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boiohboii · 1 year

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Protective girl (Charles Leclerc x reader)

Inspires by @charles-eclair16 's fic

When fans go too far, yn wants to protect the one treasure in her life

in which we finally get to see the roles reversed

N.B: this is been in my drafts for so long, omg! Let me know what you guys think!! WARNING: not proof read, some swear words, might have messed up a date, don't focus on any dates mentioned, this is all fictional anyways. Hope you guys like it

masterlist

Liked by Arthur_leclerc, carlossainz55, pierregasly and 1,379,064 others

itsmeyn: charles always goes above and beyond for every single fan of his, he tries to take as many pictures and sign as many autographs as possible, but what happened last night was a fucking joke. He doesn't like what I'm writing cause he says that it was just a mistake and that it was fine, but it really isn't, it's so disrespectful and disgusting! He always wants to meet his fans and make them happy only to receive this insanity, him falling AND HURTING HIMSELF because some of you can't fucking wait and be organized like a human being! Charles isn't an animal in a zoo where you race to pet him! He is a human being, he is a son, a brother and a boyfriend! This wasn't just an accident, i have seen these 6 girls multiple times in multiple places! it's so obsessive and so so sick of you to follow him everywhere.... Charles won't speak up because he is Charles and he lives seeing the good in people, but I will tear everything and everyone for his safety, so for you 6 girls you will be hearing from court soon so better prepare a good lawyer you assholes!

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Liked by leclercboy, ynistheitgurl, fuckferarri and 91,739 others

F1_updates_live: Charles Leclerc's girlfriend, YN LN, seen today arriving in front of the UK's courthouse in a red SF9 Ferarri. It had been quite a week for YN as she was seen hitting a fan after the said fan pushed Charles. YN took this fan and 5 others to court, no one knows on what bases but what has come out is that she has won the case which means that Charles and YN have restraining orders against the group.

username: OHH HEEEELLL YEAAAAAHH

username: yn doing God's work

username: yn serving justice

username: that's what we needed

username: hot girl shit

username: the car and suit combo is so fucking hot of her

username: I think this is too much, like these girls just wanted to see Charles

username: @.itsmeyn can we make them 7?

username: another one

Liked by Charles_leclerc, danielricciardo, pierregasly and 617,829 others

itsmeyn: don't blame me, love made me crazy

username: YN IS A FELLOW SWIFTIE?!?!?

username: if I had a nickel for everytime yn and I had something in common I'd have 2 nickels, which is not a lot but it's weird that it's happened twice

username: now I just want her to watch all the charles edits done with a taylor song

itsmeyn: who says i already don't 🌚

username: and I oop-

username: THIS IS THE SWEETEST AND CRINGIEST SHIT EVER!

Liked by wolfffam, maxverstappen1, lance_stroll and 817,629 others

itsmeyn: congratulations to my baby, the love of my life, you deserve it and so much more ♥️♥️

username: FINALLY!!

username: idk how to react, ferarri has let us down too many times that all I know is lose

username: I don't see how he deserves it tbh, all of his results are shit for quite a while , he's only where he is cause he's driving a ferarri 🤷‍♂️

itsmeyn: oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were the one in a formula one car, in a ferarri, that by the words of many professionals is at its worse era. I don't care about you and your opinion but don't state it as a fact, no one can do better with these strategies. I hate to keep saying this but when your own fucking team doesn't have the same dream as you it turns to shit. Even if charles is the only one in the car, it's still a team sport, not a one man sport. Fuck you and your tiny ass brain that can never survive one lap in a formula one car, it'll probably explode cause of all the bullshit in it before the first lap anyway. So next time you wanna talk shit maybe try to do fifth of who you're criticising is doing, I bet that'll shut you up real quick you dimwit.

Liked by leclercpascale, pilotesofmonaco, tswiftyn, and 52,719 others

F1_updates_live: YN LN, Charles' long time girlfriend, seen today fighting Xavi in Bahrain due to his mistake on the radio which resulted in Charles losing his podium position.

username: good for her

username: charles is so lucky

username: I love how she always stands up for him

username: honestly, whenever charles or carlos ignore the strategies they win... I really wanna see more of that.

username: this is just Monaco 2024 GP all over again, yn was so fucking furious (rightfully so) cause Xavi's mistake costed charles a p1 in his home race.

username: this shit was so heartbreaking man

username: I think this was the first time we ever saw yn angry at sabotaging charles, like the most we saw was her holding his hand when crossing the street, making sure he eats first, playing with his hair when nervous, but I've never seen yn make someone literally cry until 2024 with Xavi being her victim

username: pffft, victim, he 100% deserved it

username: oh yeah, definitely. All my homes hate Xavi, like can you not say the strategy properly 😒

#f1 social media au #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 smau #charles leclerc #f1 #charles leclerc fluff #charles x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc one shot #charles x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles x yn #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc social media au #charles leclerc instagram au #charles leclerc twitter au

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cure-icy-writes · 4 months

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i think the reason i like the murderbot diaries so much is because the dystopia feels very real and relevant in a way that no other "oppressive government fearmongering" has, and because murderbot is such a compelling protagonist.

this is an autistic person who is struggling and angry and terrible at having emotions. it lives in a capitalist hellscape where people are disposable. it's traumatized as hell, but it's easier to consider itself disposable than confront the terrifying reality of personhood.

