#realizing i may or may not have a kink with fictional characters
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hi saw your daddy kink post discussing the phenomenon of giving grown characters surrogate parental relationships, and I understand where you’re coming from, but i really feel like it’s just a matter of the circles you run in, and the assumptions that you might make because of that. you mention how platonic reads of these dynamics are more uncommon than kinky reads, which i just don’t think is the case, and I think that arguing that people don’t even realize that they’re writing a kink is a little bit bizarre, and sort of assumes that you know more abt them than they do by projecting your own experiences onto them.
it isn’t inherently sexual to crave protection or a parental relationship that you may have missed out on, and it is certainly not universal. in my own family, my “grandpa” isnt my biological grandfather (nor do I really consider him to be my grandfather), but he’s my mother’s surrogate father and has been since she was in her twenties. an adult. he sees her as a daughter. she sees him as a father. there’s absolutely nothing kinky about it. and anybody who automatically assumes that must have their mind deep, deep in the gutter and/or the stranger side of the Internet. really, i find it a bit of a strange argument to randomly post in the first place—as if it’s a problem that so many people enjoy non romantic and non sexual relationships, and that these people must, in fact, have a daddy kink that they are unaware of.
that said, i do absolutely agree that fans bringing any part of that into phil’s chat is weird and they should Not do that, and that infantilizing characters is also very weird, and personally i dont even see him as being father figure to anybody on that island except his eggs, wilbur, and MAYBE an argument could be made for tubbo (which other cc’s on the island have joked about), but to each their own and all that.
sorry this is so long. TLDR, i get where ur coming from in terms of “warning , some people might read your stuff differently than you want here” but really not everything is a kink and paternal dynamics can easily happen in regards to adult characters, particularly young adults, without there being any inappropriate connotations. i know nothing i said will change your mind, obviously it’s set, but ykno diff perspectives and all that. hope ur doing well
Thank you for the ask! I see you were on mobile, I believe. :D I am also going to push the character limit with this response, I fear.
I agree that it isn't inhernetly sexual to go after a parental relationship that you missed out on, and there are many such cases. I'll even go so far as to say that it's not inherently kinky to go after a parental relationship that you missed out on, because there is such a thing as non-sexual kink, and heaven knows that MCYT writing is full of non-sexual kink. Lots and lots of stuff that is platonic that is kinking on fear, or being drugged, or kidnapping, or hypnosis, or familial relationships, etc— there's lots of people who aren't doing that. There are tons of people out in the real world (and in fiction), who are simply just expanding their family as an adult, and that's awesome. When I was in college there was this older couple who kind of adopted me and invited me over for thursday dinner, and they were awesome. There was nothing untoward going on there.
But look. I am an emduo fan who likes to see my guys be murdery, and because of that, I've ended up reading a bunch of Dark SBI. I've ocassionally gone "this cannot be what everyone is doing" and I've read stuff tagged as "family fluff" that I find recommended. I am aware of where the genre is going, particularly with the rise of "dadbur" and "dadnoblade" interpretations.
And look, you have just got to trust me on this one. People are writing stuff that in any other fandom I would be recommending they put kink tags on the work so that people who liked that trope could find it and people who didn't like it would avoid it, but that comment in DSMP would just lead to people getting doxxed, so I just grit my teeth and go "i guess that's baked into Dark SBI or Tooth Rotting Fluff now, I sure hope that doesn't hit anybody's triggers".
Like I PROMISE you. The first draft of this response included excerpts of fics that I've read and I was like "can YOU pick the ship fic from the /p fics here"? But I have a horror of ever leading to someone getting cancelled on twitter, so nothing that could possibly be identifiable of these writers. But like—
Some of the ways that Tommy gets treated in the narrative are almost indistinguishable from a bodice-ripper romance. Some of the tropes being used— within DSMP we've all clasped hands and agreed to interpret it being platonic, but in any other fandom, you are going to start getting comments that you might not want to get. The tag is FULL of stuff that is DD/LB in everything but name. Maybe my mind is in the gutter here, but if you move out of this fandom, you are going to move into circles where a lot of people's minds are in the gutter, and you are going to get a very different response from your comments!
And I was talking about daddy kink here specifically, because I see that one come up a lot and it's gotten egregious lately, but this also applies to dehumanization, and fearplay, and predator/prey, and "instincts" (in every other fandom that's gonna get people in a mashup of A/B/O, Hypnosis, and sometimes Agere responding to it), and kidnapping/drugging, AND the way a bunch of "piglin instincts" stuff is just a BDSM au now where the Brute (dom) needs to be callmed down by their Runt (sub). The SBI tag is super kinky right now. And I don't have a problem with that idealogically, write your truth, but a) please don't bring that up in front of the streamers, b) if you move to another fandom you have got to be prepared that not everyone is doing their kink platonically.
Like I'm assuming that people don't know what tropes they're playing into, they're just building them from first principles, because the other alternative is that they are deliberately and knowingly writing kink and posting it in the & relationship tag with insufficient trigger tags, and I prefer to believe that people don't know.
I'm glad we agree about people bringing that into Phi's chat, or Pol's, or Luzu, or any of the other streamers that people have decided is So Old. A lot of people aren't comfortable even being assigned dad, as we saw with Felps, so bringing it even further is just— uh oh, no.
I do not have a problem with people liking non-romantic and non-sexual relationships. I find it a bit odd that much of the fandom can't concieve of a non-romantic and non-sexual relationship without making it familial and specifically lately father-son— don't you have close friends?— but I am fully in support of gen writing. I primarily write gen! I'm an avid commentor on gen fics!
But some of the tropes at play in the fandom are kinky, there is no way to avoid that. The fact that they are set in a familial relationship doesn't negate that. Some of the ways that the DSMP characters get treated would be distinctly non-familial if you ever brought it out of that context. And I am just warning people, if you bring it out of that context, be prepared for the response you get.
You cannot take DSMP tropes and apply them one-to-one in other fandoms, with other streamers swapped in, and expect them to be read the same way. Like i'm sorry, but that's just true. If you are posting the same sort of stuff that for Cellbit & Phil that you would post for Tommy & Phil, people will assume that you have a daddy kink, because usually when a relationship between a adults that are actually similar in age is refered to with paternal language it's a kink thing. That is how the broader internet works.
(And anon, if I had a daddy kink, would I be complaining about the fact that I can open any SBI fic and have about a 40% chance of hitting it and I'm seeing signs of this appearing in QSMP? I assure you I'm not "projecting [my] own experiences onto them" here.)
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His Rose ~ Part 1
(Kai Parker x Bennett OC fanfiction)
content warnings/tags ~ Dark fiction, (eventual) CNC, dubcon, non-con, yandere, murder, abuse, trauma, smut, stalking, innocence kink, dacryphilia, manipulation. Minors DNI
I don't claim ownership of The Vampire Diaries or its characters. All credits go to the rightful owner(s). I only own my original character(s).
Word count: 1.6k
K.P. Masterlist
Bonnie's life was on the line.. again.
The Other Side was collapsing, time was running out and as the anchor to the crumbling realm, she knew she wouldn't be spared. She stopped at her home and let Rose know. The news absolutely crushed her sister. Rose felt like she just got her back from when she died last summer. Becoming the anchor was her second chance at life but now it was being ripped away. Rose didn't even have time to argue a solution before she squeezed her in a tight hug and said goodbye. She was out the door, dashing off to pull Elena, Damon, and the others back from the Other Side.
Rose watched as the door shut behind her, wiping the wetness from her eyes before charging into Sheila Bennett's in-home study. From her life as a practicing witch and occult studies professor, their late grandmother had shelves full of ancient grimoires, scrolls, texts and items so she ought to have something that could save Bonnie. As the minutes ticked by, the piles of useless books stacked around her grew with her desperation.
"There's nothing here!" she muttered, slamming the heavy grimoire closed. The force rattled the desk and the shelf above it, knocking a scroll down in front of her. Rose blinked away her frustrated tears and lifted the dusty scroll, blowing it with her breath to reveal the Latin handwriting and symbols.
After pulling her friends back to the living world, Bonnie anticipated the approaching light. She glanced back, meeting Elena's solemn gaze. They all gathered behind her, no words left to say as they watched their beloved witch meet the very fate she had saved them from. She knew she couldn't save herself and she accepted that. She only hoped that within the next few moments she would find peace with her grams and father.
The moment she closed her eyes, she felt a jolt of energy lance through her. Something changed. When she opened them, she was amongst the others but Rose stood a few feet away, the wind of the collapsing dimension tossing her brown curls, the white light reflecting off her face.
Horror gripped her when she realized she was no longer linked to the Other Side, Rose was.
She offered Bonnie an apologetic smile as she watched tears bead down her shocked face.
"I love you, Bonnie," she uttered just before the light consumed her completely...
and she was gone.
The brightness subsided as the wind around her settled to a calm hush. Rose could finally open her eyes and found that she was standing in the same place, at the boarder of Mystic Falls but everyone had disappeared.
She dashed around town calling out Bonnie's name, looking for her, their friends or anyone but it was completely deserted. She stopped to catch her breath in the middle of the town square, the usually bustling epicenter was empty. That's when panic set in, worrying that she was actually dead, though this didn't seem like the “peace” described or even hell. For that matter, she didn't feel dead, in fact she felt very much alive something she realized when her stomach growled. “Dead people don't get hungry," she told herself as she walked into the Mystic Grill. Much like everywhere else, the Grill was desolate. She made her way into the kitchen and found it fully stocked with alcohol and food that seemed up to date, so the town couldn't have been abandoned too long ago, she thought. Rose made a quick sandwich and walked toward the bar when her eyes fell upon the bulletin board. She nearly dropped her plate when she read the date on the calendar.
May 9th, 1994.
It didn't take long for him to notice that things were different. After 18 years of complete solitude, he grew accustomed to the consistency of the realm. His strong ability to detect the presence of magic, made it all the more obvious to him when the young Bennett witch touched down in his prison world. He tracked her down to a Virginian town called Mystic Falls where he first saw her in the living room nose deep in a grimoire. He slipped through an unlocked door and watched her silently out of her view. He figured she was looking for anything that would explain where she is or how to escape but she likely wouldn't find anything in those texts. Luckily for her, he planned on revealing everything...
In due time.
Just over a week passed and unbeknownst to her, Kai was watching the entire time. He’d stay up while she slept, curled up with her fuzzy plush lamb she called lamby. Most nights she’d clutch the stuffed toy to her chest and just cry herself to sleep. Like a sad shelter commercial, he enjoyed the pathetic display, though he hated the little white lamb with a passion, fantasizing about how much more she’d cry if she woke up and it’s head was cut off.
He observed everything, from her tendency to talk to herself to the she way she put tension in her lips when she was concentrating on the Latin of her texts. Clearly, she was a beginner and her general naivety would come to his advantage once he finally decided to make his move.
Rose swayed her hips as she rounded the corner, pushing her grocery cart while singing along to ‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody' by Whitney on her Walkman. He sat in a fold up lawn chair in the center aisle of the otherwise empty market, munching on a bag of pork rinds and watching with an amused grin, wondering when she would finally notice him. After deciding on a box of Count Chocula, she finally turned from the shelves and their eyes met. Her mouth fell open as she paused the tape and lowered the headphones from her ears. He smiled and gave a slight wave.
“Were you there the whole time?” She blurted breathlessly, taking him in. His face had a pleasant balance of soft and sharp features that made him both cute and intimidating and a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. The dark brunette wore a hooded jacket styled over a graphic tee, denim jeans and worn out converse.
“Yeah, I didn’t want to interrupt. You sounded amazing by the way.”
Her cheeks burned, “t-thank you… umm who are you?”
“Sorry, manners, I’m Kai. Nice to meet you.” He set aside the bag and stood up from the chair. Her eyes followed his ascent until he stood fully, towering over her. “And you are…?”
Her ears got hot. “Oh right! Rose- I’m Rose… excuse me, I haven’t spoken to another person in a while. I promise I’m not normally this awkward…” she sighed and averted her gaze downwards.
Kai shoved his hands in his pockets, “can’t be any worse than me I've been here since the very beginning.”
“You’ve been all alone for 18 years?" she uttered in disbelief.
Kai forced a laugh, “It's not so bad. There’s no traffic, everything’s free and privacy isn’t an issue… now, there is the crippling loneliness but that only creeps in once in a while.” He casually plopped back down on his chair and grabbed his chip bag.
“There’s no way out of here, is there?” She sighed.
"Nope, not unless you happen to be a Bennett witch…” he scoffed as though the thought were incredulous and popped a rind in his mouth.
Her eyes lit up. “Wait, I am! I am a Bennett witch.”
Kai grinned, “well then the odds just got a lot better.”
“So, is Kai short for something?” She asked as they walked back to her place. Kai offered to push the cart for her.
“Malachai,” he replied.
“Malachai,” she practiced softly.
“But I prefer Kai,” he tagged on.
“What about you, Rose is short for what? Rosemary or… Rosalie?”
She giggled. "You’re close, it’s Rosalina but I prefer Rose.”
“Rosalina... that's pretty, much more fitting if you ask me.” The way he said her name made her want to bite her lip but she opted to return his smile instead.
“This is me,” she announced when they came to her house. She led him inside where he was kind enough to help her put away the groceries.
“So, what is this place?” she asked.
“One of many prison worlds created by the Gemini coven. Anyone who opposes them is gifted their own personal hell dimension. I got mine on my 22nd birthday.”
“Why would they do that to you?”
He sighed, “most of it is coven politics- what you know and who you know, ya’ know? Long story short, my family betrayed me for more power. I don’t really like thinking about it.”
Rose understood and decided not to pry. “So, you know how to get us out of here?”
Kai leaned forward on the counter while he explained the Gemini coven always left a back door to their prison worlds and it was called an ascendant. Under the direct light of a solar eclipse a Bennett witch is to use her magic and blood to activate the device and transport them back to the real world. “We’re going to need a locator spell to find the ascendant. Without my magic, I haven’t been able to find it.”
“When is the next eclipse?” Rose asked.
“Time works a little differently here… the month of May repeats itself over and over, starting with the 9th. Every third time May 9th comes around the eclipse happens.”
"The last eclipse just passed a few nights ago… that means we have about three months to wait.”
“On the bright side, we have plenty of time to find the ascendant,” He noted with an optimistic air. It amazed her how he managed to be so hopeful and positive even after being trapped for 18 years. “After all this time, 3 months is nothing,” he murmured.
She thanked him for helping her with her groceries. “Well, I’m going to make stuffed chicken for dinner. You can stay if you want.”
“You just met me and you’re asking me to stay for dinner… I mean, I could be a serial killer,” he finished with a charming smirk.
“You’re too nice to be a serial killer,” she put matter-of-factly while taking out the chicken breasts.
“Ted Bundy was nice,” he retorted.
She smiled at his wit. “Are you staying or not? Because I need to know if I’m making one chicken breast or two.”
Kai relented, “Oh, alright. How can I say no to stuffed chicken?”
