#the title makes no fucking sense god
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Spider-Man India, but... where from India?
A SUPER long post featuring talks of: cultural identity, characterisation, the caste system, and what makes Spider-Man Spider-Man.
I’m prefacing this by saying that I am a second-generation immigrant. I was born in Australia, but my cultural background is from South India. My experiences with what it means to be “Indian” is going to be very different from the experiences of those who are born and brought up in India.
If you, reader, want to add anything, please reblog and add your thoughts. This is meant to be a post open for discussion — the more interaction we get, the better we become aware of these nuances.
So I made this poll asking folks to pick a region of India where I would draw Pavitr Prabhakar in their cultural wear. This idea had been on my mind for a long while now, as I had been inspired by Annie Hazarika’s Northeastern Spidey artwork in the wake of ATSV’s release, but never got the time to actually do it until now. I wanted to get a little interactive and made the poll so I could have people choose which of the different regions — North, Northeast, Central, East, West, South — to do first.
The outcome was not what I expected. As you can see, out of 83 votes:
THE RESULTS
South India takes up almost half of all votes (44.6%), followed by Northeast and Central (both 14.5%) and then East (13.3%). In all my life growing up, support towards or even just the awareness of South India was pretty low. Despite this being a very contained poll, why would nearly half of all voters pick South India in favour of other popular choices like Central or North India?
Then I thought about the layout of the poll: Title, Options, Context.
Title: "Tell us who you want to see…"
Options: North, Northeast, Central, East, West, South
Context: I want to make art of the boy again
At first I thought: ah geez. this is my fault. I didn't make the poll clear enough. do they think I want them to figure out where Pavitr came from? That's not what I wanted, maybe I should have added the context before the options.
Then I thought: ah geez. is it my fault for people not reading the entire damn thing before clicking a button? That's pretty stupid.
But regardless, the thought did prompt a line of thinking I know many of us desi folk have been considering since Spider-Man India was first conceived — or, at least, since the announcement that he was going to appear in ATSV. Hell, even I thought of it:
Where did Spider-Man India come from?
FROM A CULTURALLY DIVERSE INDIA
As we know, India is so culturally diverse, and no doubt ATSV creators had to take that into account. Because the ORIGINAL Spider-Man India came from Mumbai — most likely because Mumbai and Manhattan both started with the same letter.
But going beyond that, it’s also because Mumbai is one of the most recognisable cities in India - it’s also known as Bombay. It’s where Bollywood films are shot. It’s where superstar Hindi actors and actresses show up. Mumbai is synonymous with India in that regard, because the easiest way Western countries can interact with Indian culture is through BOLLYWOOD, through HINDI FILMS, through MUMBAI. Suddenly, India is Mumbai, India is a Hindi-only country, India is just this isolated thing we see through an infinitely narrow lens.
We’ve gotten a little better in recent years, but boy I will tell you how uncomfortable I’ve gotten when people (yes, even desi people) come up to me and tell me, Oh, you’re Indian right? Can you speak Hindi? Why don’t you speak Hindi? You’re not Indian if you don’t speak Hindi, that’s India’s national language!
I have been — still am — so afraid of telling people that I don’t speak Hindi, that I’m Tamil, that I don’t care that Hindi is India’s “national” language (it’s an administrative language, Kavin, get your fucking facts right). It’s weird, it’s isolating, and it has made me feel like I wasn’t “Indian” enough to be accepted into the group of “Indian” people.
So I am thankful that ATSV went out of their way to integrate as much variety of Indian culture into the Mumbattan sequence. Maybe that way, the younger generation of desi folk won’t feel so isolated, and that younger Western people will be more open to learning about all these cultural differences within such a vast country.
BUT WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH SPIDER-MAN INDIA?
Everything, actually. There’s a thing called supremacy. You might have heard of it. We all engaged with it at some point, and if you are Indian, no matter where you live, it is inescapable.
It happens the moment you are born — who your family is, where you are born, the language you speak, the colour of your skin; these will be bound to you for life, and it is nigh impossible to break down the stereotypes associated with them.
Certain ethnic groups will be more favourable than others (Centrals, and thus their cultures, will always be favoured over than Souths, as an example) and the same can be said for social groups (Brahmins are more likely to secure influential roles in politics or other areas like priesthood, while the lowers castes, especially Dalits, aren’t even given the decency of respect). Don’t even get me started on colourism, where obviously those of fairer skin will win the lottery while those of darker skin aren’t given the time of day. It’s even worse when morality ties into it — “lighter skinned Indians, like Brahmins, embody good qualities like justice and wisdom”, “dark skinned Indians are cunning and poor, they are untrustworthy”. It’s fucking nuts.
This means, of course, you have a billion people trying to make themselves heard in a system that tries to crush everyone who is not privileged. It only makes sense that people want to elevate themselves and break free from a society that refuses to acknowledge them. These frustrations manifest outwardly, like in protests, but other times — most times — it goes unheard, quietly shaping your way of life, your way of thinking. It becomes a fundamental part of you, and it can go unacknowledged for generations.
So when you have a character like Pavitr Prabhakar enter the scene, people immediately latch onto him and start asking questions many Western audiences don’t even consider. Who is he? What food does he eat? What does he do on Fridays? What’s his family like, his community? All these questions pop up, because, amidst all this turmoil going on in the background, you want a mainstream popular character to be like you, who knows your way of life so intimately, that he may as well be a part of your community.
BUT THAT'S THE THING — HE'S FICTIONAL
I am guilty of this. In fact, I’ve flaunted in numerous posts how I think he’s the perfect Tamil boy, how he dances bharatanatyam, how he does all these Tamil things that no one will understand except myself. All these niche things that only I, and maybe a few others, will understand.
I’ve seen other people do it, too. I’ve seen people geek out over his dark brown skin, his kalari dhoti, how he fights so effortlessly in the kalaripayattu martial arts style. I’ve seen people write him as Malayali, as Hindi, as every kind of Indian person imaginable.
I’ve also seen him be written where he’s subjected to typical Indian and broader Asian stereotypes. You know the ones I’m so fond of calling out. The thing is, I’ve seen so much of Pavitr being presented in so many different ways, and I worry how the rest of the desi folk will take it.
You finally have a character who could be you, but now he’s someone else’s plaything. Your entire life is shaped by what you can and can’t do simply because you were born to an Indian family, and here’s the one person who could represent you now at the mercy of someone else’s whims. He’s off living a life that is so distant from yours, you can hardly recognise him.
It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, yeah? But, again, you’re looking at it from that infinitely narrow lens Westerners use to look at India from Bollywood.
AND PAVITR PRABHAKAR DOESN'T LIVE IN INDIA
He lives in Mumbattan. He lives in a made-up, fictional world that doesn’t follow the way of life of our world. He lives in a city where Mumbai and Manhattan got fucking squashed together. There are so many memes about colonialism right there. Mumbattan isn’t real! Spider-Man India isn’t real!! He’s just a dude!! The logic of our world doesn’t apply to him!!!
“But his surname originates from ______” okay but does that matter?
“But he’s wearing a kalari dhoti so surely he’s ______” okay but does that matter?
“But his skin colour is darker so he must be ______” okay but does that matter?
“But he lives in Mumbai so he must be ______” okay but does that matter?
I sound insensitive and brash and annoying and it looks like I’m yapping just for the sake of riling you up, so direct that little burst of anger you got there at me, and keep reading.
Listen. I’m going to ask you a question that I’ve asked myself a million times over. I want you to answer honestly. I want you to ask this question to yourself and answer honestly:
Are you trying to convince me on who Pavitr Prabhakar should be?
...
but why shouldn't i?
I’ll tell you this again — I did the same thing. You’re not at fault for this, but I want you to just...have a little think over. Just a little moment of self-reflection, to think about why you are so intent on boxing this guy.
It took me a while to reorganise my thinking and how to best approach a character like Pavitr, so I will give you all the time you need as well as a little springboard to focus your thoughts on.
SPIDER-MAN (INDIA) IS JUST A MASK
“What I like about the costume is that anybody reading Spider-Man in any part of the world can imagine that they themselves are under the costume. And that’s a good thing.”
Stan Lee said that. Remember how he was so intent on making sure that everybody got the idea that Spider-Man as an entity is fundamentally broken without Peter Parker there to put on the suit and save the day? That ultimately it was the person beneath the mask, no matter who they were, that mattered most?
Spider-Man India is no less different. You can argue with me that Peter Parker!Spidey is supposed to represent working class struggles in the face of leering corporate entities who endanger the regular folk like us, and so Pavitr Prabhakar should also function the same way. Pavitr should also be a working class guy of this specific social standing fighting people of this other social standing.
But that takes away the authenticity of Spider-Man India. Looking at him through the Peter Parker lens forces you to look at him through the Western lens, and it significantly lessens what you can do with the character — suddenly, it’s a fight to be heard, to be seen, to be recognised. It’s yelling over each other that Pavitr Prabhakar is this ethnicity, is that caste, this or that, this or that, this or that.
There’s a reason why he’s called Spider-Man India, infuriatingly vague as it is. And that’s the point — the vagueness of his identity fulfils Lee’s purpose for a character that could theoretically be embodied by anyone. If he had been called “Spider-Man Mumbai”, you cut out a majority of the population (and in capitalist terms, you cut out a good chunk of the market).
And in the case of Spider-Man India? Whew — you’ve got about a billion people imagining a billion different versions of him.
Whoever you are, whatever you see in Pavitr, that is what is personal to you, and there is nothing wrong with that, and I will not fault you for it. I will not fault you for saying Pavitr is from Central due to the origins of his last name. I also will not fault you for saying Pavitr is from South due to him practising kalaripayattu. I also will not fault you for saying he is not Hindu. I also will not fault you for saying he is a particular ethnicity without any proof.
What I will fault you for is trying to convince me and the others around you that Pavitr Prabhakar should be this particular ethnicity/have this cultural background because of some specific reason. I literally don’t care and it is fundamentally going against his character, going against the “anyone can wear the mask” sentiment of Spider-Man. By doing this, you are strengthening the walls that first divided us. You’re feeding the stratification and segmentation of our cultures — something that is actually not present in the fictional world of Mumbattan.
Like I said before: Mumbattan isn’t real, so the divides between ethnicities and cultural backgrounds are practically nonexistent. The best thing is that it is visually there for all to see. My favourite piece of evidence is this:
It’s a marquee for a cinema in the Mumbattan sequence, in the “Quick tour: this is where the traffic is” section. It has four titles; the first three are written in Hindi. The fourth title is written in Tamil. You go to Mumbai and you won’t see a single shred of Tamil there, much less any other South Indian language. Seeing this for the first time, you know what went through my head?
Wow, the numerous cultures of India are so intermingled here in Mumbattan! Everyone and everything is welcome!
I was happy, not just because of Tamil representation, but because of the fact that the plethora of Indian cultures are showcased coexisting in such a short sequence. This is India embracing all the little parts that make up its grander identity. This scene literally opened my eyes seeing such beauty in all the diverse cultures thriving together. In a place where language and cultural backgrounds blend so easily, each one complementing one another.
It is so easy to believe that, from this colourful palette of a setting, Pavitr Prabhakar truly is Spider-Man India, no matter where he comes from.
It’s easy to believe that Pavitr can come from any part of India, and I won’t call you out if the origin you have for him is different from the origin I have. You don’t need to stake out territory and stand your ground — you’re entitled to that opinion, and I respect it. In fact, I encourage it!!!
Because there’s only so much you can show in a ten minute segment of a film about a country that has such a vast history and even greater number of cultures. I want to see all of it — I want him to be a Malayali boy, a Hindi boy, a Bengali boy, a Telugu boy, an Urdu boy, whatever!! I want you to write him or draw him immersed in your culture, so that I can see the beauty of your background, the wonderful little things that make your culture unique and different from mine!
And, as many friends have said, it’s so common for Indian folks to be migrating around within our own country. A person with a Maharashtrian surname might end up living in Punjab, and no one really minds that. I’m actually from Karnataka, my family speaks Kannada, but somewhere down the line my ancestors moved to Tamil Nadu and settled down and lived very fulfilling lives. So I don’t actually have the “pure Tamil” upbringing, contrary to popular belief; I’ve gotten a mix of both Kannada and Tamil lifestyles, and it’s made my life that much richer.
