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dustofthedivine · 2 years

Text

Creatures Of Habit

Fanfiction Request for @dindjarins04

Creatures Of Habit (The Boys)

Pairing: jealous!butcher x fem!reader

Word Count: 6173

Content Warnings:

Explicit Language

Explicit Sex including fingering / oral / penetrative / choking / biting / ice play

Mild Gore

Alcohol ------------------------------------------------------------------------

The heat in New York was suffocating. Lungs choked on the heavy black pollution emitted from exhaust pipes, and clammy hands met damp handkerchiefs in futile attempts to wipe sweat from foreheads. Rivulets of sweat trickled down every body that moved through the streets, every body except Riva’s. She leant against the dusty brick wall of an apartment complex, occasionally sipping from the paper cup that held surprisingly still hot coffee. Riva was perhaps the only person for miles dressed in a vest, cargo pants and a leather jacket. In fact, you could scour the entirety of the city and not find a single person wearing more than one layer, bar Riva.

When she was young, her epithet had been Riva fire-kissed, partially in jest of her red hair but partially in faith due to the commune she spent her childhood in. Riva had never known a time when she didn’t possess her powers, able to regulate her body temperature at will with a mastery over fire and heat. Not only could Riva produce her own fire, but she could also control any form of heat, such as movement. It had made for an interesting time navigating the sin she felt most closely aligned with. Wrath was something that had to be under careful control at all times, lest she accidentally boil someone alive. Yes, boil. Boil was the method that happened when she lost control. Burning people to death was much easier in Riva’s mind, watching their fragile forms desiccate into ash without a flicker of emotion. Perhaps the latter was a lie, in truth it was less a case of feeling nothing and more a case of feeling entirely numb. She’d become so accustomed to grief that she’d become a master of suppressing it, much to the annoyance of Hughie who’d been trying to get her to open up for several weeks now.

Riva was on scout duty, a task that felt more like a chore than a thing of actual interest or purpose. It had come about that she was on scout duty for the fourth time that week due to a disagreement with Butcher. At least that’s what Riva called it, MM had referred to it as a ‘fucking shitshow’, but then again he did use that phrase for most inconveniences. This morning, Hughie had attempted to convince the two to apologise to each other, which had gone about as well as a toddler driving an SUV. Riva had stubbornly stomped across the dank basement to Butcher, squared up to him and snarled,

“Sorry you’re so fucking stupid.”

Which had been met with the reply, “Sorry you’re a fuckin’ cunt.”

To which Riva had retorted, “For a man who says cunt a lot, it’s not like you get any.”

At this point, Frenchie had stepped in, placatingly saying, “Let’s all just calm down, this is clearly a misunderstanding and I think you two need some space.”

Butcher had let out a grunt and pressed his finger into Frenchie’s chest, “It’s not a misunderstanding, it’s me telling you all the plan and this fucking moron blowing it to hell.”

“I did not blow it to hell, your plan was filled with holes and if it wasn’t for me Hughie would have lost his arm!” Riva shouted, before staggering backwards as Butcher strode towards her, backing her up against the grimy wall.

His voice dropped to a low rumble, as he whispered quietly, “I gave you an order and you disobeyed me. Because of your fuck up, I have this.” He jerked his thumb to his neck, where a hairline thick scar lay, courtesy of Black Noir’s blade. “It’s not my fault you confused bravery with stupidity.” Riva hissed back, dropping her voice to a barely audible volume she added, “Maybe that’s why you lost her.”

On reflection, Riva realised that probably wasn’t the ideal thing to say to her new boss stroke acquaintance. Generally it was never a good idea to throw the insult of a dead wife in someone’s face, but Riva had succumbed to her temper, unable to keep it on a leash. What happened next had surprised her, Butcher and Riva had fought many times over the past three months. Scrapping in the basement whilst he had her in a chokehold, which followed with her foot finding purchase in his groin. They’d been surprisingly evenly matched given Riva’s supernatural strength. But then, it was rarely her strength that she deployed. Why punch someone in the face when you could melt the flesh from their bones? Instead, Butcher had chosen to walk away silently. Before pointing to the stairs and muttering, “Scout duty, full day.”

Which was how Riva had found herself here, watching sweaty bodies make their way through New York streets as she kept a close eye on A-Train’s comings and goings. He’d dipped down a side street a few hours ago, and had slipped into a grungy graffitied door which Riva knew to be a twenty-four hour night club. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, mildly irritated that he was still there. How long did one need to spend in a grimy club on a Thursday afternoon? Compound V. That’s what jolted Riva back to her purpose. The whispers of Compound V had grown to loud talk, and Riva was set upon uncovering the truth of her creation. At the commune, she’d been told that it was a blessing from the spirit world, that they’d gifted her with ancient powers to help them. Riva quickly came to realise that these ancient powers were merely a way to keep the commune warm, and eventually turned into magic tricks to earn some spare cash. After several years, Riva had begun to realise that she was sick and tired of being used for the commune, so at fifteen she left and made a life of her own. She ended up attending supernatural pageants, it turned out that outside of the commune being a supe wasn’t particularly special. In fact, there was a nationwide famous group of them dedicated to protecting America, the seven. She’d seen Starlight at several of them, but never particularly spoken to her. From what Hughie had told her, she was unlike the other supes and in fact rather genuine. A-Train on the other hand, was described by Hughie as a ‘colossal dick’ and by Butcher as ‘another supe cunt’.

Riva’s mind had begun to wander when the metal door swung open, slamming loudly and causing Riva to drop the cup, hot coffee splashing across the pavement and slightly sizzling as it did so. Riva stepped across the hot spillage and strode towards A-Train, donned in his familiar electric blue garb as he exited the building and began walking quickly East. Riva jogged across the road to her Yamaha bike, and revved the engine before pulling her helmet on and speeding off after A-Train.

She knew the bike was no speed match for him, but it would gain her some ground and A-Train didn’t seem to be in much of a rush. She watched him glance back over his shoulder before breaking into a sprint.

“Fuck.” Riva mutters under her breath, pressing the ball of her foot down on the accelerator as she weaves her way between the smattering of cars.

At least that was one benefit of the heat, it did make for an easier chase. Riva’s ability to manipulate heat came in very handy when tracking A-Train, after all, he created a lot of heat when he ran and Riva could practically follow the path that he’d laid out for her. Riva followed the trail around several blocks, and it took her a grand total of three minutes to realise that A-Train was going in a circle. Which meant either he was killing time, or he was fully aware that she was tracking him. Neither was a good sign.

A few streets later, the path changed, veering off to the right. Letting out a sigh of frustration, Riva pulls up on the pavement, tires squealing as she comes to a stop. She flicks out her phone and types a quick message to Hughie, regardless of her powers she didn’t fancy her chances fighting one of the seven. If sparring with Butcher was tough, then sparring with A-Train would be a battle. Shoving her phone back into her pocket, Riva hits the gas again, speeding off after the track and finding herself forced to slow down as she turns down narrower roads until she comes to a dead end, with a cluster of dilapidated buildings. Riva kicks the stand out, leaning her bike to the side as she pulls her helmet off. The sunlight catches on her hair, gleaming like wildfire.

------------------------------------------------------------------------ Riva takes a few tentative steps forward, scanning her surroundings cautiously as her boots crunch over the hot gravel. She makes her way towards a ramshackle building, with wooden planks nailed to the front door. As she walks up to the porch, she swipes her index finger through the dust collecting on the frame. She takes another step, the wood creaking under her feet, freezing at the sound of a voice.

“Who the fuck wears a leather jacket in this weather?”

“Shit.” Riva mutters, whirling round to see A-Train staring at her, utterly bemused.

“Well I’m impressed, I didn’t know I was trackable. So you must be a supe?”

“Something like that.” Riva takes a few steps down, meeting him on the pavement.

“Why are you following me?” He demands, surveying her appearance with an arched eyebrow.

“I’ve got some questions.” He chuckles, stepping closer to her. “You a reporter?” “I’m a supe, why the hell would I choose to be a reporter?”

A-Train shrugs, “People do strange things.”

“I’ve got questions about… about compound V.”

A-Train freezes for a millisecond before rolling his shoulders back. “Someone’s been busy.”

“I need to know the truth about it, why are you running it around the city?”

“I’m not running shit.” He seethes, gripping her by her jacket. “You’re gonna shut your mouth, or I’ll break that pretty little jaw of yours.”

“Delightful. Just tell me why.”

“Fuck you. You don’t know anything.” Pushing her away, A-Train turns to walk off.

“Were you on V when you killed Hughie Campbell’s girlfriend?” It was a risky shot, but the only one Riva figured would get him to talk.

“That’s who you’re working for? Fuck me, you really are dumb. Running around with that scrawny kid trying to save the world? Think you’re something special?”

“I think I’m trying to find out the truth, same as you.”

A-Train snorts, a dry laugh that Riva knows is more mocking than joyful. “You don’t know what I want, and I’ve had enough of you and Hughie fucking Campbell sticking your noses where you don’t belong. Fuck off.” He gives her a rough shove, causing Riva to stagger backwards. There was one more ace to play, she supposed. She guessed it was a day for throwing grief in people’s faces. “Popclaw would want you to.”

A-Train turns slowly, too slowly. A shiver snakes up Riva’s spine as she steadies herself.

“The fuck did you just say?”

“I said-” Her sentence is cut short as the wind is knocked out of her lungs. His fist goes flying into her sternum, sending her soaring across the road as she lands with a bump on the tarmac. Quickly Riva shifts to her feet, but A-Train reaches her quicker, hurling her over his shoulder and sending her flying through the wooden planks, into the house.

Dust floats in the air, particles entering her airways as Riva coughs. Spluttering, she pushes herself to her feet, and pauses. She feels the heat quickly enough that she has time to turn her palms up and sent a jet of flame out in the air. A-Train slides underneath it just in time, and knocks out Riva’s legs. As she lands on her stomach, a hand grasps her ankle, throwing her out through the window. Glass shards slice through her skin, as droplets of blood hit the tarmac, the sun making even her flesh begin to tingle with heat.