(it confronts the terrifying reality of personhood.)

it likes escaping into fiction. it has a fucked up relationship with pain and its own body. and it reads so strongly as disability coding to me, how it doesn't see the bullets or the chunks missing as horror but merely annoyance. it's fundamentally different from those around it, in ways that they struggle to understand. (they make a distinct effort to understand.)

this is an autistic person who is not like you, who suffered in ways that you cannot understand, in ways that would horrify you. this is just another tuesday.

this world is not kind. there is legal fine text that destroys lives and there is hereditary indenture and contract labor where you're forced to still pay for preventative medical care out of your paycheck and no one says slavery, but everyone knows what it means.

these people are kind. they will watch your favorite shows to help understand you, they will forge documents to give abandoned people their freedom, they will allow you to be near them because they like you. these people are proof that there's love in the world, and you can come out of your shell if you are ready to see yourself as a person.

science fiction is one of the genres that has the potential to be amazing, but is quite often just plain shitty to disabled people. and, to people in general? "oooooo look how scary it is, people have all their basic needs fulfilled by technology!" when technological advances are what gave housewives the time they needed to actually get jobs and put together the feminist movements, when this new technology that the narrative regards with such disdain could provide disabled people with newfound mobility and independence.

it speaks of a truly dismal view of humanity, the belief that without strict labor under capitalism to keep us all in line, we would just fall prey to our vices. and I think it also speaks to a loathing of one's self, to think that humans are not capable of self regulation, to think that pain and suffering and punishment are somehow moral and virtuous. that humans need to be punished constantly, that suffering will bring them closer to something like god, to something like goodness.

but murderbot doesn't do that. murderbot says, "i have seen humans do horrible awful stupid things. they can't be trusted with weapons or security and they shoot me all the time and it sucks. but they make stories and art. the people in the entertainment media gave me the tools to contextualize my own emotions. they are my coworkers. i don't care about them. i got shot in the back protecting them but i didn't care about them. okay fine maybe i care a little. they're annoying. i'll eviscerate anyone who hurts them. they're mine."

#the murderbot diaries

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queers-gambit · 6 months

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The Business That Pays You

prompt: ( requested ) not all disabilities are visible. being accosted for something out of your control angers the watchdog - your boyfriend, Carmy. additional request: protective Carmy.

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x disabled!female!reader

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

word count: 4.5k+

note: it's not the best, it's short, doesn't really focus on Carm being protective but it'll do for now.

warnings: incredibly niche, depiction of invisible disabilities from author's personal experience, need and use of medical equipment, author doesn't pay for therapy and projects hard in this, cursing, Lord's name in vain, strangers picking fights.

Your mother raised you to be poised, collected, personable. Your mother indeed raised a lady; someone was independent, who valued morals and education, who showed equal respect to both custodian and CEO. Your mother instilled a set of beliefs that you refused to dismantle; becoming someone who knew right from wrong, to be helpful, kind, compassionate, empathetic.

Your mother, however, did not raise you to be a bitch. She did not raise you to take other people's shit, she did not raise you to take life for granted; to walk away from confrontation as much as she taught you to stand up for yourself.

People saw you and made snap judgements; thinking they could manipulate and control you, offer harassment and instill a sense of fear in you. Your mother raised you to only fear the wrath of God, not the opinions of privileged, foul-mouthed nobodies who couldn't understand a Goddamn thing you endure. She did not feed you from silver spoons; you had no preconceived notions about life's realities, but instead of becoming pessimistic, you were extraordinarily optimistic because the world had enough negativity in it.

However, despite the strength your mother built in you, that did not mean you were indestructible or any less human than anyone else. You weren't some robot who could turn emotions off and operate mechanically, you had a heart despite how your mother tried to program it to keep you safe from emotional turmoil.

The world could tear anyone down, she didn't want you defenseless against forces that would take advantage of you; she understood there was often no say in how life played out, so, if she could, she wanted to prepare you for what you could control.