So it’s common for people to “not” look like their surname, if that’s what you’re really afraid about. In fact, it just adds to that layer of nuance, that even despite these rigid identities between ethnicities we as Indian people still intermingle with one another, bringing slivers of our cultures to share with others. Pavitr could just as well have been born in one state and moved around the country, and he happens to live in Mumbattan now. It’s entirely possible and there’s nothing to disprove that.
We don’t need to clamber over one another declaring that only one ethnicity is the “right” ethnicity, because, again, you will be looking at Pavitr and the rest of India in that narrow Western lens — a country with such rich cultural variety reduced to a homogenous restrictive way of life.
THE POLL: REINTERPRETED
This whole thing started because I was wondering why my little poll was so skewed — I thought people assumed I was asking them where he came from, then paired his physical appearance with the most logical options available. I thought it was my fault, that I had somehow influenced this outcome without knowing.
Truth is, I will never really know. But I will be thankful for it, because it gave me the opportunity to finally broach this topic, something that many of us desi folk are hesitant to talk about. I hope you have learned something from this, whether you are desi or a casual Spider-Man fan or someone who just so happened to stumble upon this.
So just…be a little more open. Recognise that India, like many many countries and nations, is made up of a plethora of smaller cultures. And remember, if you’re trying to convince Pavitr that he’s a particular ethnicity, he’s going to wave his hand at you and say, “Ha, me? No, I’m one of the people that live here in the best Indian city! I’m Spider-Man India, dost!”
(Regardless, he still considers you a friend, because to him, the people matter more to him than you trying to box him into something he’s not.)
#long post + more tags that kinda spiral away BUT expand on the points above AND kinda puts everything together concisely#BROS THIS IS AN HONEST TO GOD ESSAY#THAT HAS BEEN COOKING IN MY HEART FOR A WHILE NOW. SIMMERING FOR MONTHS BEFORE FINALLY BOILING OVER IN THE LAST WEEK#genuinely hope you read MOST of it because yes it has Quite A Lot Of Exposition but it all matters nonetheless#put in a lot of thought into this so i expect you to do your part and challenge your thoughts as well#you see how i'm not asking for you to listen to me. but to actually Think. i want you to cook your thoughts and add some spice and flavour#and give it a good mix so you can come out of this a little more wiser than before#because!!! yeah!!!! spider man india is just that!! he's indian!!!!! we don't need to collectively agree on where he comes from#bc it gets rid of that relatability factor of spider man. at the most basic level#think of it as a schrodinger's. he is every single culture and none of them at the same time. therefore none of us are wrong!! sick!!!!#pavitr's first priority is making sure HIS PEOPLE are safe. that's probably as far as we can go that relates him back to peter parker spide#he loves his people and working in the name of justice to FIGHT for HIS PEOPLE is just the duty/responsibility he takes up#it makes sense that he loves everyone and every culture he engages with bc that's the nature of spider man i suppose#if peter parker spidey acts as the guardian for the regular folk.. then in my mind pavitr spidey stands as the bridge uniting the people#because society as its core is very fragmented. and having pavitr act as a connection to other folks.... mmmmm beautiful#that's what i'm talking abouttttt !!!#anyways guys this is literally 3001 words on my document EXCLUDING THE TITLE. THAT'S 7 PAGES AT 11pt FONT. i'm literally cryingggg wtf#pavitr prabhakar#spider man#spider man india#desi#desiblr#atsv#across the spiderverse#atsv pavitr#indian culture#india#desi tumblr#what the fuck do i tag this as#agnirambles
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yknow what, fuck it I’m gonna burn mclaren to the ground my fucking self
FUCK ‘EM ALL
#anti mclaren#drive to survive#daniel ricciardo#dts#f1#I’ve skimmed some episodes bc let’s be real im not emotionally equipped to deal w it all I watched the Ferrari ep and it broke my heart#for sharl#I haven’t touched mick’s ep bc I cried seeing the stupid title#and so now I’m halfway though dans ep and ohhhhhh how the pr puff pieces make sense from the orange uggos#also norris like I had no hope but Jesus duck this kid likes lowering the bar#that’s only 12 mins in too I’ve got 20left 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠#I’m gonna be dehydrated by the end of this I just know it#joey rambles#ALSO HE FUCKING COVERED THEIR ASSES FOR THE OTHER DRIVERS TOO EVEN THO HE DIDNT HAVE TO DO THAT LIKE HE GOT TOTALLY BLINDSIDED AND STILL#GAVE THEM GRACE MY FUCKING GOD#they truly never fucking deserved his presence
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☕
The live action Scooby-Doo movies?
I did not see this ask until RIGHT now (first time on desktop since crab day, second time since Nov 5 2020 [which was DOUBLY experience since I got my phone taken the same day]) so I'm going to assume this ask got eaten on mobile because tumblr, HOWEVER you poked a bear with this ask anon (as I'm sure you knew when asking) SO without further ado: my Scooby Doo live action opinions
So when you say 'live action Scooby-Doo movies' I'm assuming you're talking about the James Gunn films, starting with Scooby-Doo (2002) followed by Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed, just due to like, generally popularity and also the fact that I have actually seen those films. However shoot another ask if you wanted me to include Curse of the Lake Monster in this (because I will if anyone cares and turn this into a live-action scooby dissertation, i'd just need to like. watch the movie first) But anyways where I'm going with this is that this post is about the Gunn movies aka the ones with SMG, Freddie Prinze Jr., Linda Cardellini, and ofc our #1 man, Matthew Lilliard.
Okay so my take on these movies is... complicated. I wouldn't say it's as complicated as my feelings towards SDMI, because I watched the live actions way less as a kid and generally care less about them, but still no matter how much shit I throw at these two movies there are parts that I generally like (even love) that stops me from totally condemning them wholesale. Like the fact that these movies are FUNNY! There's so many moments from this duology that are just beyond iconic "like, that's one of my favorite names!" the whole thing with Scooby in the dress at the airport, ET. CETERA (like I can go on!)
The Gunn movies are genuinely SO fun and I can 100% see and understand how they've stood so well in the public view as a representation of Scooby. HOWEVER, this is where you start to see my problems with them. For the general American, (because that is the audience I'm familiar with) ESPECIALLY millennials and younger, who happen to make up the majority of both people on this site AND people I talk about Scooby with in real life, these movies, and the elements they introduced as "quintessential scooby tropes" are the base of their understanding of the Scooby franchise, along with likely some miscellaneous WAY episodes and maybe SDMI.
Which is where I get pissed off. In the pushing of the narrative of "breaking away" from the Scooby norm, Gunn basically invents (aka totally makes up) an idea of what classic era Scooby was like, cementing an idea of classic Scooby into the public mind that is totally disingenuous and just straight up false. For example, in attempting to portray Daphne as having taken strides to be seen more seriously in solving mysteries and defending herself, it pushes the narrative that in the classic era she WASN'T taken seriously, and only existed as a damsel-in-distress prop of a character, which is just not true??? Like yes, Daphne is clumsy, that's a part of her character, and her friends (because, fun fact, the gang ARE friends) joke about it sometimes because that's what friends DO. Framing that in some kind of sexist "that's all she does" lens is just total bull, especially as gang members fall into secret passageways/get lost etc. in WAY ALL THE DAMN TIME because that's how the plot functions! Like are we calling Velma ditzy for losing her glasses every other episode? Of course not, and Fred falls into passageways all the time, not to MENTION Shaggy and Scooby and all they get up to. Also one last thing on the topic of Daphne, like this idea of her mystery solving skills not being respected by the gang is just so supremely bullshit it amazes me sometimes, especially when she was the LEADER (or leader adjacent) through pretty much all of her appearances in the 1980s [Not that James Gunn could look at '80s era Scooby without spitting on it, but I digress]
AND THIS IS JUST DAPHNE! Like the perceptions pushed towards Fred (and Velma, but mostly Fred) through these movies are just as bad! Like okay, with Fred---In these movies Fred is just an asshole. I hate Gunn Movies!Fred. I mean yeah he can be funny but it's almost always so mean! Almost nothing makes me madder than a mean Fred by the way. If he's putting other gang members down (even halfway, like with his whole "dorky chicks like you turn me on too" line, which... ew) then to me something has gone very, very, VERY, wrong in your basic understanding of Frederick Herman Jones as a character. Like he's the cheerleader! He puts himself in between his friends and danger! He loves nets, and traps, and Elvis impressions, and wrestling, and the trapeze, and cars, and most of all he LOVES sharing the things he loves with his friends! (Sometimes to a bit of an extreme. No one wants to hear about your net facts, Fred) And the live action movies just don't understand that at all. And I know there's maybe something to say I suppose in that some of those aspects of his characterization hadn't been "established yet" by the time "Scooby-Doo" came out in 2002. But it's there if you look. For Fred Jones, being the leader means being the caretaker, (he's the Mom friend what can I say) and any version where he's cruel and arrogant and just DOESN'T CARE about his friends in the way he's shown to in the Gunn movies is just so far from Fred to me it's not even funny. And what makes it even worse for me is that this (or at least something similar) is the idea of Fred that has really spread to the popular culture. Just the "leader", the jock that makes the rules, the one that [insert X adaptation here] finally gave a personality and made interesting (something that has been said more times than I can count for pretty much every gang member, save Shaggy and Scooby).
And I haven't even touched on Velma, and how they gave her a bit of a early 2000s smart superiority girl complex against Daphne, plus the whole makeover thing and etc. etc. The Gunn Movies are pretty much what would happen if you took someone who hadn't seen Scooby since they were 7 years old (and honestly had a pretty negative outlook against it then) and tried to "fix" it, only his memory was so bad he just made up problems (and threw in a good helping of early 2000s style sexism with it) convincing pretty much the entirety of the popular culture that said problems exist and that Gunn was absolutely brilliant for fixing them (and then bringing up said "problems" whenever anyone wants to talk about Scooby) and this entire rant has been without even fucking MENTIONING what is probably the reason you, anonymous tumblr user sent this ask in the first place, to I, Swishy "Scrappy Doo Redemption Arc" Broke-on-books (dot tumblr dot com), which is his HIGHLY SUCESSFUL and utterly sadistic character assassination of my number one man, Scrappy Doo.
And I am going to try my damnedest here not to get totally into my highly passionate opinions over what James Gunn did to Scrappy in the first of his Scooby movies and how thoroughly it has pissed me the fuck off because I have been writing this post for over an hour now and if we start to really get into my feelings on this topic it will certainly be a couple of hours more but like. That Fucking Bitch. I give James Gunn personally a solid eighty-five percent of the blame for making my life as a Scrappy Doo fan UTTERLY unbearable with this stupid fucking movie alone, and just his Scrappy crimes would honestly be enough for me to say that I hate this movie, not even considering the numerous Scooby crimes I've been talking about here for the past million paragraphs, but the part about this movie that makes me the MOST mad the most pissed off is that it's actually a good fucking movie. James Gunn wrote two hilarious and entertaining movies that have become beloved in the popular culture for their successes in that arena, while at the same time pissing all over the core themes and messages of the franchise of which it was based, that of friendship.
TLDR; The Live Action Scooby Doo movies (written by James Gunn) are highly entertaining and fun pieces of media to watch, and are widely loved by the general public and looked at with fondness and nostalgia because of that. However, as a hardcore Scooby Doo fan (writing that phrase sounds so ridiculous but oh well) the existence of these movies and their impact on the popular culture can be extremely frustrating (despite any personal nostalgia said fan may have) due to their spreading of a misinformed picture of what "typical Scooby Doo" looks like. This picture is especially frustrating due to the fabrication or exaggeration of problems present in classic Scooby (such as sexism in regards to the girls), as well as giving more ammunition to other problems in Scooby fandom (such as oversexualization, and sexualization in general, which no one wants to see in regards to their children's cartoons, like HONESTLY.) Discussions of sexism and sexualization in Scooby (both of which ARE present and are issues, although not at their worst in WAY) can often lead to an overlooking of the issues that are very present and clear in WAY and have continued since then with far too little resistance (I'm 100% talking about the racism here) HOWEVER that topic deserves at least a dozen posts of its own that I am no way informed or qualified enough to even begin to think about writing. The Gunn Movies are frustrating to many longtime Scooby fans because of these reasons, but for me, and fellow Scrappy Doo fans there is also the added aspect of the demonization of Scrappy Doo in the live action movies and the affects that has had on the popular culture as well, making it uniquely inhospitable to like or enjoy the character of Scrappy. End post.