#kai parker#bennett oc#tvd#tvd au#the vampire diaries smut#tvd fanfiction#kai parker x reader#kai parker x oc#kai parker x poc reader#kai parker smut#kai parker fanfiction#kai parker x reader smut#the originals#tvd kai#kai parker x y/n#kai parker angst#lovers to enemies to lovers#dark!fic#kai parker imagine#kai parker fluff#headcannon characters#delena#bonnie bennett#tvd oc#bd/sm kink#bd/sm brat#dark kai parker#yandere#tw smut#tw dark themes
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Have people forgotten that Fiction is not real and that non Canon ships are just a fun lil fantasy people have because they saw something possible between two characters. I LOVE zutara always have and jfc I know it's not cannon but I still think it could have been something.
saying things like they're from different sides and it's colonizer and colonized or toxic and so unreal is so silly, yall realize that these things do happen in real life and throughout fiction since forever. Romeo and Juliet, people who work for different companies, Japanese and Korean lovers, Mexican and American lovers.
life isn't black and white nor perfect and neither should fiction be. toxic situations happen but thay doesn't mean people wont fall in love whether that love is good for them or not. (disclaimers I still think zutara would have been firey and wholesome but that's another argument)
and not to mention fiction and fanfiction can be a way to live and imagine a situations that may be unrealistic to your personal situation or even just a fantasy or Even a kink.
let people have their Zutara, Dramione, Harmione and what not
rant over
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all the love and fame steve harrington's character got over the years truly doesn't mean SHIT when you realize that good 60% of you don't even understand his character, nor did you ever.
you may have all started worshiping him when he turned to kids, became a "mom" and god knows what else, but each and every one of you ignored the reason why he even became that in the first place.
nancy wheeler.
and this isn't even a discussion about which pairing you should love or prefer, this is a discussion about steve harrington's character and in order for anyone to understand a single thing about him, you have to go back to his roots and that will ALWAYS be nancy wheeler.
steve didn't become who he is today and went through his big development because he broke up with this girl, he did it because he LOVED her.
"i know you promised nance to keep us safe. so keep us safe."
the whole reason why he even got stuck with the whole upside down chaos is because he willingly came back to jonathan's house to apologize and after facing the madness in that house, he still chose to stay and fight. why? because his care for nancy wheeler is stronger than him being a coward.
and when he tells nancy to go with jonathan in season 2, while he offers to stay with the kids, he does it for the exact same reason. love and care for her. he quite literally doesn't have any other reason.
steve's connection with kids only grows afterwards and that's where his independence shines, because he is able to make meaningful impact on the audience just by continuing his growth and linking that with other great characters like dustin and robin only makes him more lovable.
but what started it all? what made him who he is today?
it's just baffling, because the show quite literally spells it out for y'all dumbasses that it's nancy wheeler who was there at the beginning of his whole journey and it's quite natural she will never leave because this is fiction and when you're writing a goddamn story, it's quite natural for your characters to make a full circle, reflect back and realize what is actually the one thing that's been there for them the whole time.
it's called making a great conclusion for an already great character.
but then i have to see y'all burying media literacy six feet deep into the ground by saying steve's love for nancy is ooc and he would absolutely NEVER dream about having a family with her, while being a same dumbass who called him a mom for five years straight. when i say it's depressing for us i'm not even kidding.
not to mention the very obvious way the writers tried to communicate how it's nancy the one that matters the most in that dream, and not her pumping six kids out for him, yet y'all chose to be the most pathetic bunch of dumbasses i've seen in fandom spaces and call that sweet moment a breeding kink.
have fun trying to be taken seriously in real life i guess.
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RE discourse since I guess literally everyone's opinions matter
didn't think I'd want to add to this or die on this hill but here we are I guess :D there's been so much discourse for Leon x Reader and it boggles my mind how naive some of you are of the internet, fanfiction, and fiction in general. But I'm gonna make a bullet list and hope this doesn't get too long
Don't like it; don't interact with it
Simple, there are block buttons for a reason but no you all want to be ethically and morally superior and complain on a website where most of the user base are adults. You curate your own experience on the internet, the blogs who write dead-dove state what it's going to be about before you read it. You only have yourself to blame.
What about the kids?
Honest to god who cares. Are they your kids? Do you know these kids? There used to be porn on here. Don't act like kids are so naive and need protecting. Most of the kids on here are probably tweens or young teens and they definitely know about sex. And if they are actual children, it is their parents responsibility to keep an eye on their child. and I have faith these kids are not illiterate and they can google anything that they don't know in the tags. They are also responsible for curating their internet experience. You gonna go to ao3 and ask what about the kids? Many places on the internet are not meant for kids and honestly it should be kept that way.
Dead-dove will influence others and propagate pedophiles, rapists etc...
No. I hate to break it to you, but people who are legitimately terrible morally corrupt people will just go out and do it whether or not they read fiction. They're not lurking on Leon x Reader tag when there's also just actual terrible published novels that are essentially all dead-dove, but worse because there's no warning before you read them. The policing of fiction on one website will not stop or drop SA rates and if you truly believe so, show me an article/journal/study that links the two besides an odd case here or there.
It's no ones kink!
Have you been on pornhub? I guarentee you it is someones kink, and as distasteful as that may seem to some of you, guess what? No one is forcing you to be into it. I'm not into some of the dead-dove stuff but also I'm an adult and I realize that and I can move on. But also, fiction for many i imagine is a form of catharsis. To help deal with trauma or work out dark thoughts. You can go around and accuse blogs of being morally terrible but when the only evidence you have is they wrote fiction, about a character that doesn't exist, it's a weak argument.
You don't need to voice your distaste in everything
Recently, there has been an uptick in dead-dove content. But also for the most part, there are so many other blogs that don't write that. You are focused on a minority and your complaining about ethics and morals are only performative. You want to gate-keep fiction? You don't like non-con, fine. What if a story has a pivotal moment but there's non-con. What if there's a genuinely good series but there are dead-dove elements. You want to laud over these blogs and look better but banning content is a slippery slope. ao3 doesn't do it, and people love ao3. It trends when it goes down. Just because something bothers you, you don't have to do a whole crusade. If it really bothered you, you wouldn't be complaining on the internet. Go out there, form help-groups, you could even do a degree is psychology or criminal justice. You're all so worried about the impact of dead-dove but you only care because it's in the leon x reader tag. and let's be honest, most users following this tag are women. Living out a fantasy.
In closing:
Everyone pressed about dead-dove should be grateful that the blogs even put a warning. And if you truly cared about the issues you raise in your arguments, you would understand that reading fiction is the lowest cause for someone to go out and commit crimes. Not when certain religions exist, or manifestos, or even cultural norms. The internet, and even writers in general, cater to a lot of things. Tumblr has a block button, use it and stop trying to police others unless you plan on applying the same rules to every site you interact with.
#resident evil#leon kennedy#leon kennedy x reader#i had fun scrolling through all the different stories#but now its all just pointless discourse about being morally superior#my post#didn't touch on rape sa apologists#but like its fiction#no one is doing that in any of the stories if they were they wouldnt feel the need to add all the dead dove tags#i just hate when people are performative about how superior they are and how much more morally upright they are#youre still on the internet on this hellsite#youre not better than anyone
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fairyysoup's FAQ
✨My blog is 18+ Minors do not interact ✨
this is not an exhaustive list so i may update from time to time. xoxo gossip girl
✨What is your name?
I go by Rose, Soup, and sometimes Fairy(y).
✨Why can't I find your fic(s) on your blog/masterlist anymore?
I have removed a majority of my fics, and the text from some of the most recent ones, from tumblr. The explanation for this can be found on this post. My works are all on my Archive Of Our Own (AO3) account.
✨Why is your AO3 empty?
Because you are not signed into an AO3 account. All of my works on AO3 are user access only, which means you have to be signed into an AO3 account in order to see them. Making an AO3 account is very easy; you can request an invite which will be sent to your email in 1-3 days depending on the waitlist. When I requested mine, I only waited 3 hours before receiving an email with a link to create an account. This is mainly to prevent bots from creating accounts on the archive. Please do this, even if it isn't in order to read my work, as the archive is an important place for fan artists to interact with and support each others work.
✨When will (x) fic be updated?
When it gets written. idk when that is. When the voices say.
✨Are you still writing for (x) fic?
See above. Most likely yes, the voices just haven't said anything yet.
✨What happened to Pirate Radio?
I began Pirate Radio when I was in a bad mental state and I had not planned anything for it aside from the first chapter. I stopped writing after two chapters and decided it would be best not to continue it, and took it off of all my accounts. I had not realized that the two chapters I'd posted would be as impactful as they were, and that I would still be getting asks about it over a year later. Currently, the chapters are still in my drafts and I have not thrown away the idea of picking it back up.
✨Do you take requests?
You can always send a fic request to my ask box, but whether or not I write the request is up to my energy levels, and of course the voices.
✨Who/what do you write about?
I am currently writing for Joe Keery characters, Joseph Quinn characters, Camila Morrone characters, and Charlie Cox characters. This is not a rigid list, though, and if I've written for a character before I may write for them again randomly. I only write for fictional characters, and I do not write RPF. I mainly write x reader fic without fail so far.
✨What the fuck is teddy roosevelt breeding kink?
wouldn't you like to know weatherboy
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Over Your Ex, Under His Brother
Pairing: Josh x f!reader
Summary: You had just recently broken up with your ex-boyfriend, Jake, who happened to be the twin of your best friend. One weekend afternoon Josh stops by to spend time with you after being distant for weeks. Feelings emerge to the surface and things start to happen as your little smoke sesh together becomes more than you expected.
Word count: ~4k
Warnings: swearing, drug use, sexually explicit content MINORS DNI!! (Unprotected sex- wrap it up y’all!, dirty talk, oral f!receiving, slight m!dom, slight choking kink, praise kink)
A/N: This was so much fun to write! I know I’m late for 4/20 but had this idea floating around in my head for a bit and decided to jump on it. Hope you guys enjoy this one shot collab with my bestie, @josiee-gvf - who has provided immense amount of inspiration and input for this work!
*Everything written here is intended to be read as complete fiction with upmost respect for the real people these characters may be based on. I do not know the guys personally and don’t intend for this to reflect on them as real people in any way.
Things have been weird for you lately as you fell back into the routine of being single again. You had recently broken up with your boyfriend Jake a few months ago, the twin brother of your best friend. Things naturally progressed from friends with benefits to a more steady relationship with Jake. You both quickly realized that it wasn’t really working out. Sure it was fun in the beginning, but the bickering and constant miscommunication started to drive a very obvious wedge between the two of you. The little thought that something was missing between Jake and you always seem to linger.
Josh and you had been so close over the last year and half after meeting at a house party with mutual friends. Both of you had instantly clicked over anything and everything. From bonding over old movies to singing obnoxiously loud in the car on weekend drives. Even though he claimed to be supportive of you dating his brother, it clearly bothered him to some extent. Things started to shift and you ended up hanging out less and less. You witnessed more of his mood swings when you chose to spend time with Jake instead. It was apparent that Josh was starting to grow apart from you, and you’d be lying to yourself if that wasn’t a driving wedge between you relationship with Jake.
When you and Jake broke things off, it was on mutual terms. There wasn’t really animosity between Jake and yourself, even agreeing to stay friends. Although, the idea of actually spending time with him still felt off, given the few awkward interactions you seemed to have since you split.
You missed spending time with one of your closest friends. You adored Josh more than anyone and it was a pain resonating within your heart when you felt yourself push him away. Each time he tried to invite you out somewhere, Jake always seemed to tag along in some way. It didn’t make you angry, but you felt it was best to keep your distance for the time being. He seemed to understand your decision overall, but you couldn’t help but feel guilty when his usual bubbly responses became stiff and abrupt whenever you bailed on him. You just needed time to let the dust settle before throwing yourself back into Josh’s world, especially when it involved his brother.
It was a Saturday afternoon and you were still in your pajama shorts and a very worn t-shirt from the night before. You didn’t have any plans made with friends and it was one of the first days you had off work in over a week. You decided to silence your phone to put on some records and catch up on a few chores that had begun to pile up throughout your small apartment.
You had just finished tidying up the kitchen, filling up the dishwasher and organizing a few cabinets when you heard the unexpected knock on your front door. You knew you weren’t expecting a package and no one had made plans to come over today. It startled you enough to make you freeze at a standstill in front of your sink, at least until you heard another series of knocks. You frantically looked around for a sweatshirt due to the fact you hadn’t even put on a bra yet today.
“Y/n, open up it's me! I know you’re home.” You heard the familiar voice muffled through the other side of your front door. You rolled your eyes to yourself as you padded over to the door, opening it up to see Josh standing there with an enormous grin plastered across his face holding a large pizza box from your favorite restaurant.
“Hey, Josh.” Huffing out in a chuckle as you crossed your arms over your chest. “What are you doing here?”
“What?! You don’t want to hang out with your very best pal anymore? Even if I come bearing gifts?” He scoffed as he walked through your door, placing his hand over his chest in faux-offense. You closed the door behind him as he brushed past you to set the pizza box on the counter. “Seriously though, do you just not answer your phone anymore? I must have called and texted you at least a dozen times.
“I’ve been cleaning my place, thank you.” Your tone immediately sounded defensive. “I’m sorry, I just haven’t had a chance to check my phone that much today.”
“Well, I’m here now. And fuck the cleaning. I just picked up an eighth from my dealer earlier. So I think it’s safe to say we are celebrating today.” He dug a baggie out of his pocket and tossed it to you before lifting up the lid of the cardboard box to dig out a slice.
“And what is it that we are celebrating?” You raised an eyebrow at him as your brought the baggie to your nose to smell the contents, the powerful scent of the weed immediately violating your sinuses.
“Good shit, huh? And to being best friends, y/n. Do we need any other reason?” Josh mumbled around a large bite of pizza. He hopped on the edge of your counter as he finished eating the rest of his slice.
“I’m sorry we haven’t hung out lately.” You apologized, as feeling of guilt from your recent behavior of avoiding him washed over you.
“How come? Is it because of Jake?”
“I guess? I just feel weird hanging out with him right now.” You admitted, not really sure how to explain your feelings about Jake to Josh.
“Why didn’t you say anything? You could have just told me you didn’t want him to come along.”
“Josh. That’s really not fair of me to do. He’s your twin for fuck’s sake. What kind of person would I be if I made you choose me over him?” You protested, walking over into the kitchen to pull a piece of the pepperoni pizza out of the grease-stained box for yourself.
“He might be my twin, but you’re my best friend. Time with you matters to me, y/n.” He had hopped off the counter and walked behind you, wrapping his arms around your stomach as he dropped his chin to rest against your shoulder.
“How do you have this power to convince me of anything?” You giggled and his grip around your midsection tightened.
“It’s because I’m so irresistibly cute. You just can’t help yourself” Josh teased and you reached back to pinch his nose between your finger and thumb, making him release his hold around you. “Ouch!”
“That did not hurt, you big baby!”
“Don’t mess with this beautiful face, mama.”
“You are an idiot, Josh.”
“But I’m your idiot.”
You went back into your bedroom to grab your grinder and your favorite glass bowl out of your bedside nightstand. It was the one that Josh had given to you on your birthday last year. It was a deep navy color with a baby pink hand blown glass octopus wrapped around it. He had taken note of how much you loved it in the display case at a smoke shop you went to with him. You cherished it so much and always brought it out when you smoked together.
“I’m pretty sure this stuff is going to stink up my living room for a week.” You teased as you picked buds out of the bag to place in your grinder.
“You sure it's okay to smoke here?” Josh asked with his back turned to you as he was digging through your record collection.
“Yeah, my landlord is pretty cool. He’s an old hippie dude and from what he told me about the previous tenants, weed is the last thing he’s worried about.
You and Josh spent the next couple hours flipping through records and passing your glass bowl back and forth and you both stretched out on your small couch. He eventually settled into the comfortable position of laying across you with his head resting on your lap.
