#something's wrong with me and I don't know how to fix it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

layla4567 · 2 days ago

Text

A pleasent mistake

Bob!reynolds x fem!reader

Summary: A mission goes terribly wrong, after accidentally inhaling a strange substance you and Bob will look at each other differently.

Warnings: smut/filthy, sex pollen, aphrodisiac, p in v, porn with (barely?) plot, Jack off, Y/n use, curse words, possible grammatical mistakes, fingering, slightly mention of drugs/past adiction, making out, praising (M and F recieving), hair pulling (M recieving)

Word count: 5k

You shouldn't have suggested that, if you hadn't opened your mouth none of this would have happened.

That afternoon when you and the group were preparing for a mission, you hesitantly and timidly suggested that Bob accompany you.

Bob. The man who couldn't fight or defend himself unless he was in his Sentry form. Bob, the one who apologized for hitting someone, even if they were an enemy. Yes, that Bob.

When those words came out of your mouth everyone froze in place and turned to look at you slowly as if you had said something stupid, even the one mentioned.

"I hope you're joking," John said sarcastically.

You were about to open your mouth when Ava's voice interrupted you.

"Come on Y/n, we don't have time for this..."

Not believing your words, the group headed for the elevator while you stood there, not knowing whether to explain yourself or not. Bob, who was sitting in an armchair reading, got up to go to your side to help you.

"Uh guys, Y/n didn't finish talking..."

You looked at him gratefully as the team turned to look at you impatiently. You gulped nervously.

"I... meant it. I think Bob can be useful to us on this mission"

"How?" Walker asked incredulously.

You pressed your lips together to avoid answering with some gag irony, "I don't know yet, but he'll be with me all the time, I'll keep an eye on him."

Then you quickly turned to see Bob and took his hand. He looked at it shyly, then fixed his eyes on you, expectant. "But what do you think? The decision is yours. I just thought it would be good for you to get out of the tower for a bit. I know how much you love helping others."

Bob could see the slightly disapproving and suspicious glances from behind your shoulder. He looked down at his feet, thoughtful. He wanted so badly to go with you and help, but he was afraid of messing things up. How could he be useful? He didn't know how to fight, much less defend someone just being Bob. But your small handshake gave him the courage he needed.

"Uhm I think.. I can go with you guys, I mean, I would like to.."

Bob gave you a small smile, and you returned it while the others pouted in disagreement. The only one who accepted this suggestion was Yelena, who raised her hands in the air to get everyone's attention. "Fine, but you must swear that you will stay by Y/n's side and follow her orders at all times, okay?"

Bob nodded several times "Got it"

And honestly? He had no problem following that advice because he loved being stick to you.

And there they were now, gathered in a building, under a ventilation duct. Ava had already taken care of disabling all the alarms and security cameras. You looked up at the duct, thinking of a plan.

"John help me up, Bob you will come behind me"

Walker reluctantly complied, clasping his hands together for your footing. As he did, John gave you a shove upward, and at just the right moment, you grabbed the edge of the duct and began to climb. The same thing happened with Bob.

"Okay guys, we'll wait for you near the lab and tell you what to do" Yelena said through the earpiece.

Once inside the narrow tube, the two of you had to twist and turn to fit through, You were leading the way, and Bob followed closely behind, giving him a nice view of your rear end. Of course, he was trying to concentrate and look at the floor, not your asset. It wasn't as much of a problem for you; you were used to it, but Bob, who had never been on a mission with you before, had a hard time. His massive muscles barely fit inside the tube, and he was constantly straining to avoid hitting the walls. But he kept complaining.

"Ow!"

Without stopping or looking back, you scolded him, "Bob! Don't make so much noise or we'll get discovered- Ah!"

A slap on your butt made you gasp, Bob had accidentally bumped his head into it from looking down.

"Shit! I'm so sorry!!"

Blushing and a little nervous you replied "No worries, but be more careful next time"

"Y-yeah, yeah!"

Finally, to the relief of both of them, after that awkward moment, they reached the end of the duct. But little did they both know that this wouldn't be the only awkward moment. A trapdoor in the floor indicated where they should go down. With a screwdriver you took from your pocket, you began carefully removing the cover. Without any problems, you descended into a Black Widow pose, precise and silent as a feather. Suddenly, you heard a woman's voice in your earpiece.

"Such a poser..."

"How do you know I posed on the way down?"

"It's so obvious of you..."

You smiled, rolling your eyes, and waited for Bob to come down. Unfortunately, he wasn't as flexible as you, and when he tried to descend the duct, his leg got caught and he fell on his face, almost tripping over you.

"Bob!" you whispered in a not so low voice, alarmed

He stood up awkwardly, grabbing your arms for balance. You asked him if he was okay, and he, a bit uncertain, said yes.

"What the hell is that noise?" Yelena asked in your ear.

"It was nothing, a small stumble. Where to now, Yelena?"

The blonde was constantly talking to both of you through the earpiece to guide them through the exact right corridors to the lab. The hallways weren't completely dark; a small, dimly lit bulb hung from their heads, but it wasn't enough to see clearly. When they reached the right door, they saw a coded pattern on the frame. Luckily, the Russian knew the password, and after entering the correct numbers, the door opened with a chilling creak.

If you complained about the dark room, it was worse. There wasn't a single light on. In the pitch darkness, the only thing that provided a glimmer of light were the city lights visible through a large window in the pitch black. You took a flashlight out of your fanny pack and started exploring the place, Bob always clinging to your side like a lost puppy.

"So, what exactly should we look for, again?"

Yelena's metallic voice answered you immediately: "DNA samples, more precisely a vial with a green liquid inside."

Her words weren't very helpful. "Well, that's a bit of a vague answer, don't you think? How big is the vial?"

You could hear her grumbling through the earpiece and you suppressed a chuckle. "Thin, tall, and with a tag that says fragile. Are you happy now?"

"Very much, thank you" you said in a honeyed voice, teasing her

Having understood your mission, the two of you searched all the tables filled with strange vials and syringes containing samples. Bob, who hadn't brought a flashlight, tried not to trip while clumsily groping in the air with his hands like a blind man. Several times he bumped his knee on a table or chair, apologizing every so often. You, for your part, were searching a nearby table, closely looking for that blessed vial. With a triumphant smile, you grabbed the one Yelena had told you about.

"Hey Bob I-!"

Suddenly, a sound of breaking glass startled you. Bob had once again crashed into the table with such force that he had moved it, knocking over several bottles of strange liquids. He was mortally embarrassed and apologized as many times as he could. Sighing in annoyance, you trotted to his side, seeing the mess on the floor.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" he said distressedly

Even in the darkness, you could see his face contorted in a sad, worried expression that broke your heart. You placed both of your hands on his biceps in a motherly manner. "Hey, calm down. It's not your fault. You did really well for your first time." You smiled at him, even though you weren't sure if he could see you.

You didn't want him to feel bad or useless, because it was important to him to help and feel valuable. He seemed to be calmed by the way his body relaxed in your hands.

"Come on, I already found what we were looking for, let's go"

But before the two of you could take a step, a strong smell enveloped you, making you wrinkle your noses. It wasn't an unpleasant smell, but it was very strong and had a slight hint of sulfur. You both looked in surprise at where the jars had broken and noticed the expanding orange puddle. You bent down, and being careful not to cut yourself on the glass, you dipped a finger in the liquid and brought it to your nose. Aside from the sulfur smell, there was a sweetish smell in the background, but you couldn't tell what it was.

"What the fuck is this?" You whispered

"Is it poisonous?" Bob asked worriedly.

"Mmh I don't think so, But I don't like the idea of having inhaled this strange substance either"

You brought your hand to the earpiece and asked "Lena?"

"Yeah? Do you already have the vial?"

"Yes but... Do you have any idea what is manufactured in this laboratory? Or what things they experiment with?"

"I'm not sure, I think with exotic plants or something, but what does it matter, Why?"

"Nevermind, we're coming with you."

You grabbed Bob's hand to walk back the way you had come when you noticed he was suspiciously still, and not only that, his hand was sweating profusely. You wiped your hand, startled, and walked over to him, pointing the flashlight at him.

"Bob what the hel-?!"

In the flashlight, his pale face was slightly pink and sweaty, as if the heater had been turned on. His mouth was half-open, breathing shallowly, and his dilated pupils looked like a black hole. Bob couldn't keep his gaze still, moving from your eye to the other, looking at you as if he were seeing you for the first time. He looked disoriented.

"Oh my God, are you okay?"

