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joonie-beanie · 1 year

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Side-Gig | [Peter B. Parker x Reader]

Pairing: Peter B. Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter gets worried about your apparent “side-gig” and goes snooping, only to discover your side-gig is writing Spiderman smut on commission.

Contents: Fluff, Smut, Consensual Sex, Pussy Eating, Banter, Friends to Lovers???

Author’s Note: I swore off posting fics on tumblr, but since this is just a one-shot, I figured why not. I think Peter B is charming, had to write a lil smth smth for him. And by that, I mean a 7.1k wordcount fic.

You and Peter Parker are friends. Not best friends, but pretty good friends.

You like to say you’ve looked out for each other over the years. You don’t talk all the time, but it’s kind of an unspoken promise that when one of you needs someone to lean on, the other person will be there.

Which is why, when Peter and MJ separate, you make a point of inviting Peter over for meals.

At first, he turns you down every time you ask, and you know it’s because he’s wallowing—depressed about his situation. And that’s understandable. You can’t exactly say you know what he’s feeling, but if you put yourself in his shoes, you’re sure you’d be a little bit fucked up about everything too.

Therefore, you give him a little space—wait for things to settle and for Peter to come around.

Except, Peter takes it all way worse than you expect—going radio silent after your third invite in two months. Then, you really start to get worried (and also a little mad that he’s ghosting you).

So, you manage to scrounge up his new address using some internet-sleuthing skills, and show up at his door. When he opens it, he’s dressed in a greasy wife-beater, worn-out gray sweats, and white socks with a hole in the toe.

“Jesus Christ, Peter.”

You spend that evening scolding Peter and letting him cry it all out—handing him tissue after tissue as he blubbers about everything on his mind. When he’s finally done, he apologizes for ignoring your last call, and thanks you for looking out for him.

With a smile, you assure him you’ll always have his back, and that now he really has to come over for dinner, because he owes you.

Laughing, Peter agrees. And luckily, he sticks to his word.

Since then, you and Peter make a point of doing dinner twice a month—typically at your place, sometimes out at a restaurant, but never at Peter’s. Not until he deep cleans his messy apartment, and you know that won’t be happening anytime soon.

Tonight, you’re at a restaurant of your choice—a local Italian joint. Peter arrives late, per normal, and you wave him over when you see him walk in the front door. He immediately spots you and hurries over, his eyes darting to the plate of bruschetta you’d ordered for the table, that now only has two pieces left.

“Aw, that’s not fair,” he says, sliding into the booth across from you. He immediately reaches for one, shoving it into his mouth. You shrug, not sorry.

“That’s what you get for always being late. And if I waited for you, I’d be hangry by now. So really, you should be thanking me.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter says with a roll of his eyes, picking up the menu to see what it is he wants.

“So, how have you been? I know we just saw each other two weeks ago, but—how’s work?”

You sigh at Peter’s question, resting your chin against your palm.

“Fine, I guess. Work is cutting hours since things are slow right now, so I’m gonna be pretty strapped for cash the next month or two.”

Peter blinks at your response, staring at you over the edge of the menu.

“Should we be here then? We could just get the check now and go down the street to the bodega—”

“No—no, it’s fine,” you reassure him, taking a sip from your glass. From the look of it, Peter can tell the glass is filled with rum and coke—your simple, yet timeless go-to.

“This is kind of my last hurrah, y’know? Gotta get one last plate of carbonara in before I’m eating ramen and eggs for the next few months.”

“I dunno about that,” Peter responds. “Eggs are pretty expensive now—you might have to settle for canned tuna.”

You roll your eyes at him, yet can’t help the little giggle that escapes you.

“You’re the worst.”

“I know,” he says with a smile.

The waitress wanders back over, and you and Peter put in your orders. Peter also opts to get a drink (after all, if you’re drinking, why shouldn’t he), and a few minutes later, a cosmopolitan is placed onto the table in front of him.

You watch him with a wide smile as he picks up the girly drink and takes a long sip—his pinky sticking out and everything.

“You and your love of sweet drinks,” you say, swirling around the ice in your half-empty glass. Peter hums happily.

“Listen, this is way better than beer.”

Honestly, you can’t disagree.

“So,” he continues, picking up the previous topic. “Are you gonna be okay? Money-wise?”

It’s not like he has much help to offer. Being a masked vigilante doesn’t pay very well, after all, but still.

“Yeah,” you assure him. “I have a side-gig that brings in a little cash-flow, so that’ll help cushion the blow. But I think I should still be able to afford rent and some groceries. I’ll just have to budget better, y’know?”

Peter nods. “Oh, okay. Good—,” but then his brain repeats the phrase “side-gig”, and his words cut off.

“Wait, what kind of side-gig are we talking about here?”

Despite how long the two of you have known each other, Peter has never heard anything about any kind of “side-gig”. It’s a little concerning, honestly, since the two of you don’t really keep secrets from each other.

Although it’s not like you know he’s Spiderman.

“Yeah. It’s nothing illegal, I promise,” you tell him, your attitude remaining pleasant. Peter stares at you, waiting for you to say more, but your smile only grows wider.

“Not telling,” you say, laughing quietly to yourself when Peter huffs in annoyance and grabs his drink. “You’ll just have to trust me. I’d never do anything illegal—you know me.”

“I dunno,” he responds, a playful lilt in his tone. “In college I seem to remember you stealing soft drinks from the mess hall without paying—”

“Oh c’mon,” you shoot back, and Peter grins, knowing you hate when he brings that up. “We were already paying to go to classes! Why should I pay 3 dollars for a cup of watered down coke?!”

Peter laughs as you go on a mini tangent about how college is a ripoff—ordering both you and him two more drinks when your waitress stops in to check on your table.

After a short while, your food comes out, and the two of you catch up over the hot meal. Conversation flows like normal—touching on any other life updates, and also local news topics, and things of the like.

At your insistence, Peter splits a tiramisu with you to close out the evening, and by the time the dessert is gone, Peter thinks he may explode.

“Ugh, why did I let you talk me into that?” Peter groans, curling over and holding his stomach as you fetch enough cash from his wallet to cover half the bill.

“Well, if you were smart like me, you would have kept half of your entree to take home with you for later, and then you would have had enough room left for dessert. Which, by the way, is too good to waste—so don’t puke it up.”

Your waitress swings by to grab the bill, and you assure her it’s all set—passing her the small stack of money taken from both your and Peter’s wallets. She thanks you with a smile, and then scurries away, leaving the two of you alone.

You reach over the table, patting Peter’s shoulder.

“You’ll be fine. Your stomachs gotten bigger, after all.”

“Hey—,” Peter frowns, lifting his head. You’re already grabbing your purse and takeout box—sliding out of the booth. He quickly follows after you.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“No,” you respond, holding the door open for him as the two of you step out into the cool New York air. “You’re actually still surprisingly in-shape for someone whose diet consists of pizza and frozen meals. But, that being said, you can’t deny you’ve put on a few pounds.”

Peter places a hand on his stomach.

“Remind me again why you’re so mean to me?”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound getting lost in the crowd around you.

“You just make it too easy,” you admit, grinning up at him. Despite himself, Peter smiles back.

Being the gentleman that he is, Peter fully intends to escort you back to the doorstep of your apartment building, but—

His spidey senses tingle, and he can tell something is off.

“Hey, um,” Peter grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. Before your brain can even catch up, he’s yanking you into a quick hug, and then backpedaling towards the alleyway the two of you had just passed.

“Sorry, I just remembered there’s something I have to do. It was nice seeing you! Let’s touch base soon!”

He’s gone before you can even get a word out, disappearing around the corner. You stare after him for a moment, befuddled, and then continue on your way with a sigh.

Same ‘ol Peter.

Exactly one hour later, Peter collapses in a pile of trash—his lungs heaving, and body aching. The fight itself hadn’t been that hard—just a few wannabe criminals with deadlier than normal weapons.

No, the real challenge had been not barfing up his dinner while doing acrobatics across the city.

And maybe laying in a pile of trash to take a breather isn’t exactly helping his current predicament, but fuck—he doesn’t have the energy to move right now

Spreading out his limbs, Peter stares up at the smog-coated night sky, his mind wandering. He thinks about a lot of things—all the villains he’s fought in his time as Spiderman, the people who have come in and out of his life during it all, including you. You…who apparently has a “side-gig”.

…but like, what kind of side-gig?

Peter groans, knowing he won’t be able to let this go.

You can’t just drop the knowledge that you have a secret side-gig on him and then not tell him what it is!

And if you’re insistent on keeping it a secret, it must be something bad, right? RIGHT??

“Goddammit,” he grumbles, picking himself up. He swings off into the night, his mind reeling.

Peter lasts all of 3-days before he decides he can’t be left alone with his thoughts anymore—that he just needs to confirm what exactly your side-gig is, before his theories can get any wilder.

Because so far, his top guesses are that you’re either 1. Unknowingly acting as a middle man for some illegal trafficking operation, or 2. Providing “services” to New York sleazebags to get in their wallets.

And Peter knows it’s likely neither option—you’re too smart to get roped into something stupid. Plus, you had assured him it was nothing illegal.

But if he doesn’t figure it out, he thinks he may explode.

So…he goes snooping.

It’s not his brightest moment—using the spare key you had given him “in case of emergency” to sneak into your apartment one evening. (But to be fair, to him…this might just be an emergency).

He’d used his spidey senses to scope out your apartment before coming in, so he knows you're not home. Which is good, but…he doesn’t know when you’re gonna be back either, so he has to move fast.

Softly closing the front door behind him, Peter tip-toes across your apartment, deciding to start in your bedroom. He stands in the doorway for a moment, guilt bubbling up inside of him, but he decides to push forward anyway.

He’s just making sure you’re okay, he tells himself. You’re one of his closest friends, and you won’t tell him your secret—so it’s understandable he’d be worried.

Like the true Sherlock that he is, Peter starts with you dressers. He quickly checks each drawer—gently lifting up the stacks of clothes to make sure nothing is hidden beneath them. (The only time doesn’t is when he encounters the drawer with your bras and panties. He simply stares at them with flushed cheeks, rocking awkwardly on his heels, before he quietly closes the drawer. Surely nothing would be in there anyway, right?)

The small stack of papers on your nightstand ends up being recent receipts, and a manual on how to use the white noise machine you've apparently just purchased, considering it's sitting on the floor beside your nightstand, still in the box.

Getting on his hands and knees, Peter does a quick check under your bed, and freezes when he spots a covered box. He pulls it out without thinking, tugging off the fabric lined lid—

—and immediately slams it back down.

…veiny, pink, silicon—

Peter haphazardly pushes the box back under the bed, hurrying to his feet. He bustles into the kitchen with cherry-colored ears.

All-in-all, it takes Peter about half an hour to search your apartment, and unfortunately…he comes up empty handed. It seems like you have nothing to hide (except a box of sex toys under your bed, but Peter thinks that’s pretty understandable. You don't want dumb assholes like him accidentally finding it, even though Peter had—)

Sighing, Peter takes one last glance around your apartment.

“Ugh, I shouldn’t have done this,” he sighs to himself, taking a step towards the door. But—not watching where he’s going, he stubs his toe into the leg of your coffee table.

A curse leaves his lips, and your opened laptop—which had previously been dark—jolts to life. Kicking the table must have moved your wireless mouse, Peter realizes.

Having already decided to leave, Peter fully intends to continue on his way. That is…before he takes a glance at your computer screen and sees that you have it open to a Google doc titled: “Spiderman x Reader Commission #6”.

…then, he’s scrambling onto your couch and yanking your laptop towards him.

“Number six??” he hisses dramatically, his eyes scanning over the document so fast that he doesn’t actually end up reading anything.

He has to pause and go back to try again, but the second Peter reads the sentence “Spiderman’s cock strains painfully against the tight confines of his suit, his fingers twitching against your waist as he drags you in closer”, his brain effectively blue screens.

In a panic, he clicks into a different tab that’s open—landing on your email inbox, where a thread sits open. A transaction between you and an apparent “customer”. Someone who had contacted you in regards to your open “commissions”.

Hi there!

I saw you’re accepting commissions, and I really enjoyed reading the other Spiderman fics you wrote! Would you be open to writing one for me? Preferably a Reader x Spiderman, and a smut/fluff genre. Based on the rate sheet, I think I can afford it, but I’d appreciate it if we could talk more and discuss the final price based on the idea I have.

Thanks!

Holy shit, Peter realizes. Your side-gig is writing Spiderman porn on commission.

He sinks back into the couch, his mind whirling.

How long has this been going on?? Do you…are you attracted to Spiderman?? As long as Peter has known you, you’ve never really fangirled over Spiderman. If Spiderman had popped up in the news, the two of you would talk about him, but…that was it.

And now you’re writing Spiderman smut for cash? Holy hell.

Peter supposes he should be relieved that what you’re doing truly isn’t illegal. That you’re just making money in a mostly innocent way, from the safety of your home. Meaning, Peter can call it quits, and leave.

…but instead, he leans forward, clicks back onto the Google doc tab, and starts reading more.

The document is still a work-in-progress, but Peter scrolls back up to the top, wanting to see how you’ve managed to set up this scenario.

As it turns out, a villain had injected Spiderman with some sort of aphrodisiac, and the reader is a bystander, bravely offering Spiderman her services to get him out of this pickle.

While embarrassing to admit, Peter gets sucked into the story—impressed by your ability to write, and your portrayal of him—err, Spiderman. In fact, he gets so distracted by the story and the multitude of thoughts running through his head that his spidey senses don’t kick in until danger is right on his doorstep.

Or, in reality, you are on your doorstep—your key shoving into the lock on the door.

Peter’s heart nearly rockets out of his chest, his eyes darting to the window across the room. It’s closed, and even if he used his web shooter to rocket over to it, he wouldn’t be able to safely open the window and escape outside in the two seconds it’s going to take you to finish unlocking your do—

Before he can even finish the thought, your front door shoves open, and you flick on the lights—your gaze immediately finding Peter, who is still firmly planted on your couch, looking like a deer in headlights.

You stare at him in shock.

“Peter? What…? Why are you here?”

“I was…worried about you,” Peter responds, forcing himself to smile. And it’s not like it’s a lie.

“You said you were strapped for cash, and I…I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

You kick the door shut behind you, your purse and keys discarded on the small table beside your entryway.

“I thought I told you to just trust me?”

You face him with a hand posed sternly on your hip. You appreciate his concern for you, but it’s a little upsetting that he hadn’t just been able to trust your word.

“I know,” Peter responds with a sigh. He runs a hand through his graying hair, and your gaze flits to his ears, noticing how red they are. Why is he so flushed?

“And I’m sorry. I’m dumb, I should have. Trusted you, I mean. I’ll just—,” he pushes himself up, planning to excuse himself and run, but freezes half way to his feet.

He’s half hard. Fuck.

If he gets up now, it’ll be a lot harder to hide that—especially since he’s wearing sweatpants.

Making a lil noise, Peter eases himself back down onto your couch. You cock an eyebrow.

“...you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry…back spasm.”

“Well, you don’t have to rush out. You’re welcome to stay for a while if you don’t have anywhere to be.”

You flash him a smile and turn towards the kitchen. Peter watches you as you open your fridge and bend down—fetching two bottles of water from the bottom shelf. His eyes glue to your ass the second you lean over, and Peter punches himself in the knee—forcing his gaze up towards the ceiling.

He’s going fucking insane. He’s not used to being this…feral feeling. Arousal is usually one of the emotions that evades him nowadays, but here he is—done in by fucking Spiderman fanfiction.

Who knew he’d get turned on reading about himself fucking some nameless woman? And who knew that arousal would make him thirst after you?

(Honestly, if he thinks about it, it’s not that surprising. The two of you have been friends for years, and he feels comfortable around you. Not to mention, you’ve always been attractive, even if you do like to push his buttons—)

“Here,” you say, snapping him out of his internal panic. You plop down onto the couch next to him, handing him one of the two bottles of water.

Peter reaches out to take it, and you notice the sweat beading on his brow. Why the hell is he—?

At that moment, you spot your laptop on the coffee table—open, and still showing the commission document you’d left open earlier on. Your first instinct is to reach over and slam your laptop shut before Peter can see—

…wait.

Peter reaches forward to take the water bottle from your grasp, but when he grips it, you don’t budge.

Confused, he looks up—only to find you intensely staring at him.

“Did you read it…?”

Peter’s face heats up, his eyes darting to the side to avoid looking at you.

Busted…

You pulse races, embarrassment blooming in your chest.

HE DID, you realize. HE READ IT. Your fucking Spiderman smut!