He was softly humming to the music playing on your record player, his eyes half-lidded from his weed-induced daze. You were both ridiculously stoned out of your minds at this point, and the meaning of time was inconsequential. While in your own daydream state, your fingers brushed and twirled through the mane of thick brown curls that sat on his head.
It was an absentminded gesture and initially you didn’t think much of this moment. Josh and you were known to display acts of affection to each other, and to people that knew you, the behavior was normal. You always just assumed everything was just automatically platonic, never questioning it beyond that fact.
As your fingertips brushed against his forehead, sweeping the fallen pieces away from his face, his eyes closed from the sensation. You couldn’t help the thoughts as they popped into your head. He really was handsome. His cheeks were flushed a light pink shade, most likely his current blissful state of being higher than a kite. You wanted to run your fingers along the bridge of his nose, across his Cupid’s bow, over the plump, full lips, still glistening from the last time his tongue swept over them and to the dimple that sat in the center of his chin.
Acting out of complete impulse and without your sober brain to walk you through the decision completely, you leaned down to meet your lips onto his soft, full ones. He responded and caught yours as the kiss deepened between you. Then, as if the reality of your dynamic rushed through his system in an instant, he froze. You pulled away suddenly, sitting back up against the arm of the couch as he shifted out from your lap.
He sat up across from you, pulling his legs and crossing them under him. The look on his face was hard to pinpoint and embarrassment started to immediately flush your system. This was the first time you made the first move on a guy and you were about to get rejected, and with the addition of maybe even ruining your friendship.
“Y/n, what was that?”
“I, I’m so sorry, Josh. I didn’t mean to. I’m not sure what came over me. I think-“ You were stumbling over your thoughts, frantic in your attempt to find a reasonable explanation for randomly kissing your best friend without any warning,
“Shut up, y/n. Come here.” Josh whispered as he reached forward to grab the sides of your face between his hands, pulling you towards him as he leaned in.
His lips connected with yours again, now with his full undivided attention. It was deliberate, and filled with more passion that you could have expected. As you explored each other, his tongue flicked up against your upper lip, hinting he needed even more from you. You greedily opened your mouth, inviting his tongue to slide against yours.
If someone would’ve asked you for your opinion on the matter, you might have guessed Josh was a good kisser. The way his tongue was dancing with yours blew away any thoughts you might have previously had on the subject. The pad of his thumb was rubbing gently across you cheek as the other wrapped around your throat.
You finally pulled away to catch a breath of air, not realizing your lungs were screaming from the lack of it. You were spinning as your heart pounded heavily in your chest and the thousand butterflies fluttering in your stomach.
“Wow.” You whispered, inches from his face as you continued to pant from excitement.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He chuckled against your mouth as he rubbed his nose against the side of yours. The thumb that was caressing your cheek moved to brush softly against your swollen bottom lip as he held your chin in his fingers.
Your lips pressed into his while you leaned forward to crawl onto his open lap. One of his hands left your face to take hold of your hip, guiding you into him with more pressure, as the heat started to build within your core. You rocked yourself against him, whimpering out when you felt the hardness of his cock pressing up into your thigh through his tight jeans.
You continued to grind shamelessly on his lap as your hands explored the expanse of his chest, and groaned out of frustration from its still-covered state. His moans vibrated against the side of your throat as he bit and sucked marks across the sensitive skin. In a frenzy, you pulled his shirt over his head, letting the multiple necklaces adorned around his neck hit his chest and collarbones.
His hands snaked up the smooth skin of your back, slipping under the thin material of your t-shirt, gliding around your sides to feel the lack of bra on your chest.
“It was so hard for me to not stare at these today.” Josh giggled into your ear, the warmth of his breath tickling across your skin. “I think your nipples were hard the entire time.”
“Shut up, idiot.” He nipped playfully on your earlobe as he snatched the worn shirt off your body in a fluid motion, throwing onto the floor behind you to join his. He gently leaned you back so he could look down at your body, taking in the first time he has ever gotten to see you naked.
“Fuck, y/n.” He whispered, licking across his bottom lip as his eyes trailed back up to yours. “You are so unbelievably gorgeous. I can’t believe this is really happening.” His fingertips gently brushed over your collarbones, just barely hovering as if he was too nervous to actually touch you. You swore you felt him shake from nerves and excitement.
“Touch me, Josh.” Out of impatience, you grabbed his hands to guide them down to your breasts that sat on display in front of him. Without skipping a beat, you rocked into his hard cock and leaned down to lick a stripe up his neck.
With you pulling him back into the lustful moment, his mouth started to leave wet kisses across the top of your chest and over the peak of your breasts. His thumb rubbed over one of your hardened nipples while his tongue flicked across the other. The warmth and wetness of his mouth on your exposed skin mixed with the weed-induced high flowing through every part of your body left you swimming in overwhelming pleasure.
You were simply floating in this moment, and your head fell back as every square inch of your body buzzed with electricity. The anxious feelings from the very real fact that this was one of your best friends were being pushed from your mind as his teeth nipped, followed by the warmth of his wet tongue gliding across your breasts.
Josh had wrapped his arms around you and pushed you into the couch with your back laying across the cushions as he crawled over you. His kiss-swollen, perfect lips connected with yours once more as he slid his tongue into your mouth.
You could really kiss him forever if life allowed it. Everything about this was intoxicating and perfect. The playful bites of your lip in his teeth, to the way his tongue danced across yours, to the way he tasted and moaned into your mouth. It drove you crazy as the wetness started to pool between your legs. You needed him there, and you were getting desperate.
“You sure you want to do this?”
“Yes, Josh. Now please take my pants off.” The demand feigned impatience, his concern for your comfort making your heart flutter. Of the twins, Josh’s sweet, cautious nature stood in stark contrast to his brother’s dominating, bossy personality. In the moment, it became clear to you that his love would be no different. You felt safe with Josh. Loved, even.
He kissed between the valley of your breasts and trailed down to your navel, nipping across the skin of your soft belly just above the waistband of your sleep shorts. You whimpered, involuntarily bucking your hips up into his face.
“Say please again.”
“Josh…please.” It was a pitiful whine and you were almost certain he would tease you about it later. That thought quickly vanished when his fingers hooked around your shorts, ripping them and your panties down your legs.
He slipped onto the floor and wrapped his arms around your thighs, yanking the bottom half of your body to the edge of the couch. Before you could react to the aggressive action, his tongue dipped into your pussy.
“Oh fuck…” The moan falling from your lips was pitchy and desperate. The fingers of one hand weaved in your own hair and your other hand tangled through the curls tousled on the top of his head, using them as a guide to grind yourself into his face.
“You taste amazing, babygirl.” He praised against your clit as his warmth breath fanned across your wet pussy. The sensation causes your legs to shake under his hold.
“Josh, please. Don’t stop.”
“The way you beg for me sounds so pretty, y/n. I could listen to it all day.” He hummed, the vibrations rolling off his tongue as it licked across your clit and down your folds. You rocked yourself into the bridge of his nose as he worked his mouth on you. The building of your orgasm was creeping through your body as his tongue swirled over your clit.
“I’m so close.” You gasped, throwing you head back into the cushions behind you.
”Go ahead, y/n. I’ve dreamed about you cumming on my face more times than I can count.” You grabbed his hand, nearly crushing his fingers from the grip as your climax started to rip through you, breaking through your hold on to your state of existence. It pushed you out of yourself, as if you were floating away from your physical self.
He lapped into you, working through each wave that came crashing into you, letting you scream out his name amongst a string of profanities. A sheen of sweat had collected across your forehead, as you laid out panting from the ecstacy rocking through your body.
When you started shaking from the overstimulation, he moved to kiss the tops of your thighs and stomach as you came down from your new-found high, still mixing deliciously with the one from earlier.
“That was incredible, Josh. What the hell?” You giggled, bursting at the seams from already fucked-out bliss. You caught the smug smile spreading across his face as he crawled back over you.
“I’ll never share my secrets, babygirl.” His mouth found yours, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. The action brought a new found desire as it burned through your center. You needed him now more than ever.
“I want you.” You whined against his lips, the words from your mouth made him buck his hips, the rough fabric of denim rubbing into your exposed pussy. Your hands quickly found their way down his toned chest to work the button of his pants.
He broke away from your touch, standing up beside the couch to pull his jeans and boxers off his legs. The sight of his painfully hard cock in front of you made you gasp louder than you intended to. It took you by surprise, never thinking you would actually see it. You looked up to see him biting his bottom lip between his perfect teeth from seeing your reaction to his naked body.
The silent stare between you didn't last long as he made his way back on the couch between your legs. You wrapped them around his waist to pull him into you, feeling the tip of his cock catch against your swollen clit.
His swollen lips found the sticky skin of your neck that was exposed from your head being thrown back, kissing and nipping from your ear to your collarbone as he guided himself teasingly through the wetness of your folds. Your hand wrapped around the back of his neck with your fingers slipping through the feather-soft curls.
“You seriously have no clue how long I’ve waited for this, y/n.”
“Josh, please. I need to feel you.”
“Only because you asked so nicely, pretty girl.”
He lined himself up and slowly pushed into you, eliciting a series of moans to escape from the both of you. As soon as he bottomed up, filling and stretching you out in the most addictive way, you thought your heart might combust right there.
This was your best friend, and he was making you feel better than anyone else had ever made you feel before. He was special in every sense of the word to you.
He let you bask in the sensation for only a few moments before rolling his hips into you. You were soaked from earlier, allowing him to slide through you with ease. Everything about him was perfect.
“Fuck.” He groaned into the shell of your ear, the sound rumbling within his chest, “You feel amazing, babygirl. The way you’re wrapped around me.” His sweet and sultry praises sent sparks dancing across your skin.
He began to pick up pace, the thrusts rocking into your pussy as the tip of his cock hit your g-spot, causing your second orgasm to bubble up within your core. He leaned away from your chest and planted a leg onto the ground for leverage as he started to snap his hips into you.
One hand was pressed into the cushion of the couch to support his weight as the other grazed up the length of your bare torso, his open palm rubbing between your bouncing breasts until it wrapped around your throat. His fingers squeezed around it with more pressure than he anticipated, sending a rush of excitement through you. It was unexpected and you loved it. He quickly released you to move his hand back down your chest, almost as if he was worried he pushed it too far.
You grabbed his wrist and brought his hand back to its previous spot around your throat. He tightened his grip once more, softly though, being careful not to restrict your breathing. A low moan rumbled to your lips and you knew he had felt it against his palm more than he had heard it.
“Does my pretty girl like that? Do you like the way my hand fits around your throat, just like it was made for you?” Although he’s almost fucked out himself, he studies your expression intently as you respond to the best of your pleasure ridden ability.
“Fuck, Josh, I love it.” You only managed a whisper and it was broken at best. The lustful grin on his face with the unrelenting snap of his hips into you gave away how much he was absolutely loving this. For a moment you caught a familiar gleam in his eyes, one that reminded you all too much of Jake and the way he used love overpowering you. Not wanting to ruin the moment for either of you, you pushed Jake to the back of your mind and instead focused on Josh and how tender he was with you even when he was treading into what you had assumed was new territory for him. You took in the sight of him dominating you, something you would have never even imagined coming from Josh. He titled his head back, the mane of curls framing around his neck that was now glistening with sweat.
He was slamming into your cervix now at an unforgiving pace, the beautiful mixture of pleasure with the slight tingle of pain coursing through your body. You felt the muscles of his arms under your fingertips as they flexed from exertion. The way he bit his lips from his own pleasure, how much his chest heaved with each breath he took to even the way his tanned golden skin looked in the afternoon light - it was sending you directly into the oncoming wave of your second climax.
You circled your clit as he thrust into your tightening pussy, and you began to notice his rhythm begin to falter as he approached his own release.
“I’m so close, y/n. I don’t think I can hold on much longer with you squeezing me like that.”
“I, I- Please, Josh. I want you to cum inside me.” His lust-filled eyes immediately dropped to meet yours, pupils blown out with desire. His darkened gaze never left yours as his thrusts grew sloppier with each recoil of his hips. Dropping his head into your shoulder, you feel him hiss against your skin.
“I fucking love you, y/n.” He whispers into your neck. You had barely heard him, let alone had time to process his words, before your orgasm crashed into you harder than you thought possible. You tangle your fingers through his perfect curls and you can’t stop the cry that escapes you.
“Oh my god, Josh, oh my fucking god!” You feel your walls squeeze unforgivingly around him and every single nerve in your body is on fire with…lust? Love? Marijauna induced desire? Regardless of the origin, your body had never been more alive. You were spiraling in vivid color, dwindling down into a shaking, breathless mess. Josh was right behind you, with one final thrust he was done for. He too couldn’t hold his tongue, and moaned an array of beautifully articulated curse words and other indecipherable praises. His arms gave out beneath him and his body melted into yours. Resting his head still in the base of your neck, you held each other in silence for what seemed like an eternity, waiting to regain the lungs that had seemingly escaped the both of you before you could even attempt to mutter a string of words.
You weren’t entirely how much time had passed with your bodies intertwined together, but it didn’t matter to you as afternoon fell into evening. With a little reluctance, Josh finally pulled away from you, and walked over to the bathroom, giving you a wonderful view of his adorable backside and grabbed a clean, warm washcloth for you.
After cleaning up, you both settled back into the comfort of the couch, still completely naked as Josh settled between your legs with his back pressed against you and his head laying on your chest. He went to work packing another bowl to share between the two of you.
“I fucking love Saturdays.” He laughed, blowing a cloud of thick smoke from his lips.
”Not as much as I love you.” You whispered into his ear before taking the bowl from his hand.
#josh kiszka#gvf smut#josh gvf#gvf fic#josh kiszka fanfiction#josh kiszka smut#josh kiszka fluff#fanfic#gvf one shot#gvf fluff#josh kiszka one shot#josh kiszka x y/n#josh kiszka x you#josh kiszka x reader#greta van fleet fic#greta fan fleet fanfiction#greta van fleet fan fiction#greta van fleet smut
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This is not an attack, more like a rant of my own but you see how you say everything is okay except for stuff with minors? You understand that some people’s limits are a little bit above just stuff involving minors?
You recognize that repulse you feel, that icky feeling, the feeling that you want to puke and you need to say, need to clarify that stuff with minors is not okay and shouldn’t exist?
Well some people feel the exact same repulse and icky feeling and the NEED to say that it shouldn’t exist when it comes to rape and incest.
I find it mind boggling that people are told to ignore, block and move on… and the same people will FOR SURE tear someone to shreds if someone wrote pedo stuff (rightfully so!) but don’t people understand that for rape and incest it’s the same thing? At least for a good chunk of people?
Like just IMAGINE being told to ignore, block and move on when someone is writing about minors, it’s icky, disgusting.
triggering topic warning!
i understand what you’re saying. (im terrible at wording things but) this is part of my point. Like when I find something involving a minor, no i don’t attack a writer directly or anon message. Yes its vile, but doing that is doing way more harm than good.
A lot of people are arguing the more you do attack, the more they’ll write. I agree. Which is why i think the solution is to block and move on. Im not trying to invalidate.
Attacking a writer for whatever topic it may be only encourages. Anon hate does no good because really who wants to listen to a stranger tell them not to do something?
i cant remember the account, but there was a minor on here who wrote incest about other minors. She got hate especially on anon and what did she do? Replied to the anon with more of what triggered them.