She places her palms on the ground, beginning to melt it under her hands as A-Train bursts out of the house, sliding on the slick hot tarmac, he swipes out a fist and Riva ducks, catching him with her boot in his sternum. Sprinting after him, she slams into his body, and is quickly whirled round, an elbow jammed into her neck.

At this point, Riva’s unsure whether to melt his face off, probably not ideal given they need him as a lead. She’s cut short for thought by the crunch of gravel, and the low grunt of someone all too familiar saying,

“Oi cunt, get your fuckin’ hands off her.”

A-Train pauses, thought creasing his forehead as he turns back to stare at Butcher, for once not dressed in that damnable trench coat. “Seriously, you? Fucking hell.” A-Train turns back to Riva, laughing sarcastically, “You’re working for him, of all people? God you need to get better friends.”

“I’d hardly call us friends.” Riva manages to spit out,

“Charmin’ darlin’, but the lady is right. Business partners might be a better phrase.” Butcher retorts, and Riva watches him roll his shoulders back, the way he always did before going for the first punch.

A-Train arches an eyebrow, increasing the weight on Riva’s neck as she coughs for air, “Well, I think for practically stalking me, she might need to learn a little lesson.”

“I said, get your fuckin’ hands off her, you cunt.”

Riva takes advantage of A-Train’s momentary distraction to grab A-Train by the cheeks and begin to heat his skin. Letting out a yelp of pain A-Train drops his forearm from her neck, and Riva kicks him back into Butcher, who cracks him across the jaw.

Riva watches, somewhat mesmerised as Butcher pins him to the floor with a gun at his temple and his boot on A-Train’s arm. “Touch her again, and I’ll fuckin’ kill ya.”

“You’d have to catch me first.”

“Tell us about Compound V.” Butcher prompts, and stops at the whirling sound of police sirens. “You motherfucker-”

“Butcher, come on.” Riva jerks a thumb in the direction of her bike, and Butcher spits on the floor, standing up slowly.

“Better luck next time idiots.” A-Train grins wickedly as he shoots off into the blaring sunlight, and Riva pulls her helmet on, wincing as it brushes a lump on her head. Yanking it off, she tentatively presses her fingertips to the bulge and groans.

“We need to get you back, you’re bleedin’ all over the place and that looks nasty.” He gestures to her head and Riva shrugs.

“There’s no medical supplies at the base, we’ll have to-”

“I know somewhere, just get on behind me.” Butcher walks over to the bike, taking the seat at the front.

“It’s my damn bike, I’ll drive it.”

“No you bloody well won’t, not with a likely concussion, now get on before the cops arrive.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Feeling exceptionally frustrated, Riva bites her tongue and wedges her helmet on despite the protests from her head. Locking her arms around Butcher’s waist, they speed off into the outskirts of the city, until Butcher pulls up outside a terraced house on a quiet suburban street. Riva takes her helmet off slowly, as Butcher parks the bike and walks up to the front porch.

“Just a casual bit of B and E?” Riva taunts, watching Butcher fumble around in his jean pocket.

“Hardly love.” He fishes out a key, and unlocks the front door, gesturing to Riva. “Well get in then, quick.”

Riva hurries up to the front door, and upon entering the house pauses as Butcher locks the door behind them. “What the hell is this? This is, why aren’t we using this for Base?” “Because strictly speaking it’s only for favours.” Butcher mutters, walking into the kitchen and opening cupboards at random. “Sit down, and take that fuckin’ jacket off so I can look at your arms.”

“Tell me why Butcher.”

“I’ll tell you once I’ve got you cleaned up. Or are you so fuckin’ stubborn that you don’t want help?” “I’m fine…” Riva trails off as a sudden dizziness rolls through her in waves, stumbling she reaches the sofa before slipping. Butcher is there in an instant, catching her head before it hits the floor and lifting her onto the sofa in one smooth move.

“Stay here.” He orders, and Riva can’t do much to protest as she begins to drift off. “Don’t sleep, come on sit up.”

A glass of cold water is thrust into her hands, and Riva drinks it gratefully as Butcher begins treating the wounds on her arms. Every now and then Riva emits a hiss of pain as Butcher disinfects and bandages the wounds.

“Thanks.” She mumbles quietly, enough for Butcher to hear but he doesn’t reply other than arching a dark eyebrow at her.

“Do you feel sick? Any vision problems?” He queries and Riva tilts her head to one side.

“You a doctor now?”

“I’m checking if you’ve got a concussion because I don’t fancy the idea of you faintin’ on me and having to take you to hospital when I’m a wanted felon.”

Riva gives him a small but wicked smile, “I thought you said you didn’t kill Stillwell?”

“Just let me see your head.” As Riva goes to touch the bump she finds smooth skin and the dizziness beginning to clear from her head.

“Fuckin’ supes.” Butcher rips the bandage off to reveal what had been a rather deep cut replaced by unmarked flesh.

“Told you I’d be fine.”

Butcher growls at this, stalking away as he throws the medical supplies back into the cupboard.

“Why did you come? How did you even know-”

“Hughie left his phone at Base. That’s all you need to know.” Butcher informs her as he scours the place for alcohol.

“So you unlocked his phone without his permission and came to-”

“Didn’t unlock. There was no code on it.” Butcher pulls a cork out of a wine bottle with his teeth and grabs a glass.

“Why did you even care what A-Train did to me? I thought you were in a pissy mood?”

Butcher lets out a frustrated sigh. “You’re still on my team Riva, even if you are…”

“One of them.” Riva fills in with a snarl, she marches across the living room and towards the front door when Butcher slams a glass of wine down in front of her.

“Don’t let this go to waste just because you’re mad a normal human being saved you.” He glares at her and Riva rolls her eyes.

“I want off scout duty.” “You should have thought about that before talkin’ about Becca.”

“She’s dead, she doesn’t care-”

“She’s not fuckin’ dead and if you don’t shut your mouth-”

Riva laughs drily. “You’ll shut it for me? God you know you hate Homelander so much but you’re just like him.”

“You don’t even know the cunt.”

Riva slams her hands down on the counter tops. “I know he’s a bully, just like you.”

“At least he actually knows how to use his powers.” Butcher says through a mouthful of wine and Riva feels the anger begin to uncoil in her stomach, rising up through her veins.

“Shut up.”

“Oh I’m sorry, are there lines now? Boundaries that we’re not supposed to cross?”

Riva ignores him, attempting to quell the rage burning in her gut. “Is it true Becca’s alive?”

“It’s none of your business.” She meets his gaze slowly, “You said we’re a team. It’s my business.” “When people threaten my team it is my business, but our private lives have nothing to do with work. It’s not like you share anything.” “That pisses you off?” “Yea it does fuckin’ piss me off.” Butcher snarls as he takes a step closer towards her. “It pissed me off watchin’ the speedy cunt put his hands on you.”

Riva pauses at this point, the rage which had up until now been coursing a steady path through her veins halts too as she regards Butcher thoughtfully. “Why did that bother you?” She asks, so softly that it’s almost a whisper.

His brow creases, the realisation dawning on him that he’s perhaps admitted something he never should have. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me.” Riva murmurs, softly again as she reaches out to touch him and Butcher shoves her arm away.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me.”

The rage rises up through her throat as her veins begin to glow red with heat. “You know what Butcher, fine, be miserable and alone because when you die there will be nothing and no-one feeling sorry for you.” Seething, she turns to exit as Butcher throws back a final insult.

------------------------------------------------------------------------ “Just like you then eh? Shitty parents, shitty childhood, abusive-”

The glass soars through the air, and Butcher ducks just in time as it smashes against a cabinet, red wine splattering the walls like blood stains. She glares at him, panting with anger. “Fuck. You.”

He laughs loudly. “You. Wish.” Taking a few steps towards her, Riva refuses to back down and meets him in the middle of the room.

“I’d rather burn alive.” Her hands ball into fists as she readies herself for attack.

“The feelin’s mutual, love.”

Her arm swings out and Butcher catches it, but despite her lack of education when it came to mastering super strength, Riva was just as strong as him. She pushes against his grip and Butcher’s mouth quirks up into a smirk, and he grabs her throat with his free hand.

Riva’s eyes burn with intensity, a new kind of rage uncoiling in her as she stares at him, his hand remarkably light around her throat despite the fervour with which he moved towards it. She places her fingertips on the back of his hand, and begins to heat up his skin. She hears the sizzle and watches his face, which remains smirking, no sign of pain whatsoever.

Riva licks her lips, “I hate you.”

“I hate you too, darlin’.”

Looking back on it now, Riva was unsure who initiated the first move, or how it even came about. One second Butcher’s hand was around her throat and she was burning said hand, whilst he had her other fist in a tight grip and the next she was up against a wall with his hands skating down to her thighs and his mouth on hers.

She didn’t stop him though, if anything she finally began to understand the nuance of the rage that she felt whenever she was around him. It had begun the third time she met him, this new kind of heat that was born in her gut and radiated throughout her so intensely that even she felt the sting of it’s heat. Now, she was beginning to acknowledge that it might in fact be lust.

His mouth pressed against hers firmly, his hands dropping to her waist as hers found themselves tangling up in his thick black hair. Butcher’s hands squeeze her hips, eliciting a gasp from Riva as his tongue finds it’s way into her mouth, fighting her for dominance as she rakes her nails down the back of his neck which he groans delightedly at. His right hand remains on her hip as his left comes up, tangling in her red hair his fist tightens around a few strands and pulls her head back.

“Fuck.” She breathes as his lips trail down her jawline, moving across the expanse of her neck until he finds the spot that makes her arch her back and moan as he takes the flesh between his teeth gently. Sucking the skin, she feels her neck begin to bruise and heal simultaneously as she digs her fingernails into his shoulders.

He trails a line of kisses back up to her ear, nipping the lobe before murmuring, “I love it when you moan for me.”

“And I can’t wait until you moan for me.” Riva whispers through gasping breaths.

“Unlikely love.” He hums against her neck, and Riva pushes him roughly in his chest. Butcher grins wickedly as he staggers backwards, and Riva surveys him before darting round the island in the centre of the kitchen.

Butcher feints left, before moving right and grabbing her by the waist, he hauls her thighs up around his hips and slams her into the wall again, and she moans gripping the buttons of his shirt which she rips open.

