentioned it before in my lesson on skin tones, but very often when we think of "beauty", it’s easy to fall into the idea of whiteness. Pale skin, thin hair textures, etc. If those are our existing standards of beauty, then it doesn’t matter what any of us look like- we’re ugly! When I was in high school, I remember a classmate saying that Swedish people were the most beautiful people because of "white hair and pale skin". Without even meaning to, that guy basically said everyone darker than a stack of loose leaf printer paper was ugly by proxy of not being Nordic White (no matter how pretty they actually might be!!) 🤣

It’s also of note that whiteness/paleness tends to be connected with innocence and cleanliness in western culture, while blackness/darkness tends to be considered dirty, sinful, fearful. Now, while the origin of this idea may not be racist itself, when you spend hundreds of years implying that Blackness is bad- to the point that, in the U.S. they came up with an entire slur one step past “negro” (meaning ‘Black’) to deem you less than- it’s hard to say that the societal connotation didn’t apply.

Now we've already discussed working on describing our Black characters better! I continually remind you all that you should be describing them as wonderfully made as you do your white characters. Keep in mind that we live in a world where from day one when we enter the world, Blackness and Black features are not seen as beautiful nor emphasized. Whiteness is the standard of beauty that we, for a long time and still, are expected to adhere to. If you'd like to do better by your characters, remember that you don't have to give them "white features" or use "white" as an adjective to do that!

Black Women as Women

“There was literally nothing, not a thing, that a white woman could ever have that was worth more than her sexual virtue, and this obligated mandatory chasteness and sexual vulnerability… If the most important thing a woman has is virtue, and only white women can have virtue, then by definition, only white women can be women.” Ruby Hamad, ‘Only White Women Can Be Damsels’, White Tears, Brown Scars

Often, Black women by definition are not included under the societal banner of “women”, from our features, to our personalities, to our 'role' in life. "True Womanhood" is denied us, cis and trans, because of our Blackness. The things that make women ‘women’, we are not included under, because systemically, the only ‘women’ that were meant to mean anything were white.

I bring up Megan Thee Stallion again. Meg is probably one of the most beautiful, feminine women I've ever seen in my life. Men still call her a man, due to her height, due to her confidence, and due to their insecurities. Same with Serena Williams; Serena is damn near built like a god in my eyes. She was told she was manly from the beginning of her career, no matter how beyond skilled she was in women's tennis. Even when she damn near died giving birth- the most basic of 'tasks' women are seen as having in this society, it didn't matter. Black women are 'less womanly', 'less valuable', 'less in need' of that protection and identity that society swears Women™ need (and not in the honest way that we do need protection).

Consider that you're making sure that your Black women have the options of range of gender expression and emotions (and if they aren't allowed to, is that on purpose). If you're only ever creating us and we're in service of some dainty white woman and never the other way around... consider how that may reflect what you think our role is in your story, and in your mind.

Adultification

“Awkward moment when Rue is some black girl and not the innocent blond girl you imagine.” twitter: sw4q

It has been shown that Black girls the same age as their white girl counterparts are deemed older and less in need of protection, and supposed to 'be more mature'. Imagine that. Deemed inherently less innocent, due to your skin color. Having to parent our siblings, get jobs to contribute, do all the cleaning, and more. Yet, when we act with the maturity that we've been forced to grow into, we're "fast". A little 12-year-old girl, now to society, the Jezebel. All because she wanted to try pink lip gloss or wear a skirt; things that little tween girls might try to understand the big world around them and push boundaries. Now she's a woman, now she can never be a victim. Now she can be beat on and hurt and it's her fault.

I explain this for two reasons: One, for you to think about how your write your Black girls, and Two, for you to hold more grace for Black girls- real and fake. Do you hold her to a higher standard than your white characters of similar age? Does she inherently seem less innocent to you for reasons outside the plot? Is she as human to you as your other characters? Is she allowed to be a child? To act like one? To make mistakes? Are you as empathetic or understanding about that childishness as you are towards nonblack characters? Do you make these decisions on purpose?

It's not like Black girls can never be YA protags or anything- ofc we can. But keep in mind that she's not somehow automatically "stronger" by proxy of her Blackness, that she'd "be tougher". She's a kid. Let her be one.