Another thing, like i said in the previous rant, the more you interact with darker content, by sending it, visiting the blog, commenting wtv, the more it will show up on your feed. That’s why ive said to block and move on if you dont want to see the content. The more you do to prevent these things (which for non-con, incest, rape topics and wtv else gets nothing but a community label) the more you’re pulling it towards yourself.
And not to be that person, but those types of fanfics have been around since forever, on ao3 especially. Part of the reason there’s been more lately is because of the complaints.
There’s also people who need to learn to read warnings above fics and on intro pages before interacting. I’ve seen people saying how a fic was super cute until they realized it had incest. I understand that repulsive feeling, but the warnings are there 9/10. Like i said, if they aren’t, there’s easy ways to ask the writer to include them.
It’s all about your own morals. Some people think writing for minors is okay, while you don’t. Some people may enjoy bdsm, and you don’t. Some may find comfort in writing for trauma kinks while you find it gross. Regardless of you find it wrong, the writers may not. In some cases that may mean they need professional help or something, but that isn’t your job to push. Either way, harassment to this degree is childish and does not fix anything. Only draws things out further.
Would we really do half the shit we write about in fanfiction in real life? Like if Leon was real, do you think he would realistically even have children? I don’t think he would. But it is fiction (ik that’s a very common argument but the point still stands) if the character was real, none of this shit would go down irl. This includes vanilla kinks - hard kinks.
Again, I see your point but I hope you understand what i mean by this.
EDIT (again sorry i keep adding on😭)- id like to point out how this anon was respectful even though they’re arguing their views. and not calling REAL people literal slurs and telling people to die for it.
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🦋 About Me 🦋
Hi, I'm Julia!
I'm a fictive from The Coffin of Andy and Leyley, and I made this blog as a way to keep up with Andrew's and connect with other folks and fictives! I probably won't be active all the time, but I'm happy to answer asks and stuff when I can. ^^ If I take a while to respond, I'm probably still considering my answer!
Here are some general rules for the blog:
🩸 18+ ONLY, please! I probably won't get super nsfw on here, but there will be topics concerning kink and...well, everything else kind of inherent to this fandom.
🩸 DNI if you're an anti, underage, or otherwise just not the kind of freaky weirdo who engages regularly with this kind of content. This is a very freak-positive space!
🩸 I'm happy to answer questions "in-character," but if you try to pit me against Ashley in any way, I may not respond and might even block you for my own comfort. My Ashley and I are actually on good terms, and while I'm all for drama, I'm not really interested in being the love triangle whumpee.
A few things about me:
🌼 I'm a new fictive in a newly-realized system. We're all still kind of working things out, but we'll try to answer questions about system-related thing as best as we can!
🌼 I like to roleplay and lean into the darker aspects of TCOAAL's story, as well as my own fictional "universe" expanding on it. But, I do also have real feelings!! I just ask that people be cognizant of that, and I'll do my best to make it clear if a boundary has been reached.
🌼 My system host would like to remain anonymous for the most part, at least for now! However, we'd like to note that the body is 27.
I'll probably add more to this as time goes on, but just wanted to lay out a baseline for now! Thanks for reading 😊
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I’mma muse about some stuff and it’s going to get a little lot dark so please tread carefully.
Topics will include assault, trauma, trauma processing, projection, and messy healing.
And oddly enough, it all started with realizing what defining moment it was that made Marco my #1 blorbo over Eustass Kid.
I love Eustass Kid - from canonical character to head canon king, I just love him. He is, as I’ve said, to me the quintessential dom - the quintessential Kinkster. Maybe it’s the aesthetic, or the misfits of the misfits vibe his entire crew has going on, or maybe I’m just projecting my own ideal onto a big beef cake.
Of all the mental/emotional deep dives I could go on, I’m not here to muse on that.
I realized Marco had overtaken Kid for me when I found myself craving dark fics with Marco. Not the kind where he’s being dark, the kind where Teach has his face in the dirt and his ass in the air and is threatening to slaughter all the survivors if Marco struggles against him.
And I realized that one of the biggest reasons for that - and I think most dark content - is the validation it provides. That the things I survived weren’t as avoidable as I used to believe, they were neither my fault nor within my control.
It’s a validation that even strong people can be victims and being one doesn’t make you weak or worth less.
It provides a way to navigate the healing after ward, and because we see the darkest parts of the trauma we can see the messiest parts of that healing too. The good days that weave between the neutral ones that are tied down by the awful ones.
The validation that healing is messy. For our heroes as much as for us, for the people we admire and disdain.
And fiction, fan fiction especially with the added layer of connection I feel that exists, let’s us apply those traumas not just from the hands of villains, but also heroes, such as they may exist in the original world. Good guys can do bad things - the person your community exalts Can be the villain who hurt you. The delinquent who broke your nose can also be the one who pulls you from a burning building.
We are complex.
It’s easier to process that complexity on the canvas of fictional characters sometimes than to face it directly. And I think that’s okay. I honestly think it’s wonderful - a beautiful, if not often misunderstood side effect of creativity.
And sometimes? Sometimes we break those beloved characters and end the story with them shattered. Because that could have been our end. That is the What If we hadn’t survived.
And I don’t think we’re always aware of this - I know a few people who don’t even realize how traumatized they are. They’re flippant, coping with humor, about things that make your blood run cold when you hear them. Sometimes denial fuels people, and they’re okay because they’re too strong to be a victim, too functional to be broken.
So we don’t realize why that drive is there. Why we want to see certain events presented in fiction. Why it feels like relief, or why we cry at parts we wouldn’t expect to prompt tears.
But kink, fic, bdsm, etc. as long as you aren’t exploiting or harming someone real, then I don’t think there’s a single thing wrong with how dark your content gets.
(If you start actually wanting to harm someone though, please seek professional help. Your fantasy/coping lines are blurring with reality and you’re gonna need external assistance carving that line back into place.)
But, odd as it is, to me, bad things don’t happen to Kid (I mean the canon material beats him up enough as well). Kid’s the rock that weathers everything so his crew stays protected. So *I* stay protected. Even if he was broken he’d never admit to it, not in any way that would lead to processing it and healing from it.
But to me, he doesn’t break.
Marco can. But Marco can also heal from it, and I’m not talking about his Devil fruit. I’m talking about wounds you can’t just bandage or regenerate. He’s strong, so strong, but he’s been through the ringer, and you only need to apply a little more pressure… and then heal with him afterward.
That makes him, to me personally, more relatable. And thus back to the seemingly innocuous reason for this - that’s why he’s my #1.
#quin muses#mentions of assault#trauma#trauma processing#projecting#musing on the need for and important of dark content
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debauched angels (and brazen escapades) - Ⅱ
not my gif!
summary (for part two): as spider-man goes MIA, so does black cat. this gives peter an opportunity to get to know you more - receiving information more than he expected.
word count: 11, 442
warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT mentions of blood, violence, enemies to lovers, awful writing (?) bc english isn't my first language. mentions of character death (not major!), giving (y/n) that one of a kind background past, patriarchal men maybe.
(EXTENDED WARNINGS BELOW THE CUT)
a/n: part two is here yay! tbh i really love this mini-series and i'm happy that so did you guys <3. silkscream read this on AO3 so hey if you see this, i'm in love with your writing. part three is still in the works so i'm sorry if it will take a while to release it. hope you all enjoy!
MASTERLIST ; SERIES MASTERLIST
༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺
explicit warnings: smut, poorly written. praise kink, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, biting?, spitting, oral + fingering (fem receiving), unprotected sex (pls practice safe sex!) maybe cum-dumpster reader, dom/sub dynamics ft. slightly switch!peter and slightly switch!reader (but peter's mostly sub in here lol), possessiveness in the dirty talk, lotus sex position, cum eating. this is like rough smut and a lot of submission but its very sweet in the end
༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒
so, what am i gonna be doin’ for a while?
said, i’m gonna play with myself
show them, now, we’ve come off the shelf
It had been a very long three weeks.
And in those three weeks, Peter had not seen Black Cat but you.
Peter doesn't lament about her absence, nor does he yearn to see her every night during his patrols, too captivated by the bliss you've been providing him for the preceding several weeks.
Despite the fact that his minor remorse is steadily eating him alive. You have no idea he's Spider-Man, one of the people who have broken into your gallery, but when he decided to tell you he was willing to help decipher the clue Black Cat left, he no longer had to worry about giving you any justification why he's so determined to get his sticky fingers on the hint left behind in quest of the turbulent Cat.
You both decided it was best to keep the police out of this, too.
Peter’s temporarily taken a break from being Spider-Man, realizing that figuring out the clue was much more important at the moment. Besides, it seemed like Black Cat was MIA too.
Both of you shifted from each other’s places. He’d finally introduced you to Ned (“Oh! Peter’s Emily” “What?”) and MJ. And he wanted to wait for a few weeks before introducing you to aunt May.
And as Ned had said: Go Ross Geller on her.
He spent those weeks, whilst figuring out what the clue meant, getting to know you. Other than the fact that you’re super into Greek Mythology, Peter discovers you’re into dystopian fiction. You’d adorably gushed about your love of The Maze Runner series – having to read the books and watch the movies at a young age spiced up your so-called addiction.
Piquing his curiosity even more, he finds out your hands, in all their finesse, are not only adaptable in painting in canvases – you told him you’d been dabbling in tailoring (including embroidery and crocheting) after you graduated high school as a method of catharsis for tough moments. One night, after restless hours reading and browsing the internet, you’d ended up crocheting him a blue and red beanie.
He knows your favorite film was Shutter Island; he knows you prefer your tea with three teaspoons of sugar; he knows you only drink vanilla latte for coffee; he knows you're allergic to eggs but eat them anyway because you said, and he quotes, "you only live once."
Peter had gotten those simple facts about you in a span of seven weeks and he craves for more.
Distracting him from his earnest researching (both for the clue and his recent homework), you went inside your apartment with a large empty canvas in your arms, dragging it behind you.
What had been a placid mood before you left had turned to a somewhat panicked state as he approached you (he heard your heartbeat before you left and right after you entered the door). “Hey,” he greets through a small smile. “Do you need some help?”
“Hi, no thank you,” you say back. “Sorry for suddenly barging in. The whole solving thing is driving me fucking crazy and I couldn’t just sit down and stare at books and screens reading things my brain can’t comprehend.”
Peter chuckles at your small rant as you gently placing the canvas against the wall. “’s alright. I’d be nice to watch you paint, anyway.” He replies. “Oh, I-uh- made Branzino. But, I, didn’t make it. Like, I just cooked it. Because I can’t make fish…so…”
“I know what you meant,” you give him a tight smile. “I like Branzino. Thank you.”
As Peter retreats to his comfy seat, fingertips haltingly resting on the keyboard as before, dark eyes flickering between his notebook filled with his scrawny handwriting and his laptop, which had at least seven sites open – three of which were clue related – silence falls between the two of you.
Once you changed your clothes your heartbeat had calmed down. Peter watches you walk towards the box on the side of your bookshelf, picking up a few acrylics and paint brushes before busying yourself to get ready.
Peter, ever the inquisitive, pauses his typing to gaze at you after your stillness, rotating his torso to rest his arm on the back of his chair and look at you. "Um...I have a question."
Peter is a smart person – book wise. Prior to becoming Spider-Man, he'd spend idle hours with his nose buried in a book and his eyeglasses so tight on his eyes that they left a red imprint on the top of his face
Unfortunately, he was never very astute when it comes to privacy and cognizance. A couple months ago, Happy’s seven-year-old fish had died and came to May’s apartment finding solace while she had been on a call with Peter.
He'd never seen Happy so pensive before. He was so distraught that he sobbed in front of Peter during the video call on May's laptop, tears splattering on the gaps between the letters of the board. And Peter had inquired insensitively if his fish had learnt any tricks, enabling his thoughts to speak for itself.
Aforementioned, he never really knew why he had thought that first before thinking of comforting Happy for the death of his pet.
And now, as he starts to rise from his seat and approach you at the front of the easel, he's deliberately paraphrasing the question over and over in his brain.
“Shoot,” you reply, fiddling with the brush between your fingers.
The second the word leaves your lips, the question leaves his head so quickly that he begins to wonder if he even thought about the question in the first place.
"Um," he feels the rush of blood to his cheeks, the apples rendering his pale opalescent skin consolidate the crimson that somewhat turns his cheeks baby-ish; defacing his cheekbones.
You're halfway through your first stroke, the white bristles tainted by the murky black resin. Although barely begun, there's already paint daubed on your skin, constricting your pores.
Your imposing eyes, tad apprehensive, glance up at his rapidly blinking ones. He notices you take in the perspiration dripping down his forehead to his unkempt brow. "Are you alright?"
Peter stammers. “Yeah. Just, forgot what the question was.” He looks down on his scarred knuckles, observing the bumps decorating his fair skin. “Can – can you talk first?”
Most of the days it went like this – Peter itching to ask you a question about anything, but the second you look into his eyes it’s as if he’s been hit by a car and given amnesia, having to forget the question all the time.
And then you’d fill the awkward silence he created, being the first to ask him a question instead.
Which is how he learned things about you - via scrupulous scrutiny, like a vigilant cat with his ears perked and eyes immobile, tail swishing in lieu of what's impending.
“Sure,” you clear your throat. “Um. Come sit beside me first.”
Peter happily obliges.
Eyes too scared to meet yours, they glue themselves on the white canvas as you begin to delicately move your wrist to your desired direction. Peter doesn’t know much about painting, merely having only to know how to sketch. So he is unaware of the exquisite daintiness and importance of integrating to suffuse the aspect;
He observes as you swivel your wrist to trace the graphite line that pinches onto your canvas, filling the white space with the darkness of the pigment that paints the ambience of your adroitness.
“I remember my question now,” he speaks out loud, fighting the urge to rest his head on your shoulder. “Why…do you paint a lot?” (that wasn’t his real question, but it had popped into his head)
The question’s followed by a silence that, unbeknownst to him, is filled by your contemplating thoughts. But he waits for you patiently, expecting at least an answer he’s able to comprehend.
You take a deep breath. “The thing about painting is that it doesn’t matter how you stroke your brushes, or how thick the amount of paint you use, or how broad the bristles are – it’s all about dedication and ingenuity. Unearth the hidden proclivity that pervades the versatility of your hands and the exigent mind that strives for you to envisage and put your sentiments to life.”
When he thinks you’re done, you continue. “My mother loved to paint,” you say softly. “She loved staying inside her gallery, spending hours and hours painting on canvases with different sizes. If I wasn’t busy with school she’d bring me with her and we’d paint together – either she gives me my own canvas or I help her paint her recent one.”
Usually the topic of domestic bliss between parent and child would envy him, the opportunity to experience those taken away from him at such a young age. Though he’s long over by their deaths, this doesn’t stop him from wanting to be loved by a parent—
(But then he realizes he has May, the woman who’s been working her ass off for years to give him a better life; a woman who stayed strong despite grieving alone still. And he adores that woman with his whole heart, thanking him for the love she’s given him.)
—Now he listens to you talk about your mother, unscathed by the faint jealousy. “I watched her think for just a second before starting a new one,” you continue, never looking at him. “and just watching her do that – bring her thoughts to life – it’s something that I wanted to do and I did. Which is why I paint so much.”
You dip the brush on the pallet. “She told me I could be anyone who I wanted myself to be. Told me I should be my own woman, not let a man control me and change my life. So I became my own woman that’s…influenced by her.”