“Take this off.” Riva pleads, and Butcher chuckles huskily.

“Eager are we?” “Shut the fuck up.” Riva mutters and Butcher grins, pivoting round and sitting her on the counter top as he tugs his shirt off and tosses it on the floor.

“You’re buyin’ me a new one.” He mutters and Riva catches him by the jaw.

“I’ll do jack shit for you.” She states, hoping the attempt at confidence in her voice overwhelms the gorgeous shock that comes at seeing the rippled muscle that has been hiding far too well under all these trench coats.

“Oh you’ll do plenty for me today darlin’.” He tells her, hands tugging at the vest on her torso as Riva slaps his hands away.

“Not yet.” She tuts, grabbing his jaw and kissing him deeply as his hands snake round her waist. Fingertips tracing idle shapes on her back until he rips the vest off her back and chucks it across the kitchen.

“Butcher.” Riva protests but he slides his hand back around her throat, squeezing lightly.

“I don’t care.” He growls but relaxes a little before quietly adding, “Tap my wrist two times if you need me to stop love.”

Riva can’t help but twist her lips up into a smile at this, as her hand closes over his encouraging him to to tighten his grip which Butcher does, grinning wildly as he unbuttons and unzips her cargo pants with one hand. Pulling them down her thighs, Butcher smiles at her bare thighs.

“What?” Riva narrows her eyes at him.

“You’re fuckin’ beautiful.” He brushes his knuckle against Riva’s thigh who whimpers, as she involuntarily spreads them for him.

Butcher’s hands grip her ass as he pulls her to the edge of the counter top and drops to his knees, kissing slowly up from her ankles to her core, inch by inch. His lips skate over her underwear before kissing down the other leg as Riva grips the cool counter under her hands.

“Stop teasing.” She hisses, and Butcher clicks his tongue.

“Lie back for me love.” He murmurs, and Riva sits up, meeting Butcher’s hand who presses her back down firmly by her stomach.

“Stop it-”

“Lie back and cum for me darlin’.” Butcher says, before adding, “That was an order.”

Riva arches an eyebrow, but nonetheless lies back, the cool counter soothing the warmth of her back. She exhales gently as Butcher’s fingertips brush over her underwear, and his index finger pushes it to the side. Butcher inhales sharply, groaning at the sight of her.

“Told you.” Riva grins, and Butcher sighs.

“Fuck. You’re fuckin’ perfect.”

“I’m going to remind you of- oh fuck.” Riva gasps, her hands gripping the edge of the counter as Butcher’s tongue flicks up her core, circling the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.

“You were sayin’ love?” Butcher hums against her, and Riva grunts in frustration, her hands grabbing the back of his head as she pushes him towards her.

“Don’t stop.” She whines, and he laughs before meeting her gaze.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ devour you.” He tells her, and uses the flat of his tongue to lick a stripe up her sex.

Riva moans, arching her back as Butcher’s tongue moves quicker and quicker over her core that begins to drip down onto his chin. He places two fingers in his mouth, covering them in saliva before nudging one at her entrance.

Riva gasps, “Please. I need you.”

“Need me where?”

“In me. Fuck Butcher, please.”

He answers by pushing one finger inside her and Riva hisses through her teeth, as he curls his index finger inside her, gently brushing her inner walls. He adds another, stretching her open as his mouth returns to the epicentre of her nerves. He sucks it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around her before returning to licking up and down her core. As he falls into a rhythm, she grips his head and moans louder, her back arching as she grinds her hips into his mouth.

“Don’t you fucking change a thing, I’m so fucking…” She trails off as Butcher keeps his rhythm, and brings her closer and closer to the explosion she so desperately craves. It hits her like an explosion, stars spearing through her vision as her whole body glows red with aching heat, and Butcher hums proudly against her as she tightens around his fingers.

“Oh Jesus Christ.” Riva breathes raggedly.

“Not quite love.” He replies. “Just shut up.”

“Oh, you taste fuckin’ delicious. So good for me.” He chuckles against her and kisses up her stomach, nuzzling her breasts.

Riva sits up, wrapping her legs around his hips and unbuckling his jeans. “My turn.” She pushes him back, slipping off the counter as she slams him up against the wall, yanking down his jeans and cupping him in her hand.

Riva smirks as he begins to harden in her palm, and tugs at the waistband of his boxers. “Do I turn you on Butcher?” “More than you fuckin’ know love, let’s just skip this part eh?” He lets out a breath as Riva runs her tongue from the base of him to his head, flicking it gently before taking him all the way in her mouth.

“Oh fuck love, fuck you’re so fuckin’ good at…” He trails off, hands twisting into her hair as he gently pushes her head up and down his length.

His knees buckle after a minute, and he pulls her up by her throat, tightening his grip as he kisses her, his mouth tasting of her and hers of him, forming the most exquisitely gorgeous combination on their tongues.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“A little too close for comfort?” She taunts, and Butcher smiles widely.

“Cut me some slack, it’s been a while.” He unclips her bra, throwing it over his shoulder as he carries her towards the sofa.

“No.” She breathes, “Against the wall first.”

“First?”

“Are you-” “I’m kiddin’, love.” He rams her against the wall, adjusting himself so that he’s pressed against her entrance. “You ready?” “Just fuck me.” His answer is to slam himself into her, all the way up to the hilt. Riva lets out a soft scream as she stretches to accommodate him, and he remains still for several moments to let her adjust.

“Better?” He quips, and she nods. “Good. Because I’m going to make your legs shake so much you won’t be able to walk for days.”

“Big talk.” She purrs, and his fingertips press harshly into her hips before he pulls back and thrusts into her again. Riva’s left hand grips his shoulders, digging her nails into his skin whilst her right hand tugs on his hair.

“God you feel so fuckin’ good.” He says between breaths, his hips ramming into hers as her back smacks against the wall again and again and again. To most, it would have bruised the skin, but it added a layer of slight pain to the overwhelming pleasure she was feeling, which made the whole experience all the more incredible.

He grabs her arms, and holds them above her head, his grip tight around her wrists as he uses his free hand to hold her up, fucking her harder and harder until she’s screaming for him, begging him to keep going. She leans forward, sinking her teeth into his shoulder as he laughs, “God you’re brilliant.”

“Don’t fucking stop.” She grits out, and Butcher shakes his head, all pretence gone.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He drops her wrists, securing her weight in his hands as he moves her from the wall, pausing by the freezer as he opens it with one hand, grabs something and kicks it shut.

Butcher carries her to the sofa, lying Riva on her back and kissing down her sternum as he pops an ice cube in his mouth and drags it across her breasts, circling her nipples as gasps of pleasure escape from her throat. He drags it down her sternum, leaving it resting on her belly as his mouth moves up to her nipples, taking them in his mouth individually as he uses his hand to knead her other breast.

An idea forms in Riva’s head, one that’s so enjoyable she can’t help but act it out instantly. She lunges forward pushing Butcher on his back and taking the icecube in her mouth as she sits on his chest, dragging it down his neck much to Butcher’s delight, who groans softly in her ear as she maps his chest with her hands, fingertips grazing over the indents of his abdominal muscles.

“It’s my job to tease you.” He stutters, her lips catching his in a kiss which he eagerly returns.

“And it’s mine to torment you.” Riva murmurs, her lips brushing over his ear, as she returns to the ice cube that’s begun dissolving on his chest. She straddles his lap, sinking down slowly onto him and watching his eyes roll back in rapture.

“Fuckin’ hell, Riva.” He grunts as she begins to wind her hips in a serpentine fashion, his hands gripping her ass as he smacks her lightly, holding her tightly as he meets her movements, thrusting up into her.

“Butcher, your hands, I’m gonna…” She trails off as a wave of euphoria crashes through her, and his hands snake up to her neck, closing around her throat as he squeezes.

“Cum for me love, I want to hear you say my name. I want to know that it’s me who’s making you feel like this.” “Possessive much?” She gulps out and he grins.

“You have no idea.” He increases the pressure, and watches her wring out her orgasm on his lap, riding him harder and harder as Butcher begins to sit up, squeezing tighter until her body freezes before melting under his touch.

He drops his hands from her neck as she lets out a gasp for oxygen, her hands digging into his shoulders as she tilts her head back, throat exposed to the air moaning, “Oh fuck, Billy, yes, just like that.”

“God I love it when you say my name. I plan on hearing you say that many, many times over.” He tells her, watching her in awe as she comes down from her high.

“Your turn.” She says softly, lips swollen with lust as he flips her on her back, hands cradling her face.

“As you wish, love.” He begins thrusting into her, her legs wrapped round his hips as he gets faster and faster, the couch moving with his movement.

“Holy fuck, Billy.”

“If anyone ever touches you again without your consent, I’ll fuckin’ kill them. Do you understand?” He looks down at her, slowing his pace for a moment.

“I know Butcher.”

He runs his thumb over her lower lip and she takes it in her mouth, gently biting down.

“Billy love, just call me Billy.”

She smiles around his thumb, before raking her nails down his back. “Then cum for me Billy, I want to hear you say my name.”

He grins happily, holding her waist tight as he thrusts harder into her, his hands moving down to grip her thighs as he pulls her down onto him repeatedly, beads of sweat dripping down his face as Riva watches his eyes close, chasing the release that she felt minutes ago. She leans up, nipping his ear as he pants out.

“Too hot, I’m so fuckin’ hot.”

She places her palms on his back, dragging the heat out of his body and watching him relax a little as he continues moving, nuzzling her neck.

“Feel better?”

“Immensley love.” He kisses her neck, thrusting harder and harder as his hips bruise her inner thighs until he slows just a touch and Riva grins.

“Say it.” “Fuck, Riva fuck you feel incredible.” He groans, his face twisting in pleasure as his release spills out inside her, his thrusts slowing until his face is inches from hers, their foreheads pressed together.

“Well, that was unexpected.” Riva says with a soft laugh as Butcher presses his lips to hers before confessing.

“Hardly darlin’, I’ve been waiting to do that for fuckin’ weeks.”

Riva arches an eyebrow, “But you argue with me non-stop, you’re just as stubborn as I am.”

Butcher chuckles, kissing her forehead. “What can I say love? Creatures of habit.”