All that to say, your mama didn't raise no bitch - but that didn't mean your feelings couldn't be hurt. While graceful, you had both bark and bite; traits that came in handy when defending yourself against wrongful opinions that drained your energy. Since starting high school at 14, you were always the oddball out - the need for a medical aids making it that much harder to fit in amongst able-bodied peers. Since that age, you were accustomed to every Tom, Dick, and Harry voicing their opinion about you; constantly wondering what was "wrong" when you seemed perfectly capable to their naked eye.

They had no business being in your business. No right to know what medical complications you endure, nor the diagnosis bestowed or any explanation for why you needed medical equipment. Didn't stop anyone from voicing their questions, though, feeling some kind of sick entitlement to answers only you could provide.

You were human, why wasn't that enough? You were a person with real feelings, someone with a heart, someone who bled red and had a thick desire for friendship, love, and acceptance.

One look at you and people would think you're perfectly normal, until the days your chronic medical condition flared its ugly head and forced you to rely on mobility aids. You looked normal, but the truth was, you body was in a chronic state of malfunction and sometimes, you needed braces on your ankles, knees, wrists - shit, even your hips! They couldn't tell by looking at you, but the pain was insurmountable. They couldn't tell by looking at you, but you were at a constant disadvantage. They couldn't tell by looking at you, but life was a never-ending nightmare of confusion that made everyday a little extra complicated.

No, nobody could tell - until you were on the ground. Until you had a dislocated joint. Until you lost control of your body and were forced to operate with limited energy and capability.

As you got older, you learned new tips and tricks that could help navigate life a little easier. You made sure to prioritize your rest, drank two liters of water a day, tried to keep a balanced diet, always took your medicines, and exercised to the best of your limited ability. You did whatever was in your power to help yourself, but most people didn't see it this way.

A lot of people just saw you as an inconvenience, someone who complained a lot and held no stake in this life.

One of your newer accommodations was actually more of a necessity. A qualified rheumatologist recommended you get a cane to help keep your balance and prevent unfortunate injury - being a common occurrence for you. So, a cane was added to your inventory and holy shit, did you hate it. You were used to your disability being invisible, allowing you to just skate by under most radars, but with this mobility aid, you couldn't deflect anymore. You were victim to gossip, a spectacle for people to stare at, a curiosity people questioned without real regard to your emotions.

They figured since you were sick and had been for so long, you were at peace with what was "wrong" and wouldn't be triggered by their jarring questions. You hated it, being asked what was "wrong" with you, why you needed a cane when you appeared fit, how you split your lip or sprained your ankle, why you didn't play anymore sports and spent your free time at a hospital - not considering it wasn't a choice you made willingly.

They considered you selfish for prioritizing yourself; telling you that the world was cruel and unfair, that you weren't special, that you didn't deserve "special treatment" because your disability wasn't directly in their face.

They questioned why you wore braces one day and not the next. They wondered how you got sick to begin with. They wanted to know how bad it truly could've been if you still appeared well-enough.

Many thought you were lying about your disability, not understanding what a "flare up" meant; where your body had lulled into a state of homeostasis before being rattled into painful action. They didn't consider that your "normal" was probably on par with their "worst days". Their questions irritated you, yes, but their assumptions just straight up pissed you off - thinking their hour of Googling was enough to compete with years of attending specialty appointments with qualified physicians.

As a direct result, you developed the philosophy that you can't know something if you don't ask questions. However, now you just hated having the responsibility of teaching them thrust upon you when already being the patient - thinking it shouldn't be your role to play.

You already didn't ask for this illness, you certainly didn't ask to be the one that had to make people understand that you were still viable and worthy - like every other human being. You didn't think educating the ignorant should be your duty, but yet again, who better could understand and put everything in words? Who else could convey your situation, explain how you felt, narrate what you endured?

So, for years, you developed a sort of passive attitude, figuring if someone was curious enough to ask questions, the least you could do was answer truthfully to avoid speculations and assumptions. Perhaps it would make the next chronically ill / disabled person's life a little easier by lifting the burden of education from their shoulders. There was no use in feeling bitter anymore, this was your reality and there was no escape; so, your attitude softened and you became a little more open and forthcoming in your tribulations.

Something Carmy admired since the first day he met you.

It was natural for you to feel skeptical when a desirable, able-bodied, very attractive and talented chef took a sudden interest in you; fearing he had some weird kink or wanted to get his jollies by dating "the sick girl". He proved you wrong around every corner, and after keeping him at bay for several months, came around to the idea of going on a real date. This time, when he asked questions to better understand you, your answers were honest, raw, open, and detailed - wanting him to get the full picture to avoid surprise later down the line. It was the least you could do: giving him a look into what dating you would look like, providing every opening to let him run away.