Peter sweetly smiles to himself. “Where’s she now?”
“Dead.”
So much for smiling, huh? Thought you did something there, didn’t you?
“Oh,” he mumbles. “So-sorry.”
You shrug, dragging your brush downward. “It’s alright.” You slightly smile at him. “She…I found her dead in front of our doorstep one night. My dad and I never really knew how she died, or who killed her or what happened. But, but we’d given up a long time ago, y’know? Didn’t see any point of solving her death when we’ve both moved on.” You sighed deeply. “Would-would’ve been nice to know how she died, though. For some closure, I guess.”
Peter nods, his hands on his lap casually rubbing the denim over his knees. “My parents died, too.” He says, more in a way of sympathy than story-telling. “They-they got into an accident. So my aunt and my uncle took care of me ever since. Then my uncle died a couple years ago.”
It was your turn to apologize. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright,” he smiles softly. His gaze is drawn to the silver hair that stood out and hung over your shoulder. Peter points timidly at the hair. “Why do you have-”
“This?" Your hand combs through your silver, your fingertips caressing the dainty threads. “Oh. My mom and I did this thing every birthday of hers. We’d always get this strand bleached until it’s almost white, and we’d douse it in that purple shampoo until it becomes silver,” you chuckle softly at the memory. “People say we look so much alike except for the hair and she wanted us to have something in common in everything."
Peter frowns a little. “Did-did your hair never die?”
“Oh, it did,” you giggle, tracing the curve drawn on the canvas. “We don’t, like, bleach yearly. The first time we did it, my hair died. So she told me we’d only bleach it on her birthday when the silver disappears.”
“What happens when you don’t bleach on your birthday?”
“We’d paint,” you reply, looking forward. “Sometimes she’d teach me how to defend myself. ‘Cause my dad never did those things with me.”
When your unoccupied hand settles on the diminutive area between your thighs, his fingers twitch in an attempt to lace themselves over yours, or maybe just rest them on top of your hand. “Why not?”
“My father’s really…how do I say this without making him look bad,” you mutter before you bite your lip, gnawing on the slightly chapped skin. “My father is very old-fashioned. He wanted a son. But when he got me, he would sometimes treat me like his son rather than his daughter.
“He didn’t like it when I wore high heels, but I do,” you say. “He didn’t like it when I wore dresses. Said it was too ‘provocative’. I was ten,” you spare him a pointed look. “He would never get all rough-and-tumble on me. But he took me to the golf course once a month to teach me. And he’d bring me to the gun range a day before my birthday ever since I turned thirteen. But he never really believed too much in me to be his heir.”
Heir. Peter thinks there’s more in your life than he thought so.
Testing the spasmodic curiosity on the back of his head, Peter scoots closer, his thigh grazing your finger. “Heir, huh?” his tongue clicks over the roof of his mouth. “What does your dad do?”
“He’s a business man,” You respond haphazardly. You're halfway through your painting, but Peter is too engrossed in your tale to fathom what you're painting. “He wanted a man to rule over his company. And when he had me, he thinks that I’m not capable of the responsibilities laid upon men in the business industry,” you inhale sharply. “Well, guess what dad? I’ve been doing almost all your work ever since mom died, so, eat shit.”
Finally, Peter fucks over his conscience, calling him a coward, before reaching wantonly for the hand that's holding the paintbrush, heedless about the black paint infusing his bruised-tainted hand.
Your skin is frigid and almost unwelcoming to him, almost as if it had been Lilliputian to physical affection for such a long time. But when his hand envelopes yours, it’s almost as if it’s intrinsic to his saccharinely palpable hand; adding succor to your neglected heart.
And he oh-so-desperately wishes his hand could travel anywhere than just your calloused hands.
Though quietly, he could hear your breathing hitch and feel your accelerating heartbeat. Peter senses your reluctance when his clean thumb grazes your painted knuckles. The action nearly disappoints him if it weren’t for your eyes that softened when they traced the spaces between.
“No one’s held my hand in…years,” you whisper, almost unsure with your wordings. “The last person to ever hold my hand was my mom, and that was almost ten years ago.”
“Your dad’s a dickhead,” Peter declares. “You’re strong and you can do everything that he thinks you can’t. His incompetency relies on you, for fuck’s sake; he shouldn’t underestimate you like this.”
“He’s been misjudging me since I came out of my mother,” your breath is shaking, rapidly blinking away the tears he spots. “I’ve done everything to prove myself. What more could he want?”
“You can prove him wrong,” he nods his head, grasping your hand in his tightly. “You’re going to prove him wrong. And you’re going to amaze him so much it takes his breath away.”
When you smile through the lachrymose tears you’d finally let go, his other hand reaches up to wipe the tears off your soft skin.
“Hell, you took my breath away,” Peter softly confesses. “You didn’t do anything yet you took my breath away. That’s how powerful you are, (y/n). Because my whole life, the only thing that took my breath away was when I watched Star Wars for the first time and that was years ago.”
His thumb is dampened by your warm tears. Despite the fact that your face is moist and swollen from crying, he believes you've never been more breathtaking.
Peter leans in to try to kiss you, but your clean fingers place itself over his mouth, index finger tracing his thin pink lips that are gently pursed.
“As much as I want to kiss you too right now,” your thumb drags his bottom lip. “Take me out to dinner first.” You give him a small smile, looking up at him through your eyelashes – the sight melts his heart. “I’m also old-fashioned. Romantically.”
He leans back, slightly upset at the lost of your touch on his lips. “Okay.” He says. “I’ll take you out on the most beautiful date ever. Tonight.”
You raise your brow. “That was quick.”
“I know a lot of people who can help me find a special spot,” his eyes teasingly squint, hand never letting go of yours. “Dress however you want, as long as it’s a bit fancy.”
“Are you going to pick me up?”
“I…I’ll see…” he sheepishly declares.
“Why don’t we just eat the branzino?” you suggest, whispering. “So it won’t have to go to waste.”
Peter pulls back away from you, eyes widening slightly. “That is smart. Let’s do that. But, we won’t have the date here.”
“Is there something wrong with my apartment?”
His eyes yield itself panicked, leaning forward once more to grip your hands rather tightly. “No! No. It’s just – I’d like to take you to someplace else, if that’s alright? If you want to have the date here, that would be alright.”
Your subsequent giggle reverberates around his ears, finding its way to his hammering heart to which it makes him squirm lightly on his seat. “Okay,” you reply with a soft smile. “I’ll let you take me someplace else.”
-
Can my hands be this sweaty?
Peter's hands feel as though they've been immersed into a tub of water. He could feel perspiration flow from his arm to the tips of his fingers, falling to the ground beneath him, not to mention that his hair is growing moist from nervosity, despite having taken a bath over an hour ago.
He’s waiting outside your flat with three Scabiosas in his left hand. He had not-so-casually asked what your favorite flowers were earlier (“So, just for school research, does your friend have a favorite flower? And can you put in yours, too? I’m collecting everyone’s favorite flowers.”), and as soon as you answered him, he sprinted to every flower store that offered your beloved flower.
The Scabiosa’s a glorious scabious, with long, wiry stems producing rich crimson, suavely fragranced pincushions. The smell is addicting – familiar; the vaporizing scent trailing up his nose until his brain registers a moment of clarity. And the familiarity irritates him, because it ends up making him think of someone he wished he didn’t.
The door opens, allowing you to step out of your home.
Beautiful.
Your angelic vogue mollifies his anxieties; Peter becomes privy to the sweet, unbound serenity you brought upon; reign at the discretion of someone as alluring as you smile.
For a moment he thinks died. That when you stepped through the door, you’ve come to take him to heaven as you besieged his body with your surreal, antique wings; holding his hand to bring him to amnesty, pardoning his sins.
But you take him away from his subspace when your hand brushes his shyly, tucking your hair behind your ear.
“Black Cat Scabiosas,” you softly declare. “My favorite.”
Peter offers you the flowers, almost shoving them to your chest (though he didn’t mean to.) “Yeah,” he nods. “I looked for them everywhere.”
“Within an hour?” you raise your brow. “That was quick. It’s hard to find these flowers here.”
“I had my aunt’s boyfriend go to somewhere really far to get me these things,” Peter can never forget the irritated look Happy gave him when he brought the flowers to his place. “It’s no biggie. Anything to- to make you smile,”
And you do smile, smelling the flowers. “Thank you, Peter.”
The interaction is unintentionally limited as of the moment, both silently dying from excitement and eternal delight as Peter opens the car door for her to sit inside in before moving to his side of the door.
And during the ride he’d introduced you to his less-embarrassing favorite songs that he connected to his aux, singing softly to the lyrics as you bobbed your head with him; and if you did know one of the songs, you’d sing along with him with your gentle tone that he finds so comforting he could just sleep if he wasn’t driving.
Observing you from the corner of his eye, he would notice you sit straighter when you’d pass an ice cream store. He makes a mental note to take you there before bringing you home.
It’s almost an hour drive to his desired destination. And you wait patiently until he reaches a spot with almost little to no people in the area.
He gently guides you through the rutted and gravelly road. A hand on your waist that he wishes he could hold whenever he wanted, and another on your hand that he was only lucky enough to hold earlier.
“Where are you taking me, Peter?” you laugh nervously. “This is not the way I want to be blindfolded.”
Peter blushes. “Relax. We’re almost there, angel.”
He doesn’t notice how you slightly stiffen at the nickname. “What are you, like an ax murderer or something?”
“Worse,” he replies. “I won’t tell you what it is, though.”
“I’m going to claw you and repeatedly scream for help, Parker.”
The laughter that occurs stops when you reach the spot. Peter carefully removes the blind fold wrapped around your eyes, shoving it on the backside of his pocket. But he never lets go of your hand.
The sun meets the pristine edge of the mirrored panorama from the lake's flawless oval, which remains completely immobile due to the tranquility and paucity of disturbance. The trees harbor a soft harmony of its leaves swishing against each other to the decaying foliage falling on the dirt below.
There’s a blanket towards the near edge of the pier that leads to the middle, a basket in the center. Peter hears the hitch in your breathing as you (sadly) drop his hand to carefully make your way to the spot.
“Peter,” there’s a tremble in the way you say his name. “Peter, this – this is beautiful. Thank you.”
“Nothing to be thankful for,” he comes up behind you, resting his hands on your shoulders. “I told you I’d take you on the most beautiful date ever.”
As you walk hand by hand towards the blanket, there’s a soft meow behind you.
Turning around, there’s a black cat passing by, though still looking at the two of you with its threatening green eyes before sauntering away.
And the date goes by uninterrupted – stories shared from memories at old schools, hobbies picked up as children that continued up until now, favorite movies (even though he already knew yours), and embarrassing reencounters. Much to his chagrin, however, you seemed to avoid any topics that included your plans about your future. Yet Peter doesn’t mind.
Within those hours he managed to pick up small quirks from you – how you rub your nose when a chill breeze passes by, or how the nail of your index finger picks on the skin of your thumb when you’re nervous (which he manages to stop when he pretends to hand you things such as glasses and treats).
“So are you planning on telling me the truth behind Atë?” he asked you at some point, halfway through his first glass of champagne. “You said you’d be telling me when we meet again.”
Much to his chagrin, you’d shrugged, taking a bite of the branzino. “Unfortunately I’ve still yet to find out. Been caught up with work to find out.”
“You’ve submitted your project about the Gods too, though, right?”
You shrugged again.
Before he knows it, the date’s done. Stories shared, food enjoyed, champagne drank through their problems.
You’d gotten home late at night.
Guaranteed, each of you were slightly tipsy from the champagne Peter brought. But you were sober enough to fathom what you were both doing as you fumble with shoving the key through the hole before stepping in, Peter following behind you.
Peter watches as you take courtesy on removing your shoes that had been making your toes ache ever since you wore them. He also removes his after your approval, gently placing them on top of the welcome mat.
The lights are dim, though enough to accentuate both your figures like a painting drawn beneath the night sky. There’s a soft inebriated gloss on your eyes as you hand him a glass filled with cold water.
“I had a great time,” you speak out after he takes a long sip of the water. “Thank you. So much.”
“Like I said earlier, (y/n),” he walks closer, placing the glass on the table behind you. “Nothing to be thankful for. I’d take you out on a million dates if you want to. If it means I could kiss you.
Your nails are no longer sharp, now designed in a sage green squoval that matches your outfit perfectly. “So like…did you only take me out on a date to kiss me?”
Peter’s eyes widened, mouth parting. But he stumbles with his words like how he stumbles on his feet. “N-no! I mean, I did want to take you out on a date. But I also wanted to kiss you. And if you-you wanted to go on a date first before kissing me, then I’ll do it,” he looks down on his trembling fingers. “If you want me to do things for you before I kiss you, I’ll do it and wait. Hell, even if you want to wait a whole year or two, I’ll still wait. Because I still get to kiss you, and the whole waiting will be worth it.”
He senses how your uneasiness that tautened your muscles relaxed, back slumping slightly. “That’s really-really nice.” You whisper, voice barely echoing off the walls but loud enough for him to hear. “Really sweet. You’re like…the first guy to be this genuinely sweet…to me.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” he meekly chuckles. But when you don’t laugh with him, his chuckle dies down. “Have you, never, been on a date?”
Silence.
“Or-or a relationship?”
Head hanging low, your finger traces the lips of your glass. “It’s not like a relationship, per se,” you correct him. “It’s more like a mutual understanding. Like, we both know that we like each other but we never really do anything to make it official.”
Peter hums in understatement. “So you’ve never had a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?”
You shake your head. “I guess I’ve never really had enough time to, y’know, look for the right person amidst all the chaos my father put me into my whole life. Every decision I made in those ‘relationships’ were too brash.” You tut. “And, they’re like scared of my dad.”
He takes this as an opportunity to prove himself. Accost the threshold that separates the secrets that await for revelation; he desires to indulge in something more between the two of you that continues to greet him with derision the longer he makes the both of you wait.
Overwhelmed by a sudden wave of drunken confidence does Peter take a bold stride towards you. He towers you, shadow consuming your figure; but instead of scaring you, it comforts you.
“Has anyone made you feel their love?”
You look up at him. Peter reels in the sudden darken in your eyes and the erratic broadening of your pupils. He respectfully tries to pry his eyes away from your heaving chest that’s almost exposed by your attire, but he fails when he feels your chest meet his.
The curls of your hair sharpens your cheekbones, almost as sharp as your mind. Your lips are suddenly luscious – suddenly kissable. Overall, you appear delectable to Peter; making him crave for you and wonder what kind of sweet sounds you’d make for him when he shows you his love-
“No,” you shake your head, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. “Not that I have remembered, no. I’m a difficult person to please, Peter.”
“Well, lucky for you, I don’t give up that easily." He doesn’t know how they got there – maybe they weren’t that sober. But the state you’re in proves that you’re both only treading lightly in a drunken mind that tells you what you’ve been wanting this entire time.
“Are you going to kiss me, Peter?” you whisper. “Are you going to prove to me that those people I’ve been with are incompetent in achieving my pleasures?” standing taller, Peter feels just a smidge of submission. “Are you gonna stop waiting?”
His hand reaches up to cup the side of your scathing cheek, tilting your head upwards so his thumb could trace your wet lips, dragging the bottom lip down.
“I don’t give in easily,” he replies, the other hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He leans closer to the side of your face until his lips graze the skin of your earlobe. “Beg for it,” he whispers.