#the boys #the boys tv #amazon the boys #billy butcher #billy butcher x you #billy butcher x reader #fanfiction requests #fanfiction #smut #the boys smut #smut fanfiction

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hitsuackerman · 4 years

Text

What in the World? (Akaashi Keiji x Reader) pt.12

a/n: it begins >:)

Akaashi’s lineup: @alluring-akaashi @oikawalmart-hq @extrasugafree @bbykiyoomi @apricotjihyo @awings @simpformiya @sayakaaaaaa @colorseeingchick @demursv1ogs @chrisrue15 @beanst0ck @something-that-idk (i have no idea why i can’t tag some of you :( huhu )

links: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 13

Time flew by so fast in this dimension. Now that you were well adjusted and loving the new life here, it had not dawned on you that 7 months had already passed. Things were moving smoothly and pleasantly.

“Here you go.” Akaashi handed you a snack bar. The two of you (well maybe three if Bokuto is included) were practically inseparable. The team had finally managed to pin the both of you down and confirm that you two were indeed dating. “Did you sleep well?”

Walking to school was still a thing both of you did. Except this time, fingers were intertwined and barely any distance between the both of you. The only time you two let go was when the school gates were near. Still, walking down the hallways, Akaashi made sure to always brush his fingers with yours.

“I did!” You pulled him in to kiss his cheek. The small smile he gave you still made your stomach butterflies flutter. “I did have a weird dream last night. You and Bokuto-san switched personalities. Seeing you do his ‘HEY HEY HEY’ was just so wrong on all levels.”

“Is there a quirk that can do that?”

At this point in time, you barely relied on your quirk. The feeling of accomplishing things without it’s aid was much more satisfying. Of course, Akaashi still reaped its healing benefits and took note of how his stamina had improved.

“High chances. If we can have a washing machine as a pro-hero, then there’s bound to be a quirk swapping quirk.”

“A washing machine?” He brushed his thumb on the corner of your lip to wipe off a crumb. “Even now, your world still surprises me.”

“It’s great if you hear it.” Leaning on his shoulder, you tightened your hold on his hand. “Living in it is a completely different story. It’s been, what, 7 months since I arrived here and I am more than content with not having to rely on my quirk.”

“What about your combat skills? Shouldn’t you still be sharpening them?”

“I wish I could.” That was true, though. “I’m pretty much useless at 30%. Even if I wanted to lift boulders or shit, I have to maintain at least 40%. The difference is small but the output is huge. I don’t get my quirk’s logic.”

“Well, it’s still early.” The gates were now in sight but he refused to let go of your hand. “I’m pretty sure you can work on your quirk. The others won’t arrive within 30 minutes.”

“It’s been 5 months and you’re still curious to see how I fight?” You giggled.

“Yes.” He nodded. “If my girlfriend trained to be a hero, I’d love to see how you move.”

“Well, you made that sound sexy~” You nudged his elbow. “Think we can have a little action before we head to the gym?”

“It’s 6:30am, (y/n). It’s too early for that.” He teased. Yet his steps were a little faster than before. “But, I guess I can’t oppose the idea.”

The next thing you knew, your back hit the wall as Akaashi hungrily kissed you. With your legs wrapped around his waist, your fingers found themselves coming through his hair. Pinning you even more, Akaashi’s hand undid your ribbon and unbuttoned the first two. Letting go of your lips, he trailed kisses from your cheek down to the crook of your neck.

As he was softly sucking on your skin, you loosened his tie and undid the two buttons as well. Tugging his hair, you were face to face with him again. Lust filled eyes staring back into yours. Leaning in, you gently kissed his lips before returning the favor. Activating your quirk, Akaashi felt his feet leave the ground. Knowing what you were about to do, he could feel you turning the both of you around.

Skillfully placing the both of you on the floor, Akaashi leaned on the wall as his hands began to roam higher and higher up your skirt. Having you straddle him this early in the morning was rather pleasant in all aspects. Tilting his head a bit, he gave you much easier access and felt you sucking on his skin a little harsher this time.

“Make sure it’s hidden under the collar.” He managed to whisper. Hickeys were a common thing to have both your bodies. He smirked at how your only response was a nod.

Caressing your cheek, he admired the way your face glowed even more. Pulling you in softly for another kiss, he felt his stomach fluttering when you smiled.

“We should probably head to the lockers now.”

“Fine.”

“We can continue this in my room later.” He whispered before kissing you deeply.

“Counting the hours~”

Moments later, you were now pumping air into some volleyballs. Morning practice for today would only take an hour so there was plenty of time to freshen up before the homeroom. Now that the gym was packed with your boys, you rolled out the volleyball cart and positioned it beside the net.

Everyone was now used to having you as a ball girl. In fact, some of them even tried to challenge you by purposely hitting the ball too hard or too low. With your hero training, it was nothing but a walk in the park. You did notice, however, that your body began to sweat a bit more. The after effects of not using your quirk for a long time was showing.

Nothing bad happens, though. Just panting and sweating.

“Aghkaashe!” Bokuto yelled. “Can you and (y/n)-chan help with my math later?”

“I don’t mind. What about you, (y/n)?”

“Sure thing~” You approached your two favorite boys. “Bokuto-senpai, how well did you do on your previous quiz?”

The captain’s golden eyes sparkled.

“HAHAHA! Thanks to you both, I managed to get a 32/50! Whatdya think?!” He punched the air and grinned widely. When the both of you applauded he began to jump up and down while shouting his trademark.

“Calm down, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi tried to stop him from jumping up and down. His friend obeyed and gave a cheeky thumbs up.

“God, I love you both so much~” You giggled at their exchange.

“But you love Ahkaashi more, don’t you (y/n)-chan?” Bokuto added as he shouldered Akaashi. This time, his deadpan face was holding a soft smile.

“Of course!”

When Konoha’s alarm sounded, each of you began to clean up and prepare for the rest of the day. With how often you did it, it had now become second nature to you. Yukie and Kaori even admitted that you adapted much faster than they had anticipated. Once all of you were now freshened up, the gym was locked once more and each player looked forward for the after school practice.

“Exams are approaching.” Akaashi said as he let you step into the classroom first. “Have you prepared your notes?”

“I did. But, you do remember that the subjects you have here are way too easy for me, right?” Placing your bag on your desk, you took a seat and faced Akaashi. “Shall we study in your room or mine?”

“we can take turns.” Now that he was seated, he fished out one of his notebooks and placed it on his desk. Not that it was needed, it merely became one of his habits. Watching as you dragged your chair closer to him, he offered you a pen and flipped the notebook open.

“So, what do you want me to draw?” This had become one of your recent traditions. Before the start of homeroom, Akaashi noticed how you liked to doodle on his notebooks. Deciding that a special one was needed, he took the liberty of buying a blank journal for you to fill with whatever it is you saw fit.

“Hmm, I recall you saying that you designed your own hero costume.” He saw how your eyes lit up. “May i see what it looked like?”

Starting the sketch, you began to draw a figure and dressed it with your costume.

“So, my costume isn’t flashy unlike the others.” You explained. “A quirk like mine doesn’t really need a lot of support items so I went with mobility and comfort. I decided that simplicity was key. Just the normal jacket, shirt, pants, and boots. The only support item I had were my gloves.”

Sketching your gloves, Akaashi couldn’t help but adore just how focused you were. Tucking in a loose strand of hair, he felt the butterflies in his stomach churning once again as the corners of your mouth formed a smile and your cheeks turning a faint hue of pink.

“What do your gloves do?” They looked like standard fingerless gloves.

“The material was specifically designed to aid in manipulating my quirk. It concentrates the energy I release and wraps around my hand. Sorta like a human torch~” It was a bit difficult to explain how it worked knowing you didn’t listen to the man who gave you the item. As long as it aided you, it was fine.

“What were Todoroki-kun’s support items?”

“Shoto’s support items were mostly temperature regulators. Wristbands and a big one he wears like a backpack to help even him out.” You drew his support items rather well.

“Can you try to sketch Todorki-kun’s face?” Letting you draw your friends was something he wasn’t so comfortable with. Not for that reason of course. He merely assumed that it would be a sensitive topic knowing the circumstances of how you arrived in his world. When you giggled, he tilted his head.

“About time you asked~” Beginning to draw your childhood friend, you continued. “I honestly wouldn’t mind drawing my friends for you, ya know? There’s no way I can introduce you to them so sketching them would be the best alternative.”

“I’m sorry.” He held on to your free hand. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfy.”

“You never make me uncomfy. Keiji~”

It was a quick sketch of half and half but a good one. He squinted his eye when he took note of the scar. He had heard of Tokoyami and Mina, but this one merely showed a boy about his age with a nasty burn on his face.

“Shoto’s got one helluva back story.” Your thumb began to brush Akaashi’s knuckles. “That scar was given to him by his mum when he was around 5 or 6 years old. It’s sad but he grew to accept it and is now healing.”

“You were engaged before, right?”

“For a while, yeah.” You handed him back the pen and closed the sketchpad. The bell had now rung and right on time, the teacher entered the room. Just as she was relaying a message, you were rummaging in your bag for a notebook.

“Please introduce yourselves~” The teacher said.

“Bakugo Katsuki”

“Midoriya Izuku.”

- - - - -

a/n: sooo... what yall gonna do now? :’)

#akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi haikyuu #akaashi keiji #haikyuu #hq #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x bnha

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continuations · 4 years

Text

How Much Clothing is Enough? A Personal Experiment

One of the core ideas in my book The World After Capital is that we have sufficient physical capital in the world to meet everyone’s needs. To help establish this I provide a fairly detailed analysis of what our needs are.

Now today’s post is about clothing. Some people would say that clothing is a need, but that’s a conceptual mistake. Clothing is not a need, rather it is a solution for two actual needs: temperature regulation and bodily integrity. When it gets too cold we use clothing to warm ourselves. And when we work in dangerous environments we use clothing to protect our bodies.

Again, clothing is a solution, not a need. I realize this is likely somewhat counterintuitive for a lot of people who have thought of clothing as a need. But we kind of know that it’s not a need because in the right climate (and without dangerous activities) people are perfectly happy wearing very little or nothing at all. Some people might want to add another need here somehow related to being ashamed or not wanting others to see our body but those are clearly social constructs (or internalized reactions to those) that are highly dependent on time and place rather than universals.