“Ah, shit…,” you mumble, letting go of his water bottle and crumpling in on yourself. You curl onto your side, hiding your face in the couch cushion.

Feeling horrible that he has embarrassed you—having discovered something you’d tried to keep private—Peter hurries to try and smooth over the situation.

“Okay, yes, I did read it,” he starts by saying. “But…it was…really good! You’re a good writer, and I can see why people are commissioning you! You’ll surely make some cash with the skill you have.”

If he was smart, he’d have stopped there, but no—Peter keeps going.

“A-And hey! I’d be willing to help too. Y’know, help give you some inspiration for your stories—”

His voice dies in his throat, realizing what it is he has just offered. And obviously, you realize it too—your head immediately lifting, staring at him with curious surprise.

“Did you just…offer…to fuck? To help me with my stories?”

The insinuation is so insane that you can’t help laughing. Peter coughs, straightening his shoulders out.

“I think I’d be very good inspiration for Spiderman.”

“Really?”

There’s disbelief in your voice. Peter narrows his eyes.

“You don’t think so?”

You hum, uncapping your water bottle and taking a swig. Peter mirrors you, his throat feeling dry.

“Spiderman is…suave and heroic, and you’re…dorky. Smart, but dorky.”

Peter frowns. “I can be…suave.”

You cock an eyebrow, a playful grin breaking out on your face. Your heart is racing a million miles an hour, because never did you think you’d be sitting here with Peter, the possibility of sex between the two of you suddenly laid out on the table. You’d never deny he’s an attractive male, and maybe because it’s him, and because you’ve missed the feel of another human being, you end up saying—

“Yeah? Show me then.”

You lean back, waiting to see if Peter will make a move.

Unfortunately, the realization that you’re open to whatever is happening right now causes Peter’s brain to stall, and he takes a second too long to act—just long enough to allow doubt to worm its way into your head.

You’re putting him on the spot. And he’s still probably dealing with some complicated feelings from the split—you shouldn’t have poked him.

Without saying anything, you decide to try and create some space. You push off of the couch, padding towards your bedroom. You’ll make an excuse about needing to fold your clothes, or something stupid—and hopefully Peter will take what you’ve said as a joke, and will move on. Yeah, that sounds like a solid plan—

Pausing in the doorway of your room, you force yourself to smile, and turn to face Peter—only to find that he’d snuck up on you—your gaze meeting his chest the second you turn around.

“Pe—,” you’re only able to get the first syllable of his name out, your chin tilting back as you look up at him. The feeling of his palm cupping your cheek is what makes your voice die out, his chestnut eyes boring into you.

You can see the hesitation on his face. A certain lack of confidence that you’re sure stems from his past relationship issues. But beneath that, you can see desire. A craving for intimacy he hasn’t shared in a long time.

You decide to be the one to close the gap—pressing onto your toes, your palm resting flat on his pec as you lean upward—connecting your lips with his. You can feel his heart racing beneath your fingertips, and you silently convince yourself that if Peter backs out, you’ll be fine with it.

Luckily, he doesn’t. His brain finally kicks into gear, his arm wrapping tightly around your waist as he kisses you back.

You make a pleasantly surprised little sound, your arms lifting to wrap around his neck—effectively deepening the kiss. A wrinkle appears between Peter’s eyebrows, his grip on your waist tightening. Your chest presses flat against his torso, and he rubs his thumb against your cheek, obsessed with the plushness of your lips and the feel of you against him.

It’s been way too long since he’s been intimate like this…that’s apparent by the blood absolutely rockets into his dick.

Although, to be fair, he’d already been half-hard before this.

“You think our local hero gets hard this quick?” you mumble against his lips with a grin, giggling when Peter makes a noise of annoyance and nips at you.

“You’d be surprised,” he responds. He slots his thigh between your knees, backing you into the doorframe. His clothed cock grinds against your stomach, trapped between your bodies, and his muscles tense.

“Adrenaline can go straight to the dick sometimes…”

(Peter has lost track of how many times, after an intense fight—especially earlier in his career—he’d swung home and immediately jerked off).

“That’s fair, I suppose.”

Your fingertips coast up the nape of his neck, tangling in the messy hair at the base of his skull. You yank him downward ever so slightly, your lips connecting with the skin of his neck. He immediately shivers, the first of many embarrassing sounds ripping from his chest as you lick and suck at his flesh.

“Think Spiderman whimpers?”

You’re teasing him. As to be expected, given the dynamic of your relationship. But Peter doesn’t intend on taking it quietly.

“Maybe,” he admits, “If you make him feel good enough. But if you wanna know what I think—”

Peter surprises you by ducking down—his arms looping around your thighs as he lifts you off the floor. Your squeal, arms and legs instinctively wrapping around him since you don’t want to fall, but Peter carries you easily enough—striding into your room and depositing you onto your bed.

He doesn’t waste any time—quickly caging you down. His knee reclaims its spot between your thighs, rubbing incessantly at the dampening fabric covering your privates, and his lips find your neck—a shiver raking up your spine as his stubble scratches against your skin.

“Peter,” you gasp when his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingertips ghost over your heated skin, brushing past your waist, and finding the clasp of your bra. You have to arch to give him room to work, and Peter sucks a hickey of approval into your neck. He debates telling you “good girl”, but the thought leaves him the second your bra pops open.

He needs your tits in his mouth.

“—I think Spiderman has a thing for boobs,” Peter says, finally finishing his earlier statement. This exclamation is followed with the immediate removal of your shirt and bra—Peter forcibly tugging them over your head and discarding them on the floor beside your bed.

The sight of Peter groping you and lowering his mouth to your chest is enough to have your heart skipping a beat, and you can’t help the mewl that leaves you when Peter sucks one of your nipples into his mouth.

Peter groans when your fingers fist in his hair, practically keeping his mouth trapped where it is, which he hardly minds considering he intends to lick and suck at your tits until you’re panting.

And, that’s exactly what he does.

He lavishes your chest with his mouth—relishing in the way your hips jump at each little nip of his teeth or roll of your nipple between his fingers. It’s embarrassing, honestly, how wet it gets you—your panties feeling quite wet as you continue grinding your pussy against Peter’s thigh.

You try and think of some smart response in regard to Peter’s opinion that Spiderman is a tit man, not an ass man, but words seem to be avoiding you. You can’t think of anything coherently when Peter is touching you like this. Especially when his face finally leaves your chest, his lips peppering kisses down the length of your torso.

You lift your head to look at him, propping up on one of your arms. Peter reaches your navel, but doesn’t stop, heading towards—

“Peter,” you pant, your face flushing hotly as you realize the path he’s carving.

Peter hums, his eyes flitting up and meeting your gaze just as he hooks his thumbs beneath the band of your pants.

“Another thing about Spiderman…,” he begins, kissing the skin of your tummy as he inches your waistband down your hips. You watch him with blown-wide eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly—excitement and nervousness mingling inside of you.

You lift your ass off the mattress to help him shuck you of your bottoms, and Peter smiles, tossing your pants on the floor beside your other clothes.

Never in your life did you imagine the sight of Peter sinking to his knees, his hands gripping your hips and dragging you closer to him—his gaze falling between your legs. Your panties are soaked, and the sight causes more blood to rush into his dick. He’s so hard that it honestly hurts—just a little bit—but Peter still doesn’t touch himself, because—

“...Spiderman loves eating pussy.”

“He’s a people-pleaser,” you quip breathlessly, your thighs quivering in Peter’s hold when he presses a kiss to your skin, right beside your panty line. He quietly chuckles.

“Maybe.”

Peter thumbs at your clit through your panties, relishing in the whine he rips from your throat. You hips buck in his hold, craving more, and when Peter sees the desperate look on your face, he decides to not tease you.

Peeling your panties to the side, Peter finally connects his mouth with your pussy—his tongue licking a wet, broad strip between your folds.

Oh, shit, you think to yourself, the muscles in your abdomen convulsing as you watch one of your closest friends eat you out. The whole situation is making you feel light headed, so you can’t help it when you collapse back onto the mattress, your fingers fisting in the sheets as Peter groans into your cunt.

He eats you like a man starved, his face quickly becoming covered with your arousal. His nose bumps against your clit as his tongue sinks between your walls, and you full out whimper—your hips needily grinding against his mouth.

Peter’s palm presses down on your pelvis, forcing your hips to the mattress. He doesn’t want you squirming—just wants you desperate and pliant. To see you cumming on his tongue.

His name falls from your lips again, more debauched than he’s ever heard, and Peter curses.

“Shit.”

His tone is guttural, and sexy, and—

He presses a finger inside of you.

“Oh, fuck, Pete—,” his name deterorates into a moan, your brain function declining as Peter begins fucking his finger inside of you. At the same time, he focuses his mouth on your clit, his tongue urgently flicking against the bundle of nerves.

You unconsciously wriggle at the assault of stimulation, but Peter’s hand on your stomach keeps you in place.

Why is he so strong? You think to yourself, moan ripping from your chest as Peter slips in a second finger. It doesn’t take him long to locate that spongy little sweet spot inside of you. The one that causes your thighs to shake as he practically abuses it—rubbing the pads of his fingers against it repeatedly until you’re nearly sobbing.

The coil in your belly winds tight, heat searing your veins. You can feel your clit throbbing against Peter’s tongue, and the walls of your pussy tightening up around him.

“Peter,” you cry, your entire body trembling. You’re so fucking close.

“Cum,” he rasps. He needs to see you orgasm—needs to feel you unraveling on his mouth and fingers.

Hearing the gravel of his voice is the final nail in your coffin—the tension in your muscles releasing as your orgasm washes over you. Just as he wanted, you cum all over him, your cunt gushing arousal around his fingers as his tongue continues lapping at your clit, dragging out the waves of your pleasure until you’re panting and pawing at his head, trying to push him away.

After a moment, he relents—sitting back to look at you.

You’re covered in a sheen of sweat, your chest heaving, and an arm draped over your eyes. Your tits are peppered with an array of hickies, and Peter feels his chest (and cock) swell with pride. He’s clearly done a number on you. And yet…

You feel the mattress dip, and then the room is spinning around you. When things finally settle, you find yourself laying on top of Peter.

He has one arm wrapped around your waist, his palm resting on your ass. The other brushes a few stray strands of hair out of your face when you lean back to look at him.

“Spiderman also loves being ridden,” he says with a grin. You place your hands on his chest, feeling it rumble with laughter as he watches you struggle to sit up.

“You think I have the energy to ride you after you just did that? And why do you keep saying Spiderman enjoys these things like they’re facts—you don’t know.”

“Just a feeling,” he responds, licking his lips. His hands find your hips, and he grinds you downwards. Your sensitive pussy rubs against his aching length, still trapped behind his sweatpants, and it’s hard to miss the way Peter harshly swallows at the feeling.

You sigh, scooting backwards.

“Fine.”

You shove his sweats and boxers down his thighs, careful to not snag them on his dick. And damn, he really must be aching—a sticky string of precum dripping from the head of his cock, and pooling on his abdomen.

He opens his mouth, but you don’t give him the chance to say anything. Your fingers wrap around his cock, smearing his arousal across his length, and whatever Peter had been planning to say crumbles into a needy garble of non-words.

You can’t help but smile at the sound.

“Surprised you didn’t cream your pants already,” you tell him, but your tone is hardly teasing. No, seeing him beneath you like this—the muscles in his torso clenching with every stroke of your hand—it’s actually quite endearing.

“I’ll cum in your hand if you keep doing that,” he pants, glancing into your eyes. You spot nothing but lust there, any previous reservations gone.

“Is that so bad?” you ask, thumbing at the head of his cock. Peter’s grip on your waist tightens, and you hear him take a shaky breath.

“Yes.”

He wants to be inside you, that much is clear. And while it’d be so easy to draw it out and make him beg…you don’t feel like being mean to him. Not tonight, after he’d just given you the best oral of your life.

“Fine,” you relinquish. You scoot forward, planting one hand on his chest, and gripping the base of his cock with the other. Peter’s breath catches when you rub the head of his cock between your folds, a heady groan following a beat later as you begin sinking down onto him.

By the time his cock is fully inside of you, your thighs are shaking. Whether from the lack of energy due to your previous orgasm, the remarkable size of Peter inside of you, or both—you’re not totally sure.

“There’s no rush,” Peter reassures you, but the needy warble of his voice betrays his words.

“My legs might give out at some point,” you respond with a breathless laugh, and Peter echos you, giving your waist a squeeze.

“That’s fine. I’ll help.”

With your palms planted firmly on his chest, you begin to ride him.

And god, you feel so fucking good.

“Fuck,” Peter bites out, watching the space between your bodies, where his cock disappears inside of you with every roll of your hips. It’s been ages since a cunt has squeezed his dick like this, and honestly, he can see himself very easily getting addicted to the feel of you.

The bounce of your tits as you ride him, the cute little sounds you make when his cock rubs against the sensitive spots inside you—he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Peter,” you whine, your pace flattering. Having his cock inside of you is incomparable to the feeling of his fingers, and very quickly, you can feel another orgasm building, but…the closer you get, the more your strength falters.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he responds, praises falling from his lips. “You’re doing so good. You feel so good.”

His words cause your walls to clench around him, and he groans—his hands sliding down to your hips as he helps rock you down onto his cock. The sloppy sound of sex fills your bedroom, and you watch Peter with half-lidded eyes, soaking up the desperation showing on his face.

His hair is slicked back with sweat, brows pinched together in concentration as he forces you to continue riding him. At least, until he starts craving more.

With his orgasm quickly approaching—despite the immense pleasure he gains seeing you bouncing on top of him—Peter’s hunger gets the best of him.

He grabs your wrists, moves your arms so they’re wrapped around his shoulders, and then secures his arms around your back. Before you can even digest the slight change in position, Peter is fucking you.

An incoherent string of noise slips past your lips, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as his cock pistons inside of you. With his arms trapping you against his chest, you’re helpless but to take it—your orgasm rushing to the surface at the desperate yet brutal pace that Peter sets.

“Peter,” you sob into his neck.

“It’s okay,” he responds without missing a beat, his voice breathless. “I’m right there. Cum for me again, sweetheart.”

As if you could stop.

Holding onto him for dear life, you cum for the second time that night—your walls clamping down on his cock so tightly that Peter’s rhythm falters. A curse rips from his throat, and his hands find the plush of your ass—stuffing your body down onto his dick as he cums along with you—pumping you full of his seed.

The needy tension of the room melts away, and you and Peter can only lay there—a pile of sweaty yet sated flesh. It takes you both a minute to catch your breaths, and you make a quiet noise of disappointment when Peter’s cock slips out of you.

You can feel his cum running out of your pussy.

“Your balls aren’t dried up yet?”

Peter’s chest rumbles beneath you.

“I’m in my 30’s, not my 60’s.”

You glance up at him when you feel Peter’s fingers clearing the hair away from your face, and he smiles at you. Your heart jumps.

He must know how handsome he is, right? Even with that crooked nose of his.

“Don’t you ever get tired of taking cracks at me?” he wonders, using his grip on your ass to slide you farther up his chest. You giggle, cupping his cheeks as you find yourself suddenly face to face with him.

“Mmmm, no?”

He rolls his eyes, yet his smile widens. You lean down to kiss him, and he reciprocates easily enough.

“Feeling good?” you ask him, carding your fingers through his hair. He nods.

“Very. I…really missed that.”

“Same,” you agree, sitting back. You need to get to the bathroom before any cum gets on your nice sheets. You crawl off of Peter, swinging your legs over the side of your mattress. He rolls onto his side, watching you with furrowed brows as he tucks his dick back into his pants.

“Same? You haven’t—?”

“Not in a while,” you admit, pulling a fresh shirt and a pair of panties from your dresser drawers. You’re about to make a joke that the only action you’ve gotten recently is from the toys stashed under your bed, but when you turn to look at the spot where they’re hidden, you find that…the box has moved. It’s not where you had left it.

“Did you…find my sex toys? Before I came home?”

Peter’s face goes carefully blank, but the red flush of his ears betrays him.

You shoot him a glare, leaving your room with a huff.

“Dude doesn’t trust me…how fucking rude…”

“Hey now—!”

Peter’s feet pound against the floor as he chases after you, and he catches you around the waist just before you make it into your bathroom. His lips press against the crown of your head.

“Again, I’m sorry for snooping. I’m dumb.”

You sigh, wriggling around to face him.

“You are,” you agree, lightly patting his chest. “Dumb, and insistent that Spider man loves tits, eating pussy, and getting ridden. Still holding those beliefs?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Peter grins. “And I have other beliefs about his preferences as well.”