Conclusion

There’s a LOT you have to consider when writing Black girls and women. I’m not going to sit here and say it’s easy, because being Black, and being a Black woman, is not easy. If you’re stressed reading it, imagine being stressed living it lmao. It’s a constant chain of quick-time events every day of your life to prevent nonblack nuclear meltdown in response to your every single action. I’m not going to apologize for it, either.

That being said, I don’t expect you to understand everything, especially not all at once. I just want you all to keep these things in mind, to question yourself when you’re writing your character- are you treating her differently on purpose? Or are you treating her differently because of a bias you might not even notice you have? It might help to go back, to read how you treat all of your characters. Or, if you’ve never written before, to maybe outline the traits of your characters and figure out where things balance out. As always, all you can do is practice at it. Because it's the thought that counts, but the action that delivers.

Whew, I'm actually emotionally strained after this one. My chest is beating fast. Let me go get some groceries now.

#creatingblackcharacters #character design #black characters #black character design #writing #creative writing #stereotypes #antiblackness #racism

1K notes · View notes

art · 9 months

Text

Meet the Artist: @bbybluemochi

Hi! I’m Arun (they/them), a freelance illustrator based in Spain. Growing up I always had an affinity for art, but the mere idea of turning it into a career seemed impossible to me. So I went to university to study history, another passion of mine, and didn’t even think about picking up a pen for almost a decade. It wasn’t until my last year of university that I finally realized how unhappy I was, and decided to take the final step and start drawing again. Turns out that was the best decision of my life! Art did not only become a career for me, it’s also a way to share my experiences as a nonbinary lesbian with the world, and I was so lucky to find a loving community of people like me through it. For that I am forever grateful.

So nice to meet you, Arun! They picked out some of their art pieces for you all to appreciate.

For more of Arun’s art, be sure to check out their Tumblr, @bbybluemochi!

#meet the artist #meet the artist on tumblr #artists on tumblr #art #bbybluemochi

5K notes · View notes

lovverletters · 2 months

Note

YANDERE ASMRIST????

tbh i don't know what to write so i hope you'll like it ( ◜𖥦◝ )

T/W : yandere theme, delusional behaviour, home invasion, implied kidnapping

LISTEN CLOSE˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

yandere! asmrtist who started posting during the heights of asmr audio. His velvety rich voice attracted plenty of audience to listen to his audio.

yandere! asmrtist who began looking for someone to write scripts for his video as he grew in popularity. That is when he found you, someone who had been a long time viewer of hisㅡ and a talented writer.

yandere! asmrtist who slowly grew an infatuation and attachment to you the longer you worked together. To him, the two of you were a great duoㅡ it's clear as day you two were meant for each other!

yandere! asmrtist who one day decided to write his own script as a present for you.

"I hope you'll enjoy it. I have a surprise waiting for you"

short drabble below !!

You complied and waited for him to send the audio over to you. He sent it over a minute later and you plugged in your noise cancelling headphone as he advised to enhance the experience.

It was quite enjoyable to be honest, you praised him in your head. It is until the description of the content begin to eerily match you as in your appearance, your likes and dislikes, your occupation and specific details in your life.

You're aware that this audio was specially made for you butㅡ

You've never shared any of those details with him. How could he possibly know?

As you reach the end of the audio, it ended on a cliffnote where he's preparing for your 'surprise'.

Bang.

A confused noise escape from you at his cryptic words. Did he send something over to you? You did hear a sound coming from your front door.

Before you could get up to check the door, you felt a presence behind you and a hand clasping over your mouth. A familiar velvety rich voice whispered into your ears, the same one you've heard earlier.