Once you see clothing as a solution to needs it becomes easier to think clearly about what makes for a good clothing and how much you really need. For example, clothing should be durable so you don’t need to replace it all the time. It should also be breathable so you can carry out physical activities.

My contention has been that from this perspective not a lot of clothing is required to meet the underlying needs. I had always wanted to test that idea for myself but never really got around to it, until the COVID-19 pandemic that is. We were on a family trip to Peru when things got bad in March. And I realized that I could simply try to go on using only the clothes I had brought along, which fit into an Away carry-on suitcase and a small backpack (plus of course what I was wearing).

I have now done this for seven months and have been quite happy with the results. Here is a rough inventory: a bunch of underwear and socks (mostly lightweight quick dry from Ex Officio), two pairs of light long pants and two pairs of heavier long pants (one jeans, one khaki), a bunch of t-shirts and four shirts (again quick dry from Ex Officio), two sweatshirts and a zippered fleece (Patagonia). As for shoes I have a pair of hiking boots, a pair of sneakers and a pair of flip flops. I also have some miscellaneous clothing items like swim trunks, a baseball hat and sunglasses.

I probably should lay them all out and take a picture but the image below taken from this post does a pretty good job:

Now as we are headed into winter I will need a few more items, such as a warmer jacket, warmer hat and some long underwear.

To be clear, I am not at all suggesting that people are somehow bad if they want more clothes. I want (and have) more clothes. The initial point is far simpler: that the clothes required as a solution for a needs can be quite minimal. Everything else above that is driven by wants. And while that may seem trivial, making that distinction clearly is what lets us understand that we (a) have enough physical capital in the world for everyone to have need-based clothing and (b) that clothing expenses can be small, which is one of the components of what people would cover out a Universal Basic Income.

I am now intrigued by the idea of running similar personal experiments in other areas, such as food and housing, which are solutions to other important human needs. If you have suggestions for how to do so or have done so yourself -- or want to share your minimalist wardrobe, please post in the comments.

PS The title of this post is a reference to the wonderful book “How Much is Enough?” by Edward and Robert Skidelsky.

#clothing #needs #wants

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b-rainlet · 5 years

Note

hope you’re still doing this, alluther for otp questions please !

I have other OTP question requests in my inbox that were asked before this but I saw some Alluther backlash lately and I???? Love them a lot?????? So I will do them first!

Which one sexts like a straight white boy?

I may sound like a broken record but listen, can anyone see Luther texting like a straight white boy? Anyone? Especially with Allison, like, he is so soft with her! Always!

Maybe with Diego he would bicker via text or playfully insult him (like ‘already eaten some raw eggs today?’ - ‘idk, have you watched some good nature documentaries lately?’) but with Allison it’s more like:

Luther: “Hey Allison, I know you’re probably asleep right now because of the different time zones, but I just thought about you and wanted to tell you that you are the most beautiful woman on this earth. I am so glad out of everyone out there - all the people who are better than me - you still chose me. I love you.”

And this just happens all the time. No matter if they just saw each other, or were having a phone call a few minutes prior - or even had a skype convo, because sometimes this relationship feels more long distance than anything else and it’s tearing Allison up inside - Luther willl just casually text Allison and just make her fall in love with him all over.

To get back to the original question: I believe Allison could text like a straight white boy, but I don’t think she does it when she’s texting with Luther - because Luther’s texts are just so wholesome, she could never ‘ruin’ that by trying to sext like that. Also, she probably has had her fair share of creepy guys trying to get laid by contacting her like that and most of the time, she doesn’t have any urge to replicate their messages.

(And if we talk about general sexting….do you think they would sext? In my opinion, maybe they’d start with some texts back and forth, slowly building up to…something, but eventually, they’d probably switch to calling each other. Simply because it’s easier for Allison to take control that way, and it’s more of a reassurance for Luther that what he’s saying is working for Allison, that he’s not miserably failing at another thing he doesn’t have any experience with.

Also they simply miss each other’s voices, okay?).

Which one cried during a fucking disney movie?

Both. Luther cries easily and he’s an ugly crier. Allison, on the other hand, is an actress, she can mask her feelings fairly well.

If she wanted to, she could seem totally untouched by whatever’s happening on screen and surely there had been a time - not long ago - where she would’ve perfected her stony/bored expression and carefully guarded any of her emotions, not letting them slip out, but around Luther?

She’s safe around Luther, she can be herself around him. Always could. So why shouldn’t she let go? Why not let her tears flow freely as the princess finds her prince on screen, fights for her right to be happy?

Why not glance over at Luther and Claire, cuddled up with Claire halfway asleep, head on Luther’s chest, Luther quietly talking to her about his favourite parts of the movie, about the pretty dress the princess is wearing, about her bravery and how he admires that.

Why not take in that sight, the two of them looking like a little family - the family Allison always wished for - and letting some more tears escape?

Why not accept the tissues Luther offers to her with a grateful smile instead of wiping them away with her shirt sleeve, pretending they were never there.

Like Allison doesn’t have any weaknesses.

Like Allison isn’t human.

Who put a goddamned fork in the microwave?

I would like to think that out of all the siblings, Allison and Luther are the Mum and Dad friends, respectively, but honestly, all of them have big dumbass energy.

I don’t think Allison even knows putting the fork in the microwave is a thing (I didn’t know before this ask game, actually!), so she probably wouldn’t give into temptation but when Luther does it and films the result, she totally watches it.

She’s mostly amused but still pretends to be mad at Luther for ruining the microwave.

(She gives him the cold shoulder for about 5 minutes before Luther scoops her up and tickles her and she’s a happy, giggling mess.

Allison, laughing loudly while Luther kisses her temple: “I am STILL mad.”

Luther: “So you want me to stop?”

Allison, pulling him close: “I didn’t say that!”)

Who does the silly hands-over-the-eyes “Guess who” thing?

Both!

Oh my god, totally both of them!

They’re so adorable! Just- Allison reaching up, going onto her tiptoes to reach Luther’s face, settling her hands over Luther’s eyes gently, pressing herself into Luther’s back to get close enough to whisper: “Guess who, baby?”

(Diego has watched this multiple times and everytime -without fail - Luther’s whole face lights up and he just says, in the most lovestruck voice ever: “Allison.”)

(At that point, Allison usually slides next to Luther, one arm still around him, and kisses his cheek).

When Luther does it, it’s less smooth and more so eager. He doesn’t even wait for her to answer, he just spins her around, hands framing her face and then they stare at each other like dumbasses before Five fake coughs to get them to maybe not widely smile at each other right in front of their salad.

Who puts their cold hands/feet on their partner?

Allison.

We have - well, I have talked about how Luther has problems with temperature regulation, but I feel like he would be less obnoxious about it?

Like, Allison feels more like the type to purposefully walk up to Luther and stick her ice cold hands down Luther’s sweater or sneak them under his shirt and press them against his back/stomach.

Luther hardly notices because he’s cold all the time anyway, but he still yelps because he’s a bit self-conscious about certain body parts. He relaxes when he hears Allison giggle tho. Allison is allowed to touch.

(Not to derail a wholesome post but I can totally see Allison doing that for the first time and Luther reflexively juts his elbow out and breaks her nose or gives her a black eye. He is terribly sorry and spoils her for a whole week, but Allison has had worse injuries due to training before. If she wanted to, she could even rumour the pain away, but she doesn’t do that anymore. Instead, she allows Luther to gently kiss the swollen parts of her face and stroke her hair while apologizing yet again).

Who had that embarassing Reality TV marathon?

Both.

Allison knows half the celebs on those shows and Luther loves listening to her talk about them, like:

“I know her from a gala, she did coke in the backroom while I was doing my make up. Seemed nice.”

“She was the one with the dickhead of a boyfriend I told you about. Seems like she finally left him. Good for her.”

“I like her.” - “Her? No, no, trust me. She’s a real bitch.”

(Sorry that Hollywood sounds so depressing, lmao, I’m just saying, Allison probably saw some shit).

But, lbr, Luther would do anything just to be close to Allison, be in the same room as her and be able to listen to her talk. He is very, very smitten with her.

(Additionally, Allison probably gets drunk on wine, lounging around in her sweat pants and throwing popcorn at the screen, the alcohol making her giggly and cuddly and it’s- it’s just very cute).

Who laughs more during sex?

Allison.

(Watch me really monopolizing on how soft and cute Allison is, askajsj).

Allison is ticklish and Allison is a person who just smiles and giggles and laughs when she’s happy and Luther makes her happy, so why not?

So please just imagine Allison on the bed with Luther on top of her, kissing along her neck while Allison laughs quietly, carding her hands through his hair and laughing even harder when Luther leans up to kiss her nose. Imagine Allison still giggling while wrapping his legs around Luther, arms around his neck, pressing kisses to his cheeks and his eyelids and his temples.

“I love you,” said with so much warmth and a visible smile in her voice.

“I love you so much.”

WHO IS THE LITTLE SPOON?

There is no little spoon. It’s cuddle anarchy as they decide to sleep face to face like complete mad men. Luther’s mouth pressed to Allison’s hairline, Allison with her arm around Luther’s waist.

(They always sleep in the same bed when Allison is in town, even when they had a fight. Even when it was a bad fight. They’ll sleep back to back, trying not to touch and still pressing their backs together. Eventually finding their way into each other’s arms after all, because they can’t stay mad at each other for long and they both know that they belong together.

Knew it since they were kids).

#alluther #it's 6am so maybe this isn't comprehensible #but oh well

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autist-tips · 5 years

Text

Autistic tip #3

For those that have trouble with temperature regulation: (These tips are assuming that you cannot physically feel that you are too hot or too cold.)

-Listen to your body

You may not feel hot, but if you’re sweating or turning pink/red, you are. You may not feel cold, but if your skin/nails are turning purple and your hands are getting stiff, you are.

Tend to your body according to what it’s telling you.

-Warm up/Cool down slowly

If you already have trouble regulating your temperature, changing it quickly can make you feel worse. (If you’re very cold or very hot, this doesn’t apply.)