Your nail scratches the soft exposed skin of his arm, tracing the bulging on his forearm with a touch so delicate and burning it sends shivers down his spine.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” you whisper when he leans back to graze his nose with yours, inhaling in your sweet scent. “I want you to prove yourself. So you beg for it.”
Peter swallows thickly, your risqué tone alone makes the blood rush down to where he’s starting to get rock hard against his briefs.
And it's as if you've bewitched him because he's suddenly leaning in nearer till your lips brush. “Kiss me,” he whispers against your lips. “Fuck me. And I’ll fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk for days, angel.”
And then he kisses you.
It tastes of champagne, cherry, and you. You, you, you. All he feels is you as your hands wander everywhere – his biceps, his back, the flush skin of his arms.
Despite the irreverent remarks spoken thus far, the kiss begins delicately, and he takes his time reeling in the cherry-flavored lipbalm that you had applied earlier in the evening. As he rubs your back, you faintly hum as you lay your hands on the back of his neck, toying with his wild locks.
He's had hopes and aspirations that never came true. But he never expected this to happen - your tender lips on his rough ones. It starts slowly, enabling all of the passion and intensity to flow from your exquisite mouths while Peter kisses you harder.
But he's envisioned kissing you - what you'd taste like, what noises you'd make, how you'd feel. And they were much, far better than he had expected.
His crooked nose bumps yours, digging onto the skin beside your nose when he moves in deeper, his right calloused hand moving up to place itself on the soft skin of your cheek to which contrasts to his, thumb rubbing the skin adjacent to your eyes.
Peter carefully walks you to your bedroom, lips never leaving yours.
And then it’s a mixture of tongue and teeth. His tongue probes your mouth, sucking in your enticing taste. His hand moves down to cup the broad curve of your ass, and he groans when your hands rip the button of his shirt, allowing you to rake your nails through his scarred abs.
The moment is flawed; an angel committing a sin and you’d done it to pleasure yourself. But neither of you care as his lips physically avow itself to treat you like the woman you are – respected, believed in, loved, praised.
His lips move to your neck, kissing everywhere until he sucks on the spot that lets you release the most innocent whimper he’s heard.
“Tell me what you want,” he huffs, voice husky. “Tell me where you want me. What you want to do with me—fuck. Do what you want to me. Ruin me.”
Your breath is hot against his neck as you bite the curve of his neck that meets his shoulder, discarding his shirt that’d been wrinkled by your needy hands. “I want you to use that pretty mouth of yours to good use,” you pant.
He doesn’t oblige immediately, though knowing what you meant. Instead, he takes his time to take your top off, throwing it to the ground where you threw his shirt.
He doesn't spend any time unclasping your bra and staring at your bare breasts. And God, did they taunt him into doing such heinous things that no one would ever forgive him for his misdeeds but you – the fellow sinner.
Peter ducks to take one nipple in his mouth, nipping at the soft bud before sucking on it until it’s perked and painfully erected. He sucks on the top curve of your breasts before he lets his lips wrap around your bud again, his other hand kneeding the vacant tit, thumb rolling through and overstimulating the delicate skin.
His clothed crotch grinds itself over yours, friction just enough for him to smell how wet you’ve gotten underneath your bottoms. You release a high-pitched moan right through his ear and he almost came in his pants.
“You’re so pretty,” Peter murmurs. “So, so pretty. So beautiful. But I bet you’d look more beautiful when I look up to you.”
Peter then kneels in front of you, yanking your hems down so you would step aside and shed the superfluous apparel.
When he kisses the soft skin of your inner thigh, he’s able to take a small whiff of your arousal leaking through your underwear that’s calling for him. But now he’s painstakingly taking his time with you, sucking on your supple flesh until he’s sure it’ll mark the next day.
You moan, throwing your head back as your hands cards itself through his unkempt curls. “Stop teasing me or I’ll finish myself off,” you pant.
So in response, his hands rip the material of your lace.
Peter’s hands guide your leg to rest on his shoulder, giving him a better view of your cunt that glistens beneath the moonlight that seeps through your curtains. The engorged bud waiting for his greedy lips.
His slender finger raises to swipe through your slick folds, feeling your wetness spread throughout his index, only to be cleaned when his mouth sucks on his finger.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls. “And you taste amazing. Who made you this wet, hm?” he marks another on your thigh, and another, drawing an arrow to where your sweet nectar is.
Your hands push his head near your aching pussy, his nose grazing your clit. “You. Fuck. You made me this wet. Do something, please.”
Finally, Peter licks through your cunt. His thick muscle starting from your pulsating hole to your clit, sucking on the bud like his life depended on it as his tongue focuses on kitten-licks.
Is this what ambrosia tastes like? When he’s kneeling on the ground with your legs as the arches to your sacred sanctuary. And you give him the taste he’s been waiting for, letting him devour you like it’s his last meal before he’s dragged down to perish with you.
“You taste amazing,” he chuckles through your cunt, sucking greedily on your clit before letting the tip of his tongue tease your folds.
“Fuck,” you hiss. “Fuck, don’t stop.”
As he continues to suck on your clit, his fingers reach up to shove two of them inside your hungry mouth, pressing down your tongue to mimic how his cock might feel inside your mouth when he fucks your face. Without having to be told to, you suck on his fingers, tasting his skin that tastes of salty sweat, letting the tip of your tongue brush his fingertips.
“Good girl, sucking on my fingers,” he groans against your clit, voice vibrating on your pussy. “Got them wet enough, huh? You like it when you suck on things?”
You whimper only to respond, the feeling of his lips wrapped loosely around your clit being the only thing clouding his mind.
He pulls the fingers out, dragging them down to wet the valley of your breasts, the swell of your nipples, the smooth skin of your abdomen until it reaches your folds.
Peter swipes it across your petals, soaking his fingers even more before they tease your dripping hole. “Peter,” you mewl. “Fuck. Please.”
“Where do you want them?”
The hand on his hair tugs harshly, knocking his head back so that he’d look at you. With a slack jaw, Peter looks up at you through hooded eyes, his fingers still drawing circles around your entrance.
Your thumb comes across your engorged bud, rubbing a single harsh circle before prying it away. Your thumb, coated with your arousal, traces his bottom lip before prying his mouth open, thumb slipping in and pressing down on his tongue, moving deeper until he gags lightly on your finger.
And then your lips purse, making a soft hum, before you spit in his mouth.
Peter swallows, enjoying the taste of you and the sweet champagne.
“Inside me, pretty boy,” you purr. “Put those pretty little fingers inside me.”
He abides, intensions of prolonged foreplay thrown to the side. Peter finds this hot – your thumb in his mouth, gagging him as you tell him what to do; like a plaything made only to pleasure you. And he doesn’t mind you manhandling him. In fact, it fuels him even more, making him even more excruciatingly hard.
Peter likes seeing you powerful; unfettered dominancy consolidated by his adroit fingers that plunge itself inside your hole, moving rapidly as if anarchy was seconds away from ruining the irrevocable culmination of an illicit affair.
He lets go of your thumb with a harsh suck before a loud pop, delirious mouth reaching for your piquant cunt. When the sight alone causes him to slip into delirium, what more could happen when he finally properly ravishes you?
As crooked fingers move in and out of you quickly, his lips are back on your clit with fierce suckles. You moan loudly, fingers raking his scalp to push him unbelievably close to your pussy that he’s breathing through his nose.
The soft skin of his cheeks turn pink, the tip of his nose glistens with your arousal. Peter’s curls are wild and his eyes are darkened with obscene paramnesia, pupils dilated as if you’d gotten him so intoxicated by your lascivious virtu.
Lewd fingers stretch you out, curling a ‘come-hither’ at each thrust that goes licentiously deeper until he reaches that spot that has you moaning loudly, throwing your head back.
Peter looks up at you, catching sight of your accentuated neck. “That feel good, angel?” he jibes, hitting your g-spot over and over again.
You hum, licking your drying lips. “Mm. Yes. Fuck yes. Just like that. Don’t stop.”
Vigor increased, Peter’s lips return to your clit, tongue licking up and down as his fingers trace your walls. His other finger reaches up behind to spank your ass, the ripples making him vibrate.
“Fuck,” you gasp. “I’m close.”
You moan vociferously above him with a couple more thrusts, your legs trembling from your climax. Peter coaxes you through it, gently placing his hands behind you to hold you as his tongue goes to your hole to gather your cum, swallowing it as it drops on his thick muscle.
“Did so good for me,” he moves up, trailing kisses from your navel, to your breasts, neck, until he reaches your lips. He’s sure you can taste yourself through his tongue, making you moan on his mouth. “Can you lay down for me, miss?”
Your eyes open, dusk settles in your irises. And you oblige, laying down with your legs spread open as your back meets your soft sheets with an anticipated shudder.
Peter kneels on the end of the bed, stomach on the mattress. His crotch slowly ruts itself on the bed as his hands push your legs back until your knees meet your chest. “Think you can give me another one?”
With a loss for words, you nod eagerly.
He suddenly licks a bold stripe on your exposed cunt once more, middle and index finger parting your folds in a V as he licks the sweet muscle until the tip of his tongue teases your sensitive hole.
With your entrance stretched out from the previous disquisition, his tongue easily slips in inside you. Moaning, you clench around his tongue that goes deeper at each thrust.
“Fuck, you’re making me feel so good,” your hand reaches up to play with your nipples, only to be pushed away by Peter who traces circles around your buds. “You’re doing so good, Pete.”
His hips continue to rut on the bed, though making sure he didn’t came in his pants, he goes slowly. Peter leans forward, shoving his tongue deeper inside you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and he’s doing everything he can to not do the same as he tastes your dewy entrance.
Tasting you was sensational, and it was enough to entice him to his upcoming orgasm. But he wants to satisfy you, to make you pleased - as if this is the one mission he wants to succeed at.
He hums against you, bringing his thumb to apply pressure to your aching clit, rubbing circles. “So fucking sweet,” he growls.
Your orgasm comes no longer than the other, coating his tongue with your cum and juices. He moans at the taste, pulling back to admire your sensitive, reddening pussy.
Your fluids coat the late dusky shimmer of his chin, and your arousal radiates through the white filaments of your cum. Your hands reach out to cradle his face, crushing your lips together.
“As much as I want for you to fuck my face,” you begin, breath hot with excitement. “I need you inside me now.”
“Maybe you could suck me off next time,” he grins.
Rolling your eyes, you slightly push him off you to sit up. You pull on his arm, letting him rest on the headboard.
Peter unbuckles his trousers, lifting his ass up to push it down until he kicks it off to the side where you’d thrown your clothes at.
You’re the one who almost rips his briefs off, gaping when his painfully erected cock springs from its entrapment, swell tip slapping on his stomach.
Carefully, you swing your legs on either side of his thighs, slit on his shaft, grinding on his hard cock as you shove your tongue inside his mouth to kiss him.
“Do you have a condom?” you ask against his lips.
Peter, too infatuated, replies, “No.”
You lean back, hands on his face. “You’re telling me you never thought our date would end in sex?” the question was never meant to be delivered as if you’d been offended; to him, he thinks you found it funny,
His ears turn red. “No! I thought about it, duh. I just got too excited to buy a pack of condoms, ‘s all.”
“Okay,” you nod. “I’m-I’m on the pill, anyway. For some reason. ‘ve been taking them since I turned eighteen.”
Sitting on your knees, Peter’s hand raises his cock, tip teasing your entrance. And he all but cries when you finally sink down on him, your cunt engulfing him.
Peter’s face etches in worry when he senses the slight discomfort you resonate. “You alright?” he asks, hands coming around to wrap itself around you, hand caressing your sweaty back.
“I’m okay,” you nod. “Just give me a sec.”
“Take your time,” he presses a soft kiss on the space between your eyebrows. “Take as many times as you want. Then you can fuck me as hard as you want.”
With that you smirk. And it takes you a whole ten seconds before you start moving yourself up, relying the movement on your knees before sinking back down on his cock.
Your cunt’s snug around his cock, bounding his girth. And it’s as if you’re now whole – a puzzle piece completing a masterpiece of two flawed souls. A shattered mosaic mended by two sweaty bodies; reign at the disposal of gratuitously tedious mutual pining.
It begins slowly. His gaze is fixated on your contorted face of pleasure, which evokes out quiet gasps and whimpers as his tip attains your g-spot with each bounce; his hands never leave your back, stroking your skin with notorious strokes.
“God, you have no idea what you do to me,” you purr in his ear, beginning to bounce faster. Peter moans at the sight of his cock disappearing inside your cunt, seeing white-hot stripes of your cum coating his thick veins. “You feel so good.”
Your head nestles on the crook of his neck, arms around his torso. It’s a glorious moment, a juxtaposition to such a corrupt deed. Peter kisses your neck, sucking on the skin after. And his tongue soothes the pain.
“You’re so pretty like this,” you let out an imposing chuckle. “Beneath me. Being controlled.
When your hands remove themselves from his torso, your right hand reaches up to wrap itself around Peter’s throat. “Fuck,” he pants, swallowing thickly. “You’re taking me so well—ah.”
“Yeah? You like that?” you whisper in his ear when you squeeze the side of his neck. He can feel your nails digging into his flesh, almost drawing blood if you so desire. But he wouldn't regret if you made his neck bleed — if you were the one who caused his ecstatic anguish, he'd bleed for you any time.
“Fucking love it,” he moans. “I love the way your hand feels around my throat”
“Of course you do,” you chuckle darkly. “Filthy fuckin’ thing.” Sighing on his neck, you suck on the salty skin until you start to see the purple forming. “Do you like it when I touch you?”
Your skins colliding fills the quiet room aside from your frenzied cries. And the sound is nothing short of obscene – applauding the both of you for such an abhorrent act. But Peter doesn’t care—it's an epistle for you, a woman who deserves to have her demands fulfilled, whether it's independence or the ability to do whatever she wants without being restricted.
Peter feels like he’s a man who looked for the dirtiest angel to fuck. Or in this case, the dirtiest angel to fuck him.
He sees your navel bulging slightly. Peter’s in too fucking deep he finds it hard to speak. With a sweaty hand, it reaches down to cup your navel. “I’m in so deep, baby?” he rasps. “‘d you feel me?”
“Yes,” you moan.
“You own me, (y/n),” he declares loudly amidst the amoral requisition of skin clapping. “I’m yours.”
He's now fully devoted himself to you, a woman he's just met for a few weeks has already found her way to his conquered heart; filling it with her paradoxical epiphanies of her way of love. Cacophonies of prismatic declarations of each bounce, it brings him closer to the edge.
I’m yours to ruin, to fuck, to love.
You only moan in response, albeit because Peter’s added his thumb to rub on your clit. “Fuck, Pete.” You pull on his hair again, nestling your head on the crook of his neck. “Cum for me.”
And then he’s spilling into you, marking you as his just as much as he was yours. Moaning with your name rolling off his tongue as he hugs you close to his chest. And you cum on him too, finally making him yours. Peter feels you clench around him, making him hiss.
When you pull out, Peter’s hand reaches for his semi-hard cock and uses his tip to push his cum into you, fucking his seed back. You clench around his tip.
He nearly cums again when he sees his seed drip out of your cunt, smearing around your thighs and on your ass, slick with his spit and your arousal.
I’m yours.
The sight is obscene; almost unforgivably besmirched to the sight of the pristine minds whose innocence will be sullied with one look of the mess between your legs. But your mellifluous sounds combined were so piquant that he doesn’t care for the judgment of his dirty acts; as you drunkenly waver between the threshold of subspace and reality, Peter takes in the euphoric denouement as he calms down from his climax.