If anything, it made Carmy cling to you tighter.

He impressed you by how easily he accepted your truth. Next thing you knew, the label "sick" or "disabled" was all but vanished from your mind; Carmy making you feel simply human and as if your state was more than enough for him. He treated you with compassion, and if you had a flare-up in front of him, he remained calm and level headed in order to best care for you. Didn't mean he wasn't afraid or startled, but he was at least capable to help in the moment and ensure your safety. That was something Carmy made you feel: safe.

Safe, understood, like you were enough. As if your condition didn't deplete you, but added to who you are.

Carmen Berzatto - or Carmy - was truly one of a kind. A man of rare stock and breed, someone you confided in and trusted; someone who never needed you to be anything more than what you already are. Yes, you were disabled, but Carmy made you feel alive, passionate, and excited to tackle each and every single day; a sensation you have not known since childhood. Since before your illness took over your life.

However, there were some days that even Carmy couldn't save you from. After being assigned your cane, you were recommended to a physical therapist, who taught you the proper ways to best utilize your new mobility aid. Never have you considered there to be logistics behind such a device, but after a brief tutorial, you could feel the difference in use and developed a sense of gratefulness for the helpful tips.

"One last thing," the PT informed you before you could leave, "I'm not saying you will, but a lot of our patients who have invisible disabilities have reported they've encountered individuals who harass them for using their aids in public."

You didn't put stock into his words, just nodding and using your cane to hobble to your car and get back home.

You honestly didn't even think about the warning for weeks... Until one day, you were boarding the bus with your cane and boyfriend with the intent of heading to The Beef to pick out appliances for the renovations. Carmy normally would've drove, but his car was at the mechanics - leaving you both dependent on public transportation like your days in college.

You panted lightly as you climbed the stairs, feeling more tired than a normal day, but still smiling and nodding at the bus driver, swiped your pass, and limped down the short aisle to an open handicap seat Carmy pointed out to you. With a breath of relief, you relaxed slightly to try and relieve tension in your muscles, boyfriend standing beside you to let your head rest on his belly; the bus making several stops before your destination.

When approaching The Beef, you pulled the wire, heard the bus chime in acknowledgment of your stop, and stood from your seat with Carmy's helpful hand in yours; stomping your cane to catch your weight when it lurched while trying to adjust to your new position.

"All right, baby?" Carm checked, eyes wider than normal; able to recognize a flare-up was working into your system as your weakness grew more apparent.

"Yeah," you mumbled, ignoring the sweat dotting your upper lip as your adrenaline was engaged in order to keep you upright.

"Wow," a snotty voice leered slowly, seeing an older, dark-haired woman eyeing you with a curled lip, "bad enough you stole a handicap seat, but you're really using a cane, too?" She scoffed, "Way to lay it on thick. You look absolutely fine, you don't even need that - "

"Excuse me? Do I know you? Did I ask your opinion?" You snapped, the bus going quiet as patrons eavesdropped on the confrontation. Carmy readjusted beside you, his anger and confusion flaring.

"Well, look at you," she gestured, "perfectly healthy but trying to lie about the state of your health? That's so pathetic! You don't even need that cane! Way to steal it out from under someone who does need it, no wonder Medicaid's all backed up. It's 'cause of people like you thinking it's cute and will get them attention or special treatment that the truly disabled can't get their necessary supplies."

You barked a laugh, cutting off Carmy's ready response. He glanced at you in confusion, only seeing entertainment marring yor features. So, you sneered, "Wow, didn't realize I was talking to Superman."

"What does that even mean?" She sneered.

"Oh, sorry, just thought that since you had X-ray vision and all, you must've been him. You know, since you have such an extensive opinion on my disability and all."

"Wow," her eyes rolled as Carmy snickered, "Millennials are truly the worst - "

"I'm Gen Z, bitch," you cut her off, "and just because I don't look like it in your untrained opinion, doesn't mean my disability is any less valid. You know, not all of them are visible - some of us suffer on the inside and hide the outside really well."

"Something you might wanna learn to do - got a whole lot of ugly you might wanna cover up," Carmy scoffed, shaking his head. "C'mon, baby, don't gotta stand here and listen to this kinda bullshit."

"I just think it's shitty of you to steal equipment out from under those who genuinely need it!" The woman continued, making you pause in slight interest. "You're young, your sprained ankle doesn't warrant a cane - you're just using it for the attention, probably want people to feel bad for you. What? Your little boyfriend doesn't dote on you enough?"

"Listen, lady," Carmy snapped, "we've been decently nice, but you're asking for us to get mean. Why don't you fuck off - you don't have the faintest idea what's wrong with her, I don't think you get to say what's necessary and what's not. You're not her doctor, you have no idea what the issue is, so, please, kindly refrain from imposing your bitterness onto other people. Mind the business that pays you, lady, and maybe you won't be so brash and cranky."