"Did you enjoy it, [name]? There'll be more to come now that we're together~"

#tw: yandere #yandere #yandere oc #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #gender neutral reader #yandere headcanons #yandere male

1K notes · View notes

nouearth · 10 months

Text

a sticky situation.

peter parker x male reader.

summary: peter has a major crush on his roommate: you. everything unravels when he walks in on you changing.

wc: 4.1k. genre: smut. warnings: holland!peter, sub!top peter, voyeur!peter, college!au, dry-humping, grinding, frotting, handjobs, kissing, peter's first time, dubcon, cumplay, peter and reader are shooters, characters are aged up!

a bite of the cold air shuddered your damp and nude body once you stepped out of the bathroom, cataloguing the tidiness of your shared bedroom after. your shoulders tensed when the heated air and cold draft clashed for an estate of your body. but by the way your muscles eased into the green towel around your waist, you’ve figured which side won the war. a warm cheer to victory buzzed in your head.

god, did i luck out with peter…

you found yourself repeating that observation often these days. it’s only been two months into the semester, but you’ve already concluded that peter was leagues better than your previous roommate. though, the bar was low—he was kind of a homophobe. that guy was a walking proof of evidence that opposites, in fact, do not attract.

on the other hand, peter had proven that similar interests and personalities were the foundation of beautiful, growing relationships: both platonically and romantically. still, relationships were never that black and white—a grey area. a theory that will forever be tested on, only for the outcome to come out vaguer than before, you’ve realized.

peter was like you: friendly, smart, awkward at times, funny to some. you and him basically have the same qualities of a dog, but there was more to it.

you both shared the same liking down to the genre of video games, the magic of fantasy novels, the cleanliness of a room, the color-coded organization of study notes, and more.

from there, the similar line of characteristics began to blur. whereas you’d prefer to learn from experience, peter liked playing by the book—sticking to it if he could. peter liked red, you liked blue. he favored savory snacks, you devoured them, but preferred sweet drinks.

opposites attract—the theory was once again, broad in your honor.

difference and similarities aside, you were lucky to have peter in your life. the bedroom was colder before you went to shower, but now it blossomed with a gentle heat.

he knew you hated the cold after a warm shower.

taking the other towel, you dried off the rest of your body while you checked your phone for notifications: a missed call from a friend and a few emails regarding construction around the building you had your classes in.

seriously? still? it’s been almost a year already…

normally, you wouldn’t have walked into the bedroom like this, baring skin and all. but peter went to get food because you both have become familiarized with what they served as food at parties.

note to self: you cannot get full off alcoholic beverages. you and peter both tried two parties ago, and it ended with you two sharing the toilet bowl, detoxing your insides of that liquid poison the entire night. the only enjoyment that resulted from that night was learning that peter was a drunk-crier, and you, a drunk-dancer. your friendship had only leveled up since.

you slid on your white briefs once you dried off before shuffling to the other side of the room, browsing through your shared closet aimlessly: he took the left side, you took the right. it was always dim at those parties, so a nice outfit would be wasted. also, you somehow became a magnet for other people’s misfortunes. it took hours to get rid of the smell of this one girl’s vomit—you threw it out in the end.

“no, no… it’s going to be cold later…” you cycled through your clothes again, sighing when nothing caught your eye. “guess i can wear this aga-“

“hey!” out of nowhere, peter’s voice sprung out from the side of the room, followed by a quiet thud, and you twisted your bare body towards the source out of fright.

“jesus, you scared me.” the closet door blocked your view of peter, and vice versa, but you presumed he was leaning against the frame—a habit you noted. “i didn’t even hear you come back.”

“sorry- what was i saying..? oh!” his shadow loomed between you and him, growing as he stepped closer to the closet. “did you want to eat now or-“

judging from the volume of his voice, you should’ve expected how close peter was when you shut the closet. “fuck!” you jumped back, eyes widening when he was practically chest to chest with you. “dude, you really gotta stop doing that.”

on a daily basis, you always looked up at him, but you never paid it much thought to how much taller he was.

“sorry! guess everyone’s a little antsy with the- oh.” he paused.

“what?” you curiously looked up at him, catching sight of his wandering gaze. you were quick enough to follow it, flickering between glimpses of your bare body and face several times like a tennis ball. somehow, you didn’t puzzle the pieces between his shock and your curiosity until he backed away, skittish in nature.

you were in your underwear. still in your underwear. the barrier was the captor of your embarrassment, heat rosed your cheeks as you stood frozen. and with it, the barrier was also your savior.