You placed a hand on his cheek to check if he had a fever, but when he felt your touch, he flinched with a low moan and quickly pulled away like a frightened animal. You had already noticed that his face was hot anyway. Bob noticed his gesture and said embarrassedly

"Sorry! I- I don't know what's wrong with me, I-I suddenly feel very hot"

How strange, the place seemed quite cool, which contrasted greatly with Bob's skin. You turned around with your hands on your hips, scanning the lab for a thermostat. Your eyes, and his, had already adjusted to the darkness. What you didn't know was that Bob was feeling hot in another sense of the word, and it was evident by the way his eyes blatantly rested on your butt, dressed in that tight suit you decided to wear that day. He knew it was wrong to be nosy, but for some reason, he couldn't tear his gaze away as he nervously played with his fingers and the sleeve of his jacket.

You turned around and he quickly fixed his gaze on your face, you didn't seem to notice anything "Well, it seems there's no thermostat around here, let's go back to the team, they'll know what to do..."

Bob was suspiciously following you, and when the two of you were about to walk out the door, you suddenly stopped dead in your tracks. Your clothes now felt strangely tight and suffocating. You leaned a hand on the wall to steady yourself while you moved your collar aside with a finger. Bob, at your side, asked you what was wrong, and you told him that you were starting to feel hot too. But it wasn't just that suffocating sensation; your mouth also felt a little dry, and the presence of the brown-haired man at your side made your breathing agitated.

"This room has something..." you said breathlessly

You took off your suit jacket to cool off in the heat, leaving on a sleeveless T-shirt while Bob watched you, lightly biting his lip and breathing with his mouth open. You could see it now, in the way he looked at you, with those big, dilated eyes, wanting something from you. You touched your forehead and noticed that it was not only hot but you were also sweating like a pig.

Bob, for his part, imitated you and opened his jacket, though without taking it off yet. He sat on the floor with his back against a closet. You couldn't help but stare at his expression: his face drenched in sweat, his eyes closed, his brow barely raised in a sad expression, and his lips parted as he breathed through his mouth. You looked down at his chest; although he was wearing clothes, his muscles were visible through the fabric, and his chest was rising and falling rhythmically in a slightly accelerated rhythm.

You didn't know why, but seeing him in that state made you salivate slightly, and you began to feel a throbbing in your core. Frightened by the sensation, you squeezed your legs together, your mouth half open. You brought your hand to the receiver just as Yelena was speaking to you.

"Y/n? Y/n! Can you hear me? Where are you?"

You gulped as you turned your gaze to Bob, who was already looking at you, his chin slightly raised and his eyes slightly narrowed. Again, you felt that tingling in your core that made you curl your legs as you brought a hand to your lower abdomen. Why did you suddenly feel so horny? You looked away and tried to maintain your calm breathing.

"Uhh We're still here in the l-lab, something happened... it's hard to explain. I'll c-call you later"

"No wait! what hap-!?"

You hung up before she could finish her sentence, turned off the receiver, threw it away, and gestured for Bob to do the same. He obeyed without question. With great effort, you made your way over to him and sat down next to him, also leaning against the closet. You noticed his breathing become labored as you stood close to him.

"Y/n... what's happening to us?" he said in a whisper

Your name coming from his lips gave you a shiver down your spine, you looked at him out of the corner of your eye, he was watching you.

"I don't know... but this is not a simple fever..."

Your voice sounded broken and desperate. Without realizing it, the hand on your abdomen moved down to your mons pubis, cupping and rubbing the clothed area. You squeezed your eyes shut and frowned. Your fingers wanted to pierce your pants somehow, but they couldn't. Even with your eyes closed, you could feel Bob's penetrating gaze, and you felt self-conscious.

"I'm sorry shit, I don't know what's wrong with me" you said opening your eyes

He swallowed hard. "Don't apologize. I don't feel better either."

He also didn't want to admit that he had an uncontrollable urge to touch himself, especially with you by his side. You looked around, trying to reason with a cool head, but all your mind could think about was cumming right there... or being made to cum. Suddenly, your eyes returned to the rotating bottle of orange liquid. Yelena's words came back to you when you had asked her what they were experimenting with in that lab "exotic plants or something". You realized these annoying symptoms started after inhaling that stupid liquid. And then you understood. You closed your eyes and swore under your breath. You two were fucked up, literally, I mean in the best sense of the word. Everything matched: the fever, dilated pupils, sexual urges. That bottle contained an aphrodisiac.

You pressed your lips together so tightly they formed a thin horizontal line as you glanced at Bob out of the corner of your eye. You didn't know how he would take this new information.

"Uh.. I think I know what's happening to us..." you said in a whisper.

He looked at you impatiently with a hint of hope in his eyes.

"But you're not going to like the answer" you said with a grimace of pain.

"Just say it" His tone of voice was pleading, he seemed like he was going to cry

you gulped "That liquid you dropped...it's an aphrodisiac... you know, a substance that increases.. sexual desire"

The air caught in his throat as he stared at you, mouth agape, in disbelief. You tried not to look at him as you dug your nails into your palm to ward off the urge to touch yourself.

"B-but, wha-what do we do now? How do we cure this?"

"Well we could start by masturbating... that is, ourselves, not each other!"

You felt stupid for clarifying that because you knew your dirty mind had betrayed you. "Relax, I won't look at you. I'll go sit behind that counter."

Before he could say anything, you moved across the floor, crawling like a baby with slow, painful movements. With each movement, you felt your panties stick to your wet, sticky area. Sitting down and hiding behind that table, you wasted no time pulling down the strap of your pants along with your panties. You slid your middle finger down the slit of your wet vagina, biting your lower lip and breathing heavily through your nose. You massaged your clitoris with your finger, applying pressure while moans echoed in your throat, unwilling to let them out. Your middle finger, now curled like a hook, approached your uterus, sinking it in and out slowly. You couldn't help but throw your head back and gasp with your mouth open.

You didn't want to be so loud, but a sound alerted you. Where Bob was, you could hear a kind of sliding against his skin, dirty and desperate. His soft moans accompanied by that pounding were filling you with desire. You thrust another finger inside you more insistently and quickly, rocking your hips in the air. As you lifted your pelvis, you let out pitiful moans that grew in crescendo. You felt your walls throb around your fingers, wrapping them like a blanket. At the same time, you could hear Bob's moans intensifying as his hand moved up and down quickly, and you even thought you heard your name whispered. Your whole body trembled as you felt yourself reaching your climax. You prepared to receive it, your free hand pressed to the floor and your body slightly turned as if you wanted to stand up, your hips wanting to fuck the air with uncontrolled thrusts but keeping pace with your gasps.

You felt a thick, warm liquid on your middle and index fingers, shaking you violently from head to toe. You collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily, letting out moans mixed with groans every now and then. It seemed like Bob came right after you, given the way you heard liquid shooting out like a fountain along with his loud moan. You took a few minutes to catch your breath. The pleasure your orgasm left you with lasted a while, and you seemed a little relieved, but when the sensation disappeared, you realized, horrified, that your skin was heating up again.

"Uhm Bob..? Hey do you feel.. better?"

A few seconds that seemed like hours passed until he answered in a pitiful voice

"Not really, and you?"

"Yeah, me neither"

Panting, you pulled up your underwear and pants and slowly crawled back to his side. Luckily, he had already pulled up his boxers, but you could see his large bulge wanting to come out. Fuck, you wanted to have it in your hands so much. He looked at you desperate and tired; it seemed like that action had drained him dry. The moonlight filtered through the window and bathed the side of his face. He looked so attractive. Had he always seen himself this sexy, or was it the effect of the aphrodisiac? Bob gave you a pleading look, as if only you could save him and give him the relief he needed. You licked your lips before speaking.

"Listen, If we already touched ourselves and it didn't work then there's only one thing left... we have to... well, you know"

You were so embarrassed you couldn't finish your sentence, but you knew he understood from his horrified and worried expression. "Yeah, I know. It's awkward, but what other choice do we have?"

He let out all the air he was holding in his lungs through his mouth, trembling as he did so. He closed his eyes, trying to think, would he have to fuck you? Hell, he hadn't felt this way since his drug days; even that lab reminded him of when he used to sneak in to look for meth. Without thinking, he brought his hand to his crotch and squeezed his erection while gritting his teeth. No, it wasn't appropriate to do so, but was there really no other option?

He turned to look at you "Ugh are there r-really no other options?"

You were breathing with your mouth half open, looking at his bulge with desire, but you tried to concentrate on his face, so you looked up and down. "Bob, really, if you don't fuck me, I feel like I'm going to die..."

Your desperate sincerity left him speechless as he looked at your face wrinkled in a slight grimace of pain. He was just as desperate as you, but he didn't want to ruin this friendship he had with you, although to be fair, it wouldn't be the first time he'd imagined a scene like this. Perhaps this aphrodisiac was just an excuse to finally admit that you drove him crazy. Bob nodded weakly, and you quickly grabbed the elastic of his pants and boxers and yanked them down, drawing a broken moan and gasp from him. You straddled him, pulling down your clothes as well, and aligned yourself perfectly with his member. Bob, feeling your wet entrance squeezing around his erection, dug his nails into your thighs to keep you there.