“Of course you do,” you laugh. You kiss his cheek, and then step out of his hold—heading into the bathroom.

“I’m going to shower,” you tell him. “There’s some leftovers in the fridge if you want any.”

Peter nods, and the last thing you see is him heading for your fridge when you close the bathroom door.

30 minutes later, you exit your steaming bathroom in your fresh oversized t-shirt and panties, fully expecting to find Peter lounging around your apartment, eating all your food. But…to your utter disappointment, you don’t spot him anywhere.

You sigh, shoulders sagging. Had it been too much to assume he would have wanted to stay the night?

Shuffling into your kitchen, you spot an empty plate on your table. One that you know had previously been piled high with leftover chicken and potatoes.

“He eats my food and runs off…of course,” you mumble, picking up the plate to put it in the sink. However, before your annoyance can truly get the better of you, a piece of paper that had been stuck to the bottom of the plate floats to the ground.

You bend over to pick it up.

Hey!

Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to stay so long, so I left my apartment earlier without locking the door. I’m running back home to lock it, but I should be back at your place by 9!

Don’t get mad at me. I’d never run off without a word :p

-PB

PS. I have a working theory that Spiderman also has more stamina than you’d expect, even for a guy who’s been doing hero work for 20+ years, so…round two when I get back?

You can’t help but laugh.

What an idiot.

But…you like him.

#peter b parker x reader #peter b parker smut #peter b parker #i can't believe I'm posting this on tumblr #immediately going back to only posting on AO3 bc it's so much easier to format LMAO #fic #reader insert #reader x peter b parker #peter b parker x you #peter b parker x y/n

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mamawasatesttube · 5 months

Text

ok i put a longer post abt tim's Emotional State in drafts for when my brain is less melted but re: tim and going to college im just gonna get a lil silly with it. hear me out.

i have this whole vague story in my mind for tim's college days moonlighting as red robin as he tries and figures out what he wants out of life. (it's a while after rr leaves off and all because he's like. Super Depressed for a hot minute and then has to drag himself through actually bothering to get his GED and applying to college, etc., but eventually lucius is like hey. you're great with gadgets, and you clearly love tinkering. i'd hire you for r&d in a heartbeat but you need at the least a bachelor's of engineering. i know you have a lot of the technical skills, but you need a degree. so tim goes ugh fine i'll get a goddamn engineering degree how hard can it possibly be.)

anyways. i think it's a universal experience that if you go to college and you hang with the STEM crowd, you will unfortunately get to know at least one Fucking Guy. it's like brentwood arc; tim does make friends, but there is just this One Fucking Guy he cannot stand and will never stand. this Fucking Guy is in the common room playing his guitar at midnight. he's drunk and yelling and laughing really loud when people have exams coming up. he's convinced everyone adores him. there's also a detective/supernatural plot going on. the subplot is just that tim hates This Fucking Guy.

at some point, there's a story beat where he as red robin has to rescue That Fucking Guy from a real dicey situation, and That Fucking Guy is really shaken and grateful to him, and he's like okay. maybe. maybe we are making progress. but then the next time he encounters This Fucking Guy as tim drake, the guy is just like. "ohhhh hey drake you missed it last night, it was AWESOME!!! i had to save red robin from a KILLER ROBOT. he's pretty cool though i guess. i bet you wish you could be more like him huh??" and tim is just. I Will Not Grind My Teeth About This. I Will Not. his life is a fucking joke. he dismantles the toaster oven in the common room kitchen to cope. it's definitely to cope and not just so that That Fucking Guy won't be able to heat up his pop tarts in the morning.

at another point, This Fucking Guy looks at street mode, lowkey, unremarkable Normal Car-looking redbird and goes, aw, dude, i thought your dad is loaded?? he only got you a generic-ass sedan?? that sucks lol, if you want we can take my car down to the game instead. and tim is just Say One More Fucking Word About My Baby I Dare You I Fucking Dare You One More Fucking Word.

(also i like to toy with the idea of this being a university in metropolis - he's out of gotham, but not too far. keeps him from getting antsy about what if he's needed because he can get right back over there. and in the meantime, he can hang out with kon and kara a lot, and occasionally enable and be enabled by lois lane and her snooping habits. there's another subplot in which tim and lois get up to shenanigans. at least once.)

it's sort of an introspective thing of him trying to come to terms with the way he no longer wants a fully normal life the way he always used to assume he would - he has the option to walk away from the cape now, like he always thought he would one day, but he just can't give it up anymore. he's fallen into the same black hole he watched dick and bruce dive headlong into. it's also about him finding joy in tinkering and working with his hands and getting to spend more time as tim drake first and foremost. and it's about him venting to kon about That Fucking Guy while they have a lil picnic on the green while kon loses his absolute shit laughing. all against the backdrop of a little mystery or something. <3

OH and also, most importantly. zoanne wilkins is there and laughing at him for assuming college would be easy. and kon gets her into wendy the werewolf stalker. My City Now.

#rimi talks #rambles #tim #like.... do u see the vision. there are emotions underneath here #but right now i have a migraine so its silly time first and foremost. Tim Hates That Fucking Guy #we've all known a Fucking Guy right? im pretty sure its a universal experience.#the stories i could tell about the Fucking Guy i knew. man.

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0cta9on · 29 days

Note

Hey Writer-nim✌️, How's it going?.

Me? Nothing much happening this week just casually waiting for your next story, the latest one are great, not my favor the threesome act but if you can treat them equally then it is ok😅

Hey do you want to write a fluff short story of sakura after the recent Coachella,

"Despite all of the criticism she still managed to respond from her side of view. Many would say she's able to handle it all like a tough nut but in reality she needs someone to comfort her. Would you be there for her as someone she most hopes aiding her?"

Hello mikeylo! Sorry for taking so long with this one, life got in the way :,) I hope you like it and hope ur doing good :)

You knock on the door of Sakura’s hotel room with two matcha lattes and a bag of donut holes in your hands. An hour ago, she texted you to come over, so you decided to stop by a cafe for some treats, thinking she’s probably exhausted from performing for the past two days at Coachella. You still get chills just thinking about her on the stage, performing her heart out for thousands of people.

The door swings open, revealing Sakura in an oversized black hoodie, her eyes puffy and red as if she had just been crying.

“Hey, I got you a couple tr- Oh.” Without a word, she wraps her arms around your torso, planting her face on your chest. “Is something wrong, Sakura?” The only answer she gives you is a long, depressed sigh.

Carefully, you push her into the room, shutting the door behind you, and sitting her on the bed. Her eyes stay glued to the ground, deep in thought. A million questions flow through your mind as you try to figure out what could have happened between Le Sserafim’s performance and now. Did she get into a fight with one of her members? Did a family member die? Did you do something wrong?

“Sakura, you have to tell me what’s wrong here. I’m really worried about you,” you say, lacing your fingers with her. It takes a couple moments of silence and waiting, but eventually, she faces you, tears threatening to pour from her eyes.

“I-I… I read the comments… about our performance yesterday… a-and…” Her voice falters, cracking like shattered porcelain. You pull her into a tight embrace as she lightly sobs into your shoulder. Some of the comments you saw online about Le Sserafim’s set were less than favorable, but you know that they’re nothing but a vocal minority. You witnessed firsthand just how amazing they were on stage, even your friends that knew nothing about the group enjoyed it.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you whisper soothingly. “I promise you a lot of people loved your performance. You did the best you could and that’s all that matters. Don’t beat yourself up just because some people want to be jerks online.”

Sakura pulls away from you, still sniffling. You wipe away her tears, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Let’s do something fun to cheer you up, okay? You’ve been working for the past two days, I bet you’re exhausted,” you suggest.

“Can we just stay inside for today?” She looks up at you, pleading like a sad puppy. How could you ever say no to that face?

______________________________________________________________

“Yah! Stop spamming that move!”

“Stop getting hit by it, dummy!”

Your character gets launched off the stage, leading to another victory for Sakura Miyawaki. She jumps around the room excitedly, rubbing her win in your face for the umpteenth time.

When Sakura first suggested you play Smash Bros together, you figured you would go easy on her, not wanting to upset her more. However, the more she won, the cockier she became. Eventually, you decided to give it your all, but to your horror, not even your best was enough to defeat her gaming prowess.

“One more round!” She exclaims, the flame of competition burning in her eyes.

You toss your controller away and throw the covers of yourself. “I don’t wanna play with you anymore!” You say jokingly.

“Yah!” Sakura jumps on you and attempts to wrestle the covers away from you. The sound of laughter fills the room, a complete 180 from the depressing atmosphere you walked into a couple hours ago. You would gladly lose to her a million times if it meant getting to see her happy like this everyday.

The tussle ends when both of you collapse on the bed, gasping for breath. You look over at each other, which devolves into another chain of faint laughter. The sunlight peeking through the windows is replaced by the night sky, dotted with beams of light from the California nightlife.

“Oh no, it’s dark out. Guess I have to stay the night,” you tease, pulling Sakura towards you. She rests her head on your chest, filling your nostrils with the clean scent of her shampoo.

“I would like that a lot.” She peers into your eyes with a wide grin. Something about her draws you closer. Maybe it’s the way her eyes gaze so lovingly at you or the way her soft lips curl into a smile that never fails to brighten your day. Maybe it’s the way she works hard at everything she does, even if she’s not immediately good at it, or the way she never fails to bounce back from a struggle. Whatever it is, you find yourself leaning into her, closing your eyes as you anticipate the feeling of her lips.

The initial contact is soft and doughy, notes of sweetness coating your tastebuds. You fall deeper into bliss, opening your mouth to deepen the kiss only for your tongue to be blocked by something that didn’t feel like lips. You open your eyes to Sakura laughing at you while pressing a donut hole against your mouth. A wave of emotions wash over you, most notably embarrassment and shock.

“I-I… Y-you…” You sputter. “I’m leaving.” Jokingly, you jump out of bed and stomp your way towards the door.

“Noooo, wait!” She grabs your wrist and tries to pull you back, but unlike her gaming skills, her physical strength is much weaker than yours, allowing you to pull her into your arms. The two of you giggle as you engage in an impromptu slow dance in the middle of her hotel room, swaying side to side to the beat of an imaginary song that only you can hear. The warmth of her embrace leaves you feeling content and enlightened.

“Thank you for staying with me,” she mutters into your chest.

“Thank you for existing.”

Sakura looks up at you, standing on her tippy toes as she pulls you in for a kiss - a real kiss this time. She sighs happily into your mouth, her steady breath sending shivers on the skin of your cheek. You instinctively grab her waist to keep her balanced, holding her close with no intention of letting her go. The ambience of busy cars and chattering people fade into nothing but an afterthought, leaving you to bask in the intimacy of this perfect night.

#le sserafim #miyawaki sakura #le sserafim sakura #kpop fanfic #kpop gg #sakura x male oc #le sserafim sakura x male oc #sakura x male reader #le sserafim sakura x male reader #fluff #sakura fluff #le sserafim sakura fluff

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wannab-urs · 8 months

Text

Scar Tissue

Pairing: Dave York x f!Reader

Summary: Violent devotion OR You and Dave try to figure out how to take care of each other

Warnings: explicit description of injuries (in the healing process), wound care, mild body horror maybe, intentionally causing pain in a not explicitly sexual way, way more dialogue than previous installments, soft/vulnerable/sweet smut, reader’s daily routine is described and really similar to mine so be nice i have depression, aggressive dental hygiene, blood, one pet name, spitting, pinning, choking, biting, scratching, overstimulation, oral f!receiving, unprotected piv + creampie x2 (do better), love as consumption, love as violence, care as violence? No use of y/n. WC: ~2.7k

A/N: I keep coming back to these two. They won’t get out of my head. Huge thank you to @beskarandblasters, @idolatrybarbie, and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for listening to me talk about this fic near constantly. Extra huge thank you to @atinylittlepain who honestly deserves co-writing credit. She helped me flesh this out and figure out where I wanted to go with these two and even provided ideas for some key scenes. I love you, man, my dearest Gin Twin. This is basically a look at how reader and Dave try to care for each other even though neither of them quite know how. Gin called it “two animals try to domesticate each other with their claws,” and that feels apt.

Dave York Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

He hasn’t left your bed unless he had to, much less your apartment. It’s been days and days and he hasn’t said a word. Quiet, usually sleeping. It’s the first time he’s ever stayed more than a night. First time he’s ever let you touch him in a way that isn’t violent or hungry. It’s exploratory. Strange that the first time you get to really look at him he’s been forever changed. Permanently marked. Like the cavernous hole inside him has physically manifested there on his face.

You unwrap the bandage from his head. Is there a healing process for this kind of thing? There will be no knitting together of flesh, no scabbing over, no scar. Just the absence of something that used to be there. You drag your thumbs over the scruff forming on his jaw, another first. Never seen him unkempt, always in a button down and slacks or tailored jeans and a perfectly fitting t-shirt. Never seen his hair grow too long. Never seen a lot of him.

You trace the curve of his nose, the plushness of his lips, back up to the divot between his brows that doesn’t go away even when he sleeps. You run your thumbs over his eyelids, one stretched taut over his closed eye and one hanging half open, doesn’t need to close that one to be unseeing. To not have to watch the disgust he knows will flicker over your features.

You dip your thumb into his eye socket, touching something no one has ever touched before – except, you guess, for the man who did this to him. You hold your thumb there for a moment, and he doesn’t jerk away from you. Hasn’t rejected a single one of your touches in days. Hasn’t really responded to anything at all. Slow hissing sighs and deep inhales, no words, no flinching.

His eye flutters open when you return to stroking his cheek bones with both thumbs. He does not find a look of disgust on your face. Your mouth hangs slightly open, your breaths coming out shallow, and your eyes are full of something like curiosity. Maybe even adoration. He closes his eye again. Can’t bear to be looked at with anything even bordering on love.

You remove the bandage from his ribs. The stitches will need to be removed soon, just starting to scab over. The flesh around his wound is bruised deep, dark purple with tinges of green and yellow. Partially from the initial injury and partially from where you drove your knee into him. You think you may have cracked a rib with the force of it.

Before you can really think twice about it, you dig your thumb in between his ribs. Right over the heart of the hurt. He grabs your wrist and twists until you fall to the side trying to keep it from being wrenched too far. And he’s on top of you again. And there is a fire in his eye and his teeth are bared at you and finally you think. Finally here is the thing you have been so desperate for. A reaction. A sign that he can feel you. That he knows you are there. That he gives a shit how you touch him.

But he doesn’t rip you apart like he usually would. Like you’d hoped he might. He drops his forehead to yours and sighs the deepest world weary sigh you may have ever heard and he rolls back off of you. And you think he’s going to go back to his silence. Back to nearly ignoring you.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he says.

“How to do what?”

“This. Being cared for.”

“I don’t know how to do this either.”

“How to do what?”

“Care for someone.”

You kiss him then. Soft, slow, sweet. No ripping claws, no gnashing teeth, no snarling growls, no closed fists or stinging palms. You savor him. Lick into his mouth and taste his tongue with no attempt to swallow it down, to draw him inside your mouth and consume him. You climb atop him without breaking the kiss, bare thighs settling along the line of his torso. He pushes his sweatpants down his hips and within seconds he is buried deep inside you.

You roll your hips against his, one hand propped on the bed beside him and the other fisted in his overgrown hair. Your lips finally part, but you keep your forehead pressed to his, stare into his eye as you move. God he’s so fucking beautiful. His hands settle on your hips, guiding you back and forth along his length, but there is no urgency, no hard press of bruises into your skin and no jerking of his hips to meet yours.

Your brow furrows and your eyelids start fluttering and he knows you are close, knows you only need a little more to push you over the edge. He slips his thumb over your clit, the barest brush, and feels you clench tight around him. He presses down firmly, letting the roll of your hips do most of the work, and then you are coming, clenching and unclenching around him in such an exquisite way. He pulls you fully down onto him, thrusts into your wet heat a few more times and comes deep inside you with a gasp like the wind was punched out of him.

You fall asleep like that, tangled in each other.

He spends a couple days watching your routines. Something a bit voyeuristic about it. He doesn’t usually comment or participate. It’s almost as if he isn’t there.

You wake up in the morning and stare at the ceiling for a while, mentally preparing, he supposes. You eventually drag your laptop off the side table and sign into work for the day. You always pee during the first break in the flow of emails, leaving the door open like you normally would, like he isn’t there.

You climb back into bed and work a while longer before heading to the kitchen to grab a bag of chips or leftover takeout and a glass of tea. You bring it back to the bed and eat while you watch youtube videos or read on your phone, usually leaving the dishes and trash on your side table until later.