“oh- OH!” the size of your eyes matched his and upon realizing he’s been staring for far too long, peter cowered his gaze to the side, a gentlemanly hand blocking his sight as he further backed to the door frame, then blindly bumped his shoulder into the door. “i’m so sorry-“

“no, no! i should’ve knocked. i-“ he groaned out, pacifying the sting to his shoulder with his palm. “that was stupid of me, i’m gonna-“

that was another similarity that you both valued: privacy.

before you could reply, he scattered off. for a moment, you felt hot in the face, in the neck, even on your chest. but it would only take a few more seconds for your skin to cool, comforted by the fact that you could’ve shown more—you didn’t.

when peter scrambled out of the room, his gaze fixated on the ground, to the stripes of his socks as they shuffled to the kitchen.

but he never made it very far, because he was easily persuaded. either by his hormones, by the shape of your body, or by his closeted feelings about you. in the end, it didn’t matter because a tightening feeling conjured him back to his original spot—it was always going to be about you.

he was silent in his footsteps, treading backwards to the bedroom as his throat ran dry—heartbeat equally.

tonight. i should do it tonight. are my feelings that obvious? god, i hope not. wait, no- they are! they gotta be… who the fuck wipes marshmallow off of your roommate’s lips and calls them cute?!

peter does.

as his thoughts ran rampant, clouded his regularly murky mind, you were in his line of sight, perfectly captured in the middle of his gaze—now stilled—awe-strucked while he watched you change.

quick portraits of your thick thighs and calves came and went before they were completely masked by the slide of your shorts. then your stomach and chest; pliant, moist skin that layered over the contours of your body before being covered by a tee. he exhaled, then inhaled, smelling the scent of your shampoo and body wash, and he was delighted because you own that scent.

enraptured because only peter could have his senses triggered by you on a daily basis.

if peter could frame this moment, it would be an expensive endeavor that would sacrifice all the money in the world to find the most perfect materials that complemented your textured skin. your smooth body. your handsome face.

you. that was all he wanted.

peter had been trapped since the day he saw you unpacking your things into the dorm. sweaty from the sun, and you knew that, because you refused to shake hands with him until you insisted on washing up first. he wished you never did—your thighs looked better sweating under those shorts.

he’s had crushes before. one in middle school, three in high school. but they amounted to nothing, he never had the confidence. rather, he preferred isolating himself and admiring from afar. rejections had already been predicted, and he was used to the feeling of defeat. if someone were to accept his advances one day, then that would lead to a disruption of events—a catastrophic end to humanity—he joked.

you were different to peter. he loved how, for once, he didn’t have to be the one initiating conversation. he also loved how you didn’t use him for answers because instead, you would help him out with his assignments.

oh, is that professor warren’s class? I think i still have the textbook for her class… let me look.

even when it would only take five minutes to grab a drink down the street, you still invited him. not out of pity like everybody once did, but because he was your friend. parties have never been your thing, but you accompanied them with him because it made him feel better—to know someone.

maybe since he’s grown more mature since then, but now that he was off on his own, it was up to him to predict his future. it was an advice you gave him one night, and he’s kept that close to his heart since then. not the hate that had inflicted his mind, not his peers telling he wasn’t good enough for someone—but him.

in his imaginary world, peter could feel the walls shake when he was around you. the buildings would then fall apart, the earth would scorch civilians and planetary life with heat, and the thundering rain would only make it worse. it was a morbid image. yet, if it meant that you truly liked him, then…

aliens, come do your thing. we insist upon an invasion!

peter wanted you. point, blank, period. it wasn’t his preferred way to confess, but intense sentiments of like, love, lust—all at the same time—ate him up on the inside, and he was scared of being devoid of feelings for you.

“i want… you,” peter muttered, and you jolted again, turning back around in case you misheard him. you were bewildered at the sight of him. once again, you didn’t hear his footsteps.

“what?” you shuffled nervously on your feet. the tension in the air was thick and hot now with the way he stared back at you, frightened yet assured.