"Are you ready?"

Bob simply nodded, swallowing loudly, and you lowered yourself onto his cock suddenly, already feeling your walls clench. The sharp pain made you whimper as you squeezed your eyes shut. Shit, you hadn't expected him to be so big and well-endowed.

"Careful, you good?"

You nodded without opening your eyes and gasped, trying to get used to the sensation. When you opened them, you saw Bob looking at you with concern, but behind that, you noticed how his eyes shone with lust. He was simply waiting for your orders or some gesture from you to guide him so he could follow you. You finished removing his open jacket and began desperately kissing his neck. It was more like sucking and nibbling while you moaned and whispered apologies against his skin.

"F-fuck sorry, mmh, I just ah~ couldn't hold on any longer ngh"

Bob said nothing, but he dug his fingers into your hips as he felt your walls throb around his member. Your French kisses ran along the line of his jaw, making him clench it to hold back his moans.

"Gosh, you're divine.."

Your compliments were making him feel like he was on cloud nine, and he dared to massage the flesh of your waist while slightly rolling his eyes. Now your mouth crashed against his lips in a fiery, needy, and open kiss. Your tongue entered his mouth, and he allowed it, feeling the warmth of your saliva. Almost hitting your teeth, you explored every corner of his mouth and lips while he moaned into yours. When you tangled your fingers in his hair and gave it a tug, causing him to throw his head back, Bob moaned your name loudly.

"Shit Bob.. everything is perfect about you" you whispered against his lips between kisses

Bob felt himself melt at your words. One hand was on your lower back, pulling you closer to him, and the other was sliding down to your lower abdomen. With one finger, he probed your bare clit, and you gasped into his mouth. He dared to trace circles, making you stop and press your forehead to his, breathing heavily.

"Omg! F-Don't s-stop!"

His finger played with your button-like slit, ecstatic at how you were coming undone under his touch, lips flushed and parted, eyes half-closed and glassy, you looked perfect. His magical fingers lifted your pelvis, which was already aligned with his erection. The sound that filled the room was so filthy that you were glad the team hadn't come looking for you two yet.

"Damn Y/n, you are so fuck! wet, but I got you"

And he was right, your wetness was so great it acted as a lubricant, and you slid up and down with ease, making a loud chop! chop! Your ass hit his balls with every hard thrust you delivered, causing his face to twitch.

"That's ri-right ah, k-keep going, don't stop!, you.. you're making me feel ngh so good, sweets."

Sweets? Now Bob dared to give you a pet name? There you go. You lost it. You leaned your forehead on his shoulder, sighing between delicious and pleasurable moans. It wasn't just how you were riding him and how he took you so well, as if his member had been made for you, but the fact that he dared to shower you with praise was killing you. Their hot breaths mingled with each other just inches from their faces, sticky sweat clung disgustingly to their hair but all they could focus on was how close they were to reaching another orgasm. Bob was with his hips hitting your G-spot precisely making you scream his name

"Ah! Yes! There!!"

You squeezed your eyes shut as your walls contracted even more, feeling them throb painfully. You were about to come.

"Fuck! You're tight!"

Bob kept talking through his orgasm which turned you on even more.

"Fuckfuckfuck I'm so close! And you feel so fucking g-good. God you're taking me so well mm"

With those last words, you came, followed by him. A sticky, thick, and hot liquid trickled down the inside of your thighs, staining both of your clothes. Bob threw his head back to rest it on the closet door, and you rested your cheek on his shoulder, your head turned toward him. The two of you stayed like that for several long minutes, catching your breath. You no longer felt that intense fever, nor did your skin feel so sensitive to the senses. It seemed that the narcotic effect had finally worn off. You smiled, relieved, closing your eyes. Bob hugged your back with both arms, holding you like a small child about to fall asleep.

"Well... I think the aphrodisiac is already out of our systems."

He sighed tiredly "Yes, I think so too"

You noticed a note of joy in his voice, and you didn't know if he was glad he was no longer under the influence of that substance or because you had just made him cum. Either way, and although you wanted to stay in his arms for a longer time, you decided you should separate because if the team arrived and saw you like this, they would be traumatized for life. You pulled away from his chest, and he kept his eyes on you the whole time, making sure you didn't hurt yourself. When you stood up, you forgot you could still feel your sensitive area, and with a slight shudder, you moaned, startled.

"Slowly, let me help you"

He chivalrously helped you up and even pulled up your clothes before straightening his own pants. They stared at each other for a moment; they were a mess. Their clothes were stained and damp, and their hair was tangled and sticking to their faces from sweat. They smiled, embarrassed and uncomfortable. "We won't tell anyone about this, okay? And then, well, I don't know... maybe someday we can talk about this..." you told him, determined because you had realized your feelings for him. You were surprised when you noticed that he nodded confidently; perhaps the feeling was mutual after all.

You headed for the door, walking uncomfortably because of your soaked underwear, which already felt cold. As you were about to open it, a restless group of people entered through the entrance, accidentally pushing you and causing you to stumble. You would have fallen if Bob hadn't caught you from behind and under your arms before you fell backward to the ground.

"WHAT HAPPENED ARE YOU OK?!" Yelena yelled half worried an half angry

You half-reassured her by telling her that they were both fine now, without explaining what had happened, of course. You gave her the vial they needed, and she seemed satisfied. The others walked around the place inspecting it

"Why the hell did you turn off your earpieces? It took us two hours to find you in this building that looks like a fucking maze" Yelena scolded them.

"sorry about that, it's just that..-"

You were about to make up any excuse when, out of the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky bending down to smell the aphrodisiac orange liquid. Alarmed, you and Bob stopped him by shouting. The man with the metal arm stood up, startled and confused.

"DON'T TOUCH THAT!" you two exclaimed in unison

"Why?! What's wrong with it??"

"Yeah, What do you two know that we don't?" Walker asked

You and Bob cleared your throats and coughed nervously, babbling incoherently, which was impossible to understand because you were talking at the same time. Suddenly, you abruptly fell silent and looked at the team, which didn't understand anything.

"Forget it! We already have what we were looking for, let's go!" You quickly said nervously

You dragged Bob by the hand, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible, while Yelena shrugged, looking at the others to follow you. Everyone did the same, except for John, who stared at the table for a few seconds, wanting to find out why you were acting suspicious. In his search, he found a folder that read:

The concubus is a plant that grows in clusters of three with pointed leaves. Its orange nectar is a strong aphrodisiac that can be obtained by grinding its leaves. The ancients used it as a natural Viagra.

Then John looked down at the floor where the broken jar lay and smiled, understanding everything.

"damn horny dogs..."

And with a broad smile he left the laboratory following the others. He would have enough to bribe those two when they bothered him.

114 notes · View notes

hazard-haze · 1 day ago

Text

Eddie and Volt headcanons (no player)

Soooooo

My brain has decided this shit is my new hyperifxation

And that these are my new comfort characters

But I heard that everyone was getting a hate ending with them and guess who got friendship with them first tryyyyyy! So uh, skill issue/j heres some headcanons for ya'll :)

-He doesn't do it often because he knows Eddie hates it, but Volt can 110% pick up Eddie and will abuse this power if he needs to

-Eddie is Volt's anger translator. It usually goes something like this:

Volt: "We are sorry you weren't satisfied with our service, but this is the best we can do and I'm going to have to ask you to leave now."

Eddie *passing by behind him*: "Pay your fucking tab and get out!"

-Volt cannot keep his hands still, he tries to play it off suave-ly (?) by just tapping his fingers and running his hand through his hair repeatedly but when he gets really excited or angry about something he will wave his hands with big, fast, eccentric gestures.

-Volt wears eyeliner, sometimes Eddie helps him put it on.

-Eddie is very talented at most things he does, fixing, building, mixing drinks (he can even do some tricks with shakers), and there's a plethora of odd things he's picked up throughout the years. However this makes him get pretty frustrated when things don't work out the first couple times he attempts something. While not the main reason, this is part of why he was so frustrated and irritable during most of his main plot. Volt sometimes has to remind him that it's okay to not have everything figured out immediately, or pull him from his work if he's starting to stress out or exhaust himself too much.

-On the topic of pulling Eddie from his work, that is a feat. Volt full well knows he can't just ask Eddie to take a break, usually he has to either ask him to do something easier as a favor, or blame the break on himself.

"Oh Eddie, I know your in the middle of something but could you wipe the bar down? I have no time before we open."

"Eddieeeee, I have no one to watch the new season of Cougar vs Cougar with! Would you take a break to and come watch it with me? Please! Just for a little bit! Just one episode!" (They got through like 2 1/2 before Eddie passed tf out)

-Oh yeah, Volt loves reality TV and Eddie pretends to not be at least a little invested.

-Eddie can draw. Volt cannot. Volt is very jealous of Eddie in this regard.