#that last sentence is such a weird tone jump btw but its because the topic flowed one way and i had to jump it back to a summary to actually#finish this monster of a post#SO anon i hope you're happy with this and this makes my opinion make some more sense. and you or anyone else is more than welcome to ask me#questions about anything i said here or my opinion on any and everything scooby related (and not) so if theres a specific aspect of this yo#would like expanded on i can definitely 100% do that for you or anyone who cares#also there are many complexities towards my feelings on these movies that i didnt get to hit on despite the monstrous size of this rant (il#check word count later but im not gonna fuck with it now because im terrified of deleting this post by accident) one of which is my lasting#fondness towards all of the actors in this movie. YES including freddie prinze jr. i may have major issues with his fred but hes also playe#characters i really really like. for example hes the va in this tv show i LOVE and havent watched in like 10 months despite the fact im on#the last season because freddie's character dies in like 7 episodes and i am NOT AT ALL emotionally prepared for that on any level because#that is my fictional father goddamnit!!!!!#also every buffy the vampire slayer gifset that crosses my dash gets me closer and closer to watching it because oh my god daphne!!!!! that#sarah michelle gellar thats daphne oh my god!!!! also i went and saw guardians of the galaxy 3 with my friend (despite not having seen a#marvel movie in 2+ years AND holding a grudge over james gunn's scooby doo crimes)[the things you do for {platonic} love amirite?]#and the title sequence SAID linda cardellini was in it and i got SO excited i was looking everywhere for her it was like wheres waldo in th#discount movie theatre FOR REAL and i just could NOT for the life of me find her (turns out she was VAing the ferret) so in a way linda mad#me cry with that role. whatever. istg i get so off topic i forget what i was even talking about but ANYWAYS <<<1 of my fave english words b#dubs (my favorite spanish word is el amanacer btw. it means sunrise. also burbujas because its bubbles and saying it sounds like bubbles#popping) BUT. AS I WAS SAYING. SEND ME ASKS IF YOU WANT SCOOBY DOO OPINIONS. DEAR GOD I GET SCATTERBRAINED SOMETIMES.#scooby doo#answered#anonymous#blah
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Does Jiro has ghost like abilities (possession, ability to levitate things, etc etc) or does she just live in Shiro's head?
when i created this au, i thought the best option would be for her to be unable to interact with the physical world in any way(including possesion), beacuse i really wanted to lean into her isolation and how it affects her....... and while thats something i still want to emphasise here, lately ive been toying with the idea of jiro being able to impact the physical world somehow(though it still being fairly limited). i think letting her have some control could have a lot of potential! buuuut i also have no idea what abilities i want her to have lol
For now i think im not gonna give her any telekinetic abilities, bc i feel like it would be giving her too much power......... if she could throw shit, shed go APESHIT with it. it would made things too easy for her. i'm sorry babygirl but i'm NOT giving you the possibilty to throw knives and other sharp objects, i dont trust you to not kill someone:/
i really like the idea of her being able to temporarily posses her old body in certain circumstances tho- maybe when shiros uncouncious?? or like when hes is very tired or heavily injured she can kind of 'squeeze through' and take control back for a few minutes???? idk. i think this could be a very cool ability to give her- it cant be frequently used but can also be very helpful, and also theres so much potential for ✨shenanigans✨here>:) oh god i could put these fuckers in so many Situations with this..........
uhhh. so basically i think all of her influence on the physical world are through shiro. shes here bc of her connection to her old body, and thus its the only way for her to interact with anyone besides him- and shes NOT HAPPY about this(neither is shiro).
#ask#thank you for this ask!! it made me think more in depth about jiros abilities and come up with this so thanks<33333#if you have any ideas pls share them with me cause im still not really 100% set on everything lol#also im making a new tag for this au ->#two distasters au#bc. theres two of them.. and theyre both Mentally Unwell#also im gonna use this ask as an excuse to ramble about jiros motivation and character a bit-#okay. so i feel like the most importrant things about jiro are her tunnel vision and self-rightiousness#she gets really focused on one thing at a time and then fixates on it so much that she doesnt see how her behavior affects others#so when she gets evicted from her own body her first reaction isnt 'oh god this is such a messed up and dehumanizing thing to do to your#friend. what the FUCK guys'#its instead 'oh COME ON how am i supposed to be the black paladin without a physical body??? what the FUCK guys'#and bc deep down she KNOWS that if she ever stopped and thought about her situation for like 5 seconds shed just fuckin BREAK. so. she#doesnt do that.#and bc her self worth hinges on being the black paladin#she is really protective of tha title and tries her hardest to make sure shiro knows just how much better at paladin-ing she is than him#and that he wouldnt be able to keep the role without her help#she doesnt have any sense of personhood besides her job and so she clings to it desperately#the same applies to her gender#when jiro gets a new body(did i mention that???? i feel like i forgot to mention that. whoopsie???) he#(sometimes im gonna use he/him for jiro for when im showing things from a certain characters perspective cause thats what pronouns#she was using at the time)(if thats not okay i can stop tho) was trying very hard to pretend that hes just Shiro No. 2 and nothing more#to kinda 'make things easier for everyone' and bc he could FEEL the gender crisis approaching and was just. dead set on ignoring it and#hoping those feelings would go away(spoiler- they very much didnt. it just made things so so much Worse)#so anyway. basically jiro is a person obsesed with being Good Enough and respected but also lacks the experience patience and foresight#wnich results in her ignoring everyone and everything else to focus on doing her job Correctly#does this makes sense?? im still figuring shit out with her but thats what ive got rn
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#candace#i like genshin but they gotta stop with the whitewashing and orientalism on god#if mihoyo really wants to go all global they should provide people with the decent and respectual representation that they deserve#i know i'm just saying words but come on#i think one of the most popular games of like all time should know a little better#especially with all the research and information provided nowadays#to make this extremely simple kandake was a title provided to nubian queens a very long time ago#(so naming a character literally candace (the latinized version) doesn't even make any sense)#also none of them ever seemed light-skinned in the slightest so#and with people knowing better and calling them out on this stuff#LITERALLY you could just make up your own little oc like always oh my god#i mean their demographic of fapping otakus is never gonna give a fuck but like#it literally doesn't mean what they're doing isn't absolute dogshit#it literally doesn't mean that people don't care#i know it's a cool fantasy game where cool fantasy stuff happens#i just think they can do a lot better and it wouldn't hurt to try#genshin impact#genshin candace#genshin impact candace
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the true comic reading order is you just read the ones you’ve heard of and then you go online and find people saying stuff you can make neither head nor tail of and then you read the comics they talk about in their meaningless-to-you ramblings until you get a clue what’s going on
#it’s how i made sense of the dweu and By God it’s the way i’m gonna make sense of dc#admittedly i had a pretty good head start on dweu by virtue of having watched the show#and since batman is in like ten comics at any given time there’s not Exactly a Defininitive Batman Comic#i guess the title comic but sometimes they put Big Events into other comics so like#idk if it counts as THEE definitive one#maybe it does#i don’t have a fuck what’s going on
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once again losing my mind bc nobody I know reads the same things I do and I need to talk abt them
#anyway. strange the dreamer and muse of nightmares by laini taylor. holy god.#i didn't like her first series that much (fantasy wars always bore me) but this one. my god this one.#lazlo has every single trait i love in protagonists and the 'villain' (not really a villain but the one they have to fight again)#is so so so fucked up. the story is sooo fucked up. and its so good.#what the gods did to the people and what eril-fane did in revenge. jesus christ#it is super rare that a book can be fucked up enough (and have writing skilled enough to make me FEEL it) to shock me. like. i read a LOT#okay maybe im exaggerating a LITTLE but that first chapter in minya's perspective? my god#the gore and the horror and knowing what the gods did and the screaming#'they were all i could carry' haunts me.#anyways. read daughter of smoke and bone (awful title but the books have promise) first and THEN read this#bc there's a reveal at the end that is Important and will only make sense if you read the first series#anyways. lazlo is perfect in every way and i am taking notes. laini taylor please don't write any more fantasy war fiction please#i love your writing so much but grand novel-sprawling fantasy wars have been beaten to death#lazlo strange........my beloved.........the dreamer........... .#also the description of sarai screaming moths was chilling. you ever read something so masterfully done it gives you goosebumps#UGH ! I AM ALIVE TO READ AND THAT'S IT !!!!#GoodNight.
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Imagine you're me, about to listen to the new Magnus Protocol episode. You see the title is "Getting Off" and you chuckle to yourself. Then you immediately feel bad because no, you just have a dirty mind. Johnny and Alex are trying to craft a serious, complex, and horrifying story that hopes to surpass its amazing predecessor and you're laughing. Grow up me. Getting off is probably referring to a train or a bus -- maybe even a boat! Yeah that makes sense, because the last statement we had was ocean-themed. Cool, now that we got that cleared up, let's press play--
And the episode is about a fucking killer mascot going to a strip club. God I hate it here.
#this is untrue I love it here this might be fav episode yet#but the emotional roller coaster the name alone caused me is crazy#the magnus protocol#tmagp#tma#mr bonzo
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Remember when there was a non-title women's match on a PPV
#aew#TK was so god damn close to beating the allegations#the Allegations being 'TK does not care about womens wrestling'#but now we got a main title plot line that makes no fucking sense and/or sucks#and a secondary title languishing because they didnt change the booking when kris got hurt.#like theyll shoehorn in some bullshit for jade for the PPV but they should have done something six fucking months ago when kris got hurt#instead of waiting for an indeterminate time to progress the title#bark bark bark bark.
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just realized that the recent change in many libraries in the past few decades is bc administration stopped hiring librarians and ppl with an mls and are now hiring ppl with business degrees and people who worked for major corporations like no wonder the collection has been weeded significantly and there's no longer an emphasis on the educational aspect of the library and instead it's all about circulation numbers and how many people daily we can get through the door and how many programs we can run and how many people are going to them. like to them it's all about having an excel sheet with flashy numbers instead of providing resources for the local community, you know, like libraries were created for. im just
#it all makes so much sense now i wanna scream#not to mention so many directors of libraries are trying to add 'ceo' to their title mf ceo of what!!!#you're in charge of a library you're not a goddamn ceo!!! fuck off!!!!#in all reality i really do love my job but god. it's always so scary to see where libraries are heading#p
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Okay, as I have mentioned, I'm Ace AF. And you know that plot line in kids cartoons where the alien or foreign Warrior Royalty just sort of *violently kicks down door in full armor* "We Will Marry."? I?? Always said:
"Sure!" (#OhThankFUCK!)
Like what do you mean "No"? The powerful, attractive, monarch that is very into you has travel a great distance JUST to marry you! Now you don't have to date! They seem nice! You can skip the whole "trying to find a life partner" awkwardness.
So, Sudden New Fiancee(tm) how we doing this? Blended customs? Two weddings? One in your peoples traditions, one in mine? Should we invite your family? Tell me more about yourself.
God, this solves just... SO MUCH for me? No having to make small talk. No "do they like me?" Or "am I reading the signs here right?" No failed dates! It's positively ideal! AND they announced why they were qualified, in a VERY impressive show of power and prestige, when they arrived! Good lineage AND accomplished!! Very nice.
Don't get why everyone's so upset.
Sure the "we leave at once" thing that usually follows would have to be discussed, but that's what you DO as spouses. Really guys, it's like you think I'm incapable of common sense here.
And you know who probably agrees with me? Damian Wayne.
Hell is other people, INDEED. You expect him to just... randomly go up to people and try Courting them? What do you MEAN it's "creepy" to compile portfolios on eligible individuals of worthy bloodlines? How ELSE is he supposed to know if they are worth attempting to talk too?!
There are BILLIONS of humans on this gods forsaken rock, Richard! Is he supposed to just GUESS? Gamble and hope for LUCK? This is a MARRIAGE not a "best friends club"!
Then? Danny showes up.
Gotham heard her baby talking. Heard her KING being harassed by clearly plotting Observants and power hungry ghosts MANY times his age. Connected some dots. Formed themselves a new OTP.
Danny says "Fuck It". Worst he can say is No. According to Gotham, he is neither Shy not the meek obedient sort. Is in fact, VERY stabby. So if he's not interested he'll no doubt be BRUTALLY clear about that.
So? Danny gets Fright Knight. Go get him a horse. Someone fetch Cujo some armor. He's been told the guy like weapons and animals.