He usually takes a quick shower while you eat. He closes the door so he doesn’t disturb you. Uses your body wash and your shampoo to clean himself. Movements slow and sore in a way he tries not to let you see, becoming less so everyday.

He stares at himself in the mirror. Trying to get used to his new face. Nothing looks quite right anymore, though he supposes that makes sense. Seeing it all through one eye now. He dresses, brushes his teeth, uses one of your silly little floss picks since you don’t have real floss. He shaves, finally. And it helps a little. Makes him feel a little more like himself in the mirror, though his hair is too long.

You shower in mid afternoon, when you can afford to be away from your computer a bit longer. He can see your shower from his place in your bed. You don’t bother to close the door. You strip bare and toss your clothes in the overflowing hamper.

Sometimes you wash your hair, but today you don’t. You use a loofah that has certainly seen better days to scrub your body. You run a razor over your armpits. You squeeze face wash onto your palm, rub your hands together, wash your face under the spray of the shower.

You get out and wrap a towel around your hair, use another to quickly dry your body. You throw on a big tshirt and a pair of panties and move to get right back in the bed.

“Brush your teeth,” he calls just as you step out of the bathroom. You grumble under your breath and do as he says.

“Did you floss?” He knows you didn’t.

“No.” You flop back onto the bed, seemingly exhausted by the process of maintaining your body.

“Go floss your teeth.”

“No. You go floss your fucking teeth.”

Dave gets out of bed and you think he is going to be petty. You think he is going to floss his teeth. He goes into the bathroom and grabs the bag of floss picks. He returns to the edge of the bed and tosses the bag into your lap.

“Floss your fucking teeth.”

“Why do you even give a shit?” He does not know why he gives a shit. He just does.

“If you don’t do it, I’ll do it for you.” It does not sound like an offer to help. It sounds like a threat. You throw the bag of floss picks on the floor, several of them spilling out and skittering across the hardwood. Dave’s face darkens. He retrieves the floss picks, tosses the bag onto the bed. And then he is on you, your hands pinned above your head and his thighs trapping your torso.

You twist and buck, letting out a near feral growl. You try to headbutt him and he dodges it, but loosens his grip on your wrists. You launch yourself at him, trying to use his flinch to knock him off of you. He grabs your shoulders and wrenches you back down, settling his knees on your armpits to keep you there.

“Fuck you.” Oh you are pissed. How dare he make you do anything.

“Sit still.” He grabs your jaw in his right hand, digging his fingers in where it hinges until you’re forced to open your mouth. Your frustrated scream is garbled. You try to close your mouth and only succeed in biting down on your own cheeks. He takes a floss pick in the fingers of his left hand.

The gentleness with which he flosses your teeth for you is at such stark contrast with the violence of his grip on your jaw. Despite this, you still taste blood. You close your eyes in shame. Hot tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. Dave finishes, lets go of your face, strokes his thumbs through your tear tracks.

“Look at me.”

You open your eyes, staring defiantly at the ceiling, and your lip trembles with the effort of containing your breakdown.

“Honey, look at me. Please?” Your eyes snap to his then. He’s never called you that, or anything really. “Why are you crying?” He couldn’t have hurt you. He’d been careful, so careful, not to hurt you. So different from his usual touches. He eases his knees off of you, but stays straddling you, holding your face in his hands.

You close your eyes again, squeeze them shut as if it will keep him from seeing you. “Embarrassed.” You mumble it, so quiet he wouldn’t be able to hear it if he wasn’t so close. He gets it then, but he isn’t sure what to do. What do you say when you have embarrassed someone without meaning to, when you do not think they have any reason at all to be embarrassed?

He kisses you. Soft at first and then hard in the way it always is. But also not in the way it always is. He tries to tell you, with this kiss, that he simply wants to care for you. That he does not know how, the same way you do not know how. That you are both trying.

You bite his lip hard enough to draw blood. Blood for blood, you think. He takes your hands in his again and holds them above your head, shifting both your wrists into one hand. He wraps his other hand around your jaw like before, dragging your mouth open. He spits onto your tongue, watches it drip down to the back of your throat.

“Swallow,” he commands it, but does not release your jaw. You swallow his spit with your mouth open, nearly choking with the effort. His fingers slide down and latch around your throat. Your eyes flutter shut and you buck your hips, chasing friction. He looks down at you in awe. Your tear soaked face. Your wet hair. Your spit and blood soaked lips.

“Gorgeous,” he whispers. And that is a new name too. He releases your hands and slips down your body, pulls your panties off and tosses them into the floor. You don’t move your hands from where he had them pinned down, but you crane your neck to watch him strip bare.

You think he is gorgeous too. Body scarred and mottled blue and yellow and green. Marked with you as much as anything else. Mine, you think. You have made him yours. Others may have had some other version of David York, but this one is yours and you will not let him go without making sure it is clear he was yours once.

He settles between your thighs and pins your hips down with a forearm. He thrusts two fingers of his other hand inside you. You cry out and grind into them, hands immediately flying to his hair. He drops his mouth to your clit, sucks it between his teeth and bites down. You pull his hair hard, but he only doubles down. Fucking you with his fingers and rolling your clit between his teeth.

You can’t do anything but take it with the way he has you pinned down. You claw at his shoulder, the nape of his neck, try to push his head away, but he doesn’t stop. And then you see white, coming with a shudder as your ears fill with a high pitched ringing.

Before you can come down, he’s thrusting himself inside you. He sits back on his heels and wraps his arms around your thighs, using them to pull you onto his cock with every thrust. You close your eyes at the overwhelming, overstimulating pleasure.

“Look at me,” he roars. He won’t let you hide from him. He locks his eye with yours as he fucks you, jaw set in a hard line. You reach for him and he obliges, leaning over you and folding you nearly in half with the motion.

You wrap your arms around him and dig your nails into his shoulder blades. You can feel his back muscles shifting with every thrust. If you dig your fingers in deep enough maybe you could watch the way his muscles work beneath that expanse of golden skin.

His eye bores into your left one and he imagines falling inside it, falling inside of you and staying there forever. Safe and cared for in a way he has not ever known and isn’t sure he ever will. He could stay inside you forever. You are so warm and wet and tight. A space seemingly carved out for him to fill.

He dips his head and sucks your nipple into his mouth, rolls the bud between his teeth. He drags his lips back up to your throat. Presses his lips to your pulse. He can feel your heartbeat here. Could dig his teeth in and feel all that warm and wet inside you gush over his tongue. Fuck he wants all of you. Every bit of you. An endless cycle of wanting to consume you and be consumed by you that makes his head spin.

Your hands find the back of his head and push him deeper into the crook of your neck. He sucks the skin over your jugular between his teeth and bites down hard. Your whole body seizes and spasms around him, coming as soon as the points of his teeth sink into your skin and he follows you instantly, drawn out by the way you shout his name.

He rolls off of you and pulls you against him, still craving the heat of your skin against his. He draws your thigh over his legs, wraps his arm around your body, buries his face in your hair.

“Do you wanna take a shower with me?” Despite both of you showering earlier, a sheen of sweat and blood and saliva coats you both. He pulls you impossibly closer to him.

“Yeah, honey. In a minute.”

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

Tagging people from the last one! Let me know if you'd like to be taken off!

@pr0ximamidnight @gasolinerainbowpuddles @bonezone44 @catchallfangirl @heareball @cool-iguana @youmeand5bucks @morallyinept @janaispunk @ireallyreallylikeyourwriting @sin-djarin @toxicanonymity @rootytootyvoodooty @blackfemalenerd @axshadows @heavennumber2 @pedrostories @theywhowriteandknowthings @anavatazes @missladym1981 @always-andromeda

#Dave York #Dave York fics #Dave York fanfiction #Dave York x reader #Dave York x f!reader #Dave York x you #Equalizer 2 #Equalizer 2 fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu

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hockeytrashgoblin · 1 year

Text

Celebrating You- Auston Matthews

A/N: Hi everyone here is a happy playoff win smut for Auston. I know things aren’t looking so hot for the leafs right now so figured I better post it now before shit gets too depressing. Enjoy!

"Baby I'm so proud of you!" I exclaimed, wrapping my arms around him as my husband Auston came walking over to me. "I'm so happy for you."

"Thank you babe." He said hugging me back.

He didn't seem all that excited and I was confused until he held my face and gave me a kiss that said it all. He was happy and excited he just didn't want to show everyone.

"Do you have team stuff you have to do?"

"Nope. I already did the mandatory stuff. Some of the guys are going to a bar."

"Do you want to go?" I asked, anticipation building.

"No." He said giving me another intense kiss.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

"Let's go back to the hotel?"

"I'm in." I said taking his hand and leading the way out.

Auston got an Uber and the ride there could not end quick enough. The tension was insane and it took everything in me to not rip his clothes off in that car. I could tell he felt the same by the way his fingers were playing with and under the hem of my shorts. The scorching looks didn't help either as I could feel wetness starting to pool in my underwear as the ride continued through the traffic of Tampa.

Once we got to the hotel Auston got us out of the car and rushed, pushing me lightly towards the door. Not that he needed to. I was moving pretty quickly, desperation fueling my movements. He took my hand and led the way to the elevator. We had to be appropriate in the elevator though because someone else got in with us. They didn't bother us or anything but besides a kiss on the head and a squeeze of my hand we couldn't do anything which was agonizing as dramatic as that sounds.

We walked briskly through the hotel hallways on our way to the room. We got there and he fumbled with the door for a second before he finally got it open and pulled me inside. Once we were inside he pushed me up against the wall and his tongue was in my mouth in a heated kiss.

"Did you see my goal?" He asked as he broke away to take my shirt off.

"I did Aus, it was such a good goal." I kissed him again but he broke away again.

"We won."

"You did. I'm so proud of you and the way you played. My man was incredible out there." I said lowering to my knees in front of him, fumbling with his pants before successfully getting them down his thighs. "I've never seen you so focused and ready to win."

I took him in my hand and rubbed him a few times as he groaned. I put the tip on my tongue and swirled it around before taking as much of him as I could.

"Make you horny seeing me win like that?" He whispered, holding my chin to look up at him.

"Mhmm." I whined around him, sending vibrations down his dick.

"You're making me feel so good baby. As much as I love seeing you with your mouth full I want to stuff a different hole right now so how about you get those clothes off and we'll take it to the bed?"

"Okay." I said nodding and taking off my shorts as we both went over to the bed.

"Lay down my pretty baby." He murmured, giving me another deep, searing kiss. "I wanna celebrate with you."

"Me too Aus, I want you so bad."

"How bad?" He teased with a grin climbing up the bed on top of me.

"Desperate for you to be in me right now. Feel." He rubbed his tip through my lips and groaned. "All that from you tonight."

"You're so wet babe, all for me?"

"All for you." I pulled his down to kiss him.

It didn't take long for the kisses to get more desperate. He put just the tip in as we kisses and I moaned trying to get more of him in me but he stopped me pulling out completely. He started kissing down my neck and left marks on my chest.

"Auston please."

"Can I go raw? I really want to feel you tonight."

"What about babies?"

"I wouldn't be mad watching you swell up with my kid. In fact I think I'd like it."

"Okay."

"Okay? You're sure?"

"Of course. I love you and want you so bad. Creampie me Aus."

"I will baby don't you worry. I'll give you exactly what you want. Take care of you."

"Please baby, I need it. Wanna make you feel good for playing so well."

"Thank you pretty baby." He leaned forward to capture my lips again and he slid his hard dick into me as I moaned into the kiss. "Such a good girl."

He started at a slow pace that gained momentum as we went. Soon his thrusts were hard and all you could hear was slapping skin along with our moans and groans. He kept up with that pace and I was a mess. He felt so good and I loved having him like this, really letting loose. Would I have bruises in the morning, sure. But it felt too good right now to even think of asking him to stop.

"Good God, look at you. You're doing such a good job baby. Feel so good. I'm not gonna last."

"Cum for me Auston. Cum in me please. Want it."

His hips thrust harder into me as he chased his high. The rhythm started to falter and I knew that meant he was closer. He held me tight and groaned roughly in my ear as he bit my neck to try and keep quieter as he spilled inside me.

"You feel so good."

"I love you."

"Love you too baby, thank you." He gave me a soft kiss as he pulled out of me. "I really want to go again."

"Already?" I asked laughing.

"You do things to me babe."

"We'll go as many rounds as you want my love. We're celebrating you tonight."

#maple leafs #maple leaf smut #Toronto Maple Leafs #auston matthews smut #auston matthews #auston x reader #hockey smut #hockey imagines

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many-but-one · 3 months

Note

i understand if you don’t answer questions like this and it won’t hurt my feelings if you need to delete this.

i feel like my smaller parts have been coming out a lot lately, but the problem is that they are so overwhelmed and so sad all the time, and so fearful of anyone and everyone close to us, that i feel like i’m drowning in an ocean of sadness and hurt and depression. everything is so hard and nothing brings me true joy and i feel like it will never get better. my partner gets overwhelmed when i get like this and tries to talk to me like i’m one singular person and he can’t spot my little ones unless i tell him they’re there. i know that that makes sense intellectually, but in the moment it feels like he doesn’t see me/us and i’m just reliving my childhood and teen experiences of not being okay and begging for help and never being believed.

i do have a therapist, and she helps some, but sometimes it just feels like all i get is “do yoga and meditation and that’ll help.” she’s been through a lot herself and i know intellectually it probably works and i really should do it, but i just can’t bring myself to, and i don’t feel like it’ll fix the hole in my heart. maybe nothing ever will, i don’t know.

if you have any advice i’d be happy to listen but i also understand if this is too heavy or sad to talk about. i know it’s probably just a matter of having to grit my teeth and try to take care of the kids and get over myself anyway.

Oh luv🥺 I am so sorry this is happening to you.

I can absolutely understand why the feeling of being ignored or unseen can make parts feel like they are reliving aspects of their childhood. Young parts often hold so much pain, it can be hard for lesser knowing parts to even fathom such deep depths of emotions like that until they’re right next to you and you’re feeling them.

My suggestion to you is twofold:

1) communicate with your partner and your therapist that while you know they’re trying to help, their help is just…not helpful. You are allowed to tell someone their help isn’t helping, especially a therapist that you pay to see. A question you will likely get from them is “How can I help you better, then?” And that’s something you’ll need to figure out. What would help you best in that moment? Comfort? Talking about the emotions? Expressing them in some way with your partner? (Such as making art or listening to a music playlist these parts make to help get these feelings out? Both can also double as a way for your partner to see the intensity of the pain externally in ways that perhaps words or explanation just can’t describe. Art is a powerful mode of communication, feel free to use it!)

2) Find out what YOU yourself can do to help these child alters feel better too. Unfortunately we cannot always rely on external people to be the miracle validators we need, we also have to rely on ourselves. Would your child alters want to be known by you or others externally better? Why are they scared of those around you? What can YOU do to help them feel comforted in this moment? Some other good skills to learn are grounding in the present (as these things you are feeling are likely emotional flashbacks—feelings your child self was feeling during times of trauma), something called “unblending” which is recognizing when emotions are not your own and working to unblend from that child self whose emotions are leaking into you, and widening your window of tolerance. These things can be hard! They are skills that requires practice, especially since folks with CDDs tend to be pretty “all or nothing” when it comes to emotions. Either you feel ALL OF IT or you dissociate it all away. Boon, Steele, and Van der Hart talk about this in the book “Coping with Trauma Related Dissociation” which is a fantastic resource available here.

Here is an excerpt that talks a bit about emotional avoidance or lack of reflection on emotions and learning how to widen your window of tolerance that may be useful:

In addition to all the things suggested, if you have child alters who are flooding the front with so much emotion that it seems nigh uncontrollable, it’s probably best that they not be fronting at that time. Learning how to communicate with them and say things like “hey, I am at work right now, we cannot be having these sorts of emotions at this time. I am not ignoring you, we will address them later when we are in a safe place at home. Can you please go inside to a safe place until we can address these emotions safely?” To which you then must address those parts later on, or they will end up not trusting you when you communicate this and will be less likely to leave front when you ask. Directing them to a safe alter (like a caretaker, protector, or gatekeeper) or asking them to go to a safe inner place internally can provide a bit of relief. If you don’t have an inner safe place or don’t know if you do, here’s some ideas on inner safe places for parts:

To create an inner safe place, try this visualization. We did this with our therapist and we still have the store in our inner world. Granted, it’s much bigger and more complex now to fit all the needs of all parts, but it’s still there!