If you’re cold, put on warmer clothes or lay down under a blanket, drink or eat something warm, etc. If you’re hot, change into something cooler, have a cold drink, turn on a fan, etc. Take your time between doing multiple things to change your temperature so that you don’t end up on the opposite side of the spectrum and have to do more work.

Remember that cooling down is easier than warming up!

-Try warming/cooling only one part of your body

Whenever I’m cold and try to warm up my whole body, I start to sweat even though I’m still cold. The reverse also happens when I try to cool off- I start shivering. From what I’ve gathered, this happens because my body isn’t the same temperature throughout, so some parts of me become uncomfortably hot/cold before the other parts can reach a comfortable medium.

I found out that doing something like wearing thermal pants and sweatpants but wearing a t-shirt or tank top warms me up without causing excessive sweating. Or if my hands and feet are freezing but the rest of me is fine, I’ll put on thermal socks and a pair of gloves. When I get too hot I suck on ice to cool down from the inside out.

-Stay hydrated

Our bodies need water to regulate their temperature, so if you’re dehydrated you’ll have even more trouble than usual managing it. This is especially important during hot months when you’ll be losing a lot of fluids from the heat!

#actually autistic #autism #neurodivergency #autistic tips #my post #self care #temperature #regulation #autism tips

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imagine-loki · 6 years

Text

Monsters and Magic

TITLE: Monsters and Magic

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 13/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you’re a vampire who helps the Avengers defeat an evil seethe of other vampires, and Loki befriends you after you end up in their custody

RATING: T (so far)

NOTES/WARNINGS: Also on AO3 click here

“Striga, you’ve gotta wake up, Doll,” Bucky informed you an indeterminate amount of time later. You groaned as you rolled over and slowly, stiffly sat up. You were a mess of aches and pains from the previous day’s activities. You noted as you sat up that the pillow had been placed back under your head and the blanket had been over you until you sat up. Yup, Bucky was definitely Cap’s friend.

“Striga?” you asked as he pressed a bowl of porridge into your hands.

“I got you something to eat. It’s not much, but this isn’t exactly a five star restaurant… as to Striga…” he flushed a little. “You needed some kind of nickname, and it’s the name of a type of vampire in Romanian,” he explained a bit sheepishly. He really was just like the rest of the team under all the brainwashing. They all loved pet names and determining levels of friendship based on different pet names and nicknames. They were serious about the nicknames too. As far as you knew, the reporter who tried to call Nat ‘Tasha’ was still in the hospital months later…

“You’re gonna fit in with the Avengers just fine. They’re all obsessed with nicknames too,” you told him dryly, giving him a smirk as you dug into your porridge. He actually gave you a small smile. “I thought you weren’t allowed to leave me alone?”

He shrugged. “You were dead asleep. Besides, the actual order was the keep you from escaping. I’m choosing to keep you from escaping by feeding you, but we have to hurry, there’s not a lot of time…”

“Time before what?” you asked concerned, especially with that tone and that haunted look in his eyes.

“They want to start training you for field duty as soon as possible,” he explained sadly. You blanched. That sounded terrible and horrible and about a zillion other synonyms for awful. “We can’t escape. Not yet. I can’t break orders and they’ll be keeping too close an eye on you for a long while yet. If they think I’m helping you in any way, they’ll put my brain back in the blender,” he reminded you firmly before you could try to convince him that you should try to escape. “And don’t even think about going alone. If you get too far from someone carrying one of the remotes, that thing will go off,” he gestured to the obedience disk on your neck. “You’re safe in the compound, but…” you nodded, you’d be doomed trying to escape without dealing with the obedience disk first. “We have to wait until we have an opportunity,”

You nodded and steeled yourself for hell.

And hell it was.

You prayed that Loki couldn’t feel what they were doing to you. You remembered the sunburn on his arm from yesterday and hoped harder that Loki was free of sharing this pain.

It was days, weeks, months? of near 24-hour combat lessons, brainwashing, torture, training. Hell. They fed you barely enough blood to keep you alive and ordered Bucky to keep from feeding you again. All the while they were trying to mess with your mind, you were slowly rebuilding Bucky’s. You were immune to most of their mental meddling because of your telepathic powers being able to shield your mind. They couldn’t blend your brain like they’d done to Bucky. It didn’t stop everything, but it let you keep yourself despite everything. Despite the torture, pain, attempted brainwashing. You stayed you and Bucky commented more than once that you managed to remain a ball of sunshine despite everything.

Slowly, slowly, Bucky became himself again, and slowly you defended and strengthened his mind as you put it back together.

You lost all track of time as the days and days of nearly no sleep blurred together.

You couldn’t contact Loki again, though you tried in fits of desperation. There just wasn’t enough power to go around and you couldn’t gather enough power to do anything useful. You disabled any listening and surveillance device they placed in Bucky’s rooms. He was impressed with your skills with the bugs, since you managed to disable them while making it look like you hadn’t done anything. Your big brain was good for something at least.

It took awhile, but you finally convinced Bucky that he could sleep on the bed too during what sleep you were actually allowed. Neither of you were interested in the other and that was very firmly established and agreed upon. You even let him have the pillow on the condition that you could use him as your pillow. He seemed to sleep easier having your head on his chest and he sheepishly admitted one morning that Steve used to sleep like that all the time when they were kids and he always slept better on those nights, considering Steve’s multitude of medical conditions. He was also warm so you slept easier curled where you could steal his warmth. He didn’t mind since he knew you couldn’t regulate your body temperature yourself.

“Come, Scarlet,” Bucky told you one afternoon after you’d changed from workout clothes to the blood red knee-length dress they insisted you wear. They didn’t give you shoes or a jacket so you could have sleeves around the compound, claiming that vampires who weren’t trying to escape didn’t need such things. The lack of shoes made you look even tinier, innocent, and adorable especially next to the hulking Bucky.

Bucky’s voice was gruff when he spoke where you could be overheard. He was also careful to call you Scarlet, since Hydra decided your name was supposed to be Scarlet Death. Stupid name really. You were both keeping up appearances that he was nothing more than your keeper, that he was still a brainwashed zombie. You were impressed with his acting skills. You just had to pretend to be an adorable ball of sunshine, which wasn’t hard. It made the Hydra agents uncomfortable to see what was being done to you, when you were so tiny and small. Even they didn’t like the innocent being harmed.

He led you to the cafeteria and gestured to your table, the one set a little apart from all the others. You sat obediently. He’d shocked you once in front of all of these people for show and apologized for like an entire day over it, but none of the Hydra agents had liked seeing you shocked either. It was a dangerous game you were playing and you both knew it. So you sat and waited while Bucky went and got you both something to eat, keeping one eye on you the entire time he was away from your side. He dropped the tray and it’s unappealing stew, slice of bread, and an apple in front of you when he returned. “You’re to stay in the bunk after you’ve eaten. Your first mission is tomorrow,” Bucky told you while you smiled and dumped half of your stew into his bowl. He growled at you to stop it, but it was for show, part of the cute innocent act. Also, he needed more calories than you did, plus you didn’t really need much human food to survive, so it was a good addition to the act.

After Bucky’s statement, the rest of the meal was in silence.

“We’re supposed to be terrified of her?” one of the agents asked incredulously as he looked you over. His voice was soft and you weren’t supposed to be able to hear it. You wouldn’t have if you weren’t a vampire with heightened senses. You offered him a bright smile and polite head nod as you passed him and his friend. “The girl at my daughter’s birthday party who played Tinkerbell-”

The next thing you knew you were jolting upright on Bucky’s bed, panicked. “Easy, Doll,” he told you gently.

“What happened?” you demanded, panicked and terrified. You didn’t remember anything after nodding to the agent on your way out of the cafeteria.

“It looks like they affected your brain after all. The trigger word worked,” Bucky explained. “After what he said, you dropped like a stone,” he explained. After he said ‘tinkerbell’, you realized. Oh gods. If they got that through your shielding, what else had they done? You pulled your knees to your chest and sobbed helpless tears. After an awkward moment, Bucky’s arms wrapped around you. “You’ll be ok. We both will. We’ll get through this,” he promised and held you while you sobbed yourself to exhaustion. “Get some sleep, Striga,” he told you and pulled the blanket up over you. “Tomorrow’s going to be rough on us all and you haven’t slept properly in…ages,”

“Y/N! Thank the Norns!” Loki greeted you. The world around you was hazy, but focused quickly. Loki was in standing in front of you, dressed oddly in a green tunic and black pants. The room was unfamiliar too, but that wasn’t a concern right now. Right now all that mattered in the entire universe was that Loki was here. You ran the few steps of distance between you and threw yourself into his arms. He held you as tightly as he could, his arms around your waist while you stood on tiptoe your arms around his neck.

“Loki, how?” you asked, whispering against his neck as you took in his scent, ran your fingers through his hair, held onto him like he was the last real thing in the world.

“This is a dream, love. I’m sorry it took so long for me to learn, but I finally learned to dreamwalk. Thor has been annoyed to no end that I’ve been practicing on him,” he added lightly. You laughed at that, imaginging Thor’s grumpy expression of having magic practiced on him.

“Poor Thor,” you said and dropped back to your feet to look over Loki. He looked you over too. You reached up and touched his neck, there was a burn mark there in the same place the obedience disk was on your neck.

“I’m fine,” he told you before you could start fretting.

“But how-?”

“Your power latches onto mine when they hurt you,” he explained. “With unpleasant side effects. It’s atypical, but not unheard of, especially since I am the one teaching you magic, and you’ve been trying to make the telepathic link. It’s not surprising there’s bleed-through. And don’t you dare try to stop now that you know, either, sweetheart. It’s one of the few things letting me know you’re still alive,” he told you firmly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” his finger pressed against your lips.

“It’s alright, darling,” he told you. You leaned up and kissed him when he dropped his finger from your lips. It didn’t matter that this was a dream. He broke the kiss. “Darling, even my power has limits. I know you’re alive, and in one piece, but are you ok?” he asked softly. He didn’t want to hear that you weren’t.

“I’m in one piece,” you agreed. You didn’t want to tell him what they were doing to you. That wouldn’t help anything and would just make him angry. He understood though. You weren’t alright.