Your breathing calms, eyes opening to reveal its feigned innocence to appear as an ingénue to judgmental people – but Peter knows how truly daring and naughty you are.
And it’s as if you weren’t just fucked into next week as you plant such a sweet kiss on his swollen, wet lips. His heart beats faster, butterflies filling his stomach.
He hopes you feel the same way.
“You’re mine,” you say against his lips. “No man should own me,” with foreheads touching, you let your eyes closed. “But you do. I’m yours.”
I’m yours.
And you are mine.
-
When Peter wakes up the next day with his arms still around you and your face nestled against his bare chest, he knows thinks he’ll never get used to this.
He’s unsure if this is the start of something new. You only had sex, it’s not like you both told each other ‘I love you’s’ while you’re fucking him. But he ignores the thought and tells himself to just enjoy the moment before it’s gone.
Your hair’s splayed out on your pillow, slightly ajar lips releasing a rhythm of soft, heavy sighs of content slumber. His hand that wasn’t wrapped around your waist reaches up to tuck a strand behind your ear.
When you don’t move, he leans in to place the softest kiss on the tip of your nose.
You groan and gently push his chest away from you before sinking further into his embrace. He bites his lower lip, concealing a chuckle so as to not disrupt your sleep. His shirt, draped around you to mask yourself, was comfortable against his skin, and the fragrance of you infused with his made it more comforting.
He’d slipped it on you after he took care of you, wiping off the sweat and mess he created between your legs. And when you asked for him to stay right when he began to ponder if you wanted him to leave, he obliged.
Because there's nowhere he'd rather be in the world than with you.
Peter assiduously hoped time would stop so he could hold you longer; it was already midday, and he knew you'd both have to get up and start your days eventually. And he thinks that after you've gone about your days, you'll either do some serious reflecting and decide that having sex with him was a mistake, or you'll pretend that nothing happened and sleep in your respective beds.
And God, he wished your decisions would be neither.
“You know it’s rude to stare,” you murmur, eyes still closed and face smushed on the pillow. “I’d make a mom joke but both of our moms are dead and I don’t want to make you cry early in the morning or else I’ll put myself in an awkward situation."
Peter laughs. “Make all the mom jokes you want. Even the ‘your mom’ ones. It’s also midday,” he corrects you. “And how can I not stare? When I woke up I thought I died and went to heaven because there was an angel in front of me.”
You peek one eye open, though still heavy from sleep. “What book ‘d you get that?”
“My head,” he smirks. “What? Can’t an awkward guy make the cheesiest compliment ever? Do you want me to compare you to a PlayStation?”
He laughs louder when you smack his chest. “Don’t compare me to an object. Your mom taught you better than that!”
Elated, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you back to his chest with his legs tangled with yours. Then he presses loud, smacking kisses across your face – cheeks, forehead, nose, anywhere but your lips. “I’m sorry, pretty girl,” he giggles. “I’m sorry for trying to compare you to a PlayStation. You’re just both fun to play with.”
You groan loudly, attempting to turn away from him. But he's stronger, and as he pins your left arm to the mattress, he pulls you back down. Peter then hovers above you, slotting himself between your legs.
“Peter,” you whine.
“I know, I know.” He says.
His elbows are propped up on either side of your head. Peter balances himself on his right elbow, left hand reaching to cup your cheek that shines from the sunray that slips past the curtains. For a second he thinks he might have been hallucinating – you were shining beneath the sun, like glitter was poured over you to shine brightly and show people your true beauty.
“You’re so – so beautiful,” he whispers, smitten. “Can I kiss you?”
His hand feels the heat radiate to your cheek. You nod. “You fucked me with your tongue last night. I think you can kiss me whenever you want to.”
I think you can kiss me whenever you want to.
(Either you meant that as a way of saying you’re willing to be with him forever, or make this whole incident a friends-with-benefits thing.)
“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” he mutters before pressing his lips on yours.
It’s chapped, having to sleep for hours on end undisturbed. And your breath is hot, but so is his and neither of you seem to care about the morning breath slipping past your still-swollen, dry lips. Yet to Peter, no matter what state your lips were in, they’re still soft.
“The bedroom smells like sex,” you mutter against his lips.
“Do you not like the smell?”
“No it’s just-” you place your hands on his shoulders, nails scraping on his skin that had been reddened by you. “My room usually smells like mint. Do you know what catnip smells like?”
Peter frowns. “Not sure.”
“Well, my friend gave me some mint scented candles on my birthday. So my room smells like mint – or catnip.”
“Huh,” he pulls back. “That’s oddly specific,”
“I tend to say random things when I’m out of it,” you murmur with your eyes closed. “Please let me go back to sleep.”
Peter shakes his head. “You have to wake up, angel,” he whines softly, pushing imaginary hair off your cheeks, fingertips gently caressing the back of your ear. “It’s lunch time.”
You pout. “Can we just stay in bed all day? I’m not in the mood to be productive right now.”
He kisses the pout away from your lips, making him smile when you smiled. “Well, Black Cat could be productive right now. And she could be getting impatient.”
“I highly doubt that,” you snort. “I bet she’s also still in bed, trying to beg her girlfriend or boyfriend to let her go to sleep.”
Did you just call me your boyfriend? “And how would you know?”
“Because I want to go back to sleep and you’re not letting me,” you poke your tongue out, making a face at him. “Unless you’re cooking breakfast, I’d like to go back to sleep.”
He rolls his eyes, propping his left elbow on the side of your face so he can caress the soft material of his shirt that adorns your waist. With meek fingers, they slither their way beneath your shirt to engulf your warmth on his hands, sighing in satisfaction.
“Fine, I’ll cook you breakfast,” Peter offers.
Your eyes snap open. “Yay!”
After hours of your eyes being sequestered by slumber, Peter never knew how much he’d missed looking into them. They’re luminous beneath the natural glow of the sunshine – your irises lightened by the solari. Your eyes, to which coquettish prior this morning, is tenacity on delivering dulcet spectrum to placate his derisive self-doubt from your affections.
Feeling your fingers trace the supple opalescent skin of his cheeks, your right hand slowly comes up to tame his wild eyebrow, massaging the slight crease on his forehead.
“I think I know what you’re thinking,” you whisper, even though it’s only just the two of you in the bedroom. Your features are fleeced with sincerity – showing great care to the boy above you. And your touch is delicate, fearing that he might break down any minute.
“Yeah?”
“And if I am right, I just want you to know that I’ll stay,” you caress his cheeks. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll…I’ll be staying with you. If that’s what you want.”
There’s a hint of reluctance in your voice, as if you’d been half-lying, but Peter’s blinded by the sweetness of the words to even fathom the tone.
“Of course I do,” he murmurs. “You’re worth staying for.”
You both got out of the bed after sharing a sweet, innocent kiss. Clad in nothing but the largest sweatpants you could offer in your closet, Peter saunters his way to your kitchen to look for anything to eat that he thinks you’ll enjoy to elevate your hungry state.
After brushing your teeth – and making Peter coffee – he watches you make your way to the chair in front of the easel, picking up where you left off and taint your fingers with black once more.
The music he played on his phone to entertain himself suddenly stops and is replaced with the obnoxious sound of his ring tone. The picture of Ned making a face back in high school appears, the yodeling matching the mood of the photo.
He stumbles to swipe right. “Hey dude.”
“Hey dude,” Ned repeats. “Listen, I’m coming by to drop off the books for the English History essay we’re assigned. You kinda forgot it back at our place and I figured you’d be staying there a bit longer.”
Peter lets out a short laugh. “Oh, I’m definitely staying here a bit longer.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he just knows Ned rolled his eyes at him. “Anyway. Are you coming back tonight? Because Betty’s coming over and I’d rather not you walk in on us.”
“Walk in on what? To your crying face?”
“I’ll just take that ‘crying face’ as a good sign if ever Betty tells me she still loves me,” He snaps. “Right. I’m going to (y/n)’s apartment now. Damn, do these buildings look all the same?”
“Hers has that spinning door.” Peter explains. “Has MJ gone back from her trip? She hasn’t answered any of my texts. She’s acting…weird.”
“What kind of weird,”
“Like, scheming weird. You know, like how she acts when she’s up to something and investigating things or when she’s suspicious,”
“Oh, yeah. She hasn’t replied to me, either. I’ve been texting her girlfriend, though. They’ve been together, staying at Queens for a couple of days.”
Peter nods, glancing at you quickly. “‘lright. Text me when you’re inside the building. Love you.”
“Dude…” Ned sighs. “I know.”
Ned arrives ten minutes after the call, dropping off his books (along with his anagram book that he accidentally picked up). You had offered for him to stay for breakfast, but he seemed to be in a hurry, muttering quick words of “thank you” before speeding off.
When Peter returns to the kitchen to finish what he's preparing, he hears your footsteps approaching him. Then he feels your mellow cheek resting on his broad shouldered back as your arms wrap around his torso from behind.
“Isn’t it dangerous to cook topless?” you say. “You could get hurt.”
“Well, you didn’t have any shirts for me, sweetheart.”
“You could always wear mine,” you offer. “They’re stretchable. Plus, I think you’ll look good wearing a crop top.”
“I look good in anything,” he teasingly replies, turning off the stove. “Breakfast’s ready.”
“Can we watch Shutter Island again while eating?” you ask him with a pout, a light of expectance in your eyes.
Peter chuckles. “Anything you want.” He says, turning his torso to plant a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll just charge my phone inside the room and I’ll be out.”
You both finished eating thirty minutes in to the movie, sharing minimal small talk in between bites, you being almost too enthralled on the film played that was supposed to be only background noise.
As you requested, Peter stayed in your apartment. And he’s doing that thing where he’s focusing on two things at once – homework and the clue. The movie continues still even as you sat in front of the easel once more, your phone propped up as you ever-so-often scrolled to read the website Peter sent to help him analyze the clue.
The voice of Dolores Chanal fills the concentrated silence. “Get out of here, Teddy. This place is gonna be the end of you.”
It’s followed by a soliloquy from Edward Daniels and John Cawley that Peter pays no attention to – if he’s being honest, he’s not an entire fan of these kind of movies, having to prefer sci-fi than thrillers. But he enjoyed it, nonetheless.
“Let’s try this another way. Your wife’s maiden name is Chanal, am I correct?” You’re quoting Cawley, memorized the whole scene from how many times you’ve watched the movie. And Peter laughs when you even mimicked his accent behind the canvas.
Peter shifts his direction from his laptop to the TV, watching Cawley remove a sheet off the board to reveal four names. “Focus, Andrew! What do you see? The names have the same letters.”
Even Peter focuses, eyes narrowing to get a better view of the four names.
Confirmed, the names did have all the same letters. “Edward Daniels has exactly the same 13 letters as Andrew Laeddis. The same as Rachel Solando and Dolores Chanal. The names are anagrams for each other.”
Anagrams.
Peter’s eyes move away from the TV to look for the anagram book Ned brought beneath the pile of papers. He picks the book up, accidentally slamming it open on the table.
He hears you yelp. “Peter?” you call out. “You alright?”
“Yes!” he replies hastily. “I think I just figured out what the clue meant.”
There’s a quick silence before you reply through the loud scraping of your chair, taking long strides to him before standing behind his chair to lean over his hunched figure. “Really?” you ask in disbelief.
“Yes,” he repeats. “The movie gave me an idea.”
“What, when Teddy found out his real name?”
“Yes.”
“The anagram?”
“Yes.”
Peter skims the pages with his finger, almost tearing his flesh by flicking them too abruptly. And you stood behind him, observing how his eyes aided and abetted his mind with what he saw, his brain analyzing the words offered by the book.
The eyes. Thee yes. Th eyes. They se?
They see.
When he pats down the papers on the table in search for a pen, he groans when he doesn’t feel the shape. But you’d given him a pen without him asking for, knowing what he was already looking for.
He repays you with a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth before picking up a random piece of scribbled up paper and writing down words they see.
“What’s next, darling?”
You pick up the crumpled up piece of paper that was stuck to the fridge, reading the clue out loud. “Is no amity.”
Belligerent impulses amassed, incorrigible minds repudiated. Peter's mind intermittently assesses the words on his text book, swapping words until he believes he has the right one. And he thinks it should be simple (with a book given, after all), but he's so filled with adrenaline from his enthusiasm that it takes him a while to put the pieces together.
In the end, though, he’s finally done.
the eyes is no amity; unship the molarity, enured the veil
they see animosity; punish the morality, endure the evil
Peter rereads the sentence over and over again to see if something in his mind would click – for a book to open, a memory to unlock. But nothing happens, each search his patience withers into something as a sliver of annoyance.
“I don’t – I don’t understand,” he says angrily under his breath. “What, what’s this supposed to mean?”
“Maybe it’s describing something,” it’s obvious you’re trying to appease his sudden impatience. “Pete, it’s okay. We can still solve it-”
“It’s not okay!” he stands up, throwing the paper aside to run a hand through his hair frustratingly. “I don’t want to wait anymore. I want – I want to catch her. Fuck!”
He’s thankful you don’t question his eagerness; albeit you’re clueless to why he wants to catch Black Cat, you consider not to anger him anymore.
Peter hasn’t thought of her in days, too engrossed in the clue and you. And right when he thought he’d be able to see her again, it all comes back to square one – except this time he’s got a solved clue.
“It’s not okay,” he repeats with a soft whimper, sitting back down and slumping his back. “It’s not okay.���
“I know,” you coo, wrapping your arms around his head, running your own fingers through his hair, untangling the knots. “I know it’s not okay. I’m sorry.”
He breathes, resting his forehead on your stomach and softly rubbing his skin on the fabric of your shirt. When your hands slide through Peter's curls, tugging to relieve stress, he sighs faintly.
“We’ll catch her,” you tell him. “I’m sure she’s still waiting. We – we don’t have all the time in the world but we still got time.”
“I know,” when he nods, your shirt rises a little. “I’m sorry for shouting.”
“It’s okay,”
“Can I-” he stands up, gently grasping your hand to remove themselves from his hair, “I’ll just grab my phone from your room. I need to text Ned.”
You appear reticent to let him inside your room, your gaze flitting between the open door and his eyes that waits for approval. You eventually nod and place a light kiss on his cheek before returning to your seat behind the easel.
Peter then saunters into your unoccupied room, the stench of which has been illuminated by the candle you lighted not long ago to alleviate the odor from the previous night (not that you both complained). Mint fills his nostrils, smoothing out the crease on his forehead. His shoulders relax as he approaches the charging phone on the bedside table.
There’s at least a couple of unread messages – three from May greeting him good morning and what her plans were, five from Ned about something Star Wars related, one from Flash (which was porn, obvi), and -
MJ.
An hour ago.
He abruptly sits down on the bed with frantic hands rushing to open his phone. When MJ texts it usually means two things (it used to be three when they were together): there’s a crisis happening, or she found something out.
Nervous fingers open the messaging app and clicks on her name. MJ: peter, i’ve got bad news
He looks behind him to see if you were standing on the doorway in case his senses detect you as harmless and don’t alarm him of your presence before he replies. whats wrong?
Though MJ’s text had been an hour ago, she reads the text immediately as if she’d been waiting for his reply. The typing bubble appears and reappears five times before she finally says:
MJ: It’s about (y/n)
Peter responses. what abt her?