Also creating time in your day or week for younger parts to come out and be in a safe place and enjoy things they like can work wonders on them feeling more comfortable in the present. Maybe at first you do not involve your partner in this. You can color in a coloring book, read a children’s book to your parts, eat a tasty snack with them, or any number of other things. Helping young parts feel safe and adjusted in the present space is helpful. Something we often have to do with young parts is a “house tour” which is going around the house and pointing out all the things that are different than the old places. “See how the walls are [color] and not [color]? Look at this decoration, we didn’t have that back then. Look at our [pet if you have one] we didn’t have them back then. Look at this furniture and these clothes, we didn’t have these things back then, because it is [insert this year] and not back then, we are safe now in this space.” Eventually adding your partner in with these activities will also help them feel safer around your partner.

Additionally, encouraging parts to express themselves with words or pictures rather than emotions can be important. Putting emotions into something like words, drawings, a gallery of photos you find on the internet, etc, can be a good way to help de-escalate emotions and make them not so intense. I know saying “putting words to emotions makes the emotions not so intense” feels fake, but trust me, it works. Yes, it pisses us off every time we do what our therapist says will help and it actually helps. Yes, we still do it begrudgingly even though it helps. If parts are not allowed to talk about what happened to them (your gatekeeper or protector parts do not allow them to disclose trauma) then have them not write about the experience itself, but the emotions behind the experience. Encourage parts to use their words when communicating rather than emotions or flashbacks.

I hope some of these suggestions helped? Good luck and take care anon!

-Dori🌹 (she/he/they)

#dori🌹#anon ask #answered asks #did osdd #did alters #dissociative identity disorder #manybutone #did system #child alters #advice

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mint-yooxgi · 1 year

Text

Broken People - Dragon!Hongjoong X Reader

Dragon AU

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Pairing: Hongjoong X Reader

Words: 2,044

Warnings: Mental Illness: Depression, talks of loneliness, insecurities. Not edited, sorry.

A/n: I was in a really weird headspace this evening, and this is what became of it. I was mainly listening to Screen by Twenty One Pilots when I can up with this idea, and it’s just me writing out a comfort for myself when I get like this. So, I hope it can be a small comfort to others as well. I hope you enjoy.

“Can you come over?” The words sound foreign, even to your own ears as you speak them into your phone.

A moments’ pause as he can sense something is off just from your tone alone.

“Of course,” Hongjoong replies. “Is everything okay?”

“I- uh… yeah,” you let out a long sigh through your nose. “I’ll explain when you get here.”

“Alright,” he blinks. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Okay.” Even your confirmation doesn’t sound as chipper as you usually are. A fact which makes his worry skyrocket tenfold.

You end the call.

Tossing your phone beside you on the bed, you continue to stare at your ceiling. It’s just one of those nights. A night where your mental state takes a slow, downwards spiral, and no matter what you do, you cannot help but just feel empty inside. Not quite to the point of dissociating, or feeling completely numb, but enough that doing anything feels like a chore. Even the usual things you do to help you get out of your funk aren’t helping, leading you to lay upside down on your bed and stare at the ceiling like you have been for the past hour.

That’s when you decided to call him.

Hongjoong has been one of your closest friends for as long as you can remember. You can still recall the day he told you what he was, your awe filled gaze staring at him in wonder. Dragons aren’t unusual in the society you live in, but unless they’re a public figure or a celebrity, having them reveal themselves to a human can be considered a monumental event.

He trusts you, and you trust him. That’s all there is to it. At least, that’s what he told you.

Which is exactly why when this mood of yours didn’t improve after an hour, even as you did whatever you could to distract yourself, you called him. He’s always been there for you when you need him, and you’ve always been there for him. No questions asked.

He makes it to your place in fifteen.

As soon as he walks into your room to see the state you’re in, his brow furrows even more in worry.

“What’s the matter, Treasure?” There’s nothing but concern in his voice as Hongjoong sits on the edge of your bed.

“I just-“ You sit up, heaving another long sigh as your eyebrows droop. You can’t even meet his gaze. “Not feeling the greatest, is all.”

Reaching a hand out, he lightly rubs his hand over the side of your arm in comfort. “What has you so down? Is something on your mind?”

This is not the first time Hongjoong has helped you through a depressive episode. Nor will it be his last. Not that he’d ever mind. Not when it’s you, and especially not when you’re feeling like this.

“Nothing really,” you admit, fiddling with your own fingers in your lap. “I’m just-“ your voice catches slightly, “I know it’s stupid, but I’m just feeling so lonely, Hongjoong. I just feel empty inside.”

Immediately, he wraps you in his arms, pulling you into his embrace.

“I feel like there’s this hole in my chest, like there’s something missing, and I don’t know what to do to fill it,” you continue. “I know what I selfishly want to fill it, but it’s just unrealistic. Or, well, I know I shouldn’t particularly be thinking like this, but it’s just so hard not to.”

“What is it that you want to fill this void, Treasure?” He asks softly, keeping his tone low so as not to pressure you.

You blink, a sense of what appears to be shame washing over you as you curl in on yourself in his arms. Then, you speak, voice a mere whisper on your lips. “A lover.”

The way his breath hitches is slight, but you can still feel the way he stiffens slightly as he continues to hold you in his embrace.

“I’m sorry,” you’re quick to apologize. “I shouldn’t be dumping this on you. Forget I even said anything, it’s stupid, anyways. Thanks for coming over.”

You go to move out of his hold, but his grip on you only tightens, keeping you in place.

“It’s not stupid if it’s bothering you,” he replies, keeping his gaze locked on the top of your dresser. One item in particular catches his eye. “I’m here to listen if you want to talk.”

You’re quiet for a moment, and Hongjoong almost believes that your stubbornness will refuse to let your speak. However, as soon as he feels you lean further into his embrace, he knows that you’re about to tell him everything that’s currently on your mind.

“I-“ you begin, cutting yourself off as you swallow thickly. “I’ve never had someone to call my own.”

The admission feels like a condemnation as soon as the words escape your lips in a hushed tone.

“I know there’s such an emphasis on being single and happy, or not needing someone else to feel complete, but I just can’t help but want someone. I can’t even say I know what I’m missing, but there are times where I just-“ your voice catches. “There are times where I just want to be held. Where I want someone who is in love with me to cradle me to their chest and tell me that everything will be okay. I want to know what it’s like to be loved and cared for like a lover would.”

“There’s this ache in my chest, Hongjoong, and I can’t help but think that it might just go away if I had somebody to love,” a silent tear begins to trail a path down your cheek, falling onto his shoulder and soaking into the material of his shirt. “It’s selfish, I know. But it’s just so difficult when I see everyone around me in relationships, or saying I don’t need someone when they have a person of their own to call theirs. I’m just tired of being alone.”

Slowly, his hand begins to stroke tenderly along your back, tracing the curve of your spine with every movement. Still, his eyes never leave that one item on top of your dresser.

“And I feel so stupid,” you laugh humourlessly. “Me, spewing my ideals about soulmates to you of all people before I even knew what you were.”

That small, smooth seashell he gifted you two weeks ago almost glares mockingly back at him now.

“I guess I’m just so desperate to be loved that I’ll believe in anything.”

Never before has Hongjoong heard you sound so broken.

“I just want somebody, Hongjoong,” you sniff. “I’m tired of being alone.”

A moment of silence passes over the both of you as Hongjoong lets your words sink in.

“You’re not alone, Treasure.” He voices gently, hand still tracing along your spine softly. “You will always have me.”

“I don’t mean to sound like I’m invalidating your friendship-“

“No, that’s not what I meant.” He shakes his head, chuckling lightly. “Tell me, My Jewel, does that hollowness in your chest still pain you so greatly while I’m around?”

“Hongjoong, I don’t understand.”

“Please,” he pulls away the slightest bit to stare deeply into your eyes. There’s a hint of nervousness to his tone now, one which you do not understand. “Answer the question, My Jewel.”

You blink, feeling the way your heartbeat accelerates the longer he continues staring at you like he is. “No. It doesn’t.”

“There is a reason for that.” He smiles faintly.

“I still don’t follow.” You shake your head.

“I know how you think, Treasure, and I know that ever since I confirmed that soulmates were real in a sense, you didn’t want to get your hopes up.” Hongjoong says, a sort of sadness taking over his features. “You always seem to want to believe in these things, but you never believe they can actually be for you.”

“How would you know?” Your reply is nothing short of defensive, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You think I cannot tell when my own mate is in destress?” He sends you a knowing look, brow quirked and all.

Your reaction is immediate: eyes widening as your mouth parts in utter shock. “Excuse me?”

“This is not the way I planned on telling you,” he leans back slightly on your bed, hands supporting him behind his back. Tilting his head up, he stares at your ceiling. “I wanted a chance to properly court you first before I dumped that little tidbit of information on you. I didn’t want to you to feel like I was forcing you into anything, given your ideals on the topic, and the connotations it can have. Besides, I didn’t want you to think our friendship was because of this fact. No, this bond appeared because of our friendship.”

Despite it all, one piece of information sticks out more than the others in your mind. “Court me?”

Again, his gaze falls upon that shell resting atop of your dresser.

“I have already started, you know,” he chuckles.

“You have?” The surprise is clear in your voice as you blink at him in shock.

“I don’t usually give pieces of my collection to just anyone.” He hums, motioning lightly with his head towards your dresser.

That’s when your own gaze finally falls upon the shell resting there. Not just any old seashell. His absolute favourite shell of all time. A piece of his vast collection, of which he gifted to you.

“Oh,” a faint heat begins to rise to your cheeks as the meaning behind such a gift washes over you fully. “I didn’t realize.”

At the time, you thought nothing of it. He’s gifted other small shells to his closest friends before, so you just believed it to be him doing the same for you. Then again, given the importance of the shell he gave you, you should have realized sooner.

“I can tell,” he chuckles lowly once more. “I don’t expect anything to come by this right now, and I’m not telling you this to try and take advantage of you in such a vulnerable state.”

“I know you, Hongjoong, and I know you would never do such a thing.” You smile faintly, assuring him in your own way for the moment. “Least of all to me.”

“Good.” He returns your smile softly, a subtle nod to his head. “I just want you to know, that you are not alone. Even if things were different, and I did not have such strong emotions towards you in such a sense, I would still be here for you. I understand that hollowness you feel, for I felt that every day until I felt that bond between us settle into place. I am here for you, in whatever ways I can be, and although I may not be who you have in mind, I can and will be the one to hold you, and fill that void in your heart as much as I can.”

Cautiously, Hongjoong raises his hands to your face. His touch is nothing but tender as he cups your cheeks in his palms, thumbs gently brushing over your skin as he stares deeply into your eyes, wiping away your lingering tears.

“I will do whatever you ask of me, Treasure,” he voices lowly, the sincerity bleeding into every word, “for I am already so deeply in love with you, that I never want you to feel this way again.”

Your breath hitches, whole body stilling beneath his touch.

“I understand you might not feel the same for me, and we can discuss how we move forward together later, but please,” his fingers press a little firmer against the sides of your face, cradling you gently, “tell me what to do, and I will do it. No questions asked.”

“Hongjoong,” the way you breathe his name has his heart racing uncontrollably in his chest. “Will you stay with me? Just stay with me, and hold me in your arms for tonight. That’s all I ask.”

His expression softens, nothing but fondness and care shining within his gaze as he smiles softly, nodding once. “I can do that.”

#hongjoong scenario #ateez scenario #ateez imagines #hongjoong scenarios #hongjoong drabble #kpop scenario #kpop imagines #dragon au #kpop au

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phoebepheebsphibs · 5 months

Text

I will never actually write this because it was too sad (even for me and my angsty skills...)

A while ago, I came up with the idea to write a really sad fic about the turtles. Duh.

A goal with all my fics is to have a moment where I make the audience cry, or at the very least get emotional. And this was no exception. It’s a personal challenge for me, to see if I can get my audience truly invested. But, I also need my fics to have a PURPOSE. So, if I was gonna write a sad and angsty fic, I needed a way to bring it to a moral or happy ending, to show a reason why the characters went through what they did, rather than just have a story for story's sake. So, I went about coming up with a synopsis for a story that showed how to deal with grief and guilt and hopelessness. But after several months of writing and ideas, I realized that it simply wasn't working out. The story wasn't just sad or angsty, it was utterly depressing. The message of hope even after death wasn't pulling through... and in addition, I got worried that the massive amounts of despair in the story were going to be detrimental to my mental health, if not also for the readers. Thusly, I scrapped the plot.

So fair warning, the stuff you're about to read is very emotional and kinda dark...

Naw I ain’t playing, turn back now while you have the chance.

CW: LOTS. OF. DEATH. Major illness, disintegration, intrusive thoughts, suicidal thoughts, even a suicide attempt.

I was even in the process of making cover art for it (which I do for all my fics lol)

The fic literally starts out with a note from April (the narrator), explaining that she documented everything and warns the reader that this story does not have a happy ending. It takes place about a week after the invasion, and the family was having a rough time. Mikey's hands were absolutely scorched, Donnie's immune system was shot and he seemed to be getting ill, Raph was having constant panic attacks, and Leo wasn't getting better from his injuries. To top it all off, a new government branch was setting up camp in NYC and interrogating people about the events of the Krang attack. April had narrowly escaped but figured the Earth Protection Force would come back for her. Meanwhile, Leo’s injuries weren’t healing like they should have and he was getting worse… Eventually the family caved and asked for help from Agent Bishop and the EPF, but after some doctors and scientists took a look at Leo… they realized there was nothing anyone could do. They’d waited too long. Leo was not going to make it, and all they could do was make him comfortable for a few hours before he... yeah. So everyone said their goodbyes, and I actually have some snippets of dialogue written down and it makes me cry every time. Donnie had the worst reaction, upset by Leo's peace with the situation and devastated by his loss, believing that he never showed his appreciation and love for his twin as much as he should have. Leo attempts to comfort Donnie, but eventually tells him to "get over it". A few hours later, Leo dies in his sleep, and the room erupts into grief and panic and chaos until Donnie, in his pure anger, punches a hole through the heart monitor and leaves. Leo is given a viking send-off in the Hidden City, and afterwards, April asks what they are supposed to do now. Donnie angrily repeats Leo's last insight: get over it. April goes home, and after her parents ask her how her day was… she bursts into tears.

Several weeks later, Mikey tries to get Donnie and Raph to talk about their feelings, but they both refuse. Mikey himself is having issues, his hands not healing quickly and he wonders if he will ever be able to make a work of art again. He manages to get Donnie to admit his guilt of not being there for Leo and still holding anger and resentment towards his twin for sacrificing himself and dying. Mikey suggests that he speak with Raph, but Donatello refuses. Later, during an attack, Raph was knocked out and Donnie collapsed from his illness, which he had been hiding. Mikey realizes that it's left to him and uses his mystic powers to portal his brothers to safety, at the cost of his own life. Mikey comes to terms with this, believing that what he did was his mangum opus, and he feels no pain as he vanishes, greeted by Leo in the afterlife.

Donatello and Raphael mourn the loss of two brothers, and Donnie finally talks with Raph about his grief over Leo’s death (in honour of Dr. Feelings’ memory). However, his declining health is brought to light and Donnie is placed in quarantine. Casey Jr. identifies his illness as a common Krang disease, one his mother died of, and the group work overtime to create the cure. Raph stays with his last sibling and keeps him company. Donnie gets more and more sick, and one night while April and Casey are working with Agent Bishop to finalize the antidote, Donnie's fever worsens and he sleepwalks, hallucinating Mikey and Leo's return and them comforting Donnie and telling him that the others will be alright in his absence. Donnie senses that his time is almost up. Raph finds him but doesn't understand what Donnie is seeing or who he is talking to, and takes him back to bed. April and Casey finally finish the cure and rush home, hoping to make it back in time, but find Raph asleep by Donnie's bedside… Donnie having just succumbed to his illness a few hours prior.

Raph is left as the last one alive, dealing with extreme survivors' guilt for outliving his brothers and blames himself for their deaths. April tries to comfort him, Splinter, and Casey. (Casey notes that history seems to be repeating itself in reverse order— that while in the alternate timeline Raph died first and Leo last, the opposite has been happening here, and Casey fears that Raph might actually die somehow very soon.) Meanwhile, Raphael tries to atone for his guilt by overdoing the vigilante work on his own. Eventually he decides that it isn't enough, he can never atone, and he misses his brothers too much… so he writes a note to April and emails it to her, then goes to the Hidden City to pick a fight with Heinous Green... and let him win. April receives the email and she and the others rush to save Raph, who at this point has already found Heinous Green and is letting him beat the ever-loving life out of him. Halfway through, however, he realizes what he is doing and that his brothers would not want this for him, but it's too late... April and Casey find Raph near death and attempt to save him, but he goes unconscious from his injuries.