-Infodumpingggggggg. They infodump to one another without even realizing it, it is so much of how they communicate. They will ramble and bounce ideas off each other, mostly about the club but about other stuff too.

-On the flip side. They can also communicate by saying pretty much nothing, just through brief glances. I think it would partly be because they are literally split from the same thing but it's more in that way when you widen your eyes slightly at your bestie and that equates to like a full paragraph of text.

-Eddie is short af, Volt is tall af.

-Volt makes fun of Eddie for being short

-Like seriously ya know that audio that's like "I know we don't always see eye to eye" "that because your too short to do so"

-Eddie will get revenge. He can kick/punch really hard but he can also come up with some other very clever ways of revenge. Do not mess with the guy who has access to the tools.

-Neither of them really like just hard liquor. Volt likes sweeter drinks and Eddie likes quality craft beers. If either sees the other drinking something like scotch/whiskey they can usually assume somethings wrong.

-Volt has sooooo many ideas for the club, several of which are not exactly... possible. Eddie has to be the one to break the news to him that No Volt we can't break down the retaining wall of the bar and turn it into an inanimal fish tank. Why? Because without it the roof would collapse!

-Volt's love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation

-Eddie's love language is acts of service.

-Going deeper into that, Volt loves physical touch, as previously mentioned. Eddie however does not. But they make it work, Eddie can tell when Volt needs a hug or just to have someone next to him, Volt can tell when Eddie is getting overstimulated or just needs space.

-They both have their ears pierced. Volt did it for both of them.

-Eddie actually quite likes talking to people, I mean he's definitely tended the bar at some point, he just doesn't like talking to annoying people. He's sarcastic and his humor is a bit deadpan and he's more reserved, but he 100% can be very funny and hold conversations very well with patrons and even better with friends.

-That being said, bro does not chat while he works on maintenance. If anyone, including Volt, is working with him, he isn't saying shit unless its telling them what to do, or looking over their work. If someones lucky they get a "Good job."

-Neither have ever been a fan of the dark, but they especially would not be after the black out.

-They both hate silence, I mean they work in a night club, at this point it just feels unnatural.

-Kinda already mentioned this but Volt gets quiet angry and Eddie gets loud angry. If Volt goes silent, you know you fucked up. On the opposite end, it will sometimes be assumed that Eddie is mad because he's being quiet but that just how he is, if Eddie actually is properly yelling you know he's upset.

-Nerve damage babyyyyyy. It is all up Eddie's arms, contributes to why he's not super touchy because his arms get that awful pulling, itchy, pain when something touches them.

-Volt can get some nasty fatigue. The electricity fluctuates? Bro is immediately drained, head rush, migraine, the whole shabang.

-Not really headcanon but neither of them are good at admitting they need help or at accepting it when its offered.

-They both know each others triggers tho, and make sure to tell the other to rest when they need to. Neither take their own advice.

-Eddie hyperfocuses like crazy. If he sits down with his tools, something to fix and no one around he will not move from that spot for hours.

-Volt is always jumping from project to project, person to person, never slowing down. There's a lot to do in the breaker box and he is more than happy to juggle all of it.

-Both of them forget to sleep because of these facts. and eat (do they eat?). and talk to other things. and talk to each other. and-

-They would be cat people. Volt has definitely brought up getting an inanimal from Mateo but Eddie is always hesitant (even though he would 100% end up loving it to bits if they got one)

----

Ya'll I think I'm a loser. Instead of being out on a night off I am sitting in my bedroom writing headcanons about an actual breaker box in a dating sim that I'm not even attracted to, I just think their silly. What is my life T-T

#date everything #eddison watts #eddie #volt #volt and eddie #gang i'm aro/ace #i just think they're neat #headcanon #platonic #or not idk #I wrote it pretty platonically but its up for interpretation #eddie and volt #did I just realize that these guys are a metaphor for chronic illness?#maybe #is this why I like them so much?#...maybe

54 notes · View notes

nattousan · 1 day ago

Text

i don't know what aspect of autism this is or if it's just me being arrogant but the absolute blinding rage i feel over something this insignificant has Got to be a symptom idk

at work rn we're working on a very large foam sculpture for an event that has to do with a medusa head topping an entranceway, and i do mean it's Massive, like 8ft across or something. The client sent us a 3D rendering of the sculpt that they want us to follow and i seem to be the only one bothered by it.

The face itself is fine, the anatomy is a little wonky but it looks like what it's supposed to look like, but the snakes... dear lord the Snakes

there's no rhyme or reason to where they are placed or where they originate from the head, NO thought was given to how an actual snakes body moves or bends and they all ended up looking like squeezed out toothpaste or entrails, there's no flow to the design, there's WAY TOO MANY OF THEM for our small shop to sculpt by hand, NO thought was given as to how people were actually supposed to sculpt it so that it lines up with the wall/entryway it's being mounted to, they all look like sock puppets and overall the whole job is a mess from the beginning!!!!

I feel myself being paralyzed by all of these issues, unable to move forward without fixing them, esp since my questions of "how are we making this fit to it's frame without the frame itself" being met with a noncomittal "eh, we'll make it work, just do your best"

i have had my whole workflow disrupted by this and all of the other sculptors seem to not notice how WRONG it is!!! it's wrongggggg!!!!!!

im not trying to be a like... uh, art snob or something condescending about this but i find the whole design ugly and not worth making in its current form and that might be diagnosable idk, i guess i just need to learn how to turn off the part in my brain that cares about that and do it ugly i guess ???

#ITS WRONGGGGG!!!!#i have found myself procrastinating and taking long bathroom breaks to avoid it because of this #i don't know how to approach making something with such gaping flaws in it #WHY DOES THE SNAKE BODY HAVE NONCONSISTENT WIDTH TO IT!!!!#I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF!!!!!!!!!#nat chats

63 notes · View notes

xandezsims · 2 days ago

Text

L&D Trans Sim Tagging: EA Made an Oopsie

Xan here. Remember how I never got into Fullbody outfits, in the original Trans Sim tutorial? Well, I am honor-bound to get into it a little. Why? Because I made a discovery, and it's...not great.

TL;DR: The Part Flags for most of Life & Death are messed up. Trans Sims are wearing the wrong meshes and it cannot be avoided; EA has to fix it.

If this concerns you, please upvote the report, and spread the word. They have ignored the Sims community about gender-related glitches in the past. Help us make them fix this, so we don't have to.

In-depth explanation about the problem below.

I was stoked to see we got clothes for both frames in the newer packs. Finally, Sims can wear whatever gender clothing they want! That's the goal, right? But, recent testing made me wonder how they handle opposite-frames. I thought I could learn something to help with inclusive tagging. So, I stuck Carmen in a dress from L&D, and:

It passes from the front, but...her chest. That's the opposite gender distortion. The one caused by putting a AM (masc frame) mesh on any AF (female) Sim, trans or not. I've definitely talked about this.

I went and cloned both meshes to check the tags, and sure enough:

Quick tagging lesson: toggling Restrict Opposite Frame means Carmen can't wear the AF one. She has to wear the AM frame dress, because as a trans Sim, her frame is AM. (Literally, the Opposite Frame of her gender.) But because she has breasts, she inherits the chest distortion all female Sims get wearing a man's top. The same applies for Erik, her counterpart (AM w/AF frame).

With a sinking feeling, I went back to the game and tried...everything.

I ran out of space, there are more. Trans-men are the same. I got halfway through the AM catalog and ran out of willpower. I'm betting almost every item made for both frames in this pack is tagged wrong. It's locked by frame, instead of gender. With pants, that's not a problem--but tops, dresses and suits will all be swapped.

So, now we know Fullbody meshes work similarly to tops. They need to be locked by Gender. And it's really just that tag. To test, I went back to my cloned dresses, and fixed it with two clicks:

This means all women regardless of frame can use the AF, and all men can use the AM. And here's the result: AF dress on AF Sim, AM dress on AM Sim. They literally swapped dresses.

So, easily fixed! That's 2 files out of...all of them. (sigh) I filed a Bug Report, linked above. Hopefully the amount of evidence I provided will get an actual response. That, or they'll think I'm an arrogant prat for telling them how their game works. But, I didn't break it.

Moral of the Story: this is a great example of what not to do if you make cc, or if you retag what you download. Remember, if you want to limit who can wear a mesh:

"Restrict Opposite Gender" for Tops and Fullbody; this makes sure all AF and AM Sims wear their meshes, and don't end up with chest lumps.

"Restrict Opposite Gender" for AF Bottoms; Trans-AM Sims break in half. Don't Restrict AM Bottoms at all. They fit everyone.

Or, Don't Restrict Anything, if you want all options. Note: distortions will happen. Mark your gender filters. They help a lot.