“I hate to push, but have you learned anything that might help us find you? They’re blocking me from finding you somehow, even through dreamwalking I can’t get a lock on your location,” he growled in frustration.

You pointed to the obedience disk in your neck. “This thing somehow casts interference so you can’t find me,” you explained. “Tomorrow will be the first time I’m leaving the compound since I was taken. Some kind of mission for Hydra. I don’t know what it is,” you told him, fear in your voice as you held onto him too tightly. “This stupid disk in my neck. Whatever this mission is, I have to do it,” you sobbed into his chest.

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart. Whatever they make you do, it’s on them. It’s not your fault,”

“But I’m choosing to do it. Choosing whatever awful task to avoid a little pain,” you whimpered, telling him your fears of becoming a true monster.

“It is hardly a little pain, darling. Not with how much bleedthrough I’ve felt. That much pain is torture, and your actions under torture are not your fault. You’re not a monster, sweetheart, no matter what they make you do. I’m sorry, love. My magic is coming to an end. We’re coming for you, I swear it. We’ll put all of our resources out tomorrow when you’ll be out of that compound. We’ll find you and I will kill them for hurt you,”

You kissed him again. “I love you, Loki,”

“I love you more than anything, sweetheart. Stay strong for me, dearheart,”

“I’m trying, Loki. I’m trying,” you whimpered as more tears came unbidden to your eyes.

“I know, my darling,” his fingers ran through your hair. You kissed him again. You couldn’t keep your lips off of his, not when he was finally here. The kissed broke momentarily, and his spoke, his lips brushing yours. “I love y-

“Come on, Striga, it’s almost dawn,” Bucky told you and shook you harder. The tears were still in your eyes, and you could still feel Loki’s lips on yours. “You ok, Doll?” he asked when you didn’t wake as fast as usual.

“Sorry, magic and dreams,” you told him as you disentangled yourself from the blanket. “Loki… came and visited my dream,” you explained at his confused look. He still didn’t seem to understand, but nodded his agreement anyway.

“Get dressed quickly, we leave at dawn,”

“I can’t see in the sunlight,” you reminded him as you ducked into the bathroom to change into a clean blood-red dress that had been laid out for you. Bucky handed you a black leather jacket as soon as you stepped out of the bathroom. You slipped it on and sat on the bed to tie on the black combat boots.

“I know you can’t. So do they. It’ll be alright,” Bucky told you, but wouldn’t clarify past that. When you were dressed he pulled out a long ribbon the same red as your dress. “Close your eyes and trust me, Striga,” Bucky bid you. You balked.

“No, nonono,” you told him firmly, scared of being even more blind.

“Doll, you have to. They aren’t leaving anything up to chance,” Bucky told you and you could hear the hurt in his voice of what he was making you do.

“Buck, I can’t,” you told him. Balking at this final straw.

“Y/N, neither of us has a choice. I’ll be there the entire time and will do everything in my power to make sure you’re safe,” he reminded you firmly. “But if we don’t hurry, they’re going to come in here and it’s going to be a lot worse and a lot more painful for both of us,”

��You sighed, trapped again, and nodded, stepping over to him and turning around so he could tie the stupid ribbon over your eyes. He fastened it securely and touched your hand with his when he was done. You gripped his arm automatically, too tightly, but he wouldn’t complain

He led you through the compound, through the maze of hallways to the exit. You couldn’t remember the last time you breathed fresh air. You were loaded onto a jet with Bucky at your side. He stayed beside you the entire trip to wherever this mission was going and let you hold his hand, knowing you were terrified to be out in the day, that you were scared to be without your vision even worse. It was a long, long trip before the jet landed again. You dozed off on Bucky for part of it, and they actually gave you a coffee cup of blood to drink on the way. It was human, you noted and you briefly wondered whose. You weren’t going to turn it down regardless. You’d been surviving on teaspoons of chicken blood, which was gross and not enough. An entire coffee cup of human blood was desperately needed.

Bucky removed the ribbon from your eyes once the jet had landed. It was dusk. German man, whose name you never actually got, ordered you from the jet. Bucky trailed behind you as you followed the German man, trying to tell yourself that whatever you were forced to do was force and not your choice, no matter how it might seem.

You were led to the edge of a village where a bunch of Hydra agents were waiting in fancy suits. They all had chairs like they were here to watch a show of some variety, and big screens with security camera footage of the village in front of them. It looked like the entire village was on display. “Gentlemen, thank you for coming to this little demonstration,”

“This better be good Herr Schneider. We were promised a powerful new weapon,” one of the men said, shaking German man’s hand.

“I think you will be most impressed with this demonstration,” German man, Schneider, pushed you forward. “It doesn’t look like much, but this is the weapon. Scarlet Death we call it. It’s even more powerful than the Winter Soldier, and will be more so after we train it up a bit more. Now, let me show you what it’s capable of,” Schneider told the men. “It’s been trained with activation words, naturally. So. Shall we begin?” The men nodded and took their seats, intently watching everything, including the screens. Schneider turned to you. “Hugin,”

“Munin” said the Schneider and the world came back into focus slowly. You were wet. Why were you wet? You looked down and saw that you were soaked. Drenched in so much blood that your blood red dress looked black. Your skin was smeared in blood too. It was sticky and still hot on your skin. It was also very much definitely blood. You were a vampire. You could tell.

It was then that you looked around you and your hands went to your mouth in shock and horror. You were in the eye of a storm of carnage. There were bodies surrounding you. Men, women, children. The village around you was burning. But it was the bodies, bodies you knew that you were somehow responsible for that held your attention and horror. A hundred people? More? You couldn’t tell from the pile of carnage around you. They were dead, so very, very dead.

You fell to your knees, the ground squelching beneath you. Tears of shock and horror streamed down your cheeks, dripped to add more blood to the already blood soaked earth.

You had killed all of these people.

You couldn’t remember doing it.

One word and you had.

You were viciously, violently ill at the knowledge of what you had done. It didn’t matter that it was against your will. It didn’t matter you couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter you had no idea what you were doing.

You had done it.

They succeeded.

They won.

They had succeeded in turning you into a monster after all

#Loki #Lover #Imagine #Submitted fic #submission #monsters and magic #chapter 13 #nekoamamori

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2x2verse · 7 years

Text

I AM STILL NOT ON TIME FOR NSFW STRIDERCEST WEEK [takes another bite of toast and transforms into a Real AnimeTM]

Reflex [dirkhal]

“One, two--come on, forward, forward, it’s like I’m fighting a fucking thirteen-year-old.”

Your face pinches. This would be a lot easier if you could regulate your body temperature by sweating--well, maybe, it’s so humid out it might not make much of a difference. “Maybe because the last time I touched a sword, I was thirteen.”

It’s a subtle dig, one only Dirk would notice. That’s why you said it. “Uh, excuse you, bro, it’s a daitō and you will respect that.”

“You know what daitō means?” You relax your posture. Just enough that Dirk thinks he has an opening, and he snaps forward to get his blade in the space you just left. Like you didn’t expect that (like you aren’t him), like you don’t bring your own sword down to trap the tip of his against the concrete of the rooftop. You hope it chips. Dirk’s close enough that you can lean forward to whisper straight into his ear. “It means long sword. Precision, precision.” You click your tongue at him. “It’s a two-and-a-half-shaku tachi, you pleb.”

Dirk flicks his wrist up, dislodges the length of your blade, and feints, trying to catch you in the back. You’re too fast for him, not allowing him the cheap shot, and as you pivot on your heel, he retreats back into his own personal space. You can’t see his eyes, but light is just barely traveling across his shades as he tries to take in the situation, see what you’re playing at. “It’s a katana,” he insists. “A katana--”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot.” With some effort, you slow yourself down, try to drop your center of gravity without Dirk noticing. You want to spring on him here, propel off the rooftop with the superhuman strength of your legs until you trap him against one of the edges here with the force of your forward attack momentum. “You were so proud when you bought these from the mall kiosk that you got a free fedora, you respect them so much that you wear them with the cutting edge down, and you’re so competent with them that you disregard centuries of war arts to draw one-handed and attack in the same movement.”

“One of these days,” Dirk mutters, “I’m going to break your instant uplink to the Internet so you can’t access Wikipedia when I’m trying to teach you something.” His skin is fucking glistening with effort and grime and it’s hard not to just throw aside your weapon and jump his bones where he stands.

But it’ll be so much better if you soundly defeat him first. You may not have the muscle memory he does, but you have a processor core orders of magnitude more powerful than his, and the entirety of YouTube to watch for tutorials. Your weight is solidly resting on the balls of your feet. Because you don’t sweat, your grip on the hilt is solid, your identical fingers slotting perfectly into the grooves Dirk’s worn into the leather. Without adrenalin to interrupt your decision-making, you can plot this attack exactly how you’d like.

You take flight, the tension in your thighs snapping as you propel yourself forward, and your speed in this new body takes Dirk by surprise. He’s on the defensive as you slash into his space, close enough to threaten but (you hope) not enough to maim. The hollow sound of steel on steel gets swallowed in the sounds of the city, and between the two of you, your footprints are scuffing up dirt that clogs your internal filters.

Dirk’s not keeping track of his space--he thinks he’s on solid ground. His heel hits up against the brick of the side of the rooftop and you watch his eyebrows flick up in surprise. One more step and you have him totally pinned, your blade at his adam’s apple; fine blond stubble catches on the sharp of it.

“Checkmate,” you tell him, reaching out with your other hand to grab his hair and tip his head back.

This close, you can peer through the dark of his shades; Dirk’s eyes are down and to the side. “Well, this has gone completely fucking pear-shaped. There’s no other way out of it.” A twisted, toothy smile. “You’re going to have to decapitate m--”

“Not even close,” you interrupt him. Dirk drops his sword and you captchalogue it yourself, right alongside yours. He doesn’t move his throat or try to wrench his head away from your fist in his hair. Your fans are on overdrive and your circuits are thrumming. Crowding into Dirk’s personal space gets your hips up close with the respectable start of a hard-on. You will never get over the thrill of being his exact height, how your faces match perfectly. At this angle, though, when you press against him, your teeth are at his throat. His breath gets a little huffy when your canines glance over his carotid. “If I weren’t so convinced you gave this your best, I’d think you lost on purpose.”