TIME TO BE IMPRESSIVE.
He goes FULL Regalia. Armor of solid night sky. Cape of frost and stardust. Crown like crack in reality itself, through which the cosmos gleam and shift. He gets a horse from the far frozen. They're wooly and carnivorous. Gets THE most impressive sword he can find to wear.
It's gonna be a gift, since he doesn't need it.
He does the whole "rend the skies open" thing. Fan fair and knights. Every title he's ever been given, no matter how embarrassing he find them in reality. And announces his intentions. Declares that ONLY Damian Wayne, aka. Robin, is WORTHY to Marry Him. And (in the traditional Ghost proposal of "either accept or tell me to fuck off" /w violence) Demands Damian accept his offer of Marriage.
Right there.
IN THE WATCHTOWER.
In front of EVERYBODY. And yes, ESPECIALLY the Bats. Who are making glitching, vaguely threatening DEMONIC NOISES. Because? You... you THREATEN the BABY? Death. Ten thousand years DEATH.
People are :O ing and backing away from the visible heatwave of unadulterated FURY being put off by Batman. Danny is nano-second from every bone his ANCESTORS had being reduced to a fine paste.
Then? Damian consider him... considers the sword being thrust in his direction, still held aloft in a steady and armored hand... contemplates those titles for a second...
And goes: "Acceptable. Very well, but I have demands."
N..... Nani the FUCK? Says local Bat-Dad. No??? You are NOT GETTING MARRIED.
Try to stop him. He very obviously IS, according to Damian, the man brought him a kick ass sword and has a giant green dog. Is the king of an ENTIRE REALITY. Yes, he realizes he probably COULD do better... but frankly? This one's cute. But if it upset you so... extended engagement. There. Happy?
NO! Because the JLA Dark are LOSING THEIR SHIT. Damian is still UNDERAGE. We don't even know how OLD this being is! NO MARRIAGE.
Damian is unimpressed. A whole six months? That he's likely already LIVED thanks to various timeloops, temporal shenanigans, and reality warping bits of fuckery? You're reaching.
Just? Marriage Meet Cute.
@hdgnj @ailithnight @the-witchhunter @nerdpoe
#dpxdc#dp x dc#dc x dp#dcxdp#dc x dp prompt#marriage meet cute au#danny phantom#damian wayne#bruce may break his no killing rule#dick DEFINITELY about to break the no killing rule#tim is making out with Kon in a closet and misses most of this#good for him honestly
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Ex-husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley Drabble
Hi lovelies! Lia here again, I've been quite busy with school so I hope you guys can be a little patient with content since I've been stuck on a slump and there's a lot of things I'm currently busy with at the moment because of school despite posting so much last week. Here's the weekly content and I hope you all enjoy :)
Also how do you all feel if I write works inspired by old gacha songs? And yes I used to be a gacha girly, it was some wild phase AHAHAHA
My CoD Masterlist
Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thesnowurzikdjinn @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @cutenote @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000
Brainrot, Ex-husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley who decided he wanted to get a divorce with you because things weren't working out between the both of you, so you had to share custody of your daughter.
You managed to get yourself together, having no time to grieve that part of you that he took with him because you had a little one depending on you. You loved that girl for all she was, however she brings you and Simon together.
Not that you resent her for it, god no, it wasn't her fault you and your husband couldn't see eye to eye.. that he refused to retire after everything, maybe it was just your paranoia getting to you. You couldn't stand the fear anymore, the fear of one day he's not the one you'll see when you open the front door but Price.
You forgot how difficult it was doing this on your own until now, you could barely get up, your head was actually killing you. You pushed through, making your daughter breakfast.
You felt like you were about to throw up, ears started to ring and everything else felt numb. The next thing you know was your eyes rolling back and everything going black, the last thing you heard was your toddler panicking, calling you over and over on the verge of crying.
All while you were unconscious, your little one runs to your room to look for your phone to call her dad.
"Listen I know we—" Simon said expecting you on the phone before getting cut off by his daughter..
"Dada! Momma's dead, dada. Momma's not breathing!" In a panic, she cried it out like a mantra. Simon was in a panic, he got up from where he was and was speeding towards what used to be your shared home.
The next thing you know, you were hearing the beeps of a heart monitor. All your senses were working, all except sight.. you didn't have enough energy to open them, in the coldness of your whole body from the well ventilated room, you felt warmth on your hand.
It was all too familiar, calloused but so gentle and warm. Simon.. it was Simon. All while processing this situation, all that's going through Simon's head are the what ifs.
"Fucking hell, help her.. My wife, she's been unconscious for thirty minutes. She's breathing but it's faint and she's burning" Simon almost yelled in a full panic, he was doing his best not to snap at the hospital staff but how couldn't he? Hadn't even realized that he called you something you weren't anymore, the title he took with him.
Your little one holding her dad's hand in the waiting room, she was observant, an emotionally intelligent little girl who holds her dad's hand. Simon keeps reminding himself to calm down, how much his bumblebee must be terrified, far more than he was so he takes her in his arms.
Sooner or later they were allowed to enter, doctor said you were stabilized and only collapsed from a horrid fever and so much fatigue. Thinking of losing you, just like that with no warning would be the second time Simon would lose you.
Now watching you unconscious, IV tube connected to you because of course you haven't been eating well either. It made him rethink everything, was it a mistake to give you those papers? Was it worth it losing the one person in his life who he would give his life for with no hesitation?
All he could do for now was sit next to you, no matter how long it takes for you to wake up because he doesn't have the strength to leave, maybe in a day or two but not now..
Part 2 anyone?
#cod x reader#aethelwyne lia writes#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#cod headcanons#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost#simon riley#simon riley x you#simon riley x plus size reader#simon riley x y/n#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x you#ghost x plus size reader#ghost x female reader#ghost x y/n
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I feel like... if you call ghost daddy in bed he'll go crazy
ghost with a daddy kink ? oh yeah… he definitely eats it up, when his prettiest princess calls him daddy in bed. <33
—❤︎︎ — DADDY’S HOME . . . ❞
SIMON GHOST RILEY X FEM!READER
✵. !! WC : 3.7k
✵. !! TAGS & CW : explicit content! (18+ mdni) - service/softdom!ghost (he’s a lil bit mean), cunnilingus, daddy kink, size kink/difference, praise/petname usage, subtle spit kink, squirting, thigh slapping, overstimulation, dumbification, pussydrunk!ghost (hes in LOVE with your pussy), orgasm denial, fingering, the mask stays ON.
✵. !! A/N : hihi babies ! just a lil treat for y’all and thank you for 700+ follows and all the love you’ve given for simon says ♡!! hope you enjoy this mini fic, lmk how we feeling about it !! <33 ps… i folded. im sat. i actually wanna call this man daddy so bad. 🧎♀️
In your mind, there was one word— one forsaken word that you refused to utter. A word that only the most sexually deprived would use.
A person with their morals in check, should never attempt to sexualize something that is meant as an innocent title and name. Usually reserved for an actual father, or someone fulfilling the role of a male caregiver.
Right.
A person with their morals in check.
Right. You totally weren’t projecting… and deeply shaming your own innermost yearning, to desperately call your boyfriend ‘daddy’ while he fucked you.
It definitely wasn’t a thing you could say you were proud to admit outloud. Nope, you would quite frankly rather be caught dead than have your questionable cravings exposed to the world.
But every single day, you swore to god that your boyfriend tried to purposely provoke you into using the absolutely forbidden word.
Simon always took care of you. Whether that’d be making sure you got to work safely, cooking you meals on days that you were too tired to be bothered, or even texting you throughout the day to make sure you were resting properly.
You know. You know that’s probably the absolute bare minimum, and what a boyfriend is supposed to do for you in a serious relationship. But you just couldn’t help that ache and flutter you got in your heart, that made you so weak for him.
He worked so hard every single day, busy and moving nonstop on less than four hours of full rest. Even when he had his most stressful and agonizingly long days at work, he still tried to reach out to you. It could be a single worded text message or a phone call that only lasted for five minutes.
No matter what or without question, Simon will do his absolute best to tend to you. It was truly unconditional love, devotion, and his unspoken rule to give you whatever you most desired.
And you feel sick— sick in the head for letting your insatiable lust take over your sense of morality. Putting his mostly wholesome catering ways, in the same category as what you needed to relieve that scorching, sore pounding in your core.
That was alright though, you could live off your little fantasies and scenarios you created in your mind. Always making yourself dizzy and soft headed, imagining a world where he would make love to you and refer to himself as ‘daddy’.
It would suit him so well. Your hulk of a man, who had to put a slight bend in his knees whenever he came through the doors of your home. His mellow, husky voice always gently rasping to you— almost never, ever raising it higher than an octave at you. The way he could spoil you absolutely rotten, only ever calling you by his own little terms of endearment.
Always putting you first when he fucked you. Even in times when it got rough or you two were experimenting with things on the more intense side, you always came first. Literally and physically, since Simon couldn't properly get off himself, without knowing you were completely satisfied.
Your aftercare would consist of cuddling, he’d coo the sweetest of praises as he handled your sore limbs.
“My sweet girl, look at how pretty she is. Did such a good job today, angel. I know baby, I'll take good care of you now. Such a pretty girl, aren't you?”
It’s perfectly fine.
You could keep all those things about him to yourself. Just let your brain work its magic, to create fantasies and fill the deep void of your scorching carnality. You always subconsciously needed that one little thing to make yourself come even harder. But you were a good, grateful girl for him and always let Simon know how well he treated your body.
It’s perfectly fine. You don’t need a daddy kink in your life, to make yourself feel better. You were so much better than that, and you’d never let Simon get the idea that you were some ill, perverted deviant.
It was all fine.
Until today, when he finally pulls the most forbidden word out your mouth— and satiates the bubbling, hot desire that has a heavy chokehold on your heart and soul.
You don’t know how things escalated so fast.
One minute, you get his text that he’s on his way home and he’ll see you soon.
Out of pure joy and excitement to finally see him again after three weeks, you start to get yourself ready for the evening by taking an extra long shower. Making sure you’ve lathered and exfoliated every inch of your body in vanilla scented body polish, with a hint of brown sugar and cocoa butter. It was always Simon’s favorite scent on you, and he’d seemed more clingy than usual whenever your sweet aroma hit his nose.
The next hour, you throw on a simple, yet cheeky little lingerie set.
A delicate floral embroidered baby blue bra, with its matching mini stringed thong panty. You couldn’t help but fall in love with it at first sight. The design is a lovely work of art, the milky color enhancing the glow of your soft skin— yet it’s so scandalous on your body.
You did purposely get a smaller size, but on top of that it was made of see through mesh material. Not a single doubt in your mind that if he looked close enough, Simon could make out the shape of your nipples through the bra. And between your legs? The outline of your folds were perfectly clear and transparent against the light color of your panties.
After spending another minute admiring yourself in the bathroom mirror and taking a few selfies of your enticing form, you slip on a fluffy cream colored robe and head to the kitchen. You wanted to get something in your stomach before Simon came home, so you decided to lightly snack on a slice of pomegranate fruit.
You don’t even make it to the fridge before you hear the sharp clicking of keys turning a door knob, and feel the cold gust of wind that comes with the front door being swung open.
A gasp and squeal flies out your mouth as you bounce up and down on your toes, the actual sight of your boyfriend trudging in through the doorway makes your heart swell and pound in your chest.
“Baby!” You practically skip on your feet towards him, unable to hide your excitement of his abrupt appearance, as he starts taking quick strides to meet you halfway.
You think with how fast Simon approaches towards you, and him not even bothering to take off his shoes at the front door, he must’ve been just as excited to see you.
When you two finally meet each other in the middle of the hallway, you give him a big, dazzling smile as you go to lean in to hug him.
Before you can get your arms around him, he places a large hand on the small of your back and pulls you in close to his chest. You gape up at him, your smile slowly melting down to a look of pure confusion. Knees already feeling wobbly at his close proximity, and the way he has to tilt his head down to look you in the eyes.
Your breath hitches in your throat, when he slowly drags his open palm up along the cotton material of your robe. Even through its thickness, you can feel the heat radiating off his hand that follows along the curve of your back. Sending tingles down your spine, when his hand eventually makes its way up to the soft nape of your neck.