MJ: she’s not who we think she is.
what are u talking about?
MJ: lexi’s saw
lexi? Whos lexi
MJ: my girlfriend. didn’t i introduce you two?
sorry. Must’ve forgot
MJ: whatever. Anyway, lexi came to (y/n)’s gallery the same day you saw black cat in the gallery.
And?
MJ: well, she said she saw her change into her costume. Like, saw her change into black cat
Peter's fingers ground to a halt on top of the keyboard, rereading the text with startled eyes and perplexed brows. What?
MJ: she saw her without the mask, peter. (y/n)’s black cat.
༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺
PART ONE; PART TWO; PART THREE
SUPPORT A WRITER AND REBLOG! (please)
#peter parker oneshot#peter parker x reader#peter parker imagine#tom holland x reader#peter parker x you#tom holland imagine#peter parker#tom holland one shot#tom holland x you#college!peter parker#blackcat!reader#black cat#indouloureux's writing
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obviously i don't mean kink when I say weirdos dni. I just don't want people to interact with me if they're going to be weird about the fact that i'm disabled and my charaacter is disabled
You cannot expect strangers on the internet to know that.
I understand that your intentions are good and you're trying to establish boundaries, but freaks and weirdos are extremely subjective terms. Strangers in real life might consider us freaks and weirdos for writing fictional characters on the internet. Some bigots consider us both freaks for thinking bisexual people are real and not just doing it for attention.
I'm not the rules and freak police. I can't tell you how to run your blog. But you have to be clear and concrete with your boundaries. People aren't going to understand what you mean, they're just going to know there are types of people who give you the ick.
If you mean DNI if you're ableist or biphobic or whatever, say that. If you mean DNI if you write kink as a main plot, whatever you use it to mean, you have to define it. Otherwise people aren't going to understand and either fill in their own definitions that may not fit yours, or just avoid you altogether.
EDIT: i realized my brain put the word bisexual in there where you said disabled a second time. My point stands.
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so what is this fic actually about?
oh god. okay I'm going to put this under a cut because of the topics involved.
Content warning for: discussions of consent (which includes mentioning non-con themes), discussions of intense kink practices, and references to cult-related trauma as per DW canon.
I will continue tagging all posts about this fic, as well as posting the fic itself, with "The Fic That's A Lot," as well as "c2g" which is an abbreviation of its title.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS IN ANY WAY, I MEAN IT
I am going to be frank, this fic is about CNC. If you don't know what that is...well, it's highly probable this is not the story for you. But I will provide an explanation anyway if anyone's curious.
CNC stands for, in this context, "Consensual Non-Consent," which probably seems like an oxymoron. It refers to people roleplaying a fictional scenario where one of the parties involved pretends (key word pretends) to object to, protest, or otherwise not want to participate in a sexual encounter--this is what the "non-consent" part of the name refers to. Meanwhile, the other party pretends (again, key word pretends) to coerce the protesting party into some kind of sexual activity. The parties are, in a sex/kink situation, acting out a pre-agreed scene--which is what the "consensual" part of the name refers to, that pre-agreement--of non-consent.
It is important to note that this is not the same thing as actual assault: Boundaries are intensively discussed beforehand, and everyone involved decides together on a separate safeword and/or physical movement that anyone can use to end the roleplay scene immediately. Someone may be using words like "Stop" or "No" within the scene itself because they are playing the role of someone who does not consent to what is currently happening (akin to acting in a play or a movie, where an actor has to pretend to like or dislike or approve or disapprove or want or not want various things, regardless of whether any of that matches up with who they actually are as a person--in a CNC scenario, the people are playing characters, albeit in a much, much more intense way). But if something happens in this roleplay scene that someone does genuinely object to, there is a separate mechanism (sometimes several mechanisms) serving as a way out, fulfilling the function that something like "stop" or "get away from me" would fulfill in a non-CNC encounter.
ALL OF THIS TO SAY. The premise of this particular story examines how both of these characters (this is an 11/R fic, and I am trying very hard to make sure this post doesn't end up in the show or character tags) would get to the point where they realize this is something they want to do. And then, from there, once they've separately and individually realized that: What do they discover about themselves and their relationship in the process? How do they talk about it once it becomes clear that this is something they both want? How do they feel about wanting it? How does this interact with the woman in question having a background of, essentially, being brainwashed by a cult and having her childhood stolen? And how does this situation relate to how these characters view the concepts of control and romantic love? (Honestly, even more than the CNC itself, which is something that gets frequently maligned as romanticizing/normalizing abuse when people write about it, the most controversial part of this is that I put her in the sub role and not the dom role, lmao. Which I have a whole essay in my brain on why that is based on various lines/scenes/behavior in canon, but I don't think that's important right now and also this answer is already too goddamn long.) And then, in addition to all those aforementioned things, what are some of the other facets of their relationship outside of this?
Like I have mentioned at-length. This is. A lot. There's a reason the average person does not engage with CNC. And there is a lot of communication and set up that has to happen for this to work. (I had to do. SO much research for this.) But I want to confirm that nothing actually non-consensual happens in this story. He doesn't ever come anywhere remotely near hurting her (he doesn't even actually fantasize about anything, he just realizes he Has Some Particular Ideas and then feels really bad about them). And although I'm not going to spoil specifics, they both have a very positive experience with it.
I will say, though this is dual pov, more of it is from his perspective, and he is acting out the role of the aggressor. So that's another thing people need to be mindful of if they have an interest in reading this once it's up.
#The Fic That's A Lot#c2g#I am...not sure how to tag this#tw: cult mention#tw: cnc#tw: assault mention#tw: abuse mention#minors dni#minors do not interact#nsft#I *think* that's it? if there's something else I need to trigger tag for PLEASE let me know#I am going to be turning off anonymous asks after I post this answer#I don't anticipate the people who have been following this saga in detail sending a torch-and-pitchforks mob at me but random other#people might find this post through my blog & I don't trust random other people. like I said: when people write about this#there are LOTS of accusations thrown around about 'romanticizing/normalizing assault or abuse' regardless of how it's written#and I just do NOT have the energy for that lmao#(I mean people throw around those accusations about people who do this irl too#but no irl people ARE doing anything here because this is a story)#(and honestly I really just don't think I have the right to tell people what they can or can't do in their sex lives)#and also. someone's niche fic on ao3 doesn't '''owe''' potential readers the most Nuanced Discussion Of A Topic Ever#at the end of the day these are completely fictional characters and--by virtue of being. not real--nothing anyone does in writing#can ever hurt them. just tag all your stuff correctly and make sure you know internally what your own irl values are#and remember that sometimes people are just...going to have an interest in exploring shit that you're going to find weird.#but it doesn't involve you so you've got to practice going 'huh that's weird don't like that' and move on#(<-including myself in this I also need to practice this)
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5, 17, and 24, please!
5. Do you have any writing superstitions? What are they and why are they 100% true?
I’m not sure if this is exactly a superstition, but I feel like if I post something for people to read before a story is actually done it’s going to either never get finished or not be good. Draught of Light broke this rule but it had a hiatus after like 2 chapters that could have killed it.
17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.
The lore for my current WIP? LOL well. When the skeksis and mystics were separated, the creation process included Thra...leaving means of reconnection, I guess? Beyond the shared-injury bond. i.e. skeksis and mystics are intended to be physically compatible with each other, even if it takes a little patience and the skeksis partner may think that it’s actually about their personal kink. History: UrVa and SkekMal figured this out the first time they met each other after the separation, like less than 5 trine after they split. Then they never told anyone about it ever. Detail: marypsue my current WIP is a PWP asldfjkslekj. IDK um. I researched a bunch of medicines to figure out which one to turn backwards for UrGoh and SkekGra to have in their fictional pharmacy. I actually really like that both of them are old enough that they have to think before doing whatever physically, and that SkekGra specifically has ongoing medical issues that affect his physical experience and can’t be ignored. It’s very different from writing for RotG where in canon over half the characters could actually fly. Things that won’t make it in the text are the in-depth discussions SkekGra and UrGoh had about what level of consent can be assumed between them and the preliminary unfolding of the small but present amount of dominant/sadistic tendencies UrGoh has.
24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?
I’ve come to realize that I am a pantser, which I didn’t want to claim for a long time because I always found pantsers being really condescending against planners, like “ooh you’re so stuffy and not a Spontaneous Artist!” and I’m a person who sets timers for so much stuff because that actually enables me to feel freer in my day. But when I write stories I just go. This is probably why I can’t reliably estimate my word counts. I AM going to have to plan plot points if I ever write my Golden Age story. This looks like a very casual sentence outline that is long but of course might change. I research as I go as needed. I don’t really enjoy out-of-head planning, but I do enjoy running scenarios and scenes while falling asleep or driving or what have you. But once I’m putting something on the page I want it to be a real draft.
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Happened upon a fun little naughty SPN event one day...
I’m always looking for an excuse to get iddy! And then this.
“The moderators are fully supportive of kink and do not condone purity culture or censorship. However, we have enacted certain content restrictions for this bang. The following content will not be accepted for this bang: Explicit Underage Content, Incest, NSFL (necrophilia, snuff, extremely graphic nonconsensual torture). If you have any questions regarding the content restrictions, please contact a moderator.”
Hate to break it to you, mods, but what you’re doing is exactly condoning purity culture and censorship. So my question regarding the restrictions is: why even run a fandom kink event, in the Supernatural fandom in this, the year of our lord 2022, and disallow not only one of the major ships, but canoodling with unliving bodies (which likely includes just about every vessel and meatsuit an angel or demon has commandeered)? If a mod is squeamish, hey, I get it. I’ve run a ton of events and I don’t groove on everything that’s submitted. People are complicated and sometimes pretty damaged critters, and that’s a heart-breaker. Which is why we require tags for filtering, or get different mods to shepherd those fics that might be an issue for someone. There are plenty of solutions that don’t involve banning some pretty ridiculously common SPN fandom stuff. There seems to be ulterior motives at work here... 🤔
Thank Astraea that I missed the deadline to sign up as an author, to save me from being a fly in their ointment. Sign-ups for artists are still open, but ha ha ha haaaaaa, NOPE
With greater and greater frequency, new events are banning not only ships, but shippers. Not because an event is focused on a particular ship (therefore excluding others, which yeah of course) but because of some flavor of mandating what a good, virtuous fan looks like, and what they’re permitted to create. Despite all the excellent ways we’ve formulated to organize and search/filter our fandom experiences, we’ve still managed to become more judgmental and less inclusive in ways that earnestly make very little sense and don’t bode well for the future of fandom. Fandom is becoming more and more mainstream and toothless, to placate the masses. Seriously, make it make sense.
Friendly reminder: if not for a Wincest shipper, there would be no AO3 right now. If not for a J2 shipper, there’d be no A/B/O. YKINMKATO is an awesome thing and paved the way for all kinds of safe, fun, experimental shit, not to mention the realization for a lot of us that we may not be as arrow straight as we thought we were. What’s current fandom so afraid of? Not being enough of an activist in their fictional adventures? CHARACTERS ARE NOT REAL HUMANS, Y’ALL. Fiction, in broad strokes, can influence the mainstream (for example: the popularity of slash fiction contributed to the realization that queer stories actually had an audience), but if fiction alone could make us better people, we wouldn’t need therapists. If it made bigger villains, more D&D players would be a serial killers. My level 16 half-orc cleric would be appalled, okay?
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gee. do you have any tips for writing smut for a smut novice?
mm sure! im flattered u asked loll
idk if this is like a universal experience but when i started writing smut (even after like a couple years of Not Writing like i did) i was so embarrassed?? by the words i was putting down?
as a side effect of this sort of shameful feeling i think too many people make smut too 'fluffy' so to speak using vague and unsexy words like 'pearl' 'center' 'length' (to some extent) 'apex' 'release'- which imo.. is as i said is not sexy. like ur writing erotica, so be erotic!!! telling it like it is is better. but even more than that AVOID AT ALL COSTS using 'penis' 'scrotum' 'vagina' like those words belong in a textbook. theyre unsexy (and gross tbh) on PURPOSE and doesnt belong in any smut whatsoever.
but also... big/fancy words ≠ better writing. u end up sounding pretentious if this is done too much.
i feel like this is most important. u dont have to have sex to be good at writing smut (i am asexual LOL). sure it helps but u can look up videos/photos/read other fanfics that are good (that is to say arousing to u) and look closer. what words do they use and how do they describe? what sounds good? and for images, what did that noise sound like? breathy, bitten, sharp? look, and does this person have sweat on their skin? how hard are they blushing? it's the details, and with writing smut, try to imitate ur favorites' style of writing (but obviously never copy).
also reading other fics/consuming not sfw media will make your writing more accurate. sucking on someone's nipples for instance won't immediately make them soaking wet. he's not hard as a rock as soon as his partner gives him bedroom eyes. stuff like that. inaccuracies like those (for me) take me out of the smut the most.
however: the realities of sex are vastly different from fanfic. there are more embarrassing moments. you get a wedgie from lingerie. anal sex requires a ton of prep beforehand (as in. cleaning it out). fiction is fiction (and fanfic is an idealized fiction) so you can take liberties.
along these lines PRACTICE PRACTICE PRACTICE as with all art i guess. that embarrassed feeling will go away i promise, and you will 'get good' at it if you make a consistent effort to make it good. an easier way to put it is u will look back at ur old smut (like i have done) and cringe bc you've gotten better without realizing. it always happens slowly.
there is no perfect way to go about writing smut tho. everyone has their own style. dont be like me and only read works by one specific author and base how u write smut on how they do (even if they're rly good). in general it's good to branch out so u arent limited to a narrow view/style of writing and what's good or not.
what's sexy about smut isn't the sex for the most part. yeah sex is . sexy, but the build up to it makes it so much more satisfying. include kinks u like from time to time. what are the emotions?? that's what makes it both satisfying to write and read imo.
and besides if u go on writing smut just for the literal sex, u get bored and blocked and jaded. (but this may apply more to me?)
don't be like I was and describe every single thing everyone is feeling and thinking and doing. ur doing too much work both for urself and it's unexciting to the reader if ur writing is doing all the work for them. like saying 'he put his hand here which made her blank because blank and so she blank, feeling blank and he blank... and so on'. it's better to write more REACTIONS to something a character does which makes it more vivid to imagine how it feels. like: 'her hand roamed down and pressed between his legs. a sharp gasp. his toes curl'. for example ?
don't use commonly used and 'cliche' i guess phrases. infamously, 'their tongues battled for dominance'. it's a weird image and kind of gross. it's lazy and doesn't make the reader feel as much as they could when phrased more creatively, like, 'she pushed her tongue past his lips, and buried inside. with a grunt, he swings his arm over her shoulders and yanks her closer' for example.
not to say metaphors or just rhetorical ways of phrasing don't belong (i am not the rule maker on smut either), but depending on whether it's quick and rough or passionate+slow+this is the result of build up after 18 chapters - ur smut should be written differently. the latter should have a large focus on how special it is, or how long overdue with lots of emotions. rough and fast has quick, sharp sentences and a fast pace. for example.
and remember... ur writing established characters having sex, so keep showing their personalities while it happens. a character like levi for example isnt automatically reduced to begging and pleading if that makes sense. depending on other details... like is this makeup sex after an argument? how comfortable are they together (which is especially important to take into consideration if it's levi.)? what are their boundaries? is this couple new to smth this risky?
mmm i can't think of anything else. others feel free to add on though. hope that helps / makes sense!
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