"Jesus, she sounds like my little brother when he needs a nap," you tacked on. "Talk about needing attention - throwing a public tantrum is definitely the way to do that."

"I'm just saying!" She defended, noting how the bus of patrons were glaring at her and shaking their heads, "You look perfectly healthy, there can't seriously be something wrong. You would look way worse if there was something real - "

"Jesus, fuck, use your X-ray vision, Superman, then maybe you'd see how brazenly wrong you are," Carmy snapped, your eyes rolling bitterly. You hobbling towards the door, Carmy's warmth at your flank assuring you he was following.

You offered stiffly, "And for whatever it's worth, I had a trained medical professional prescribe this cane as a mobility aid - I don't need some Karen on the bus offering unsolicited opinions."

"I am not a Karen!" She gasped shrilly, looking mortally offended. "You little brat!"

"Not doin' a damn thing to beat those Karen allegations, I see," Carmy chuckled, slinking an arm around your waist; feeling incredibly protective against these judgements. "You might wanna start minding the business that pays you - which certain, isn't us."

"Hope you have as shitty a day as your attitude," you wished her with a smile when the bus pulled up to the curb, easing yourself down the stairs and onto the sidewalk with Carmy's large hands splayed to ensure you didn't trip or fall.

"Jesus Christ," He cursed, glaring at the bus as it pulled away, "you deal with that kinda shit often?"

"More than I should," you shook your head. "Just - let it go, Carm, it doesn't mean shit. The opinions of one dumbass isn't seriously going to make me embarrassed to use my cane."

"Can't believe the nerve of some people," he shook his head, walking on the side of the street to keep you tucked into his side. "I'm sorry you gotta hear that bullshit, baby, Jesus. Only heard it once and I'm fuckin' pissed."

You weren't sure what you felt, but definitely prickly, irritated, annoyed, and very frustrated. Knowing Carmy was just as wound up helped you feel less alone, and the fact that he tried to protect you from the onslaught of rudeness made you a little fuzzy. Perhaps this world wasn't totally doomed...

However, it seemed that wouldn't be your only encounter with a loud-mouth Karen that day. After helping Carmy with certain designs and decisions at The Beef, he informed you that a health inspector was coming to run point and after, you could go home together and soak the irritated joints that were swelling to twice the size they should be. Richie promised to your two a ride home, revoking the need to utilize public transportation. You didn't mind the bus, but it was a helluva lot easier to get in or out of a car, plus it reduces exposure to nosy strangers, their stares, and any comments people might feel the need to voice.

You stationed yourself in the office with Sugar, helping her with anything she asked, and when you limped onto the main floor, you saw an unknown man and woman in pressed suits talking to Carmy and Richie.

You leaned on a counter and listened, cane stationed in front of you, sighing internally when the man eyed you with mild trepidation. You were so close to snapping, but didn't get the chance because he was asking decently kindly (as if you two were friends), "You okay, Miss?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, yeah," you nodded. "Is there anything I can do to help the inspection run smoother?"

"Do you work here?"

"My boyfriend owns and operates the place, I'm just here to help if it's needed."

"Right..." His head shook, shrugging, "Well, uh, no, ma'am, we're just about to finish. Say, if you don't mind me asking, what's with the cane? I mean, you look pretty young, why do you need it? I mean, is it even necessary?"

Carmy was at your side without you even noticing him approaching, arm sliding around your neck to dangle casually as his brows furrowed with mistrust. He asked stiffly, "What's it matter to you?"

"Well, I guess it doesn't, but I was just curious. You mostly see the elderly with canes, a little weird to see someone so vibrant using one, too. I mean," he eyed you up and down, "you look perfectly healthy in my opinion."

"I don't remember her asking for your opinion," Carmy snapped, arm tightening in irritation to keep you close to his side.

With a sigh, you pet his waist and revealed (a brief and condensed version of) your medical diagnosis, explaining what it meant and what symptoms you were forced to endure all day, everyday. "That good enough for you, sir?" You asked sharply. "Didn't realize medical doctors now did health inspections - bit of a step down, isn't it?"

"I'm not a doctor, I'm just pointing out, you don't look sick to me. I'm wondering why you would use a cane if there's nothing wrong? Look, I know about your illness - I have a niece who has the same condition and she's perfectly fine, doesn't need a cane - "

Carmy snapped, "The fuck are you trying to get at?"

"Carm - "

"No, no, fuck that," he deflected your words, "the fuck is this guy on? Where do you get the audacity to have an opinion on a stranger's health?"