You both stare at each other. Your eyes become hazy and unfocused, while his dark ones scan over your perfect little form. You hear him pull in a deep breath of air through his nose. Holding it in his chest for five seconds before letting it back out, while he drags his eyes up back onto yours.
“Been thinkin’ about you all day long, y’know that?” He mutters these words, yet somehow they’re loud enough to ring and echo in your eardrums. You pull your lips in your mouth, feeling your core thump in tune with the pitter patter of your heartbeat.
You practically whimper out loud, as he continues onto his sentence,
“ ‘S about time I came home. Think it’s only right to show my princess how much I really missed her, wouldn’t you agree, pretty baby ?”
That was the only warning you were given… for what your boyfriend truly had planned for you, once he finally got his hands on you. Everything after that moment, truly did escalate as if time were being fasted forward.
You knew he missed you. Without him vocally telling you how much he thought of you, his actions spoke much louder than his words.
He was so sloppy.
From the way he practically rips your robe off your trembling body, to pushing you down onto your shared mattress and diving face first into the warm heat of your clothed pussy.
He was truly like a dog in heat. Not even bothering to take his mask off completely from his head, and only lifts it enough to show you his parting lips as he comes face to face with the growing patch of wetness sticking in your panties.
“Look at my pretty lil’ lady,” he coos softly, hooking his thumb into the side of your soiled panties and pulling them to the side to expose your glistening cunt to his heavy eyes. “Missed me, haven’t you? Can’t imagine how tight ‘n upset you are, since I haven’t been givin’ you proper treatment lately.”
It always blew your mind when Simon literally talked to your pussy.
Speaking in soft murmurs and giving it the same delicate pet names that he gave you, the owner of it. As dumb as it probably sounded, you sometimes couldn’t help but feel that ugly swirl of jealousy when he practically treated it like it was an entire living and breathing person.
You don’t have time to mull over your childish feelings, letting out a squeak when he grabs both of your thighs and presses them back until your knees squish against your chest.
“Know you’re mad at me, little one” Another squeak sounds out your throat, as you feel him turn his head to the side of your thigh and he lets his teeth sink into the doughy flesh of your skin. He hums, sucking on the flesh before letting it go and pressing a soft kiss to the flaming bruise he leaves behind. “Gonna show you how much I’ve missed splittin’ you open on my tongue.”
He follows through with his words, putting his full attention back onto your pussy. Using his index and middle fingers to pry open the thick lips of your cunt, groaning when he sees your hole twitching and spasming over nothing. The scent of your nectar coating your thighs and leaking out your pussy, makes him feel even more high and drunk off your arousal.
You’re so messy already. And like the gentleman that he was, Simon always took the initiative to help clean up messes that you made.
Still keeping his fingers spread enough to keep your lips parted, he lolls his thick tongue out before swiping it on your slit. You mewl and flinch at the feeling of his warm tongue, but he grips the side of your thighs to keep you still. Simon continues licking up and down your cunt. Maintaining the same pattern of stroking his strong tongue, as if he were savoring a frozen delicacy that helplessly dripped down the side of its waffle cone.
Once he feels like he’s collected enough of your cum on his tongue, he pulls his tongue back into his mouth to let the taste of you sit heavy on his taste-buds.
Your toes curl and you let out a soft gasp, as you watch him hollow his cheeks, before he lets the sinful mixture of your cum and his spit fall right back into your twitching hole. Chuckling to himself as he watches the way his greedy girl swallows up the little treat he gave her.
“Taste so fuckin’ good, princess” This time he does actually talk to you, dragging his eyes up from your drenched pussy and onto your blearing, glossy ones.
“Always so good for me. Could eat you up every single day ‘n never get tired of it. Can’t believe I went so long without this, fuck.”
Simon starts to probe his tongue along your core, tracing the shape of it until he finally pushes inside you. Already feeling the tight caverns of your pussy ease up, and welcome the thickness of his tongue rubbing up against your gushing walls.
“S-Sim— oohhh,” You throw your head back, unable to finish your squealing when he pulls his tongue completely out of you, and decides to inflict his torture upon your little clit. First he flicks the tip of his tongue over it, then he lets his mouth completely envelop around your pearl. Pumping it a few times between his lips, before pulling off to run his tongue over the expanse of your pussy.
You weren’t going to last.
You were far too sensitive after not having him around to please you for three entire weeks. All you could do was sob and let it happen, letting out a cry before you feel a fat watery gush of cum shoot out your hole. Simon pays it absolutely no mind, only widening his mouth to catch every little drop you gifted him.
“That’s it. Such a sweetheart, you’re already spoiling me ‘n givin’ me a lil’ treat. ,” He feels the way your body starts to relax, already going into its state of after pleasure— but he isn't done. Far from done, actually. Hasn’t even been half of an hour yet, and your legs start shaking like a leaf in the wind.
“Ah, Ah,” Simon tuts, slapping his palm hard on your soaked inner thigh, making you jolt and buck your hips up. “C’mon baby, couldn’t have thought I was done with you. ‘S only been a few minutes, ‘n you’re tapping out already? Thought my baby missed me, hm?”
It hasn’t only been a few minutes. Even in your dazed and dizzy mind, you knew that he’d been feasting on your pussy for well over twenty minutes. You shake your head, bottom lip wobbling as you let out a soft sob.
“I di-did miss you, baby” You sniffle wetly, feeling him trace his thick fingers along your soaking heat. Shaking your head in protest as he slips in his middle and ring fingers, humming while you babble to him. “But I can’t ta— aaahh, t-take it anymore. ‘S too much, baby. No more.”
“Too much?” He starts to flex his fingers deep inside of you, curling them in slow motions to stimulate your special gummy spot, that has you sobbing hysterically.
“You haven’t had your fill yet, sweet girl. I can feel it. Y’see this?” Simon tries to retract his fingers from your cunt, but your walls instantly clamp down on him. “You’re not lettin’ me out. My little lady down here knows exactly what she wants. So c’mon princess, lay still ‘n let me spoil this pretty pussy rotten.”
Having absolutely zero regard for your whines and sobs, he continues his previous abuse on your poor little pussy.
Seconds, minutes, hours, decades— You can't even tell how long he stays between your thighs.
Simon uses both strong hands to keep your legs steady and trap you from squirming or running away. You can take it. You will take it. He knows how much you need this, humming at every broken little sob and wanton moan that comes screeching out your throat.
Your vision starts to blur while you stare up at the spinning ceiling. Saliva pooling in your mouth and making a puddle next to your temples, as you let it run down the side of your lips.
You’re going crazy.
So high off the overstimulation of his face buried deep in your leaking pussy, that you swear…. you swear, you can feel your brain getting mushy. So mushy that if you shook your head hard enough, it could probably come spilling out through your ears.
He’s speaking into your pussy, saying words and mumbling something out loud. But you can’t hear it. All you can hear is your heartbeat pulsing in your throat, and feel the way he shakes his face side to side, while his tongue is plugged in your cunt.
Feel the way his hands grip your thighs so tight, that the blunt tip of his nails dig deep into your skin. You can already imagine the bruising and crescent little puncture marks it’ll leave on your legs.
It’s all so sloppy. Your pleas and cries for mercy, getting lost in the little squeals of ‘yes!’ and ‘simon!’ you can’t help but let out. And he eats it up, kissing your heated pelvis while burying three fingers inside of you.
“There’s my good girl, y’sound so pretty” He goes back to focusing his attention on your sore clit, giving it an open mouthed kiss before he continues speaking to you.
“Wanna hear my girl tell me who’s making her feel good. Hm? Lemme hear it. Say who it is, that can make you sing your little heart out.”
You make some unintelligible garbles, and Simon chuckles at your quivering and hiccuping. He squeezes your thighs encouragingly and smacks the side of them twice.
“Big words, baby. You’re a big girl, so tell me… who’s making you feel good right now?”
“It’s…” You swallow thickly and sniffle, slowly losing your train of thought as he suctions his lips around your swollen pearl. “It’s— ohhh, ‘mmm my goddd. It’s you…”
You start to gather some of your discombobulated brain cells to form a complete sentence. Simon’s name sits on your tongue, and you’re ready to tell him, it’s him. Simon. It’s Simon.
Until he pulls his head back with your clit between his lips— taking it with him, and letting it go with a loud pop!
It’s not Simon.
“Oooohhh g-god. It’s you! ‘Mmmy goodddd… daddy, it’s you… it’s all you, daddy.”
He pauses.
Whipping his head up to see if he really just heard what he believes you just cried out. Tapping the side of your thigh, he tries to get your attention so you can focus on his voice.
“What was that, honey? Didn’t hear you, come back to me and say it again.”
You whimper and hiccup, tears run down the side of your face and you continue whining at him.
“ ‘S you, daddy. Need you so badly, pleasseee baby. ‘M-m so close. I need it.”
Unbelievable.
He lets go of your trembling thighs. Letting the weight of his body help keep them pressed against your chest, as he crawls from up below your stomach and hovers over your face. Simon’s face is covered in your arousal. His lips glisten, and a good portion of the mask is damp and sticks to his skin.
“One more time, honey. Y’said it’s ‘daddy’ ? Hm? It’s your daddy, that’s taking good care of this pretty pussy?”
Simon’s fingers trail back down between your legs, softly shushing you as you keen at the feeling of his digits sliding back inside of you. He stares down at you, practically seeing the little stars spinning in your eyes. You weren’t in your best state of mind right now, but he’ll be damned if you tried denying that word escaping out with your cries.
“Can’t come ‘till you let me know,” You give him big, sad eyes but he shakes his head at you. “Wanna come, right? Tell. Me. Say it again, _____.”
At the use of your real, full name you quickly snap back into reality. It was like a switch, your bubbly headspace falling apart and bursting open once he rasped your name.
You did it. You really did call him daddy. It was your most taboo, and forbidden word—
But fuck it.
Today, your daddy was finally home. And you needed him to take care of you, just like he always did.
“Daddy,” you mewl out, feeling another hot sensation shooting through your spine. It was coming. You were so close. “Daddy I n-need you. ‘S you Simon, so please, pleaasee let me cum.”
His nostrils flare before he’s smacking his lips down on yours. Licking inside of your mouth, and inhaling the little moans you let out from tasting yourself on his tongue.
“Not yet, pretty little baby. Daddy hasn’t had all his fun yet.” Simon pulls away from your lips for a moment, laughing softly at the way you try to chase after his mouth for more. He uses one hand to swiftly fumble with the buckle of his belt, making quick work of pulling down his cargo pants and boxers. Laughing again when he pulls his drenched fingers out your greedy little hole, that puts up a fight to keep him deep inside your cunt.
“Must’a been treating my lil’ lady real good,” You can feel the heat of his hard, thick cock pressing onto your pelvis. Already licking your lips and grabbing onto his flexing bicep for support. “Gotta keep showing my special girls how much their daddy loves ‘em.”
He uses a free hand to guide his length to your throbbing pussy, unable to help himself from slapping the head a few times against you. His cock makes a squishy plop plop when he makes contact with your sticky folds, and teases you with a rub on your raw, swollen clit.
“Want you to remember this, once I’m done with you.”
Simon feels your nails dig into the hard meat of his bicep, bracing yourself when he finally lets the head of his cock greet your warm, welcoming insides. Already feeling the way your pussy grips around him, and makes no plans of ever letting go.
“Want you to remember what’ll happen every single time, that daddy comes home to his pretty, little princess.”
✪-tagging-✪ / : @touyyes @winterbimbwo @sirenh4ll @sailewhoremoon @noriken @kokobunn @fushisslut @dilftaroooo @aasouthteranoswife @daeneeryss @simon-rileys-princess @g4bby @sussywowzaee @lazuli-leenabride @moonshot-eclipse @mietkoz @honeybee54321 @lich1 @terrythetortoise @fuckinriley @actuallyanita @wedonttalkabouthenry @motionlessinrhi @hauntingtherosebush @spookyclowwn
(couldn’t tag y’all </3 ily tho) @benandjerrysisqueer @bleedingmagic-02 @tescomealdeals-blog @getoruii @alyssam14 @officialjotchuagirlfanclub
#ghost smut#simon ghost riley smut#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost#simon riley#simon ghost riley#call of duty modern warfare 2#call of duty smut
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sweet as a grape
description. ART DONALDSON lost a match, leading him to sulking at the hotel bar. when you slide up next to him he starts to feel like he won.
includes. SMUT MDNI 18+, submissive art, no challengers spoilers, fem!reader, sex w a stranger, drinking (but no drunk sex), masochism, dry humping, virgin coded/inexperienced art, choking, gagging (self inflicted), brief rimming, slight overstimulation, lots of allusions to masturbation, allusions to edging, art is a fucking freak
wc. 3.6k+
a/n: this is all based on assumption since challengers has yet to be released at time of posting. artwork is nighthawks by edward hopper. title from too sweet by hozier. some plot inspiration taken from @too-deviant's ray bans
Art Donaldson knows he's good at tennis. He knows he's great, and he knows that with greatness comes attention. Reporters always looking to get an exclusive from him, coaches always looking to take credit for the gained speed in his serve, brand, and companies looking to put his face on something, and people throwing themselves at him, begging for even a glance so they would have a story to tell their friends.