While April, Casey, Splinter and Draxum work to heal Raph's wounds and revive him, Raphael dreams of the afterlife, meeting up with his brothers and apologizing for everything. They comfort him, yet also explain that he has to wake up soon; and how April, Casey, and Splinter still need him. Raphael asks if he can stay, to which they promise that he will be okay without them and someday they will see each other again; that they aren’t mad at him for their deaths, but that he cannot speed up their meeting. Raph agrees to go home, to which they all say how proud they are of him. Raphael wakes up with his family around him, relieved that he survived. Later that night, he and April have a discussion where she scolds and berates him for trying to leave them, saying that she had no one left. He admits his actions and apologizes and promises to get better.

In an epilogue, April explains that it has been a full year since Raph’s injuries, and he is doing much better. The Hidden City made a memorial for the three lost brothers in honour of their sacrifices. Casey Jones Jr. has been doing better as well, though he will often have nights of panic and moments of grief that only Raph can get him through. Agent Bishop works with Raphael and Casey to keep the city safe from mutant attacks, and they work to create a new team, hinting to characters like Mona Lisa, Venus De Milo/Frida Kahlo, Leatherhead, and other characters from the comic series. April ends by stating that at the beginning, she said the story did not have a happy ending. She stands by this, stating that the story has not ended and will continue for as long as they live, and that she does her best to remember her friends and keep going on, not for their sake, but for her own. And that one day, she will see them again.

And as if THAT wasn't heart-wrenching enough, I also planned a short after-story of how something like 80 years later, The Hamato ghosts get ready to welcome Raph into the afterlife, showing Leo preparing a house for him and Mikey decorating and Donnie gardening.

So yeah this is the most depressing and heartbreaking thing I've ever written, and I ACTUALLY SPARED YOU FROM THE DIALOGUE I HAD WRITTEN TOO

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tutant meenage neetle teetles #rottmnt leo #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt raph #rottmnt fic #rottmnt writing #depressing stuff #angst #i made it get really dark there for a bit #yeah so i don't think i'm gonna finish this one...#pain #rottmnt angst

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boxheadpaint · 4 months

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good: have been drawing a lot in my sketchbook lately, mostly with pencil. do you know how awesome it is to have a sharpener on hand immediately too. making smooth gem-ish shading is very fun and time consuming too, so its a nice way to distract myself. i need to get back into my pixel projects as well- i forgot that aseprite is still technically a steam game so my friend asked me why i have 6000 hours in it (i keep basically all art programs open to have them on hand fast). i want to get watercolor markers or something to make funny things more. i used to draw a lot back in school of course because it was easier than doing the actual work i guess- now i have some block about drawing traditionally where i forget it for a long while and also need to be in a very specific spot for it to be enjoyable (in this case thecorner of the living room couch). ill figure out how to use the scanner by myself at some point

bad: toenail is starting to hurt again, swelling, had a rough time yesterday with my heart blasting in spite of Actually No Anxiety for once and not even having a huge meals, just snacking until dinner (by which point i had weakened considerably but even before that when i had eaten it was like techno in there.) i still have yet to get the long ecg or whatever it is, though i do have a random app with the doctor on the 27th so maybe i can ask for a referral that isnt over an hour away from where i live. the gums of a tooth in the back of my mouth was hurting for a while but seems fine now, wasnt sure what i was gonna do about that so thats good. can go back to brushing normal now. still havent gotten lab orders.

the cats were grooming eachother on the couch a second ago and now theyre getting feisty and bitey and silly so i cant really stay depressed. dreams have been weirdly vivid as of late for better and for worse, even just during naps. makes it even more exhausting. for the past 3 weeks or so ive had a consistent thought whenever ive been stressed of "i need to go curl up in a dirt hole somewhere else", which while not good isnt the worst thing to think at least

2/20/2024, you can type a lot more with an actual keyboard

#diary

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videogayymer · 1 year

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"Self-indulgent Ghostsoap angst fic that I wrote instead of going to therapy." That's the title I guess

Warnings: Angst, intrusive thoughts, brief mention of self-harming but no actual self-harming, depression and anxiety.

Word count: around 4k

Based on my post about Ghost suffering from intrusive thoughts that on bad days he locks himself in his room because he's afraid he might actually hurt someone. Johnny is there to help him even though Ghost tries to push him away.

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Johnny looks at the empty space in front of him, wondering where a certain Brit is. His plate is empty, coffee had already gone cold as he waited.

10 more minutes and I need to be at Price's office, where is that bawbag? He thinks to himself. It's not that unusual of Ghost to skip breakfast, but he'd at least come to the mess hall anyways for a cup of tea or just to chat with Johnny. There's no way he slept in, Ghost doesn't sleep in. Johnny can't help but think that something is off. So he waits a few more minutes until he has to start walking to Price's office.

Ghost didn't come.

After his meeting with Price, he had couple hours of training with the new recruits. But no sign of Ghost. At the end of lunch he starts to really worry. He grabs a tray of food and walks to Ghost's room.

He knocks. No answer.

"Ghost?" He calls out, but there's no answer. He knocks again, anxiety seeping in.

"Piss off, Johnny." He finally hears the familiar voice yell and Johnny is relieved, even though Ghost's reaction isn't what he really wanted.

"I didn't see ye at breakfast or lunch, I brought food." And when he hears no answer, no shuffling of feet telling him that Ghost is actually walking towards the door to let Johnny in, he knocks again. "Come on Ghost, open the door."

It alerts him a little when the door suddenly opens, Ghost standing in the doorway arms crossed and not saying a word. But his stare says a million words, eyes locked into Johnny's with a gaze that Johnny can almost feel drilling holes in his skull.

"I just wanted to see ye and-"

"And now you have seen me." Ghost cuts him off before he can finish, and backs away from the doorway into his room as he grabs the door to close it. But Johnny knew he would do that. Before Ghost can even close the door an inch, Johnny ducks under Ghost's arm that is holding the door up high, back pushed against the door to open it as he rushes into the room with the tray in his hands.

Johnny didn't think this through, he had just barged into his CO's room without permission. He looks at Ghost, who looks at him with an equally perplexed look. They stare a few seconds in silence, Johnny trying to figure out how did he just manage to sneak past Ghost. And Ghost is thinking the same.

"I'm not in the mood for this." Ghost breaks the silence and Johnny's surprised to find no anger behind his words. He was expecting Ghost to drag him out of his room by the collars of his shirt and slamming the door in front of him. But he sounds more exhausted, tired. Like he hasn't slept at all.

Johnny places the tray down to the table near the wall and turns back to look at Ghost, who's closing his door, locking it, but leaning on it as if ready to open it again soon.

"Is everything okay?" Johnny asks and notices how Ghost grits his teeth at the question.

"Yes everything is okay, you can go now." Ghost's attempt at lying is weak. He knows it's not enough to convince Johnny but he had to try.

"Oh fuck off." Johnny scoffs, showing Ghost just how little he managed to convince him that he's fine.

Ghost doesn't say anything, just waits at the door for Johnny to give up and leave. But he shows no signs of leaving him alone.

It's when Ghost notices the knife and fork on the tray that his thoughts get loud again. Fuck fuck fuck fuck stop stop stop don't think about it don't think about it don't think about it, Ghost repeats in his head, trying to push away the thoughts. He tries not to let his anxiety show on the outside, doesn't want to make Johnny worry any more. He knew he shouldn't have opened the door. He fucking knew it and yet, Johnny's here.

"What's goin' on in that head of yers?" Johnny breaks the silence again. But to Ghost there was no silence, not with the loud thoughts in his mind.

"Acting like a proper shrink now, Johnny?"

"Not like ye'd go see one anyways"

"You know me too well"

"Clearly not well enough"

A beat of silence. Soap started slowly walking towards Ghost, determined. He notices how the taller man shifts his position against the door, as if trying to get further away.

Ghost avoids Soap's gaze, looking anywhere else than his worrying eyes. Quiet like a whisper, like he doesn't even want to hear the next words, he says: "Stay back, Johnny."

But it's not an order, it's a plead and Ghost is begging Soap to stay away because he's scared of what he might do. He's scared of the thoughts swarming his mind and if Johnny gets too close, the might do something. He wants him gone, out of the room, far away from him as possible, because it's not safe.

And Johnny stops in his tracks, but only for a second before he takes another step, and another, his steps quiet and calculative, until he's an arm length away from Ghost. He's giving him space, not wanting to make Ghost feel like he's cornered, even though a part of him wants to hold him close until all of Ghost's worries are gone. But he's not a miracle worker and he knows that. He knows he can't do anything but it pains him so to see Ghost like this.

"Ghost I don't want to leave you by yerself if I don't know what's goin' on." Johnny whispers, equally quiet.

Ghost finally looks Johnny in the eyes and is met with a gaze of determination. He's not backing down. A sigh of defeat. "You're not gonna give up are you?"

Johnny fights down a smirk on his face. "Ye know me well."

Another sigh and Ghost slides down the door to sit on the floor, Johnny quickly accompanying him. They're on eye level now, Ghost still avoiding Johnny's eyes. Johnny, on the other hand, won't stop looking at Ghost. It's almost like he's studying Ghost's very core, as if he won't have a chance like this again. So he looks at the man sitting on the floor in front of him, who's head is slightly turned to the side and eyes glued to the floor. Who's chest is rising and falling too quick with the shallow breaths he's taking. Who's hands are tangled together in a nervous mess, fingers fidgeting on the skin.

"Ghost-", but before he can finish, Ghost cuts him off.

"Intrusive thoughts, Johnny. Or that's what the therapist called them before I stopped going. " And Ghost is shaking his head, one hand raising to his forehead to nervously massage it. He hopes it's enough to shield him from Johnny's eyes, afraid of what he might see now that he's said it.

But the man's reaction is not what he thought.

"Ye're gonna have to explain that one to me, I'm not sure what they are." Johnny says calmly, trying to hide his slight embarrassment for not knowing.

"You're gonna think I'm insane." Ghost breathes out, shakingly.

"Since when did ye care what people thought of ye?" Johnny teases, wanting to ease the tension in the air.

I care what you think, Ghost thinks to himself.

"Besides , with this job we all gotta be a little insane." Johnny continues, "But first, lift up that mask for me, aye? Ye look like ye could need some proper air and not suffocate yerself on that mask."

"I can breathe just fine." A lie again. Ghost feels like someone is squeezing his windpipe and crushing his lungs.

"Please?" Johnny asks carefully and the gentle plead has Ghost off guard. He can't help but look him in the eyes, even if just for a moment to see if there's any sort of malice in his eyes. He knows there isn't, he knows Johnny wouldn't ask him to take off his mask or even briefly lifting it up for no good reason. So he complies, slowly starting to roll up his mask from the hem and stopping at the nose, letting it rest there. His first instinct is to turn away again, away from Johnny's eyes.

Johnny's seen Ghost maskless only once, and the half Glasgow smile is right how he remembered: two thick, raggedy lines going from under his right eye straight down, the other line trailing to his upper lip, pulling the skin up a little. But this time he notices the scar across his throat, no doubt a wound from a knife that was just shallow enough that Ghost was able to walk away from that.

Johnny has to stop himself from making Ghost too uncomfortable so he keeps his searching around his lower face minimal, focusing on the task at hand. He notices that Ghost is able to breathe a bit easier, but he keeps fidgeting with his hands more nervously. He fights the urge to place his hand on Ghost's, to gently caress them. Now's not a good time, he thinks.

So he breaks the silence. "Ye can tell me now," Johnny encourages. "What are intrusive thoughts?"

Ghost hesitates again, but it's too late to back down now. "They are fucked up, violent thoughts that force their way into my mind whenever possible. And what's worse is that they're not only about me, but other people. Like people on base. Like you," he pauses, waits for a reaction that doesn't come. "They feel so real, as if I could easily do them. And I can't do anything about them, they won't leave me alone. On bad days they're so intense that ignoring them is harder, I feel like I could snap at any time." He pauses, trying to get his breathing in control. "So on bad days I lock myself here so I won't accidentally hurt anyone, except for..." Ghost backs down, realising that he can't say it, not without risking Johnny going to Price to ask him demand Ghost take a psych evaluation.

"Yerself. " Johnny continues on his sake, and much to Ghost's surprise he doesn't sprint out of the room. Doesn't go calling for Price and drag his sorry ass to the therapists.

"Yeah. " Ghost replies quietly, wishing he had the strength to look Johnny in the eyes.

"Have you?" Johnny's question is careful, gentle. There's no judgement in his tone.

"No."

Johnny let's out a breath he didn't know he was holding. A sigh of relief.

"See? Ye can hold them back." Johnny smiles a bit nervously, trying to find something positive in this all.

But Ghost doesn't answer. Instead, he buries his head in his hands as his breathing quickens again. He grits his teeth and mutters something under his breath.

"you should go, Johnny." He manages to say and he's hoping Johnny listens to him this time because he can't see Ghost in a state like this where his mind is against him and he doesn't know when he might actually hurt Johnny, or himself. He shuts his eyes and it's a mistake because the images of hurting Johnny flash in his mind, how he would do it a million different ways and what would come next. It feels so real that his mind seems like the reality, like it actually happened. Like he actually killed Johnny in the most insane and brutal way. Like it was something he'd do without batting an eye, like it was easy. Because he knows what he's capable of in the field, with nothing but enemies in front of him. He knows how easily he can eradicate them all without feeling remorse, and he'd be praised for it. What he doesn't know is when he turns against civilians and his team mates. Against Johnny. And it was easy, he had just done it. Killed Johnny. Who's next, he thinks. Him, or some other poor soul that got too close to him. A darkness consumes him, pulls him into a cold void. He thinks that maybe he's safe here, with no one around him. No one for him to hurt.

Until a warm body presses against his, wrapping arms around him and one hand making slow circles on his back. It's grounding him and he opens his eyes, bringing him back to the reality where he's sitting on the floor in his room with Johnny in front of him. Except now he's hugging him, caressing his back gently. He looks at his hands that are still hovering over his face, kept in place by Johnny's body hugging him. His hands are shaking. He let's out a shuddering breath.

Ghost then realizes that Johnny is saying something, repeating it calmly to his ear.

"Come back to me, Simon." Johnny says again and this time Ghost hears it properly. He slowly pulls his arms from between their bodies and wraps them around Johnny, and returns the hug.

"I'm here." Ghost says, his voice fragile. It shocks him a little, having Johnny hugging and caressing him so when just a moment ago Ghost had killed him. But that wasn't reality, he reminds himself. This, right here, Johnny alive and well, hugging him, whispering calming words in his ear, is real.

He doesn't realize he's crying until he let's out a small sob.

And Johnny hears it. God, he hears it. So he rushes to help.

"Ye're okay, ye're okay." He whispers to Ghost's ear.

"I'm sor-" but before Ghost can finish, Johnny cuts him off

"Don't ye dare apologize."

Ghost doesn't reply, just nods slightly. He doesn't have the energy to argue. All he can do is keep holding Johnny and let the tears fall. And Johnny let's him. After a while, Ghost calms down. His breathing has returned to normal, he's not shaking or sniffling anymore.

"I'm gonna pull away now, is that okay Simon?" he asks carefully, afraid to alert him in any way that might push him back to the ledge.

Ghost nods, and they both pull away from the hug, Johnny holding him by the shoulders still sitting in front of him as he makes sure Ghost is okay. He looks at the man's face, eyes red from crying, streaks in his black greasepaint where the tears rolled. And Ghost can't look him in the eyes again.

"Hey, look at me." Johnny tries gently and to his surprise, Ghost responds by slowly dragging his eyes to meet Johnny's. Now that he has his attention, he can't help but give a small smile. "They're just thoughts, and the fact that ye're fightin' them so hard proves that ye'd never act on them. I know ye'd never hurt those who don't deserve it. Ye have been battlin' these thoughts so long, they won't make ye do shite. They got nothin' on ye." Johnny continues, hoping that Ghost listens to him. He takes it as a yes when he sees Ghost relax again, his shoulders dropping a little.

"I just... need a distraction. They're too much." Ghost says quietly.

"And lockin' yerself here is not the way to go about it. If ye need a distraction, find me. I don't care if we're in the field, or trainin' or if it's the middle of the night, just find me. And I'll hold ye close and remind ye that ye're stronger than those thoughts. I'll crack the stupidest fuckin' jokes until you laugh and forget them. Okay?"