"It's just weird and I'm familiar with the illness," he scoffed, your throat swelling with frustration and strangling any response you might've defended yourself with. Something in your chest warmed with anger, raising your heart rate and blood pressure.

It was as if Carmy could sense this, snapping at the man, "It's not just an 'illness', it's an actual disability, asshole."

"It's literally just an inconvenience, there's not something seriously medically wrong - you'd look a lot worse if there was. I mean, there are other people out there with your condition that don't need a cane or braces, and there's also people who need a cane more than you - "

"Disabilities can be invisible, you fuckin' dumbass," Carmy bristled loudly, making Cousin and the female inspector look over. "You got some nerve, don't you? Trying to have impose an unsolicited opinion on something that has literally nothing to do with you?"

"It was just an observation, sir - "

"That you didn't need to voice. You're being fucking offensive and insensitive, she answered your little questions - which is more than I would've done - so you can fuck off now. Nobody owes you - or anyone else - an explanation about their Goddamn health. It's personal and you're just an asshole for asking a stranger about it. Especially one that was just fuckin' standing here, minding her business - you literally came to her, outta your way, and started attacking her."

"I'm not attacking anyone - "

"We good over here, Cousin?" Richie asked with a growl, stalking over with a glare marring his features; female inspector silently following in obvious discomfort.

"Yeah, Cousin, just this dumb fuckin' asshole harassing Y/N about her cane," Carmy answered, neck and cheeks reddening from his anger. Richie and Carmy narrowed their eyes almost in sync, making the inspector hold his hands up in defense.

"The fuck he say?" Richie snapped.

"That she looks too healthy, how his niece doesn't need a cane and is, also, sick, oh, and that she doesn't need her cane - "

"Why? 'Cause you can't see whatever's physically wrong? So you think she doesn't need extra assistance 'cause you can't outright point at her disability?" Richie barked with anger, a vein bulging and pulsing. "Didn't know we had a doctor in the house, excuse the fuck outta us!"

"I'm not a doctor - "

"Oh, so, just a Karen who offers their opinion nobody asks for?" You finally chimed in after calming your emotions. "Or does that make you a Kevin?"

"No, I think Karen's accurate," Richie nodded at you, hands moving to his hips. "Always sayin' the wrong shit, imposin' themselves, right?"

"Accurate," Carmy snapped, dropping his arm to hold your waist.

"Look, I don't know why you're all getting so defensive! I'm the one with the experience, my niece is sick, too, I'm just trying to understand how you think you're different enough to need a cane," The inspector snapped, "I'm just saying, there's nothing actually wrong with her, my niece has explained the symptoms to me, so why use a cane? For attention?"

"Oh, this fuckin' guy!"

"The fuck did you just say!?"

"Dale," his coworker tried to intervene but was ignored.

"Oh, Jesus fuck!" Richie barked loudly. "Is he fuckin' serious? He bein' serious!?"

"'For attention'?" Carmy repeated over Richie, narrowing his eyes and bunching his brows, "Wow, that's fucking golden! Dude has one family member, had one conversation with her as a patient, and thinks everyone with that condition has the same disadvantages! The same fuckin' symptoms - you fuckin' poser!"

"Fuckin' bitch-ass-loser," Richie still ranted.

"Dumb fuckin' idiot. Who needs the attention now?" Carmy sneered.

"She's too young to need a cane and she doesn't even look - "

"Dale!"

"I think you might wanna fuck off outta here - right fuckin' now," Carmy seethed, "and be prepared when you see your boss next, we're gonna report your dumbass to your superiors. You're being condescending and rude, meddling in someone's health - which isn't remotely any of your business. She was nice enough to answer your stupid fuckin' questions, she even explained what was wrong, but you're still gonna shame her? 'Cause you think she looks fine and healthy?"

"Yeah, time for you to get the fuck out! The more I hear, the more pissed off I feel - get out, goodbye, fuck off, before I make this into a physical altercation," Richie growled, moving forward to coral the inspectors towards the door. He was yelling profanities, the male inspector trying to defend himself and his opinions; still trying to say you must've been faking the need for a cane since there was no way someone who looked like you could need it. The woman was apologizing profusely, but was drowned out over the Chi-Town accents yelling at one another.

When Richie slammed and locked the door, still mumbling to himself in anger, Carmy turned towards you and asked, "You okay, baby? Shit, I'm sorry about that - "

"Don't, hey, it's okay," You soothed.

"It's really not - I mean, Jesus Christ," he seethed, "what the fuck even was that? Twice in one day? Gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me."

"I can't say I'm surprised," you shrugged. "I was warned people get lippy when they see people like me, who don't outright look disabled but still need to use their aids."