“i want you.” there was credence in peter’s tone, and he neared to the door now.

your eyes narrowed into the deep abyss of peter’s eyes as you sat on the foot of your bed, putting on socks. somewhere in your endeavors, you found a flicker of that familiar joke. “ha. ha. very funny,” you muttered bitterly.

it haunted you. as soon as you came out, you were taunted by those same exact words by your ‘friends,’ by your previous roommate. what made you different from them became a simple reason to cease empathy and kindness, and you were baffled that this was happening again.

maybe peter was like the others after all.

you avoided peter’s gaze in favor of the floor, the legs of your desk, your rug—anywhere but him—and you could feel the color drain out of your face, out of this room—deja vu. “look, i know it’s funny to you because i like guys and for whatever reason, straight guys like to flirt with gay men to get a reaction out of us,”

the rug cushioned the weight of a familiar pair of feet, and you looked up, a great frown etched in your face when your eyes met peter’s. he towered over you, bewildered. “but it makes me uncomfortable. and it’s not funny to-“

he didn’t know what roused him. the pain in your voice made him want to apologize without any resort to excuses. the pout on your lips made him want to cradle your head, yet kiss you at the same time. the growing tent in his pants made him want to pin you to your bed, and simply ravish you.

it was all a blur.

his impulsive thoughts became a reality once he stole the remaining words left in your distress, and clumsily swallowed them with a kiss. you didn’t have time to process his lips on yours because you were then pushed onto your back, stilted and surprised, as peter applied his weight on top of yours—his broader build shadowed you in welfare.

“pete-“ you groaned into the hot, breathy kiss, and despite the light attempts to push him away, you were compelled to return the wet exchange. breathlessly, you repeated, “stop, this isn’t funny-“ he kissed you again. all this time, you could’ve had him, but you deluded yourself into thinking otherwise.

“i’m not laughing,” peter muttered, and his hips began moving into yours, aimlessly trying to alleviate the stiffness in his pants. “i want you.” his voice lowered—no longer a confession, but a demand. he rocked into you harder once he felt you throb under those tight short, and you slipped out a moan, memorizing the beat of peter that pulsated against you.

you remembered him being bashful when you two talked about your firsts. you weren’t completely inexperienced like he was, but you mentioned that it’s been a while since you’ve done anything remotely intimate. school was your focus, a relationship was your reward.

“peter,” you repeated again, he wasn’t listening. “peter.” he whispered a demand; to keep calling his name, and you couldn’t help but quietly chuckle at the cliché line often heard in soft porn.

then, you cupped your hands around his temples to pull him away. he gazed into you with ardent hunger, almost annoyed that you ruined the trail of kisses he began leaving on your neck. “did you drink without me? because if you did, then i don’t think we should-“

“i didn’t,” he sobered on the softness of your lips, and like a flip switch, he snapped out of his fictional world of you. “fuck- i’m so sorry, i didn’t even ask you if you wanted to- fuck, i even forgot to say that i like you.” he ranted to himself, beginning to pull himself away. “this was not how it was supposed to go.”

infatuation had expanded into something beyond your control, and your feelings for him ignited even more. a wick bursted into powerful flames, and it warmed your body knowing that you two shared the same sentiment.

before he completely peeled himself off your body, you pulled him down by the neck, then pressed your nose to his, grinning. “I like you too.” a peck to the tip of his nose, then the center of his lips. your onslaught of fleeting kisses to his skin drowned him, pacifying every muscle in his body until it became jelly, and also making it all the more easier to roll him under you.

“not exactly how i imagined my first date with you, but,” you straddled his lap, roaming your hands around peter’s chest, an asset of his you’ve frequently daydreamed about. “you sure?”

the applied pressures to your waist, then bottom should’ve been a definite measure of his answer, but he smiled up at you, guiding a steady pace of your hips to his groin. he was easily distracted, suddenly cascading his other palm up your shirt then down to finally feel the bare skin he had spent long showers jerking off to. fantasies had now been served onto a platter before him, and peter planned on devouring you, piece by piece. “please.”

“must have had a lot on your mind if you couldn’t even confess to me.” it was unusual to see him like this—absolutely enthralled by your presence, high off of it. aching for more of you with the way he pushed his groin into you. “how long have you been thinking about this?” being unusual always had negative connotations to it.

you pressed into him harder, rubbing at his print with gallant grinds. not in this moment.

he moaned, “far too long…” then fumbled with the waistband of your shorts before doing the same with the zipper. “you’ve been driving me crazy, especially these days.” it was a simple task, a daily labor that peter was great at, but his hands shook when his finger met metal. you chuckled, and placed a comforting hand to his cheek, stroking the soft skin with the amplest caress.

take your time. i’m not going anywhere.