Ghost could start crying again after hearing all that, feeling his heart fill up with the realization that someone cares about him this much and is willing to help him through shit. And not just someone, it's Johnny. Thank god its Johnny.

"Thank you, Johnny." Ghost finally replies. He can't thank him enough for all he had just put up with. "I really mean it."

"I know." Johnny says, and starts slowly getting up on his feet from the floor. He lowers a hand to Ghost, offering to lift him up as well. Ghost takes his hand. "Are they still in yer head?" Johnny asks, one hand on Ghost's shoulder to make sure his legs are carrying him. He let's go when he sees that Ghost can stand on his own.

"Not nearly as bad. I think the worst is over." And he knows Johnny can't just magically make the intrusive thoughts gone for good, he'd need years of therapy to cope with them. But knowing that he has Johnny's help and company makes him less worried of them.

"Good, so ye can eat? I think the food's gone cold by now, but ye haven't eaten anythin' today."

Ghost looks at the food that he had completely forgotten about. He had only snacked on some protein bars stashed in his room earlier in the morning, but otherwise he hadn't eaten yet. He was actually hungry, he realized. "Can just go microwave them, no point in wasting food." He turns to pick up the food, but Johnny stops him.

"Not before we do somethin' about yer greasepaint, it's all over the place. Come on, let's get washed up."

And the way Johnny smiles at him, blue eyes bright and full of hope, has Ghost thinking that maybe, maybe he has the strength to survive another day.

#ghostsoap #cod soap #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #cod ghost #john soap mactavish #ghostsoap fanfic

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satsuma-saturn · 1 year

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hii! saw ur post about feeling sad, i've been the same way the past few days

could you write a fluff piece with either all the obey me bros or just lucifer (hes my fav) comforting a lethargic MC?

when i saw this, i thought of depression, since lethargy is a pretty common symptom (i experience it myself) so i went down that route. it’s been awhile since i’ve written anything and it’s not super long, but i hope this pleases ur palate, Anon

Vitamin L - Lucifer x Reader

Days had passed since you’d really left your room. Exhaustion flooded your body, but you couldn’t sleep. Instead, you just laid up in bed, napping periodically or scrolled endlessly through Devilgram, eyes glossed over from blue light. Your room itself dark, the walls closing in the longer you spent inside your room.

Depression had long since wrapped its ugly claws around your waist, pulling you in and holding tight. That, paired with the lack of sun in the Devildom was truly a recipe for disaster. A change of pace, a refill in your medication, some sunshine would do wonders for your spiraling mental health.

As you lay awake, scrolling once more through Devilgram, mindlessly liking posts, your door opened. Lifting your head slightly, you watched a tall, broad figure enter your room. Though you were curious, you sensed no malice from your unexpected guest, so you were unconcerned.

“MC,” the figure whispered. Lucifer.

“Mmmmm…Hullo, Luci,” you replied, looking back down at your phone.

“My brothers—“ Lucifer started, before sighing. “I am worried about you. You spend a concerning amount of time holed up in your room. A behavior expected from Leviathan, but not from you. Is…everything alright?” The springs of your bed creaked softly as the tall demon took a seat on the edge of your bed.

You were silent for a moment before replying, deciding whether you should be honest or lie. Lucifer would know if you were lying, but you didn’t really want to go into depth about your ongoing depression.

“MC?” A large, gloved hand softly touched your temple, brushing hair out of your face.

Sighing, you finally replied. “No, Im not. I really don’t want to talk about it, but I’m not alright,” you said, chewing on your lip. Hot, stinging tears pricked at your eyes at your admission.

Lucifer did not respond. Instead, he shifted on your bed, laying next to you now. Strong arms wrapped around your midsection as he buried his face into your hair. Tears spilled from your eyes as he held you close. Not another word was spoken between the two of you, the demon allowing you to sob and sniffle into his suit. As you did, he pressed soft, reassuring kisses to the top of your head and whispered small affirmations as he did so.

“You mean a lot to me, dear MC. Even when you are down, you should take care of yourself,” Lucifer said, finally. “You mean a lot to my brothers as well.” His words fell on sleeping ears, but he laid with you for the remainder of the night, holding you close as you slept.

Of course, he was not naive to think that he had immediately solved all of your problems, but he’d comforted you for the time being. Going forward, he would send you to the human world for weekly therapy sessions, as well as for some time in the sun. He would even get you set up on a medication, if needed.

#obey me #swd #shall we date #shall we date obey me #swd obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me luci #obey me lucifer x reader #swd lucifer x reader #swd lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer x mc #request #anon request

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bosskie · 2 months

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Colour Pencil Sketching

I mentioned some time ago that I got new colour pencils now (even I got plenty of other colour pencils already but not ones like these), so it was the time to test them. Man, it's so difficult to get good photos of these but well, I do my best with editing the shots... I gotta edit the paper look this black and such, like it actually is...

Those colour pencils are Derwent Chromaflow and I do like them so far, but the paper... Not gonna buy this one again... It was a miracle that I didn't make any holes to the first layer of the paper now but well, some little scratches still... Gotta find some 'lighter' art supplies or techniques for the rest of this paper... But yeah, I have never really drawn 'proper stuff' with colour pencils but very rarely. But I have seen people getting great results with them, so it has inspired me to find and try out good colour pencils. Honestly, I feel like I have no idea how to actually use colours but I'm trying to figure out my own way to colour things. I kinda just do 'trial and error' stuff when I colour stuff... It still feels easier to colour traditionally than digitally, at least when it comes to mixing colours.

Yeah, I need to use different paper for this stuff... I do personally still think that stuff like this are sketches since these are 'simple stuff' and only take a few hours. For some odd reason, I got water colour paper pads the most... But I do enjoy water colours, so gotta waste fill that paper with Molluck stuff! Man, I recently bought 4 new sketchbooks... I didn't have empty ones anymore and finally found ones I wanted to find! Pretty much just hoarded them but I like sketchbooks to have themes, not just filled with random stuff, so yeah, I got my own plans with them, though it's all Molluck stuff... Though, I do got a sketchbook version of this black paper too... Well, gotta figure out how to fill it without ruining the paper... All I'm saying is that I got a lot plans and paper to fill! But despite of this, I have felt quite depressed recently, so it was kinda why I wanted to draw Molluck smiling, being my light in the dark...

#oddworld molluck #molluck #molluck the glukkon #oddworld #art like a bosskie

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actuallysaiyan · 2 years

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Everyone I Love is Dead(Vergil x Fem!Reader)

warnings: angst, very very very sad, mentions of suicide, very deep content matter, mentions of depression.

word count: 1.8k

pairings: Vergil x Fem!Reader

summary: Vergil worries about you when you seem to become distant, despite the fact that it is spooky season.

a/n: This is a self-indulgent little fic in a way for me. This mirrors an experience in my life and I often find myself becoming so distant and cold when it comes to this time of year. Please, if you are sensitive to the subject matter, I implore that you do not read. And as always, I'm always here to chat if you need it. You are loved and people care about you so much.

Vergil was worried. He did spend a lot of time worrying about you, but this was different. As summer came to a close, you found this new rejoice for life. It was like with the changing of the seasons and the shift of the colors of the leaves had made something snap inside of you. All of a sudden you were all about pumpkin spice and apple cider, which made Vergil groan with irritation at first. But now, he wishes all of that would return.

The month of September had been rather normal, despite your incessant chatter and excitement for what you had dubbed “spooky season”. You seemed rather chipper and cheerful, which made Vergil so relieved. He had done so much to woo you in the beginning of your relationship, but now he knew that the two of you really had a connection. He even found himself becoming excited for “spooky season”.

But once October hit, it was like something switched off inside of you again. You became a little distant, quiet and sullen. You desperately tried your best to hide it from everyone else. Trish and Lady couldn’t see past your facade. They eagerly did all kinds of girly things with you to keep you satisfied, but you were tired of masking so much. It didn’t take long for Dante to figure it out, but Vergil found himself completely clueless on the matter.

You were even a little cold and distant with him. It hurt him to see you like this. Especially during the time of year that clearly means so much to you. And yet, Vergil could find no answers to your sadness. He racked his brain, trying to find a reason for you to be feeling this way. He didn’t want to ask Dante for advice, but as the days kept going, he wondered if maybe it might not be the worst idea.

The emptiness he began to feel as you slowly got deeper and deeper into this pit of darkness just grew and grew. It became almost so unbearable for the both of you. What used to be love turned into something so dark and sad. But Vergil wanted nothing more than to do what he could to fill you with warmth. The way you had once filled him with a star’s worth of warmth. He just didn’t have any idea how he’d even be able to do something like this.

First, he knew he might actually have to ask Dante for advice. You and Dante had always been so close to one another. Dante was your confidante, whether Vergil enjoyed that or not. He had been the one to introduce you to each other, knowing your sunniness would bring some happiness to Vergil’s life. And it had done so much, so Vergil felt he owed it to you to be able to cheer you up.

Once he finally talked to Dante, he realized that this problem was lying dormant inside of you all year long. You let it fester and fester until it finally burrows a hole so deep into your heart, you can no longer find happiness. Dante wasn’t sure of the details, but he had told Vergil that you might be mourning somebody. Dante has seen you mourn people before, and it does look quite a bit like this.

“Just talk to her,” Dante finally says. “You’ll feel better about it once the two of you can just discuss it.”

“What if she won’t speak to me? I can’t stand this coldness anymore.” Vergil agonizes. He hated being so open with his brother, but this one time helped so much.

“Tell you what,” Dante explains. “I’ll leave the office now. You go get her some of those pumpkin spice donuts she is so fond of, have some coffee and mull it over.” And with that, he gets up from the desk and heads out of the office.

Vergil realizes his brother is right. He just needs to talk to you about this. But it is difficult for him to be willing to discuss things like emotions or feelings. It makes him feel so weak whenever the thought of having to discuss these topics comes up. His stomach is already in knots as he grabs his scarf from the coat rack.

Only thoughts of you consume his mind as he walks down the street. The little bakery you love dragging him to is just a few minutes away. When he gets there, he realizes just how much he misses having you bring him here. Even the workers are surprised to see him alone without you. He sighs softly before ordering some of those donuts and two coffees.

One of the workers asks about you, and he has to lie to protect you from the possible judgment this stranger may place upon you. He says that you’ve fallen ill and that he was just picking these up for you to cheer you up. The employees all send their well wishes and Vergil walks home with this guilt that he lied to them.

Once he arrives home, it’s quiet. Too quiet for him, and he prefers it this way in the first place. He climbs the stairs to your shared room and he places his ear on the door. Nothing is coming from inside. You must be sleeping again. He knocks gently at first(as best as he can with all these treats), but still no response. Finally, he goes inside. He sees you on the bed, and you’re holding a photograph in your hands. Your eyes are glossy with tears and some of them have stained your cheeks. You look so pitiful, it’s breaking his heart.

“Darling,” Vergil says softly. You look over at him, and you have no more energy to be ashamed. “I brought you some refreshments.”

“Don’t want ‘em.” You let out. Vergil’s heart clenches in his chest. You sound so defeated.

He places the coffees on the bedside table and he hands you the little bag holding the donuts and the donut holes. You muster the softest sob when you realize what he’s brought you. It just breaks you even more.

“Please, sparrow. Please talk to me,” Vergil pleads. He doesn’t want to see you like this anymore. “I want to help.”

You finally sniffle and sit up. Your fingers poke into the bag until you reach for a donut. The crumbs spill onto your shirt and the sheets, and you chuckle softly.

“ I guess I owe you an apology,” you tell him as you bite into the treat. “And an explanation,”

Vergil is pleased to hear this. But still, it stings to see you in such a sad state. Especially when he thought for so long that you had been cold to him because you were falling out of love with him. But he can see now that it isn’t the case.

You hand him the photograph. It’s you and a guy that looks around your age. He has his arm slung around you, pulling you close and you both are smiling widely.

“It’s his birthday tomorrow.” you begin. “He would have been my age.”

“Who is this?” Vergil asks, his finger ghosting over the image of you and the guy.

“It’s–it was my friend. My friend who I loved so dearly,” a hiccup falls from your lips. “But he was sick, Vergil. He was so sick and he found himself unable to get help.”

Vergil swallows hard when he realizes what you mean. He doesn’t think he likes where this story is going, but he will not interrupt you. Not when you are finally spilling your guts to him. He hands you the coffee and takes a moment to wipe your face with a napkin.

“We were so close. It was like we were siblings. We would fight like cats and dogs, but at the end of the day, he might have been the only person to truly have my back.” He can see in your eyes that you have a million and one regrets. Vergil knows that feeling all too well.

“Then one day, he just left town. He was moving back home, and he left me here. We had always promised to make plans to see one another, but they never came to fruition. Then one day, I got a call from his sister.” You choke up at this, unsure if you can even keep telling the story.

Vergil sits patiently, listening to you and hanging onto your every word. It pains him so much to know you’ve been holding onto this for so long. You sit up a bit more now, and you take a long swig of the coffee. The thought of finishing this story is just too much to bear, but you know you should just finish it and get this all off of your chest.

“She calls me and she tells me…she tells me he’s dead. The police had come to her door and they had told her they found his body. I don’t even know how long he was dead for. I didn’t bother asking.”

Vergil lets a curse fall from his lips and you nod your head. It takes you a few more moments and a few more swigs of coffee before you even try to finish. You tell him how you weren’t even able to go to the funeral, but you had so desperately wanted to. Even now, you wonder if things had been different if you had gone with your friend.

“Oh sparrow,” Vergil whispers softly. He is afraid to do something wrong at this moment. “I’m so sorry you’ve been holding onto these feelings for so long.”

You sniffle softly and you crawl over to him. You wrap your arms around the man in front of you. The one you love so completely. The one who has done all of this just to get your attention and to try to make you feel better. Vergil, the man who has gone through so much in his life, is actually trying to make you feel better.

“I am so lucky to have you in my life, Vergil.” You press a kiss to his lips. Then you lean your forehead to his. “Without you, my life would be so meaningless. And I live my life every day just so I can be with you and love you completely.”

His face turns red at your sweet words. He doesn’t remember the last time he has heard something so kind and loving. Maybe these are the sweetest words he’s ever heard.

“My love,” Vergil begins. “I promise to always be here for you. I may not know what to say or the right thing to do, but please do not shut me out like this again.”

You smile softly and kiss him again, “I promise.” Then there’s a pause. “Anymore donuts?”

With a chuckle, he hands you the bag again to your delight. All is well for now.

#bacon.writes #tw depression #vergil #vergil dmc #vergil devil may cry #vergil x you #vergil x reader #vergil x y/n #vergil fluff #vergil angst #devil may cry #dmc #please read at your own risk

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grimmcheems · 6 months

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The blonde trio after the Quirk War

So I did a continuation of the my previous Villain Aoyama AU art lmao. Ig it’s not rly an AU canonically?? (Though idk how the manga has been handling my boi since I dropped it after his reveal oop) anywayyssssss…..these babies now have to live with new identities and frequently change jobs every year in order to keep a low profile.

Monoma works as a Cab/Taxi driver and street food chef(think like hole in the wall restaurant?/place with frequent customers but within the backstreets of cities) Toga is a Sales Clerk💀(don’t ask how she even managed to get the job, the hiring manager was probably too scared by her aura to refuse her) AND Tutor(don’t ask how she landed that either since she never got to finish high school to begin with) and Aoyama works as a Bartender in a HOST CLUB(Kurogiri helped him land the job and taught him some cool stuff from his experience of working their dingy bar they used to live in with the LOV[which has since been disbanded after the quirk war].

Btw I added the “Kumo/Kuro” bc Shirakumo and Kurogiri get it? Idrk why I decided to add him in last minute but I thought it’d be funny if he pretended/acted to be their dad when they escape during their trial and onto living in the streets (for the sake of being brief: which ends in them faking their own deaths. I thought to make an art of the events leading up to this but who knows how long that will take me or when I’ll get to it🗿it is also pretty gruesome with the way I imagined it for my AU so I’m not sure if many people would even be up for seeing that oop)

They have to frequently dye their hair since they can easily be recognized by just their blonde hair and facial features, which is also why Monoma and Toga wear color contacts. Aoyama doesn’t need them since he wore different colored contacts when he became a student at UA, so there’s no need for them since everyone remembered him to have the color contact eyes instead of his natural green eyes.