"Fuckin' bullshit, that's what it is!" Richie raged in a rant. "How the fuck do you put up with that shit? I'd be swinging that cane around like a fuckin' nunchuck - Jesus - fuck these dickheads! Knock their dumb fuckin' opinionated asses out!"

You paused, slowly perking your brows as Carmy chuckled, "Ah, fuck, you just gave her an idea, Richie, Goddamnit. Am I gonna get a call from the cops to come bail you out after you go on a rampage with your cane as your weapon of choice?" He asked you.

"You might..."

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't, dollface," Richie smirked. "But seriously, babe, what the hell? Does that happen often?"

You sighed, admitting, "More than you'd think, more than I'd like to deal with. People don't believe what they can't see, so they can only go based on what they think they know."

"They don't gotta open their fuckin' mouths, though," Carmy shook his head, skin still cherried from his anger. "It's fuckin' rude - "

"People love having their opinions, baby, that won't change," you sighed, squeezing his waist. "But thank you, both of you, for coming to my rescue."

"You don't need rescuing," Richie sighed, hands back to his hips.

"Yeah, we know you had it covered, just fuckin' angered me hearin' that shit," Carmy scoffed. "You shouldn't be the only one defending your health."

"You want me to hit him with my car? Give him a reason to need a cane, too?" Richie offered, the two inspectors seen outside the window at their truck; exchanging heated words, arguing.

You paused to consider his offer with a hum, Carmy barking, "Hey, hey, no, no, no, bad idea, no hitting people with cars!"

"You're missing the point - it's giving that Karen a reason to use a cane, too, and for us to mock him that he doesn't look like he needs it."

"No."

"Bitch-ass."

When Carmy left you two alone to deal with something in the kitchen, Richie smirked and whispered to you, "I'm gonna hit him with my car."

"You're a good friend," you chuckled, his grin genuine as he offered his arm; letting you take it and limp back into the kitchen.

requesting rules and masterlist

The Bear masterlist

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ponderingmoonlight · 10 months

Text

Yuta finding out you've got severely injured at Shibuya and freaking out

Pairing: Yuta x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,8k

Synopsis: When the news of Shibuya begin to flood in, Yuta almost loses his mind over you. Without thinking twice he pays you, the secret love of his life, a visit.

Warnings: reader is depressed over her injury/disabilities so if that's not for you don't read it, Yuta is very confident in this one like he should, hurt/injury, comfort with my boy Yuta in the end

„Don’t tell me she was there too.”

Pictures flood Yuta’s mind uncontrollably. Your oh so gorgeous doe eyes, your breath-taking smile. You with your hair done the way you know he likes, you in that uniform that suits you so well.

You, lying on the floor covered in your own blood.

The news of what happened at Shibuya already pulled the ground underneath his feet. But given the fact that everyone was involved like Miguel said, you must have been there. They would be reckless to not rely on your powers.

You, a grade 2 sorcerer who would have become a grade 1 within the next few months. You, who promised him that you’ll stay safe.

“Hey, don’t worry about me, okay? This is a great opportunity to get a hold of your great powers, Yuta. I mean of course I’ll miss you terribly, but not enough to destroy this for you. Watch out.”

He had a bad feeling right from the start. After everything that happened just a few months ago, letting you go was one of the hardest things he ever had to do. But you were right with what you’ve said, to accompany Miguel and invest his time into training really was the wisest thing he could do back then.

Except for leaving you behind.

“You mean (y/n)? Both you and I know she definitely was.”

His heart drops in an instant, eyes widen in nothing but pure horror. Hearing that none other that Satoru Gojo got sealed, countless lives ended within only a couple of hours…

You can’t be dead, right? No, it’s simply impossible that you leave him alone like this.

“I hate the thought of dying during some pointless battle. This just doesn’t make sense to me, y’know? I’d rather die as a hero or not at all until I’m old and ugly.”

“But (y/n), you’re a jujutsu sorcerer. Many people just die on the battlefield without a special purpose.”

“I won’t, then.”

God, your wide smile back then. It really made him believe that you are the type to survive everything, that nothing and no one is able to bring you down.

But Shibuya managed to even get a hold of the strongest of them all. So what about you?

His lips begin to tremble uncontrollably, hands clenched into fists so tightly that blood begins to spill.

“Tell me she’s alright. Tell me (y/n) made it without getting hurt.”

Miguel signs, the sheer power that radiates from Yuta’s shaking figure running shivers down his spine.

“As far as I know she managed to get out…Somehow.”

That means you’re alive, right? That means you were able to escape certain death. But…

At what cost?

“How is she, then? Tell me already”, Yuta barks at the man standing in front of him.