Earrings, Hats, Makeup, Gloves, Socks, Tights work for everyone

Necklaces and Nails are "Restrict Opposite Frame"; Trans Sims can't wear these from their own gender. They don't fit.

If you got this far, thank you for sticking it out. My innocent question turned into a tagging lesson (again). But, if it helps anyone in the future, I'll be glad. At least now we know there's a problem.

Please boost the Bug Report, share if you found it useful, and thanks for reading. I'm on the soap box again re: trans inclusion, but it's still Pride and I can't not stand up for my people. The more we know, the better we can do on our side.

Finally, tagging some folks who might want to know, if they don't already (feel free to ignore): @sejianismodding @the-crypt-o-club @yooniesim @whyhellosims @thefoxburyinstitute @sims4tutorials @mmfinds @gncc

#sims 4 bugs #ts4 bugs #s4 tutorial #ts4 tutorial #sims 4 studio #lgbt sims #ts4 trans #carmilla #phantom #realizing I never actually explained how tagging works #might be time soon #in my defense I didn't know when I wrote the first guide #but I'd rather not annoy everyone banging on about this

66 notes · View notes

suku-enthusiasts · 2 days ago

Text

chapter four || blow ups - c. kamo

❛ ❜ Choso Kamo x f!reader (on going)

❝ Kamo “Choso,” a guarded boxer, meets a soft-spoken baker when he starts daily visits after training. Their connection grows slowly—social media follow, sweet diner dates, shared springtime moments—but love comes through quiet acts: tending wounds, pearl necklaces, building a home together. Challenges follow—a big match, media attention, and legal fights,—yet their bond deepens through intimacy, honest conversations under starry nights, and passionate reunions after weeks apart. As they balance family, business, and future plans, Choso sheds his tough exterior and the baker learns to trust in love worth fighting for.❞

cw ; mdni • 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. hurt/trauma. smut . anxiety.

Uploads every Tuesday

main masterlist | series masterlist | previous

Dinner was easy in a way that surprised him. It shouldn’t have been. Choso wasn’t used to easy. He was used to long silences that felt sharp instead of comfortable, to conversations where people waited for him to say the wrong thing, to the quiet judgment that came with the scars on his knuckles and the bruises that never really healed. But here — in your small, warm apartment with the smell of garlic and tomatoes lingering in the air, with the soft light of the old lamp casting a glow over your hair — it felt different.

He ate slowly, more for the company than the food, watching the way you talked with your hands, the way your laugh curled at the edges when you told stories about bakery disasters — dough that didn’t rise, burnt croissants, the one time you locked yourself in the walk-in freezer for an hour before your brother found you. Choso didn’t say much. He didn’t have to. You filled the space without crowding it, and every so often, when you laughed a little too hard or smiled a little too big, he caught himself smiling too.

After dinner, you carried the plates to the sink, and Choso followed you, leaning his hip against the counter as you rinsed them, the water running quietly between you. "You know," you said, glancing up at him with a small smile, "you're allowed to relax." He snorted softly. "Don't know how." You bumped his arm with your shoulder, teasing but gentle. "You're learning." He watched you for a moment longer, heart heavy in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with the way you looked at him — like you saw him. Like you weren't trying to fix him or change him or run from the sharp edges. You just saw him, and somehow, you still stayed.

He opened his mouth to say something — he wasn’t even sure what — when his phone buzzed on the counter. Choso frowned, leaning over to check the screen. His manager’s name flashed across the display: Kenji. He let it buzz once. Twice. You glanced at him, a question in your eyes, but didn’t push. With a grunt, Choso picked it up and answered, pressing it to his ear.

“Yeah.”

Your back was to him now as you wiped down the counter, pretending not to listen, but he could feel the way the air shifted around you — quieter, more alert. Choso’s face hardened as he listened, jaw tightening. “No,” he said sharply. “I already told you — not interested.” There was a pause — Kenji’s voice, fast and insistent, bleeding through the small apartment. Choso’s fingers drummed against the counter, the tight, agitated rhythm giving away more than his voice did.

“You gotta be kidding me,” he muttered, turning away from you, pacing a few steps toward the window like he could outwalk the conversation. Kenji kept talking — louder, more aggressive — and Choso’s shoulders tensed, the muscles under his hoodie bunching tight. “What the fuck does Gucci need me for?” he snapped, his voice rising, sharp in the quiet of the apartment. “I’m not a model. I’m not some pretty face they can slap on a billboard.” You stopped wiping the counter, watching him now, still and careful. Another pause. Another insistent argument through the phone.

Choso raked a hand through his hair, the tie snapping loose, strands falling around his face in a messy halo.

“They don’t give a shit about me,” he said, voice rough. “They don’t care who I am. They just want a look. A story.”

He paced, breathing harder now, phone still pressed tight to his ear. “I said no. What part of no—”

He broke off, jaw tight, listening to whatever Kenji was saying on the other end. His hand dropped to his side, clenching into a fist, the other scrubbing hard over his face. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, but no less bitter. “It’s in the contract,” he muttered. “Of course it is.”

He hung up then, without a word, the phone hitting the counter with a dull, angry thud. He stood there, breathing hard, back tense, the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders. His fists were clenched at his sides, and for a long moment, he didn’t move. You could feel the anger radiating off him — not the reckless, dangerous kind. The kind that came from helplessness. From being trapped, and even though your chest tightened, even though every instinct told you to tread carefully, you didn’t flinch.

You crossed the room quietly, your socks silent on the wood floor, and stopped just behind him. You didn’t speak. You didn’t ask. You just wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek lightly to his back, and held him.

Choso stood there, breathing slow and ragged, your arms wrapped tight around his waist, your body pressed gently to his back. The fight had drained out of him — not all at once, not dramatically — but in pieces. The sharp edges dulled, the anger softened, the weight of everything he carried shifting just enough that he could feel the warmth of you behind him. He didn’t move for a long time, his hands resting heavy over yours, his fingers brushing absently across your knuckles like he didn’t know what else to do with them, like he was afraid to break the moment by holding on too tight.

The apartment was quiet except for the sound of his breathing, yours quieter still, the slow thud of your hearts filling up the small space. Outside, the city moved on — cars in the distance, the occasional echo of voices on the street — but up here, it was just you and him, suspended in something that felt fragile but real. You didn’t speak, didn’t press him to turn around, to look at you. You just stayed, steady and sure, your arms tightening slightly around him every time his breathing hitched, every time his muscles tensed like he might pull away. You wanted him to know he didn’t have to. That he could stay. That it was safe here.

It took a while — longer than you thought it might — but slowly, slowly, Choso shifted. He lifted one of your hands from his stomach, his fingers lacing through yours with a care so unfamiliar, so clumsy and deliberate, it made your chest ache. He turned, slow and heavy, and you let your arms fall back, giving him space. When he faced you, he was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his skin, smell the clean soap clinging to his hoodie, the faint coppery scent of the gym still lingering underneath. His hair was messy, falling loose around his face, strands brushing his cheekbones. His dark eyes — so often hooded and guarded — were open now, raw and vulnerable in a way that made your breath catch.

Choso didn’t speak. He just stood there, staring at you like he wasn’t sure if you were real. His gaze dropped, slowly, dragging over your face — the curve of your mouth, the soft flush still high on your cheeks, the loose, messy fall of your hair. His jaw worked, a muscle ticking, like there were words caught somewhere between his ribs that he didn’t know how to free. You didn’t rush him.

You stood there, open and waiting, your hands loosely folded in front of you, giving him the choice to reach, to stay, to leave — whatever he needed, and maybe it was that — the not asking, the not pushing — that finally broke through.

Choso stepped closer, slow and heavy, the toes of his boots brushing yours. His hand lifted, hesitant, pausing halfway like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you. You met him halfway, tilting your chin up, letting your gaze hold his, steady and soft. He touched your cheek, finally, the backs of his fingers rough against your skin. Not a caress — just a touch, like he needed to make sure you were real, that you weren’t going to dissolve if he pressed too hard. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, feather-light, and you leaned into it, just slightly, a soft breath escaping you.

“You’re not scared of me,” he said, voice low and rough, the words heavy with disbelief and something that sounded almost like awe. You shook your head slowly, the movement brushing your cheek against his hand. “No.” His thumb traced the line of your jaw, slow, in awe. “I should scare you,” he said, even softer, like he hated admitting it.

“You don’t,” you whispered, and you saw the way his throat worked, the way his hand trembled just slightly against your skin. Choso lowered his head, the tip of his nose brushing yours, and you felt the breath he exhaled — shaky, uneven — fan across your lips. He didn’t kiss you right away. He just breathed you in, his forehead pressing lightly to yours, his hand moving to cup your jaw fully now, rough palm cradling you like you were something breakable. His other hand hovered at your waist, fingers twitching like he wanted to pull you closer but didn’t dare. You could have closed the distance. Could have leaned up on your toes and pressed your mouth to his, simple and easy.