“mind sharing what you thought about then?” the only time you peel yourself away from peter’s groin was to help him slide your shorts off, then his jeans. peter lifted his hips, and you two were joined together again. aching together. “just curious.” you joked by pulsating your bulge, and he shyly laughed when he saw the restrictive twitch.

felt it.

“well... where do i start?” peter’s warm hand rested on your inner thigh, dangerously close to your erection while delicately exploring your soft skin. “there’s been so many times where i just wanted to…” he was too ashamed to finish his sentence, looking away.

“wanted to…?” your body arced over his, placing a persuading kiss to his cheek, then neck. “what was it?” they lingered, sunk deep into his skin with the utmost affection, and he left the deepest, pleasurable sighs as if you withdrew it from him. you commenced his dilemma. “tell me what you thought when you first saw me. saw that i was your roommate.”

“i...” peter began, and you could tell his nerves got the best of him, so you rocked into him again, begged with your hips. the position made it easier to feel all of him, press into his warmth more, and you couldn’t stop. wouldn’t. “i didn’t know what to feel. i was happy, that i had someone as kind as you…” you gleefully hummed, agreeing as you continued leaving kisses to his neck.

“then i was nervous, because you were so… cute. handsome. beautiful.” he moaned when you began to grind in slow, deep strides. your bulges squeezed and pushed one another, peter did the same, growing impossibly bigger against you. “but when i saw you in those shorts, sweating because move-in day was always on a hot day…”

“yeah?” you beckoned him to finish his sentence because you were closing your eyes now, remembering that very moment because you felt the same. the way peter’s chest, his muscles, were broad and stunning under his own layer of sweat, under his loose shirt, under that naivety that you would never have dreamed to think of him as such a…

“i just wanted to fuck you.”

pervert.

the shy smile he gave you messed with your perception of him. clearly, you’ve underestimated him all this time, and you kissed him again. “so, you only thought about pleasuring yourself.”

he quickly broke the kiss to defend himself. “wait, no! t-that’s not what i meant.”

“peter, relax.” your laugh calmly settled into a comforting smile, and you blindly reached down to his thick print, feeling and squeezing at whatever you can because you were desperate to explore him. “i’m joking.” his chest rose.

for the remainder of time, you spent it stroking peter through his underwear. dryly to his frustration, but he never told you because he wanted to experience you in every way. his lips never left yours, only parted to moan into your mouth when you shoved your hand into his briefs to sate your desire to feel him bare.

peter was big in your small hand. the weight felt suffocating to your palm when you grabbed ahold of his sack, fondling his balls, then stroking his cock again, and you were intoxicated in the way he melted under you, looked into you, begged for you to go faster.

you did. who wouldn’t when he gazed at you with the most puppy-like eyes?

he had complete control of you now, because every action, every stroke, from then on had been a journey to his personal paradise. you didn’t care that you were left abandoned, that you were aching harder than he was. watching him was more than adequate.

both pairs of briefs and shirts have been tossed to the side now, and you maintained your straddle. it was riveting to watch how much bigger peter was when you took both of your cocks together and stroked. he practically enveloped you with the weight of his length, the girth of his shaft, and you wallowed in the fact that he was incredibly bashful about it.

peter’s hand never left your body. he charmed you by his neediness. it was clumsy in execution, but he always squeezed a moan out of you with he felt your ass, your chest, your nipples, your thighs. “fuck, pete.”

everything about you was beautiful, incredibly more so when you caved into him as he dealt kisses to your bare skin and took his own turn at jerking the both of you off.

he was eager. delirious. hard, stiffening hard, against you, and you felt every vein pulsate the harder— the faster—he squeezed and stroked. you leaned back, hands planted to the mattress beneath you, then maneuvered your hips to the rhythm of his fist. you found a pace while peter kept you steady, and fucked into his fist, against his wet cock, sliming your dripping pre-cum together with the utmost fervor.