He knows this. But it still comes as a shock whenever people prettier than he thinks he deserves turn their attention to him. It's still a shock when you, a being with far too much beauty and grace, slides up next to him.
He smells you before he sees you. A sweet scent wafted to his nose, hitting him against the face with a pleasant slap. Then he senses you, the aura that radiates off of your body. Warm and comforting, even with the blistering heat from out that is attempting to permeate the hotel bar. He doesn't gather the courage to look at you until you speak. And your voice, God there's something about it. Something that makes Art's muscles loosen for the first time in hours, as the smooth lilt of your tone is a nice change of pace from the grunts on the court and the grating ridicule from the reporters asking him about the match, all disappointed faces reminding him that he lost.
But sitting here, on a barstool next to you, Art begins to feel like he won.
"I'll have what he's having," you tell the bartender with absolute confidence. You're leaning on the counter just a bit in an attempt to make your voice clearer, your ass perked up in the air enough to grab Art’s attention. He doesn't mean to look, really, but as he brings his glass to his lips he can't help how his eyes cut to the side briefly.
Besides, the skirt of your dress is long enough to cover your backside.
Art shakes his head. "You don't want what I’m having." He shouldn't be having anything right now. He might have lost his match, but this isn't the end. The alcohol will only slow his recovery, he knows this, but his half-assed reasoning of needing to drown his sorrows took over his mind, settling into his frontal lobe and steering his choices.
The bartender is already sliding a replica of Art's drink your way. You raise it and Art clinks his glass with yours. Then he watches you taste it. It's strong, straight liquor placed on ice which barely does anything to make it smoother, but you take it like a champ. You only take a sip, though, your eyes squeezed shut as it goes down before you place the glass back onto the counter and wave the bartender over again.
You flick your tongue out to catch a drip of liquor that missed your mouth. It’s so pathetic how just that one movement makes Art shift in his seat.
This time, you order something sweeter. Something more your style Art figures. Art doesn't think before he orders one for himself, too, and follows up the order by telling the bartender to place these drinks and any that will follow on his tab.
It doesn't take long before he confirms that you know who he is. But you're subtle about it. Your recognition comes in your glances. The way you narrow your eyes. The way you smile and laugh at his poorly made jokes. The way you ask him how he's doing—your tone a little firmer, as if you'd been in the stands today watching the close match that ultimately led to a loss. And it's then that Art recognizes you, too.
He'd seen you briefly, just one glance before he was turning back to focus on the match. Your eyes had been covered by a pair of sunglasses then, but at the end of the match when everyone else was cheering for the winner, Art saw you cheering for him. Stood at the entrance to the locker rooms, your stacked bracelets glinting in the sunlight as you clapped. The sound of his blood rushing to his ears had been deafening then, the red in your eyes distorted every image. At the time, he believed that not one clap was in his favor. But yours surely was.
He can't tell if your intentions are really any different than anyone else who has tried to sleep with him, but he doesn't care. Because he just wants you so bad.
And for once in his life, he lets himself have what he wants. He accepts that he's a desired person, even on his off day, and he takes you, possibly the most desirable person he'd ever laid eyes on, upstairs to his room, and lets you have your way with him.
He lets himself show a side he’s never shown to anyone else before. A side that is only seen when he’s tugging his cock all alone, his mind helpfully conjuring up images as he sped up the flick of his wrist, only to slow his motions down to a stop on his own accord. And he would continue the delicious torture, for as long as his mind and body could conjure, especially if he lost a match.
This is a more compliant side. Less of a persona he’s put on for the media, and more of a man who just wants to please and be pleased.
Tonight, with you laying back on his bed and waiting for him, he considers his options. He doesn’t know if he should continue his usual routine of self-inflicted torment. Or if he should give into you completely and lose himself amongst the nectar that’s gathered between your thighs. When he sees the imprint of your arousal, he decides that he’ll go along with whatever you want from him.
It doesn’t take much for him to live up to his promise.
You’re lying on your side, your head resting in your hand as you smile up at him lazily. You’d both had your last drink a while ago, and with the way they were spaced out Art doesn’t think you’re drunk. He’s not drunk, but he still feels elated. He feels like a teenage boy when you beckon him over and he complies willingly, crawling towards you until he’s sitting on his haunches.
You lay on your back, staring up at him, blinking up at him. And Art waits. He waits and waits until he realizes you’re waiting for him to make the first move.
He bends down and presses his lips to yours. The shape of the kiss is awkward since Art’s position forces your lips to align together at a perpendicular angle. But you don’t mind it. You let the initial press linger for a second before you place one of your hands onto his side and pull him towards you. Art interprets your pull as wanting him to land atop you and he does.
The bed is large enough that only his feet hang off when he straddles you, placing only the weight of his bottom half over you and holding his top half up with a hand pressed into the mattress.
His other hand settles on the thin strap of your dress. The material hangs off of the angular end of your shoulder, just close enough to fall off. Art doesn’t know if he initially intended to pull it down or push it back up. But you look up at him, your eyebrows slightly raised. It’s a look he knows well. He’s seen it on many opponents who doubted him.
You’re challenging him.
He pulls the strap down and that’s all it takes for you to take his face in both of your hands and pull his lips to yours. You have some unexpected strength in you. Your tug throws Art off of his balance until his chest collides with yours. You’re not deterred at all, your leg hiking up over Art’s hip as you press your foot into his lower back.
Your dress must have slipped up somewhere along the way because Art can feel the warmth of your center pressing against his pants. He does it subconsciously, not even realizing what he’s doing until you reciprocate the movement, but he’s grinding into you with long and languid swipes of his boner into your arousal.
There comes a point where the two of you need to pull your lips away from the other. But Art stubbornly doesn’t want to. His lungs ache for a breath. His head screams at him, telling him that kissing you can’t be more important than breathing. But for a moment there, just a single moment, Art believes that it is.
When you pull away first, Art tries not to take it personally.
“Will you fuck me?” You ask him through your breaths. Your question takes Art by surprise. Your words are so blunt. A little crude. But they stiffen the pressure in his trousers. He likes how assertive you are. It has his head spinning and somehow he manages to hide how desperate he is in his reply.
“Only if you ride me.”
Not much can be hidden whenever you’re on top of him.
You’re staring down at him, likely with a view not too dissimilar from Birdseye. Art knows that like this, he’s probably spread out before you like he’s on an examination table. From the heavens, you’re able to notice every single thing about him that you choose to.
The way his breath hitches when you sink on him. The way he’s a little lost behind the eyes, the two big blue windows unfocused enough to suggest how much pleasure he’s getting from this. He starts to feel a little insecure, but then you bring a graceful hand down and push his damp blond hair off of his forehead, providing the ventilation needed.
Gratefully, his eyes fall closed and his head tips back. You bring your hand down to cup his cheek and Art instinctively turns his head just enough to place a blind kiss into the center of your palm.
“Will you look at me, Art?”
You ask him so politely, your voice just as sweet as it was earlier in the night when he’d only been imagining something like this. He wishes you were a little firmer with him, but he still obeys, slowly peeling his eyes open.
He’s instantly grateful that he did. Because for just a brief second, he forgot just how divine the image above him was.
Your body is almost completely bare since the top half of your dress has been pulled down to reveal your tits. They shake with each movement. With each controlled way you sink down onto him. In the same way he’s in his element on the court, he figures that you’re in your element here. You look so natural like this, stripped by the wish to satisfy your most basic need. But you’re so good at this. He wonders if you’d had as much practice at this as he has with his craft. Not that it matters to him, especially since any previous practice you could have had would have only contributed to this time, making it as heavenly as it could possibly be. But Art thinks he wants to practice this, like this, with you more often.
The way your cunt takes him in is hidden by the skirt of your dress. With a hand more shaky than expected, Art lifts the hem and the sight he’s blessed with makes him dizzy. He has to take a controlled breath, look away, and then come back to it.
Your pussy is so pretty. He can’t see much from this angle, and he wishes he could see more, but he can both see and feel how wet you are. In a risky move, you’d allowed Art to forgo a condom and he sincerely hopes he won’t regret it later. The last thing he needs during the height of his career is a bastard with his eyes and a monthly check written to a one-night stand. But when he’s able to feel you intimately and see how your essence is shining his dick, he can’t regret anything.
Everything seems like it was meant to be at this moment. Even the damned neon ball that escaped his racket by just an inch that brought him to the bar this evening anyway.
“Here,” you mumble. Art doesn’t know exactly what you’re referencing until you knock his hand away and replace it with your own. You lift your dress over your head and throw it to the floor where it joins Art’s already discarded clothes. Now you’re both even in terms of nudity. But the fields are definitely still uneven.
You have complete control in this setting. Art doesn’t mind it one bit.
You reach your hands down and take Art’s grasp in yours, directing his rough palms up to your body. You place his touch on your waist, but getting the feeling that he’s allowed to touch more than that, he lifts his hands up and grazes his fingertips over your erect nipples.
Your reaction is appreciative so Art does the movement again. He’s amid his third swipe when he remembers something. The magic button one of his old hitting partners told him about one afternoon during unwanted locker room talk.
He sticks two fingers into his mouth, unable to help the way he stuffs them a little too far back. He only stops when he gags just once, and then he pulls the digits out, satisfied by how slick they are, and brings them between your thighs.
It takes a moment for him to find it. He curses under his breath when he misses the first time, and grunts when he misses it the second time, but the third time is the charm. He presses at first, attempting to see if he’d found it. And when your hips jerk, he begins to draw on his memory and starts circling your clit.
You moan, your head tipping back as you start to ride Art with more fervor. More passion is behind the way you move your hips. More determination is in the way your hands press into his torso to ground yourself. You have one hand below his navel, manicured nails scratching his happy trail while your other hand slides up higher and higher.
And just when Art thinks you’re going to reach your target, you stop. The base of your hand presses into the top of Art’s sternum while your fingers lay across his collarbones. You’re so close. Just a little …
“Higher. Please.”
You don’t say anything, you don’t give him a look, you just do as he says. You push your hand up higher until you find the other end of the magnet.
When your fingers wrap around his throat, Art groans from deep in his stomach. It comes from a place he’s only ever accessed during an intense game. Never during something like this. Briefly, he wonders if this could be considered a game. But if it is, it’s one he’s losing. He’s not even bothering to fight back. You’re dominating him and he likes it. Hell, he fucking adores it.
You’re the one in control here, so it’s only natural that Art asks for your permission to cum.
The need steadily approaches, pushing through his body, working its way through the maze until it finds the end which leads directly up into you.
“‘m close,” he warns. “Can I cum? Please? Will you make me cum?”
You nod fervently. Art sighs, he relaxes into the bed with a delusional belief that he’ll get to cum any moment now.
Your words clear things up for him. “Make me cum first, Art. Then I’ll return the favor. Deal?”
He doesn’t pout or complain. He just agrees. “Deal.”
He uses his free hand to grip your hip and speeds up his touch on your clit. His fingerpads slip down just a bit to gather more wetness, and then he brings his touch right back up and settles it right onto the part of your clit that protrudes the most.
The sight of you cumming is so beautiful. Just this one hit, this one time, is surely enough to make Art addicted. While he watches you cum, taking in the way your chest pushes your tits out and your head throws back, revealing the gorgeous line of your neck, he thinks that he wouldn’t mind if you had his kid. As long as it guaranteed that you would always be in his life.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to make his sex-hazed thought a reality as you pull off of him, ignoring the way your cunt is gripping him with resistance. You settle beside him, sitting with your legs tucked under you. Your hand comes to Art’s cock, and it only takes a few strokes before his hips are lifting and he’s cumming.