But you waited.

You let him choose.

And he did.

Slow, careful, like he was afraid he’d ruin it if he moved too fast, Choso closed the last inch between you, his mouth brushing yours in a kiss that was more breath than contact at first. A hesitation. A question. You answered by tilting your chin up, pressing just a little closer, your fingers finding the hem of his hoodie, clutching lightly. The kiss deepened slowly — not frantic, not demanding — but steady, building in quiet layers. His lips were soft, warm, a little chapped, moving against yours like he was learning you in pieces, savoring the way you fit against him. When he finally pulled back, it was only by a breath, his forehead still resting against yours. “You’re too good for me,” he murmured, the words so raw they almost didn’t sound like him. You smiled, small and sure, fingers curling tighter into the fabric of his hoodie. “You’re wrong,” you whispered. He exhaled shakily, his thumb stroking slow circles against your jaw. For a moment, neither of you moved, and even though there was still a heaviness in his shoulders, still a sadness in the way he held you — it wasn’t hopeless.

It was something quieter. Something that felt a lot like hope. You stood there together in the quiet, in the soft lamplight, in the stillness of a world you’d made just for each other — a world that, for once, he didn’t feel the need to fight against. For the first time in a long, long time, Choso thought maybe he didn’t have to be afraid of being seen.

Not when it was you doing the looking.

The night of the fight, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. You stood in the line winding around the side of the old arena, the low buzz of voices, the smell of cheap food and sweat filling the air. The crowd was restless — buzzing with anticipation, thick with the kind of energy that made your skin crawl. Men in leather jackets and steel-toed boots, women with loud laughs and sharper smiles. It wasn’t your world. Not even close.

But you were here anyway. For him.

Inside, the arena was even worse — too loud, too bright, the sharp metallic tang of blood and old adrenaline saturating the air. You found your seat toward the front — not too close, but close enough that you could see the cage, the gleaming metal bars catching the harsh overhead lights. You sat, hands tight in your lap, heart hammering against your ribs. Choso was already in the ring. He stood in one corner, shoulders loose, head down, hoodie half-zipped, hands taped tight. His team fussed around him — shouting last-minute instructions, slapping his back — but he barely reacted. He stood still, heavy and coiled like a spring, his dark hair tied back, face blank. Not the Choso you knew.

No — this was someone else. Someone harder. Sharper.

The announcer’s voice echoed through the speakers, the crowd roaring in response, but it all blurred together for you.

When Choso stepped forward, shrugging out of his hoodie, the tattoos on his arms gleamed under the lights, black and brutal. His body was a map of old scars and new bruises, and even from where you sat, you could see how tight his jaw was, how hard his eyes had gone. You barely breathed as the fight started.

It was fast — brutal — a blur of fists and elbows, bodies colliding against the cage. Choso was a machine, all sharp edges and ruthless precision. He moved like he was built for this — like violence lived under his skin, coiled tight and waiting. You flinched every time his fist connected — sharp, wet impacts that echoed across the arena. His opponent was fast, good, but Choso was better — relentless, grinding him down with every blow, every ruthless advance. There was no mercy in it. No hesitation. Just Choso, cold and brutal, doing what he had to do.

It didn’t take long. The final blow was vicious — a sharp left hook that sent the other man crumpling to the mat, blood splattering across the canvas. The crowd roared. You stayed frozen, breath caught somewhere between your chest and throat. Choso stood over his opponent for a beat longer, chest heaving, face still blank. Then he stepped back, lifting his bruised fists mechanically when the ref grabbed his arm and declared him the winner. The announcer shouted, the crowd screamed, but Choso barely reacted. No smile. No raised fists. No celebration. Just that same blank stare.

You saw it then — clearer than you ever had before. He hated this. Even with the win, even with the cheers, Choso stood there like he couldn’t feel a thing. Like he was just a body in a cage, doing what he had to do to survive. Obligation. Not passion.

You sat frozen as he left the ring, his team swarming him — pats on the back, towels thrown over his shoulders. He moved through them like a ghost, not really seeing any of it. When his dark eyes found yours in the crowd, the smallest crack broke across his face — something soft and fleeting — and then it was gone.

You didn’t say much when you met him outside the arena. He was quiet, hoodie pulled low over his face, duffel slung over one shoulder. His hands were taped still, knuckles split and raw, dried blood crusted at the edges. He didn’t speak, and neither did you — just slid into the passenger seat of your car, slumping low. You drove back to the apartment in silence. When you got home, you unlocked the door, flipping on the lamp, letting the soft, warm light spill across the space. Choso stood in the doorway for a second, heavy and still, then toed off his boots and stepped inside.

“Go shower,” you said, voice soft but certain. He hesitated, jaw ticking — like he didn’t know how to accept something so small — and then nodded, disappearing down the hall to the bathroom. You moved around the apartment quietly while he was gone — fetching the small first aid kit from under the sink, filling a glass of water, pulling a clean towel from the closet. When Choso came back, hair damp and curling at the ends, fresh hoodie pulled over his broad shoulders, he looked... smaller, somehow. Calmer. But still distant, still too quiet. You sat on the couch, patting the spot next to you.

“Come here.” He hesitated again, then crossed the room slowly, sitting down with a grunt. His legs spread wide, shoulders hunched slightly, like he was trying to make himself smaller and failing. You reached for his hands, gently pulling one into your lap. His knuckles were bruised and raw, the skin split in places, crusted blood staining the tape. He watched you quietly as you peeled it away, careful not to pull too hard. You worked slowly, dabbing antiseptic against the cuts, smoothing bandages over the worst of them. Choso didn’t flinch. Didn’t even breathe hard. Just sat there, letting you take care of him like he didn’t know what to do with it. When you finished, you set the first aid kit aside and curled your fingers lightly around his wrist, thumb brushing over the thick pulse there.

He was still watching you — quiet, unreadable.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and spoke — soft, but sure. “I hated watching that,” you admitted, voice low. “Not because you’re bad at it. You’re good — too good.” Choso’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing. “I hated it because I could see it in your face. You don’t love it.” You swallowed, thumb stroking slow, soothing circles against his skin. “You do it because you have to.” His jaw tightened, throat working around words he couldn’t seem to say.

“You fight because you feel like you don’t have a choice,” you said, softer now. “Because it’s the only thing the world’s ever let you be good at.” You shifted closer, your knee brushing his. “But that’s not all you are, Choso.”

His hand flexed under yours, rough fingers twitching like he wanted to grab you but wasn’t sure how. “You’re more than fists and fights and bruises. You’re more than what they want to make you into.” You let the words settle between you, your heart hammering in your chest. When he still didn’t speak, you moved carefully, sliding your hand up from his wrist, along the rough line of his forearm, until you reached his jaw. His eyes fluttered closed at the touch, a soft breath leaving him. “I have feelings for you,” you said, voice barely more than a whisper now. “I don’t care about the fights. I don’t care about the noise. I just... I care about you.”

His eyes opened, dark and shining, the weight of them settling heavy on you. Slowly, carefully, he turned his face into your palm, pressing a rough kiss to the center of it. You felt it like a brand — warm, aching, real. When he looked at you again, the hardness in his face had cracked wide open, and what you saw there made your chest ache — a softness he tried so hard to hide, a hunger for something he didn’t know how to ask for.

Choso didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. He leaned forward, slow and deliberate, pressing his forehead to yours, his hand curling around the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, and you stayed like that — quiet, steady, together — as the world outside spun on without you.

The park was warm with the promise of spring. The grass was a deep, lush green, thick and soft underfoot, dotted with little patches of wildflowers that swayed in the gentle breeze. The air smelled clean — fresh-cut grass, distant lilacs, the faintest trace of earth still damp from the morning dew. The sun hung high in a clear blue sky, casting long, lazy shadows that danced over the paths and picnic blankets scattered across the open lawns.

You tugged the edges of your light, flowing maxi dress as you walked beside Choso, the hem brushing against your ankles, catching on the occasional blade of grass. It was the kind of dress that felt like spring itself — soft fabric in muted florals, fitted at the waist and loose around your hips, swishing with every step. Your hair was loose around your shoulders, catching the light, and your cheeks were already pink from the sun.

Choso walked next to you, quiet as usual, but different now. Softer. Calmer. He wore a plain white t-shirt that clung slightly to the strong lines of his chest and arms, the sleeves tight around his biceps, a pair of worn black jeans that sat low on his hips. His boots were scuffed, and his hair was loose today, falling in soft, messy strands around his face, brushing his jaw whenever the breeze picked up. You found a spot under a pecan tree — a little quieter, a little more private — and Choso dropped down onto the grass without hesitation, leaning back on his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him. You sank down beside him, tucking your legs under you, smoothing your dress as you sat.