“wait, (m/n),” he hiccuped, and his hold on you tightened, nails dug into your left waist but you ignored his plea, fucking steadily into his fist. “stop, i’m going to-“ they fell on deaf ears, and mouth agape, peter watched you with incredulity. you can feel his body flex, your balls smushed to his when you grinned up, your pre-cum sticking to his, his to yours, like a sick web. “s-stop, oh god.”

and peter unraveled before you with a guttural moan, finishing the rest of his plea with a blasting of thick and creamy ropes to his chest, like a cannon. the force was strong enough to have a few shots land on his face, then his hair, and then somewhere above because peter was a big shooter—a strong one, you’d passionately testify. “f-fuck, i didn’t mean to cum so-“

“holy shit.” you watched peter in all his glory, then in his embarrassment, while stilted on his lap and sweating, not taking notice of the delay of your climax because it crept up on you quick. a rocket broke the cloud in your thoughts with a boom, and you spilled all over him, shooting like fireworks. “shit!”

peter was your canvas, and it was your duty to paint him. debris of sex splattered everywhere, because you somehow found the strength to continue fucking yourself into the cream of fist, unloading and unloading onto him until you were dry, heaving and dripping.

“fuck- I didn’t mean to ruin your sheets-” he mumbled, a blush stained his cheeks, and you joined in the warmth with a kiss, panting.

“where’s the fun in all of this if you aren’t going to stain at least one thing.” your brows raised at the wet stain on the wall above peter’s head, right below your wall-shelf, and peter’s gazed followed.

he groaned, distressed by the evident he made. “fuck, sorry…” his bashfulness only endeared you even more.

“it’s okay,” you hopped off his lap, stretching your arms into the air. “i’ll clean you up.”

“okay,” peter lay still, his hand cautiously held over his stomach to catch the drips of his cum and yours. it was fascinating to watch the mixture flow together, strands of it melding and un-webbing as he played with the sticky residue. it was the scientist in him. “my towel is on the- fuck-“

without a beat, you took his dripping flaccid cock into your mouth, sucking off any remnants of spunk. an unfamiliar taste you weren’t used to, bitter and salty. it wasn’t until you noticed how peter’s eyes glazed over you, half-lidded because he was in heaven now, that you found the taste of him delectable. peter’s caution for staining your bed sheets was disregarded, because he knew you’d clean the rest of him off.

after you pulled away with a soft pop, he traced your wet lips with the cum on his fingers, then his knuckles, before he pushed one by one into your mouth. one finger at first, then two, then three, you moaned erotically around his digits as peter pumped, marveling in the eagerness of your mouth. he slowly pushed more cum into your mouth. the creamy residue gathered at the corner of your mouth at first but he made sure to scoop it back in, and continued doing so until he was polished clean.

nothing was wasted.

the taste of you and him spread in the warmth of your tongue, and you have never felt more intoxicated.

to peter, you have never looked more beautiful.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

3K notes · View notes

many-shades-of-violence · 10 months

Text

reacting to their s/o being pregnant I Corazon, Doflamingo, Law, Smoker, Sabo, Ace, Kid

Corazon, the gentle and caring soul he is, would notice subtle changes in your behavior and appearance before you even realized you're pregnant.

He'd probably start by making your favorite meal or fetching things you might need without even asking. Not because he knows exactly what's going on, but because his maternal instincts are subconsciously strong.

One day, he returned from work to find you asleep in his feather coat, nestled on your shared bed with a positive pregnancy test on the sideboard. Shocked, he slipped, inadvertently waking you up. As you opened your eyes, you saw the tall giant on his buttocks in front of the bed, all teary-eyed.

He'd approach you with a sweet smile and a gentle touch, hugging you in a warm embrace and assuring you that he's there for you no matter what.

"Mi amor, you've given me the greatest gift of all. I promise to be by your side every step of this journey, just as you've been by mine."

Doflamingo's reaction might be a bit unexpected. He's not known for his compassion, but the news would still surprise him since he's always keen on protection.

He'd likely raise an eyebrow and give a smirk at the news, questioning you with his signature teasing tone, "Well, well, how unexpected. Don't tell me you forgot your pill on purpose."

Despite his initial demeanor, he'd keep a close eye on you, ensuring your comfort and well-being, even if he doesn't openly express it. Despite trusting Diamante and Trebol with his life, he would keep them at an arm's length away from you.