You press your lips to his while he releases, stroking him determinedly while you kiss him messily, lots of saliva and tongue swapping between the both of you. When your hand around his throat tightens just a bit, Art’s hips stutter, and his cock twitches in your hand. He can feel you grin against his lips.
“Let me clean you up?” You ask him with the prettiest smile. He’s dazed when he nods, not really knowing what he’d just agreed to. When you settle between his legs, Art almost backs out. He’s still sensitive, he knows it without you even touching him. But it’s rude to push a pretty girl away when she’s offering to use her mouth on him.
So he sits through it.
He fists the bed sheets and tries to swallow his groans whenever you lick the cum off of his torso. He accidentally whimpers when you wrap your lips around his tip. And he can’t hold off the deep moan that pushes out of him when you allow his cock to sink into your mouth.
This cavern is different than the last. A little rougher, but the constant pressure and warmth from your tongue is comforting. He was already softening whenever you first took him in your mouth, but his dick is allowed a single moment of rest. He hardens inside of your mouth, and when he’s ready, you start to suck him off.
It’s embarrassing how quickly he’s close. But he can’t really hold off when you use your hands to push his legs a little further apart, and you abandon his dick for a brief second to bring your tongue lower, pushing the muscle along his pink-clenched rim before you drift back up. Art’s gasp is pitiful. Even to his own ears, he sounds like something out of a porno, his voice wobbling as he moans, sounding like he’ll cry at any moment.
His back arches and he decides he needs more of you. He takes a bit more control, even though it happens accidentally. He presses a hand into the back of your head and rams his cock up into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat more than once and triggering your gag reflex.
When he cums this time, it’s in your mouth, and you suck him clean again. He moans your name all the while, the syllables becoming more broken each time he repeats it. He thinks he’s praising you, but he doesn’t know what he’s saying. For a second there, he doesn’t even know where he is.
Then, when he comes down, he’s silent. He’s like a cat with the way he shudders. He’s absolutely spent, labored breathing reverberating throughout the otherwise silent hotel room. You slide up to his chest, laying your head in the center. Your hand has been taken off of his neck and delicately placed into his hair.
You play with the curls for a second before speaking.
“You okay?”
He nods, letting himself catch his breath a little more before he speaks.
“Yeah. More than okay. You?” He brings a hand to your back, pulling you closer to him. You’re staring up at him from his chest, and like this, you look innocent. Heavy eyes blinking up at him, your lips pulled into a smile.
You hum affirmatively. “Shower? Or bath?”
Art laughs a little when he says, “Bath. Definitely a bath.” He knows that his legs would be a little too shaky to withstand a shower, and as he follows you into the bathroom, his suspicions are confirmed. He’s satisfied to see you struggle a bit with stepping into the tub.
Sex with you was fucking amazing, and somehow, the ease with the two of you hasn’t diminished. You’re both sober, any alcohol that could have remained in your systems definitely been expelled by now, but you’re just as charming. And Art is just as relaxed around you.
He thinks that he could exist with you for a while.
When he awakes on his own the morning after, he thinks he was too wishful the night before. Maybe he’d been reading way too much into something that was solely a one-night stand. He sits at the edge of the bed, head hung and tail tucked, but then his mood improves just a bit when he sees your panties laid forgotten on the floor. Even when he throws them with the rest of his clothes from his suitcase, he doesn’t let his mood improve too much.
He has pissed, showered, and is standing over the sink to brush his teeth when he sees your note attached to the mirror.
had to leave. thought you had things to do. call me sometime. or come visit. room 1046, here until tomorrow. xx
The note is placed carefully with the rest of his belongings.
#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson smut#art donaldson x you#art donaldson challengers#challengers movie#celeste writes challengers
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A Revenant for The Red Knight
Your typical Dp x Dc Summoning AU, but with a twist.
Jason is having a bad time.
The most of the family to be honest.
Why? Cultist. In Gotham.
One that worship some kind of All Powerful Eldritch Death Outer God from Beyond and plans to summon the Thing to this plane of existence.
The worst part? Most of the bats are being use as sacrifice. Wait no, the worst part is that Jason is the main sacrifice.
They did contemplate whether to use Jason or the Demon child, but end up deciding to use Jason instead. Something about being having essence of Death and the Multiverse in his veins and you know what? He's not gonna touch that with a ten foot pole. Nope.
The demon child is lashing out like the unvaccinated feral racoon that he is, Dick is trying to escape and so does Bruce as well as trying to make sense of the Summoning circle that the cultist were using. The replacement is snoring, the asshole.
Hah. Thats what he get for drinking five mugs of expresso instead of sleeping then gatting tranq.
Also, fuck Bruce for not calling Constantine or Zattana the moment they smelled something supernatural.
God, he hates magic.
The cultist started chanting by then, speaking in a language that no one understood—huh? Well look at that. He could apparently. He could hear them chanting in that unknown language and english at the same time, its over lapping. Weird, its like it was being translated especially for him since the others didnt seems to show any recognition with the words the cultist was using.
Except maybe the demon child, but the others? Nada.
"—Ruler of the inbetween, Heed our call. Defeater of the Dark Tyrant. Master of Space, The bridge between Every Realms, The Great One, The Balance—"
Thats a fuck ton of titles.
The circle began glowing green and fucking Lazarus waters began to pour out and thats not fucking good.
Pillar of unnaturally Neon Red Fire emerge from the Circle and destroyed the ceiling and shook the entire ware house.
A tall armoured figure emerge as the pillar of fire began to settle out. It was floating above the circle, looming over everything in a terryfing manner. Temperature began to rise as the being's Unnayurally white gaze fell upon them.
It was… a knight? A knight cross over a biker??? It also had guns which is weird and is that a fucking Bat Insignia on its chest?
Pressure from all side crash over them as the beings gaze intensified before vanishing all together the moment its gaze fell on jason.
After what seems to be eternity, the being finally spoke.
"Huh. His majesty was right, I really was that stinky and fuck up before he find me."
???
The knight biker then remove his helmet to reveal his own face with a domino mask with his color pallete just inverted.
The doppelganger then pull out his gun and began shooting down the cultist all against the other bats protest. One by one the cultist vanished in to tin air as if they didn't exist all together.
He snapped his fingers and the rope that tying the burst in the same crimson flames and vanished all together.
"What the absolute fuck is going on here?!"
Or cultist used kidnap batfam and use jason as a sacrifice to the ghost king to summon him.
They summon Alternate version of jason who is a halfa and work as one of Danny's Fright knight: Red Knight.
#dpxdc#dp x dc#danny phantom#ghost king danny#halfa jason#fright knight Jason#red hood#red knight#red knight jason#summoning#cultist#batfam#red knight jason is from another universe#hes from a timeline where ghost king danny exist#actually they dont even need to from tge same universe#danny and red knight jason could be from different universe from each other as well#danny could have met him by accident#he sees this guy with a nasty ecto and thinks gross#he dropped him to frostbite to detox#it then turns out that the dude is a halfa#clockwork smirks in the background#he inform a overly joyed fright knight over a possible recruit and prodigy#red hood jason isnt paid for this shit#so does the batfam
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𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐄 | 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐧𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐭.𝟐
the aftermath of your mindblowingly hot sex with the goddess of lust, natasha romanoff. as it turns out, no one escapes the consequences of their actions.
pairing: goddess!natasha x dom!fem!reader (G!P)
note: once again, howdy, folks! this is the even longer-awaited part 2 to the goddess!nat fic! i am terribly sorry for the wait, hopefully this long chapter will satisfy your needs :)
word count: 3.0k
series m.list | main m.list | join the taglist | AO3
Previously...
You, a regular law-abiding citizen, saved the gods by accident. The Goddess of Lust, Natasha, granted you one wish as a repayment. You could've had just about anything, but turns out all you need is right in front of you.
Spoiler: It ends up in mindblowingly hot sex with a certain Goddess.
Now, two months later...
"Baby…" Nataha sighs, her eyelids fluttering close as you move under her sheets.
Or, more specifically, as your tongue moves in her cunt.
There's just something about giving the Goddess of Lust the best head of a lifetime that does it for you. Maybe it's her stupidly sexy moans, or the way she twisted her delicate hands into your hair, or maybe just how sweet she tasted.
Or, maybe, it's the knowledge that you're the only one who can ever make her feel like this.
"Please, oh, fuck," Natasha whines, as you move your tongue in tight little circles against her sweet spot. Not quick enough to make her cum, slow enough to make her feel.
"Oh," she whimpers, hearing the lewd sounds of you eating out her soaked pussy on a Saturday morning. You shift under the blankets, breathing hard as it gets warm.
Worshiping the Goddess as you rightfully should was perhaps your favourite pastime, driving her wild with your fingers and your tongue and your cock.
Which is exactly what you felt throbbing in your pants when a hushed whimper of 'Daddy' falls from Natasha's sweet mouth. Your head spins at the title, just like the first time she had ever called you that.
It was half by accident, really.
On a private rented beach in Malibu, with miles and miles of space and no one else, there you laid under the shade of a palm tree, thrusting into the Goddess with a youthful vigor.
"Oh, you feel so good," Natasha cries, scratching her long nails down your bare back. She shakes with each of your thrusts, melting into your touch like your forgotten ice cream in the Malibu sun.
"Do I?" You tease dangerously, both of your orgasms dangling close to occurrence. "Mhm- Oh, yeah," Natasha responds with a lewd moan, moving her hand down to play with her clit.
That's all the extra simulation the Goddess needs before she's tumbling over the edge, clutching onto you as pound into her cunt.
"Oh, I- Oh, please, daddy!" Natasha shrieks when you harshly pinch her nipple with your free hand. It does wonders for her pleasure.
But as soon as those words fall from the Goddess' lips, she retracts like she's been scorned. You halt your movements.
"Did you just call me daddy?" You ask with a raised eyebrow, as Natasha looks away flusteredly.
"...No."
"Darling."
"No! I mean, well yes, but I didn't mean to!" She tries to move under your grasp, her cheeks turning an incarnadine pink.
You take her wrists and pin them above her head with one hand, and use the other to still her moving hips. The Goddess pouts at you, but you know better than to give in.
"Has the Goddess of Lust never called anyone 'daddy'?" You ask seriously, trying to make sense of her seemingly unorthodox shame.
"It's complicated." Natasha states, squirmimg under your inspective look. She trails her hands down to your cock again, but you deny her of that pleasure. "We're not done here, sweetheart."
"Fine," Natasha grumbles. "That's the first time I've ever called it out, like, in the heat of the moment. I'm always the one doing the seduction and the flirting, so I call my partner that if I think they'd be into it. It's never been… spontaneous, I guess."
"Oh," you say softly, tracing her rib with a ginger finger. "I think I quite like it."
"You do?"
"Mhm."
"Okay, daddy."
"Shut up, sweetheart."
"Make me."
What pulls you out of that blissful reverie is Natasha's whine. You're not in Malibu anymore, you're under Natasha's sheets.
Even then, you've never felt more fulfilled with this glorious woman by your side.
"Why'd you stop?" Natasha asks, pulling the blanket away so she can see you.
You shake your head, pressing a kiss onto her inner thigh. "Thinking."
"About?"
"You."
"Oh," the Goddess replies, evidently flustered.
"What were you thinking of?" she then says, flirtatiously. She adds on the charm of batted eyelashes, prepared for whatever you might do to her body.
What Natasha wasn't prepared for, however, was the tenderness in which you regarded her with, a serene smile and a warm glow on your face.
"What is it?" Natasha says, laughing awkwardly as you litter kisses all over her stomach. You're glowing, sickly-sweet and dumbstruck.
"I love you," you whisper. "I love you, Natasha Romanoff. I love you not because you are the Goddess of Lust but because you have the most brilliant heart I've ever had the chance to feel. I love you for everything that you are, everything that you're not. I love you for your bed hair, and your goofy jokes, and your brilliant green eyes I could melt into a thousand times. I love you boundlessly, across the worlds that divide us. And you don't have to say it back, but just know-"
You take in a deep breath, not realizing that you've spoken so much with quavering breaths like you'd die if you didn't profess your love. Like you'd die if you didn't bare your heart to Natasha. You gulp for air, stroke her face. "Just know I love you. So much. So, so, so much."
Oh.
There's silence, afterwards, like the world has stumbled on its axis and the stars have collided.