For a while, you didn’t talk. You didn’t need to. You just sat there, letting the warmth of the afternoon settle into your bones, letting the soft sounds of the park — the distant laughter of kids, the occasional bark of a dog, the low hum of conversation — fill the space between you. Choso shifted slightly, one arm brushing against yours, and you turned to look at him. He was already watching you — not in the heavy, guarded way he had when you first met, but in that slow, steady way he did now, like he was memorizing the way the light played on your hair, the way your cheeks flushed pink, the way your dress pooled around you like you belonged there.

“Got something for you,” he said, voice low. You blinked, surprised, as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small box — not flashy, not fancy, just simple black velvet. He turned it over in his palm once, like he was second-guessing himself, then held it out to you. You took it carefully, heart already racing. Inside, nestled against the dark velvet, was a delicate necklace — a single, small pearl on a fine gold chain, simple and elegant.

You stared at it, breath caught somewhere between your chest and your throat. “It’s not much,” Choso said, voice rougher now, like he was fighting the urge to pull back, to take it away before you could say anything. “But... made me think of you.”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. “It’s beautiful,” you said softly, fingers brushing lightly over the pearl. Choso shifted, sitting up straighter, his knees brushing yours. He looked nervous — that quiet kind of nervous he always got when he was about to say something real. He reached out, took the necklace from the box, the chain glinting in the sunlight as he let it drape across his knuckles. “Turn around,” he said, voice quieter now.

You obeyed, lifting your hair away from your neck as he moved behind you. His fingers were warm and careful as he clasped the chain, letting the pearl rest just at the hollow of your throat. When you turned back to face him, his hand lingered for a moment, fingers brushing lightly against your skin. He sat back, hands resting on his thighs, and stared at you.

“Looks good on you,” he murmured. You smiled — wide and real, cheeks burning — and tucked the pearl lightly between your fingers, feeling the weight of it, small and perfect. Choso shifted again, like he was gathering himself, and then — finally — he spoke. “I been thinkin’ about this for a while,” he said, voice low but steady now. “About you. About us.” You blinked, heart pounding, but stayed quiet. “I don’t do this kinda thing,” he continued, frowning slightly, like he hated how clumsy the words felt in his mouth. “Never really saw the point before.” He looked at you then, and there was something in his eyes — something soft, something steady — that made your chest ache.

“But I don’t wanna keep actin’ like you’re just... someone I see sometimes. You’re more than that.” Your breath caught.

He shifted closer, his hand brushing lightly against your knee. “I want you to be my girlfriend,” he said, voice low but firm. “If you’ll have me.” You stared at him, heart thudding so hard you thought he might hear it. For a moment, you couldn’t speak — couldn’t even breathe, and then you smiled — big and blushing, eyes bright — and nodded. “Yes,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I’d love to.”

Something in Choso’s face cracked wide open at your words — a slow, soft smile breaking across his mouth, small but real, the kind of smile you’d only ever seen on him when he was truly at peace. You pulled your phone out, grinning as you leaned into him, lifting it up for a selfie. Choso shifted closer without hesitation, one arm slinging loosely around your waist, his hand resting lightly on your hip. You snapped the photo — you with your wide, bright smile, cheeks flushed pink, hair tumbling over your shoulders, the delicate pearl at your throat catching the light — and Choso beside you, leaning in close, a soft, rare smile on his face, his dark eyes warm.

You stared at the photo for a moment after, heart full. It wasn’t perfect — the light was a little too harsh, the breeze caught a few strands of your hair across your face — but it didn’t matter. It was real. You turned to him, sliding your phone into your lap, and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, just at the corner of his mouth. Choso turned his head slightly, catching your eyes, and for a moment, neither of you moved. You didn’t have to. The world kept spinning, the sun kept shining, but for you — for him — it was enough just to be. Here. Together.

After a while, the buzz of the park faded into the background — the laughter of children chasing soccer balls, the distant bark of a dog, the quiet hum of conversations drifting on the breeze. You shifted, tugging gently on Choso’s hand, and he followed you down without protest, both of you sprawling back onto the grass. The sun was warm overhead, filtering through the leaves above, casting dappled shadows across your skin and the light fabric of your dress. Choso lied beside you, one hand tucked under his head, the other tangled loosely with yours, his thumb brushing slow, lazy circles against your palm. His white t-shirt stretched taut across his chest, the cotton thin enough that you could see the faint outlines of old scars and muscle underneath. He looked more at ease here than he ever did anywhere else — the tension gone from his shoulders, the sharp lines of his face softened by the way he watched the sky. You turned your head to look at him, chin tilted slightly.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, voice low, carrying easily in the quiet. Choso huffed a breath — not a laugh, but close — and turned his head to meet your gaze. “You,” he said simply. You smiled, shy but sure, the kind of smile you didn’t have to hide with him anymore. He stared at you for a moment longer, dark eyes steady, and then his thumb brushed higher, skimming the delicate chain of the necklace he’d given you, the pearl catching the sunlight.

“You’re good for me,” he said, voice rough, almost like it hurt him to admit it. You squeezed his hand, your thumb brushing over the back of his knuckles where the bruises were already beginning to darken. “You’re good for me too,” you murmured. You lied there a while longer, hands tangled, the quiet wrapping around you like something sacred, something real.

It was perfect.

Until your phone buzzed.

You startled slightly, blinking as you fished it out of the folds of your dress. Choso watched you, curious but unconcerned, as you squinted at the screen.

Dad.

Your heart skipped — not in fear, but that strange, familiar flutter of oh no, what does he know?. You bit your lip, glancing at Choso, and sat up, brushing grass from your dress as you answered. “Hey, Dad.” Choso stayed lying back in the grass, one hand behind his head, but his eyes flicked to you, sharp and attentive now. “Hey, sweetheart,” your father’s voice came through, warm but firm. “What are you up to?” You smiled, glancing down at Choso. “I’m at the park.” There was a pause — not long, but long enough to make your stomach tighten.

“Your brothers came by the house yesterday,” your dad said, voice casual in a way that wasn’t really casual at all. “Told your mother and me a little about this guy you’ve been spending time with.” You winced, heart dropping slightly.

“They’re just worried,” you said quickly, picking at the hem of your dress. “But it’s not what they think. He’s... he’s really good to me.” There was another pause. You could picture your dad sitting at the kitchen table, arms crossed, frowning thoughtfully. “Well,” he said, slower now. “If you’re serious about him, I think it’s about time your mother and I meet him.” You swallowed, glancing nervously at Choso. He was still watching you — not tense, not worried, just waiting.

“I think that’s fair,” you said carefully. “I can talk to him.”

“Good,” your dad said, voice softening a little. “We just want to know the man our daughter’s spending so much time with. You know how we are.” You smiled, feeling the tightness in your chest ease a little. “Yeah. I know.”

“Alright. You set it up. Let me know when.”

“I will.”

“Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

You hung up, setting the phone carefully in your lap, exhaling slowly. Choso sat up then, brushing grass from his jeans, brows lifted in silent question. You smiled, soft but a little nervous. “So,” you said, voice light. “That was my dad.” Choso smirked faintly, nudging your knee with his. “Yeah? What’s he want?” You bit your lip, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “He wants to meet you.” Choso blinked, the smirk dropping from his face. You rushed to fill the space, reaching out to brush your fingers lightly over his hand.

“You don’t have to say yes right now. I can talk to them, set something up later. They’re just... protective.” Choso stared at you for a moment, expression unreadable, and you felt your stomach twist, afraid maybe it was too much too soon. But then he sighed, slow and deep, and turned his hand over, linking his fingers with yours again. “They should know who’s takin’ care of their daughter,” he said, voice low but sure. You smiled, heart tight and full all at once. Choso squeezed your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Set it up,” he said. “I’ll be there.”

And just like that — in the warm spring afternoon, with the grass cool beneath you and the sky wide and endless overhead — you realized you weren’t scared anymore. Not of the future. Not with him. Not together.

#anime fanfic #fanfiction #choso jjk #choso #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso kamo smut #choso smut #choso kamo #jjk choso #kamo choso #choso x reader #choso kamo series

47 notes · View notes

jekyllnvibes · 3 days ago

Text

I used to be Very anti-ship, because I had viscerally terrible reactions to a lot of Pro-Ship content due to trauma as a minor, and then I did what anti's keep telling people to do, and got Therapy, specifically three separate therapists, one who specializes in helping with gender dysphoria, general anxiety and depression, one who specializes in EMDR for reprocessing trauma, and one who specializes in helping people through sexual trauma, OCD, and sexual repression. The last one, after discussing my trauma with her and how it Related to the pro/anti discourse, quite literally told me I needed to remove myself from anti spaces because they were 100% enabling and reinforcing my moral OCD, and then sent me to a Childhood SA support group so that I could gain the support of other victims and understand experiences regarding it outside of my own. I learned that despite my own negative reaction to anything regarding age gap/p*dophilia/noncon, I am Not the only victim that exists and my experiences and feelings are Not universal, and a lot of other victims??? They develop kinks around those topics pretty commonly instead. One, because kinks are Developmental, (as in you Don't really get a say in what kinks you have just like you don't really get a say in anything else regarding your sexuality and sexual fantasies, and also that external factors like trauma can cause new kinks to develop whether you actually want them or not.) and Two, that these kinks, when applied to consenting adults doing a scene or in fiction, actually help a lot of victims reprocess their trauma in a way which makes them feel safe, and reclaim a lot of their experiences and feelings regarding what was done to their body for themself rather than feeling like it is all still lorded over by the memory of their abusers. So, I think pretty vehemently, if you're an anti, you should consider getting therapy and talking to someone who deals with sexual repression and moral OCD symptoms. Because "if you think about, enjoy, or are aroused by XYZ topic you're disgusting and a predator and should do something to Fix your Broken Head" is dead ass a symptom of moral OCD and sexual repression.