They all will work multiple part time jobs to keep up with their rent and budget etc. However there are times where they will all quit to just take time to themselves. They all live together in the same apartment. Everyone also thinks they are dead, so there’s no need for them to really hide, but they’re too traumatized by heroes and their peers(hero students) to not stay in the hidden parts of towns and cities and lowkey jobs. There’s more to that on the “trial” I imagined for them (I dropped the manga some time ago but I heard that my baby Aoyama may POSSIBLY get actual time in prison for his affiliation and that was the forefront of the idea I came up with that they would all go through a trial process as they are still just children)

ALSO, in my AU Aoyama ends up with Dark shadow at some point (don’t question it I’m still trying to figure out how to fit it in so it makes sense👩🏽‍🦯, but they sort of form a bond and Dark Shadow develops depression after his “death”. He does go back to Tokoyami at some point after Aoyama realizes that Toko must be in ruins not having his best bud anymore and ‘gives’ him back?

I also mentioned that this is AFTER the “quirk war” I’m not sure if they actually use that title but from what I remember they distinctly called it that when I last read the manga. I could be wrong though.

One last thing, idk how the whole Oboro thing would work out, since he can use his quirk on command in this(hence the lack of purple mist) but technically he IS dead canonically….LIKE FRFR. Bro ain’t coming back and his body was just harvested and being used, but ignore that for this……he was just in a deep slumber and awoke after breaking out of the high security quirk prison he was in and decided to take care of the three because he would’ve wanted someone to do the same for him when he was younger and “died”.😫🖤

I know I write a lot so I highly doubt anyone read all of this😅but it’s so hard to JUST post my art and NOT WRITE ANYTHING since they all spawn from these ideas I get and I NEED to provide the context lmao Σ('◉⌓◉’)otherwise I feel wack that no one will ever know what I was aiming for lol🥲

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noperopesaredope · 9 months

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My Voltron Self-Insert OC

Recently, I've been choosing to embrace my inner "cringe" and start creating/reviving my more self-indulgent and goofy fan OCs. Specifically, ones that I'd typically feel "embarrassed" for making. I haven't made too many self-insert OCs over the years, however, I have made one or two, and did have a special "can travel between worlds OC" (who turned into a psychosis-induced coping mechanism for depression). Recently, I remembered one of these self-insert OCs of mine, and decided to bring her back to life.

She holds such a special place in my heart, and I can't bring myself to hate her, especially since she was created during a time when I was still discovering a lot of myself. She is actually an early sign of my gender fluidity, as she has a very masculine name with a very feminine appearance and pronouns. But even then, she’ll fuck around with gender. It doesn't matter to her. She was how I first realized that maybe I’m not cis, and I love her for that.

Plus, I lowkey kinda like her as a character? She was just really fun for me to work with. She was also both very similar to me at the time and very different. For example, she used she/her pronouns, as I was still figuring out my pronouns and gender identity at the time, and I prefer making female characters.

Her personality and the way she presents herself is also very different from both how I was then and how I am now. She honestly seems like a completely different person from me, but I still think of her as a self-insert, because that was the intent at the time. She is pretty cringy in some areas and a little bit OP, but even at the time, I tried to tone her down a bit.

So, without further ado, here is my old Voltron self-insert (warning: this is gonna be long):

Daniel Nathaniel!!!

Daniel is the "Orange Paladin". She is a bit complicated in backstory and stuff, so get ready guys, because this is gonna get a bit wild. There were a lot of intentional "holes" in the backstory with a few twists here and there, so I decided to write what I remembered and fill in the blanks with what I thought would be cool and fit.

Plotline:

Daniel Nathaniel was introduced in Season 2 in an episode titled “The Orange Paladin”. It starts where Voltron is battling a fleet of Galra, and is beginning to get overwhelmed. They aren’t completely losing by any means, but in order to win, they just need a tiny bit of backup. Suddenly, out of nowhere, what appears to be another Voltron lion (but a bit smaller and orange) bursts in and starts assisting them. Everyone is shocked, but they continue fighting, and they win the battle. They then manage to contact the person piloting the strange new lion, and tell them to meet up with them on a nearby planet.

The person agrees, and when they all step outside and watch the new lion land, the entrance to the lion opens, and out steps Daniel. She introduces herself and says that she has a lot of explaining to do. They invite her inside the castle, and once they all sit down, Daniel begins telling her “backstory.”

She was once a cadet at the Garrison, and when she heard about the missing cadets, she decided to do some investigating. She ended up discovering the cave where the Blue Lion was originally hidden, and found a few clues related to Voltron. She managed to do some digging on the little bits and pieces of history that gave clues to what the lions even were. This led her to a different remote location where she discovered a secret "arch" type thing that turned out to be a portal to a different planet.

There, she stumbled across the “Orange Lion”, and was able to connect with it. Due to the link between lions and their paladins and the fact that the Orange Lion has more telepathic abilities, Daniel was able to learn more about what exactly Voltron was and what the deal was with the Orange Lion. Allegedly, the Orange Lion was not one of the original lions, but one that was made later as a sort of “power up.”

It didn’t need to be present to form Voltron, it would just be able to attach itself to it and give it extra strength. It was made much later than the others, as a new comet was found around the time Zarkon was beginning to act up. Altean scientists turned it into a small, extra “upgrade” lion that could attach to Voltron, a failsafe for backup due to the escalating conflict. Due to it being finished right near the end of the war, there was no time to find a paladin for it, and it was hidden even further away than the other lions.

Allura and Coran are confused, as they don’t remember any of this. Daniel says that her lion said that Haggar probably messed with everyone’s memories of the Orange Lion so that, in case they managed to get Voltron back together, nobody remembers to look for the Orange Lion. Allura and Coran vaguely recall the Orange Lion, but the memories feel fuzzy and off. However, they don’t question it much.

(Important sidenote: Daniel is lying)

Daniel becomes a member of the team and fights as backup in battle. She also becomes close to the others quite quickly. There are hints here and there of Daniel knowing more than she says, and being in on secrets that she shouldn’t know, but it is continuously brushed off. There are also a lot of holes in her story, especially when she talks about her life before Voltron. In general, there is something incredibly suspicious about her, but it’s just subtle enough for the characters not to question it. However, the show draws just enough attention to these inconsistencies for it to be clear that the viewer is supposed to notice that something is wrong here.

She is wary of Lotor and believes that he is lying, and she says that something feels off about Shiro during Seasons 3-6. There are generally a lot of moments where she appears to know more about people than she lets on.

When everyone learns that Shiro is a clone, they all clearly seem to feel betrayed and want the real Shiro back. But Daniel cautiously argues in favor of the clone, saying that he is currently being mind controlled, and that even if he was kinda being the worst, they still spent a while getting to know Clone Shiro.

For all they know, he himself might not know that he isn’t the real Shiro. Maybe he himself wasn’t real, but the memories were, and she “knows in her heart” that he wasn’t pretending. Every battle they fought together, every memory they made together, every moment of friendship, all of it was genuine. This speech is written to be emotional, but slightly suspicious, as though Daniel is hiding some things.

The other characters begin to suspect that something is up, and it seems like she is speaking for more than just Clone Shiro. They question her a bit, but eventually decide to just leave it be for now. Small side note about the Clone Shiro plotline: we at some point have a scene in the special realm (can’t remember what it’s called) where the souls of OG Shiro and Clone Shiro get to interact. OG Shiro reveals to Clone Shiro that he was a clone. Clone Shiro is clearly distraught by this, and starts having an existential crisis. He understands that OG deserves to come back, but Clone also doesn’t want to disappear.

OG realizes that despite not being the best, Clone still clearly cares about the team, and he is still his own person. OG ends up giving him an offer. They both want to be Shiro. And right now, their team wants OG back, but OG understands that Clone doesn’t deserve to be left behind or erased. So the best solution would be to merge their souls together and become one person. That way, they can both exist and have the best of both worlds. Clone is hesitant at first, but realizes the advantages to this, and he agrees.

They shake hands, and when Shiro wakes up, he reveals to the team that they (evenly, so it isn’t like there is a dominant personality) merged together into one, and he might be a bit different now, but he’s still Shiro. I believe that this allows everything to be mostly the same, but feels less cruel to Clone Shiro and is more sweet. I remember watching it for the first time and being upset by the whole thing, since Clone Shiro clearly wasn’t trying to betray anyone, and he still formed those bonds with the others. So I decided to fix it a bit by explaining it a little further.

Anyways, back to Daniel. During the latter half of the series, it is revealed that Daniel has been lying about everything this whole time. And when I say everything, I mean everything. I might make this occur during the Season 6 finale, soon after Clone Shiro is revealed, making it a bit of a double hit. Partway through the battle at the end of Season 6, during a big and important moment, Daniel is dramatically injured in front of everyone in the fighting.

An important thing to note here is that, despite fighting multiple harsh battles throughout the series, Daniel has never really gotten hurt before, even minor injuries. Things that have hurt the rest of the team don’t hurt her, or she is consistently the quickest to recover, with no notable damage. It’s almost unusual, and may actually be subtly pointed out at some point. It’s often played off as a coincidence, but astute viewers will notice that something is wrong here.

But when Daniel finally gets injured, it’s significant, as she straight up loses an ear, causing her to bleed in excess. It isn’t overly gorey, with her covering that area with her hand, and the injury isn’t focused on, but the blood is clearly there. But instead of red blood, she is bleeding green. She stands there in shock as the other characters present look at the ground to the detached ear, which has turned into what looks like a blue, bat-ear-shaped ear. Daniel looks at the ear, then the others as different areas of her body begin to shift and change into something different, but in a held back way. She is trying to hold it back.

Pidge (who is likely the one standing closest to her, asks “who are you?” Daniel quickly says that she is still Daniel, and that she isn’t a fake version. Pidge then says “well, you clearly aren’t who you pretend you are.” And finally, Daniel admits that the Orange Paladin never really existed, that it was all a lie, and almost everything they knew about her was made up. There is no Fake Daniel, because Daniel was always fake.

She then passes out due to blood loss, and they manage to patch her up while trying to figure out their next steps. When she eventually wakes up, Daniel decides to tell everyone the truth.

She is what’s known as a Mutivesstallus, a member of a species which was nearly wiped out by Zarkon and the Galra. Mutivessallum (the plural for Mutivesstallus) have two primary abilities: shapeshifting and extreme mind powers. They are able to read minds, peer into others’ memories, slightly alter existing memories (though this is harder, and once someone realizes that the memory was false, they will remember the original memory), and generally scan people’s psychies. They can often figure out more about a person than the person knows about themselves. Mutivessallum are often hyper-empathic and very understanding, and have the unfortunate flaw of constantly giving others the benefit of the doubt and being overly forgiving.

Mutivessallum’s shapeshifting is only limited to organic and living species, and they have a harder time shifting into beings that are larger than them. However, with time and practice, a Mutivessallus is able to shift into a large variety of things. Daniel, having lived for a long while (she’s still somewhat young for her species, but has existed for quite a while due to longer lifespans), is relatively experienced enough to shapeshift into something like a human, which is about her size. However, due to me not wanting her to get too OP, she has a harder time shifting into bigger creatures, or can only shift into a select few due to practicing shifting into specific ones with similar biology to her kind.

After many of the Mutivessallum were destroyed, Daniel (who’s real name is something else, but none of the other characters can pronounce it, so she says they can still call her Daniel) was left alone and vengeful. She wished to destroy Zarkon, but didn’t have the means to, and all she could do was wander space and travel to other planets. Then, word spread about Voltron, and Daniel became hopeful. She wanted to help them defeat Zarkon and maybe become a member of their team. For complicated reasons (even before this reveal, she is consistently shown to think in a very different way from everyone else and has an unusual line of logic), she decides to go and find a legendary wish-granting being who is able to create most anything in the universe. Due to already being close to said being, she asks them to help her make a Voltron lion of her own so she can join Voltron and help them.

The being thinks that this is a bad idea, but Daniel manages to convince them to do it, and together, they design something extremely close to a lion that can be semi-compatible with Voltron. The being then grants her wish, and Daniel's beloved ship is transformed into this thing. Daniel believes that the team won’t accept her if she is her real self, so she decides to make a person for herself that will “make them more comfortable around me.” She does some research on humans, and gives herself a unique human form with a false identity. “They will trust another human like them than a random creature like me.”

Upon meeting the team and them beginning to ask questions, Daniel begins to panic, and worries that they will kick her out if they learn the truth about her and her lion. So she lies. She later works on constructing a more stable and well thought out backstory for herself, and using her powers, she manages to trick everyone into believing her story.

Everyone feels extremely betrayed and conflicted, because she has been a legitimately great friend to them, and she seems legitimately sorry. She’s also done a lot of stuff that has gained their trust, and proven that she genuinely wants to be a part of the team. She cares about them and thinks of them as a second family to her, and she fully believes in their cause. The problem is that she lied to them for a long while, and basically gaslit them. They decide not to kick her out, but they do let her know that she’ll need to earn their trust back, and stop lying. From then on, Daniel mostly remains in her true form, and she changes her lion to be its own thing.

This is good, because the Orange Lion was previously slightly messing up the balance between the lions, and it was already basically its own thing. Daniel begins to let her true self show and separates herself from her human persona. But everyone soon realizes that her persona and her true self weren’t completely separate. Yes, her identity was fake, but her personality was not. Some of her human-specific interests were things she used to seem more human, but once she tried them, she genuinely enjoyed them, and even continued to engage in the same hobbies as she did when she was pretending to be human.

Even elements of her fictional life on Earth are not that different from her real life. She had a younger sibling, and most of the stories she told about her friends and family are slightly true, just altered to fit with Earth customs.

About 5 or so episodes into Season 7, a few of the others catch her hanging out in her human form, and she admits that she feels comfortable in it, and that every form she creates for herself feels like one of her “true forms”. Her human form isn’t just a persona, and she confesses that she feels like her real self in both forms. They all agree that she can still go into her human form, she just shouldn’t pretend that she was born a human, and that this is merely one of her alternate forms.

So for the rest of the series, Daniel switches back and forth between forms, and even shifts into other forms that she has taken on in the past. She also is more open about using her powers, letting the others know when she has sensed something with her powers or found out something. She later admits that she feels incredibly free being every version of herself and not hiding anything.

Gradually, the others forgive her, and begin to trust her again, especially since she doesn’t use her powers on them. She still senses their emotions and can subtly read what is generally on their mind, but that is because she can’t turn off that part of her powers. They understand this, and she rarely does anything with any knowledge she has on them. Even though her role in the team has somewhat changed, everyone still feels like she is a part of the team, she is just more similar to Coran or Season 1-2 Allura now.

So, that’s most of what I have for Daniel’s storyline in the series! This post is getting pretty long, so I will soon make a part 2 explaining her personality (which is probably more important than her storyline, but whatever) and her relationships with the other characters. But for now, I hope you liked her.

When I first created Daniel in middle school, I realized that there were lots of holes in her backstory, to the point that I even made it so that the others were suspicious of her. It just didn’t make much sense for there to be another lion, and I always wanted her to pick up on more than she should. I early on had given her mind powers that allowed her to know more than she should, but even then that felt out of place. Slightly later on, but still during middle school, I wanted her to secretly be an alien, but it just added a few more holes. Why wasn’t anyone questioning it?

Then, recently, while coming back to her, I thought, “what if all her odd character traits were the point? What if she was a character who was able to slightly manipulate the world around her so that she could be important to the story? What if she was a slightly meta commentary on how self-inserts will manipulate the entire story and lore in order to make the author feel like they can belong in this fictional world?” I thought that could be pretty fun, so I ran with it. Daniel is not supposed to fit. Her backstory is supposed to not make sense. She is not supposed to be there. That is the point.

However, she doesn’t do all this out of malice. She does it because she wants somewhere to belong. She wants to belong to a specific group of people, she wants to fit in with them and join them on adventures and be cool like them. But she can’t find a way to do that, so she twists the world around her in order to fit into the narrative. I try to be careful about how I present her morality, and how she isn’t a bad person, but she has done something bad by manipulating and lying. It does take some work for the team to forgive her, but they do learn to forgive her, because she changes and grows. And even if her story was fake, the bonds were real. Her personality is real. Even her fake identity has some genuineness to it.

I really loved working on her, especially the meta aspect of her story, and I enjoy writing about her and her interactions with the team. She is a sweetheart who is flawed and messy, and even though she can be a bit of a Mary Sue, I don’t really care. Plus, that is the idea. She is supposed to be a Mary Sue on a narrative level, and even then, she breaks some of the conventions because her actions have consequences and she fails frequently.

So she is generally a fun character to me, and I hope other people think she’s interesting. But at the end of the day, she was born a self-indulgent self insert, and I don’t really care if people think she is cringy. I enjoyed writing about her, and I hope to make more art of her, since she was really fun to draw. I hope some of ya’ll are willing to hear more about her. Stay tuned if you’re curious!

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