Natasha looks at you with an indescribable feeling, like her heart wants to burst out of their seams. It's only when you gently stroke her face that Natasha realizes there are tears on her face.
Why's she crying? Why do you cradle her in your arms with such a ginger tenderness? What did she ever do to deserve this kind of love?
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pushed it," you mumble, almost ashamed. You press another kiss on her bare stomach as an apology. "I'm-"
"No, I- Fuck, I love you too." The Goddess voices hoarsely, her shaky tone a far cry from what should be expected of a regal Goddess. "I love you too," she says again, with more confidence, almost as if it would make the words even truer.
That stupid smile is back on your face again, even wider than before. Your cheeks hurt and Natasha's heart melts.
"You love me?" you ask earnestly, and there's such an innocence and genuineness to your question that Natasha almost cries again.
The impact of 'I love you' sinks in. Natasha feels.
She's never felt like this before. She's never loved like this before.
Finally, in the sacred silence, Natasha whispers. Scared to ruin the moment. Scared to tarnish what could be.
"To every universe and back," the Goddess answers, and your world starts orbiting again.
—
Ever since that fateful day of your love confession, the two of you were inseparable. You would look at Natasha with such wonder in your eyes, wonder what you ever did to deserve this, but the Goddess would look at you the same way, and you knew everything would be fine.
She would take you to any universe you liked, across any dimension. From earth-bound lands to intergalactic islands to space. It was as vast as her love for you.
But, you were riding that high with no heed for the consequences of your actions.
You were foolish enough to stay with Natasha, dumb enough to drown out the warning signs, blindsided by the prospect of loving a Goddess.
You should've known, from the start, that you and Natasha were a race against time.
You should've known that it would end up in flames for you.
You should've known better.
—
Since the very day she was born the Goddess of Lust, Natasha had her life laid in front of her.
To exploit that thrall she was given, to seduce men and the occasional woman, to live above and beyond because she was a Goddess.
That had been her life for over decades, sitting comfortably at the top of the chain on a gold throne; Toying with hearts like it was a daytime hobby, then shattering them like glass.
She slept around for the hell of it, just because she could. Just because she was the Goddess of Lust.
Then came along a stupidly charming attorney with a coffee stain on her suit and the most unusual request.
Just like that, her world stopped revolving around what she was supposed to do, and it started orbiting around you.
And, you, were definitely not what Natasha was supposed to do.
Despite how incredible you were in bed. Despite the plethora of orgasms you had brought her to. Despite how she felt her walls to her heart tumbling down around you.
When the two of you shared that passionate confession of love in bed on that fateful Saturday morning, the Goddess knew she was done for.
Which is exactly why she's currently under the scrutiny of Supreme Headquarters: Intervention of Extraterrestrial Liabilities Directorate, aka SHIELD, aka she's completely and utterly fucked.
SHIELD was essentially the Gods and Goddeses' version of a monarchy, that was infamous for its cruel ruling and cutthroat decisions.
"You're a smart girl, Natasha, and never would I have expected something so childishly foolish to fall from your lips."
The Goddess stood in defiance. Despite all her power and her status, she seemed so small in the wide hall, paling in comparison to the mighty Gods that surrounded her.
That previous statement had been made by none other than Wanda, the Goddess of Magic. The woman was a stature of power and composure in her throne, hand poised under her chin like it was a medieval painting.
"I'm not a girl," Natasha snapped at the Goddess, fire behind her eyes. "And I'm very capable of making my own decisions, despite how foolish they may seem in your condescending point of view."
The Goddess of Magic was irritatingly unfazed by Natasha's outburst, flicking that poised hand and in a dismissive wave. God, Natasha wanted to crush that stupid hand.
"Steve, talk some sense into her. I can't bear to hear any more of her senseless arguments." Wanda said offhandedly, looking over to the God of Justice for support.
Natasha wants to retort that she isn't just spewing senseless arguments, but a warning look from the God of Justice shut her up. Of everyone in SHIELD, he was the most likely to give her a fair hearing. Hence his name.
"Natasha, we're not saying that you're incapable of making your own decisions." The blonde man reassures, pressing his hands together in contemplation. Natasha breathes harder than she should be doing.
"We're saying that what you're doing isn't the best," Steve continues, and Natasha is grateful that the eyes are not on her anymore. The God of Justice had a presence that simply demanded respect, an impeccable aura that no one would dare deflect.
"Sleeping with someone not godly is one thing, but entering a romantic relationship with a mortal, a human being, is simply…"
"Unacceptable."
Natasha intakes a short gush of air harshly at the interruption. It's Thor, God of Thunder. For a God who had lived centuries, he was painfully traditional. Narrow-minded, even.
Thor's loud, booming voice carried throughout the hall, from his electric-blue throne at the far corner. Mjolnir, his trusty hammer, was held in his big hands with a firm grasp. Natasha forced herself not to feel threatened.
Thor continued, firm and hard and oh so unforgiving. "Do you want to end up like my brother, Goddess Natasha?"
At that, the entire hall was silenced. The only thing Natasha could hear was her own sporadic breathing.
Everyone, undoubtedly, knew the story of Thor's brother.
Loki, the God of Mischief. The fallen angel, some said. The devil's incarnate, others whispered.
He had used his power for wrong, abused his status to commit the darkest things imaginable. It wasn't before he was banished from the land of Gods, never to be seen again.
Some say he's still clawing his way out of hell. Some say he's destined for a lifetime of hurt.
"Don't you fucking dare compare me to him, Thor," Natasha growls, and the larger blonde man even seems taken aback by the ferocity behind Natasha's words.
"I- I think what Thor is trying to say," Bruce frantically cuts in, in an attempt to mediate the situation.
The God of Science was a bespectacled man with quirky mannerisms, ever the peacemaker. Logic, to him, was most important of all.
"Is that you, Nat, are a Goddess," Bruce continues. "An all-powerful being that transcends the laws of space and time. You have been blessed with such power, such strength, unfathomable to lesser beings. And Y/N L/N, this earth-bound creature who lives and breathes on the very ground we carved, couldn't possibly be who you want to run off with. I mean, we- you, you're so much more than that."
"You're going to love her, Nat? Give her your heart? You, an immortal being? She's going to die some day, inevitably, and then what will be left of you? A broken, desolate mess, grieving for the rest of eternity?"
Natasha swallows harshly. She wanted to despise Bruce, hate his reasonings and refute his logic – but she couldn't, could she? He was right. Bruce was right.
But there was a part in her heart that screamed, yelled, kicked - she couldn't give you up, now. Not when she'd finally found what she's been searching for. Not when she can feel again.
Not when she's found the love of her goddamned life.
"I'm on Nat's side," Tony says, mouth full of a pink-frosted donut, slicing through the tensed silence. He spews crumbs as he talks, but Natasha doesn't think she's ever been more grateful for the man.
Tony was the God of Heroes. Brilliant but brash, proud yet arrogant, charismatic and eccentric. He was a God no one could explain in few words, and for that Natasha was immensely grateful he understood.
"True love cannot be broken," Tony says, folding his arms. "It transcends all else, goes beyond our social status and our physical capabilities and who we are as individuals. If Nat has truly found it, then who are we to judge? It shouldn't be criticized, it should be celebrated!"
Natasha locks eyes with Tony, in silent thanks. The two of them may butt heads at times due to their self-righteous natures, but in the end they were always there for each other.
However, the rest of the Gods didn't seem to quite agree. There was quiet murmuring amongst themselves until Steve began speaking again.
"Let's settle this with a vote. If majority wins, Natasha will be able to continue her pursuit of a romantic relationship with the human and mortal Y/N L/N. If not, Natasha will be forced to cut off all ties with said mortal and they are to never see each other again."
The Goddess of Lust felt her heart clench. Of course Steve would choose the fairest way to determine Natasha’s fate. Of course this would result in a losing battle for her, based on the prior reactions.
“All those in favour of the disallowance of Natasha Romanoff’s and Y/N L/N’s romantic, physical or any other relations, please raise your hand.”
Thoughts of you swam in Natasha’s mind, of you smiling while kissing her hand, stroking her hair while she fell asleep, trailing kisses up her spine on sinful nights.
Thor’s hand went up first.
“I love you boundlessly, across the worlds that divide us.” That was what you had said that Saturday morning, with a serene smile, so gentle it caressed Natasha’s heart. She remembers the warm glow of the sun, the temptations of paradise, the falsehood of the promised land.
Wanda follows suit.
How could Natasha have let it all succumb to this? Why had she let herself grow so soft and malleable around you? The walls around her heart she had spent so long constructing was so easily taken down by you. You, who wormed your way in and made a nest in the center of her universe.
The next hand that goes up is Bruce’s, albeit with an uneasy look from the man, like he didn’t want to be there anymore.
Maybe she shouldn’t have dived headfirst into love with you, professing her feelings so vulnerably. She was the Goddess of Lust, not Romance or any of that bullshit. A long-lasting relationship had been a childish fantasy, much less for someone who was meant to constantly seduce.
Like a final seal of her demise, Steve’s hand goes up, and only then does Natasha realize the tears that have fallen from the corners of her eyes.
There is a deafening silence that follows the grounding decision, and even Tony doesn’t look so aloof anymore. He’s the only one at the table who didn’t raise his hand.
Natasha swallows harshly, in an attempt to calm the building pressure within her.
She swallows again, willing the tears in her eyes to go away - no way in hell would she openly cry in front of the Gods who put her in this situation.
This time, she wishes the ground would swallow her up instead, to whisk her away from this nightmare of a reality and wake up beside you once more.
“You have until sunset to settle things,” Steve says, a painful lack of emotion in his eyes. “If you don’t coincide by the rules, you know what consequences you will have to face.”
For the first time in an eternity, ever since unknown creatures roamed the multiverse and there was no difference between dark and light, the Goddess felt helpless.
Even then, there was only one thing on her mind.
How the fuck was she going to tell you that ‘To every universe and back’ had been a bloody lie?
taglist: @natashamaximoff69 @ohsugar-honey-iced-tea @fayhar @bibliophilicbi @screechcat @rowanyaboats @nahnahnahwhat @the-night-owl-blr @nemowevoli @wannabe-fic-reader @natsxwife @wandsmxmff @enanna-h @jemilyswhor3 @manyfandomsfanvergent @jlsammy23 @spongebobs-tie1 @kiyozoe6778 @lovebelt05 @girllcver @godsfavouritelesbiann @natashaswife4125 @ezay @forthelesbians @wlwfanfictionss @forthelesbians @cowxpoke @supaheroine @saqua14 @olsensnpm @33_mrvl @gay4ols3n @knellyc30 @eatkobi @stitch26gp @cqllarbqne @lovelyy-moonlight @diannaswhore @wandaromanoff69 @shuriri4life @inluvwithfictionalwomen @Cooldogs02 @jedi-athen-orion @alyciaddict @blackqueensforeva @lovelyy-moonlight @gingerninja1993 @yourfavdummy @iliketigolbitties @scarlttolsn @blackbirdv98 @mxxnligxt @riomiyawakisstuff @alex4424 @0DeadandCold0 @mr.romanoff @mandy-asimp @idontwannabehereatm @daenerys713 @xxsekhmet @marvel_simp @maowlxslay @lizbugwanda @peggycarter3 @flositaa @dooblekhay @aliherrerasz @theo-021 @hopelesslyfalleninlove @secretbackrooms @natasha10273 @justyourwritter69 @theo-221b @wandaromanoff69 @eatkobi @lovelyy-moonlight @morganismspam23 @unexpected-character @rdfgfv
ok i’m literally so tired while posting this ‘cos i just got out of a seven-hour flight like yesterday, but i reallyyy wanted to post this because i haven’t posted anything in so long. anyways I HOPE YOU LIKE THE LORE and just a recap for everyone before part 3:
anyways it’s all set up for more angst and hardcore smut (yes i promise that is in part 3)
natasha - goddess of lust
carol - goddess of galaxies
wanda - goddess of magic
steve - god of justice
thor - god of thunder
bruce - god of science
tony - god of heroes
y/n - basic bitch
#natasha romanoff x reader smut#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff smut#bottom natasha romanoff#sub natasha romanoff#top reader#dom reader#gxg smut#wlw smut#x reader#natasha romanoff#marvel smut#natasha romanoff angst#natasha romanoff x reader angst#natasha romanoff x reader fluff#goddess natasha
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