Any "your therapist is wrong : /" type comments will be blocked immediately, because that is Some (ignorant) Self Confidence you have, saying you think you know more than a therapist who has A) been working with SA survivors for the past twenty five years (longer than I have been alive) with almost nothing but positive feedback from their patients and B) has personally helped me to completely stop physically self harming due to my OCD, and has significantly reduced my similarly related substance abuse and emotional self harm issues as well. Like I don't trust y'all's opinion nearly as much as a dedicated professional who has done nothing but help me heal.

#jekyll shut your fucking mouth #proship vs anti #proship #anti ship #op is proship #ive decided #like i dont trust antis when yall were pushing the same line of thinking as an actual mental illness which caused me over a decade of harm #proshippers please interact #i love yall actually #and youve done nothing but help me heal without judgement #i dont personally vibe with almost any dark fiction and still get viscerally uncomfortable with a lot of it #but i also do not have any part of my heart willing to judge you for it if you do fw it

36 notes · View notes

carnatedrugs · 1 day ago

Text

Fix me.

Part 2

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Hi guys! I was struggling with my LOVE for Simon Riley so I wrote this and I'll just leave a first chapter. English is not my first language SO IM SORRY IF ANYTHING WRONG and I don't know if I need to continue but let's just leave it here for now.. heh ; - ;

Chapter 1

The train was late—too late, I’d say. I couldn’t tell how much time had passed; the summer heat was torturing me, melting my brain, making it hard to concentrate on anything. "Why did this damn piece of metal have to break now?" I huffed in frustration, eyeing the engine my father had built for my car. Now I had neither a car, nor a father to fix it.

Our relationship had always been... complicated. Maybe I’ll get into the details later. Despite our issues, there’s no denying he was a gifted man. The whole village relied on him—if it could be fixed with hands, he could fix it. Me? Not so much. I have my own talents—at least, I like to think so. But you know how it goes when parents want you to continue their legacy. So yeah, now you get why our relationship was tricky.

But none of that matters right now. I’m standing under this merciless sun, waiting for the fucking train. No one in my small town could fix the engine, so I had no choice but to travel to another city. I’ve never traveled like this before. I was content with where and how I lived. But without my dad around, I might as well throw the car away and forget it ever existed. Still, I made a choice—to find at least one person on this planet who could understand my father’s work and fix what he left behind.

Luckily, I’d heard rumors about a genius, someone who could fix anything. They said he was on another level—more magician than mechanic. Of course, no one could confirm that. I’m not someone who usually believes in miracles, but I’m desperate enough now to hope the rumors are true.

After what felt like forever, the train finally arrived. The ride would be long—apparently this so-called genius isn’t fond of people, and his home is far off the beaten path.

While watching the endless landscape pass by—fields, wires, smoke columns from distant furnaces—I started thinking about how hard these past four months had been. Money was tight, work was draining. The timing of this breakdown couldn’t have been worse. I couldn’t wait for another paycheck to get it fixed—without the car, my job becomes nearly impossible.

"Maybe think of it as a mini vacation—the one you always wanted," I whispered, forcing a sigh.

I work as a tutor for school kids. Since I was struggling financially, I started taking clients from nearby towns. They paid more—I didn’t have much of a choice. So yeah, I need that car back.

After countless kilometers of fields and lakes, I finally dozed off. My body had given in, but my mind kept spinning. Each bump on the tracks felt like a knock on the door of my nerves. Four months of holding everything together—and now this. I stared out the window, but the scenery blurred into something meaningless. What if this trip was a waste? What if he couldn’t fix it? What if I was chasing a ghost? The engine wasn’t just a piece of machinery. It was the last thing my father ever made for me. A cold thought slipped in: maybe it was never meant to be fixed.

I pressed my forehead against the window. The glass burned from the heat outside, but I didn’t move. The world rolled on, and I felt like I was stuck in place.

Taking these complicated thoughts aside I tried to cheer myself. I’m finally shifting my focus away from work, to steal a few hours of sleep. But just as I started to drift, the train jerked to a stop. I groaned from the sudden jolt and the ache in my back. Looking out the window, I saw a small village nestled among green hills, with quaint houses and scattered farms. The village looked like it had been plucked from a forgotten blueprint—where nature and machinery coexisted in a delicate, rusted balance. The cobblestone paths were lined with copper piping, some of them hissing gently with steam. Wind turbines, some broken and tilted, spun lazily above wooden rooftops reinforced with iron brackets and rivets. The air smelled like oil, coal, and lavender fields. An interesting mix.

As I stepped off the train, a rush of cool air filled my lungs. For a moment, I felt relief. This wasn’t my final destination—I still needed to find a ride to reach the “magician.”

I dragged my cart off the platform, the engine perched awkwardly on top. Back aching, hope still clinging to me, I headed into the village.

After asking around, one kind old man agreed to drive me where I needed to go. Everything went surprisingly smoothly. The people here were warm, the landscape beautiful, and I found what I needed faster than expected. That gave me a pause—maybe this “genius” wasn’t a magician after all. Maybe he was just a regular guy, and this trip was all for nothing.

"There’s no turning back now," I muttered, trying to quiet my doubts.

Lost in thought, I spotted a large windmill standing still against the sky. The car stopped. I got out.

"He lives here," the old man said, helping me unload the cart.

"Thank you so much!" I said with a smile as he drove off. Probably should’ve asked him to come back later. There’s no way this guy’s fixing it today. Looks like I’ll be staying in the village.

The moment that thought crossed my mind, exhaustion finally caught up with me. But rest would have to wait. I took a deep breath and approached the windmill.

It was quiet here—peacefully, almost hauntingly so. The air felt still. Lonely, that’s the word. Maybe it was just me.

I knocked on the heavy wooden door. No answer. Of course, I didn’t expect it to open right away, but it felt like no one was even inside.

"Maybe he went somewhe—" Before I could finish, the door creaked open with startling force. I stepped back, heart skipping a beat.

Standing in the doorway was a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a skull mask that clung tightly to his face like it belonged there. One arm, bare and marked with tattoos that told a story I dared not ask about, rested tensely at his side. He didn’t move much—just enough to study me. His eyes were steel-gray, the kind you don’t forget.

There was something military about him. Not in uniform, but in presence. In the way he stood, how his gaze scanned me like a tactical assessment. A man used to violence. Used to solitude.

He didn’t speak right away. Just watched me, expression unreadable beneath the bone-white grin of the mask. I couldn't tell if he was annoyed, bored, or thinking ten steps ahead of me. Maybe all three.

When he finally opened the door wider, I realized I hadn’t breathed in several seconds. “Surprise” doesn’t even begin to cover what I felt.

I cleared my throat. "Uh, hello! My name is Y/N. Sorry to bother you, but it’s kind of urgent. I’ve got an engine—one that’s pretty complicated. No one back home could fix it, and... that led me here." I tried to sound calm and confident, though the man in the skull mask standing silently in front of me didn’t make it that easy. He looked more like a serial killer than a mechanic.

He didn’t say anything—just listened, eyes never leaving mine. Then he gave a short nod and stepped aside, holding the door open.

Confused, I hesitated, then gave him a weak, awkward smile and turned to grab my cart.

"Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you," he said, stepping closer, his voice low and dry. It wasn’t aggressive, but it didn’t need to be. It felt controlled, like everything else about him. Calculated.

I tried to answer, but my voice came out thin. "It’s okay."

His voice sent shivers down my spine. Maybe it was the suddenness of it. Or maybe it was how deep and rough it sounded. I hadn’t expected him to speak at all.

I couldn’t stop staring at the mask. At his silence.

He didn’t rush. Just took the cart like it weighed nothing and held the door with a nod, as if to say Move. I tried to make sense of what was happening. I snapped back to reality and hurried inside the windmill.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley smut #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #simon riley imagine #simon riley fluff #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod mw ghost

37 notes · View notes