“That was giving my best, I could have wiped the floor with you.” With your other hand, you push Dirk’s shades into his hair. His eyes are sparkling with dry humor when you let his head down. “Do you know how much restraint it takes to let a thirteen-year-old beat me?”

“Oh, so it was just to cushion my ego. I see.” Not that there was ever an implied sexual wager between the two of you, no sir. To regain the upper hand, you twist your fingers in Dirk’s hair, lean forward to bite his lower lip. The electricity of his skin always feels so good against your porcelain-silicone.

Dirk sucks in a breath just past your teeth, nips you back to align your lips a little better. His mouth is hot and drenched with hormones that make your taste sensors go haywire. “I’m impressed,” he tells you, breathless, between devouring kisses. “I didn’t think you’d make it that easy.”

What he’s carefully avoiding saying: you did better than he thought you would. “I accept your defeat.” And his arousal, as you roll your hips against his and press his ass into the waist-high ridge girding the roof and keeping either of you from a twenty-some-story fall to the streets below. “Turn around.”

“I won’t do it unless you call me--”

“Bright Eyes.” You can finish each other’s thoughts. It’s so intimate to be so inextricable from him, from his mind, even after all this time. And you want to be back in him again. In every way. In any way you can. You twist your wrist, which cranes Dirk’s neck to the side, and you give him just enough space to pivot and press his ass back into you before you pin him again. It’s irresistible, really, and your robo-dong nestles perfectly against it as you press him against the retaining wall.

Dirk’s hands reach out, scrabble for purchase, grip the ledge. “Holy shit.”

“What?”

“I can see the street.”

“You think I’m going to let you fall?” You thread your fingers back into his hair again, tug gently. A little sigh burbles out of Dirk’s throat, and his knuckles stop going quite so white. “Never. Spread your legs a little and your center of gravity stays right back here.”

“Get my pants down first and I’ll think about it.”

Ah. Right. Logistics. It’s a little easier for you, your bodycon suit has invisible seams that can split it any which way for convenience’s sake, but Dirk has these things called pants and they need to go vaguely downwards for you to get access to his princely parts. It’s easy enough to find his glaringly huge Batman belt buckle, snap it open, but wriggling the denim down his hips is an exercise in frustration. Why does he have to wear the tightest clothing for the most rigorous exercise? The real interesting phenomenon here is the small bottle of choji oil nestled in a front pocket, almost camouflaged by the other bulge in his pants; you fish it out, set it down by one of Dirk’s thumbs. It’s his responsibility now to make sure it doesn’t accidentally fall off the edge of the building. Why, it’s almost like he planned for this outcome. Dirk’s jeans are clinging to his skin with sweat-damp and your fingertips skate along between cloth and body, never quite finding the purchase they want. You kick at one of his ankles. “Out.” The hips are too narrow for him to really spread his knees.

Dirk follows your lead, kicks off shoe, sock, and pant leg; his bare foot curls up awkwardly when he sets it back down in a wider stance, protecting his soft insole from the grit of the concrete rooftop. And his toes are already curling in. Perfect. When you reach around his front with your other hand, you find him full hard. Rutting against him from behind pushes Dirk’s hips into the architecture and his hard-on into your hand. “Ah, fuck,” he chokes out, tilting back so it presses his bare ass against your dick.

Right. Because when you divested him of his clothes, that gave him zero protection against the unforgiving roughness of the brick and mortar. “It’s like you think I won’t take care of you,” you murmur condescendingly into his ear. Dirk’s this close to reaching behind and swatting you, only holding back once he realizes moving his hand would mean losing his balance, and probably the oil as well. You pluck it out of his sight so there’s no risk of that happening. “Shh,” from your mouth covers the pop of the cap as you empty the contents all over your hand, and you follow up with a gentle massage of your fingertips into his scalp. That’ll always make you melt, so you know it does the same for him.

Your soaked hand reaches between his legs from behind; you find his balls with your fingertips and slick the whole oiled press of your palm backwards, leaving Dirk a wet mess between his legs. With a finger on his perineum, you can feel his dick twitch, down to the root. Your forearm isn’t in front to brace him anymore, so his stomach rests awkwardly on the barrier as his hips subconsciously tilt towards you--the best angle for this. Before he can think about, and correct, his little tells, you let the rest of the oil in your palm drip down your fingers, hone in on his hole, and start teasing him open.

He’s not as resilient as you. Sometimes it’s hard to remember. In moments like this, though, when you’re touching up against every tender inside part of him you can reach, you can feel just how human he is. You almost want to protect him from himself. Your own body can be rebuilt, you have the technology, but Dirk only gets one shot with the one he was given. His back is already smattered with scars and you long to destroy anything that could have given him such a memento of hurt. While you open him around one finger, you drop your lips to his neck, feel out his pulse with your delicate, crowded touch sensors, and follow it up, down, catch the uptick in rhythm when you press just the right spot just the right way.

Two fingers, and you can feel the harshness of every breath he chokes down. He’s hitching his hips back against you insistently, afraid to push forward in case he chafes his shaft against brick. “Remind me,” Dirk says, half-breath and half-moan, “I need to install mini bullets in your fingertips the next chance I get.”

“What, and be even more susceptible to this?” Ease out, and then plunge back in with three. You can hear Dirk’s fingernails scratching up loose grit from the concrete as you spread him open. “That doesn’t seem fair, really. I can’t just install cybernetic sex enhancements in you whenever I decide you’re too boring for me.”

“I’ll nev--ah! Be too boring for you,” he insists. And he’s right. He’s a curiosity, a treasure, something unique and unpredictable even in his rigid routines and instinctive reflexes. You need him, need to learn him inside and out, need him to be yours, need to be in him again, need--

Fingers out--there’s a pornographic centerfold for you, Dirk spreading his legs and so ready to get fucked, clove-smelling oil dribbling down his taint. It only takes a brief sweep of your thumb to separate your bodysuit at the waist, a tuck of the joint under the fabric to sweep it down and let your cock out from where it’s been choking to death in the spandex. You don’t tell him when, but it’s like he knows anyway, and he lets out a slow, tight breath as you hold yourself steady and finally, finally, get as close to him as you can.

His hips are still tense even as you nudge further and further in. You can fix that. With your one hand still idly petting along his scalp, you reach around with the other and cup your still-slick hand around his dick. A thrust forward from you, and he lets the momentum press him up against the wall, your forearm cushioning his hips and your fingers giving him something amazing to rut against.

Out, in again. An ever-increasing tempo, only ratcheting up once Dirk starts to remember to choke down his moans. And then your hand in his hair forces his head down so he has no choice but to stare at his potential death, and you drive forward at just the right angle, and Dirk yells “oh, god, fuck!” to every single one of his neighbors. So much for his Strider poker face.

And he feels--so good, so warm, with such a human pulse running through him, greedily gulping down his breaths in such a human way, skin shining with oil and swordfight and sex. The thrust of him against your hand, the clench of him around you, feels so organic, so natural, and “shit,” you let out, the tiniest curse, you want to be in him, really inside him, nestled in his human frame and living in his human brain and never to be separated from him again--god, you want it, you want him, you need this--you need--behind your teeth, electrical charge building with nowhere to go, so close you can taste your circuits sparking--

Dirk hollers some nonsense vowel sound into the void and orgasms against your hand, the clench of him drawing you in--the furthest you can go--you crush his hips to yours, lay your chest over his back, and overload with a hum so urgent and loud it vibrates through both your bodies.

It takes a hot minute for your wiring to get back under control. Dirk’s breathing hard under you, head hung low between his shoulders with exhaustion and satisfaction. You try to draw his head up so you can pull him away from the edge, and that’s when you notice your hand shaking. Your arm. Miniature recalibrations happening on a second-by-second basis. It wouldn’t be so bad if it were just your upper extremities, but your knees feel almost weak and the tremor in your ankles means you’re at a real risk of losing your balance.

You pull out of Dirk--gently, he does one of those soft vowel noises that you know isn’t pain, but a warning that that’s where you’re going--and sit your fucking ass down before you hurt someone. Not entirely voluntarily, either. Your backwards momentum, plus your ankles giving out, means you basically slip on nothing and end up hitting the rooftop ass first.

“Fuck,” Dirk huffs out. A few huffs of breath that’s the closest he can get to a laugh while still being this winded. Your suit’s sealing itself back up, even though your crotch is still slick, and you wonder if that’s going to hurt you later. “Oh, god,” Dirk moans again, this time trying to find the waistband of his pants with his bare toes so he can get himself dressed again. He manages to pull up his pants without looking too fucked, and while he’s doing his fly and his belt, he turns around to check on you. The way you can see the white in his eyes as he looks you over makes your coolant freeze. “God, what the hell happened?”

“I don’t know--”

“You’re shaking,” Dirk says. You’re glad he can state the obvious, you just wish it wasn’t so obvious to him how much of a mess you are right now. “Your suit is fucking soaked through--your arm, Hal, look at your arm!”

Which arm? The hand you had at his head is fine, if still spasming out of your control. Your other hand--when you turn it over to take a look at the back of it, it’s completely chewed up, gouges and dents and scratches in your synthetic skin, some bad enough to leave exposed wiring. You follow the extent of the damage up your forearm, where keeping Dirk from rubbing himself raw against the brick retaining wall just meant you took the brunt of it yourself. “Well, shit,” you say idly, moving to touch one of the frayed wires.

“Don’t!” Dirk snaps before you spark yourself. “Hal, god, you can’t just keep doing this to yourself, I know you think you’re indestructible but I just--when you’re--you can’t do this to me. Come on, we gotta take care of you, I can’t stand worrying about you this much.”

He reaches for your hand, skips it and hauls you up by the wrist. He’s a hot mess, and so are you, but between the two of you, with his thoroughly-fucked ass and your unsteady legs, you make it down the stairs and back to the apartment. His protectiveness of you perfectly mirrors your anxiety over his fragile human body. You just wish he’d let you take care of him, too.

#stridercestweeknsfw #day 3 #kathygaelepersonal #dirkhal #lil hal #hal strider #dirk strider

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