His soft side might manifest through subtle actions like providing comfort during late-night cravings, secretly getting things you wish for, or wrapping you in his pink feather coat.

"Well, well, well, it seems life has thrown us an interesting curveball. Don't think I'm going soft now, but I'll make sure you're taken care of. After all, I wouldn't want anything to happen to the future ruler of Dressrosa."

Law, with his cool and collected exterior, might take a moment to process the news before his emotions catch up. He had already guessed what was up from your antsy behavior and Bepo telling him about your frequent late-night kitchen visits, but reality hit differently.

He'd likely pause, his gaze softening as he looks at you nervously biting your lip, almost certain he would react with disdain. Instead, a small, genuine smile would grace his lips, before he placed his hat on your head and embraced you in a warm hug, reassuring you of his stance.

Not much phased by obstetrics, he would start researching everything about pregnancy and childbirth, wanting to be as informed as possible to support you. Naturally, he would deliver the baby himself, his Room providing a secure and painless environment for you. He's too protective to let anyone else handle it.

While he might not show it outwardly, he'd be incredibly protective and make sure your needs are met, especially health-wise. Regular check-ups are a must, and if Shachi and Penguin annoy you, they can be sure to experience some rearranged limbs.

"You're amazing, you know that? I'm not sure I'm quite fit to be a father, but if we're going to navigate this together, I promise to do everything in my power to ensure you and the baby are safe and healthy. We've got this."

Smoker would show a mix of surprise and concern upon hearing the news, his gruff exterior cracking just a bit.

He´d ask questions related to your health, ensuring that you're taking proper care of yourselves. He'd be on high alert, especially since he tends to smoke heavily.

As time goes on, he'd soften around the edges, finding himself more attentive and willing to offer help and assistance, even quitting smoking around you.

He might not express his emotions openly, but his actions would speak volumes, like quietly making sure you don't overexert yourselves or subtly rearranging your environment for safety.

"I never planned for something like this, but just know I've got your back. Make sure you're taking care of yourself, and if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. I'll be keeping a close eye on you."

Sabo's reaction would likely be a mix of joy and a hint of nervousness, as he'd want to ensure the best for you and the baby.

He'd start leaving cute notes or small gifts for you, showing his excitement in his own sweet way.

Sabo would take on the role of an unofficial cheerleader, always ready to provide you encouragement and reassurance.

He'd also engage in deep conversations with you about your future as parents and what you envision for your family. Luffy, Ace, and Koala would often visit and assist you with whatever you need.

"I can't even express how happy and blessed I feel right now. You and our baby mean everything to me. Let's face this adventure together, with all the love and support we need."

Ace would be the embodiment of enthusiasm and excitement, immediately hugging you and spinning you around in a joyful embrace.

He'd become even more attentive than usual, constantly checking in on you and asking if you need anything.

Given his troubled childhood and strained relationship with his own dad, he might face phases of doubt. However, if you have his back as much as he does during his enthusiastic phases, you'll quickly pull him out of it.

You can bet he'd be doing research on how to be the best dad, and he'd share interesting and quirky facts he found on the internet.

He'd proudly proclaim the news to Luffy, Ace, and Garp, and he'd be the one organizing a surprise baby shower with Marco's help.

"I still can't believe all of this. We're going to be parents! I promise to make our family life full of love and appreciation. Just trust me on this."

Kid's reaction might be a mix of surprise and a bit of concern about how this new development might affect his life plans.

However, as time goes on, he'd find himself growing more attached to the idea of becoming a parent.

He'd be the one to plan practical things like ensuring the home is baby-proofed and preparing for the baby's arrival in a pragmatic way.

Slowly, his tough exterior would soften, and he'd become more openly supportive and affectionate towards you, showing that he's fully invested in this new chapter of your lives.

"Honestly, I didn't see that coming, but I'm not one to shy away from challenges. We're in this together, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure you and the baby are safe. You can count on me."

#one piece #op #one piece x reader #corazon x reader #doflamingo x reader #kid x reader #eustass kid x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #sabo x reader #portgas d ace x reader #smoker x reader #my stuff #writing

3K notes · View notes