God, he can’t lose you. Not know. Not when he wasn’t even able to admit his feelings to you, to thank you for always standing by his side, before telling you how much he adores you with all his heart.

“I don’t know! Everything is pure chaos over there”, Miguel replies dryly.

“If that’s so, I will go and pay her a visit.”

“Now? Did you forget you’re here to get trained by me? You can’t just fly over there because of a girl-“

“She is more than just a girl”, Yuta interrupts him immediately.

“And I will go and look after her myself.”

-At Jujutsu High-

Urgh, how much you hate opening your eyes since that fateful day. Yes, you are very much alive and in proud possession of all your limbs. But that’s it, basically.

“Hey, how you’re doing?”

“Better than yesterday, still not fine I guess.”

It haunts you. The pictures of Shibuya plague your mind day in day out. Closing your eyes means seeing all of their faces before they die, opening them reminds you of the fact that you survived despite losing everything else. The sight of your left eye, the ability to move your arms freely, your capability to walk a straight line. The fucking special grade curses hit you hard, burned you to the ground, sliced you open like a fish.

And now you’re laying here as one of the few people that survived Shibuya. Right next to Shoko who cares for you every free minute.

“So glad you didn’t tell me you hate your life again, pessimism doesn’t suit you at all. What would that boy say if he could hear you blow misery?”

That boy named Yuta. It seems like everyone except himself knows about the huge crush you have on him. Well, not very surprising considering the fact that you talk about him day in and out, asking whenever he’s doing fine in that foreign land before even saying hallo.

“Haven’t heard from him since that shit happened. My phone got kinda destroyed and well, most of the time I laid here passed out on the bed”, you reply briefly, staring at the ceiling with no aim.

Oh, how much you long for him, how much you miss to hear his comforting words in the middle of the night. But you know it wouldn’t be wise to tell him what happened. As far as you can tell, Yuta would take the next flight to Tokyo and stay by your side day and night. And even though that sounds more than appealing to you, you just know this isn’t what he needs. He needs to stay where he is, safe and sound while sharpening his abilities. And you aren’t on that list.

“Well, someone definitely told him.”

You squint your functioning eye, staring at the unbothered woman in front of you in confusion. What the hell is she talking about?

“Why are you saying that?”

“(y/n)!?”

Your heart stops, eyes widen. That voice. That oh so familiar voice you heard over the phone for these past months. The voice you dreamed of day and night. Can it really be…

“Yuta?” you breathe out, eye searching for his familiar figure.

Yes, is really is him, standing in the middle of the room with his familiar white uniform. He looks so…different. The dark circles under his eyes are completely gone by now, his dark blue eyes glooming in the dim light. He definitely is a few inches taller than last time, features more mature than before. And his hair…it seems like he finally began to style it a little.

Without hesitation he storms towards you, glistening orbs scanning what’s left of your crippled body.

Yuta feels like dying. You’ve been through so much; your usual bright eyes show nothing but emptiness and agony. What did they do to you? Why does it have to be you? You, the most precious human being walking on this earth. You, the girl he’s secretly in love with since that horrible fight over a year ago. He can’t stop the tears from taking his sight, hands desperately grabbing yours.

“I’m so sorry (y/n). I should have been by your side. I shouldn’t have left you here alone, I-“

“Shut up, Yuta”, you interrupt him before hearing another word.

“You shouldn’t be here. I didn’t expect our first meeting to be when I…look like this…”, you mumble, gaze avoiding him at any cost.

“What are you talking about, (y/n)?”

His heart hammers against his chest, hands on their way to gently caress your cheek when you just turn away.

“All this time I had the chance to tell you that I love you and now…Look at me. Shoko said I might be never able to see again, countless scars will be visible on my body for the rest of my life. My leg got completely destroyed, to the point where even she might not be able to fix it. I’m not the (y/n) you know anymore. I’m a shadow of myself”, you bark at him.

Fuck, don’t cry, don’t let feelings overwhelm you. After all, Nanami-san told you how well you fought.

Just before dying in front of your very own eyes.

Your hands begin to tremble uncontrollably again when pictured of all the death and misery flood your mind. Why can’t you just turn it off? Why aren’t you strong enough to outstand all of this? Desperately you hold your own head, squinting your eyes shut. Please, just let it stop. Let it all go away.

Yuta doesn’t think twice. Gently, he places his hands on top of yours while pressing your head against his chest. It’s just not fair. When he left, you wore your smile so effortlessly, your joyful personality radiating to the outside for everyone to see. But now…you look so broken it kills him from the inside.

“I love you too, (y/n). Just the way you are. No matter how injured, no matter how bad you feel. I will always see the striking (y/n) with the most breath-taking smile and the worst humour of all times in you. We’ll get through this together, okay? I won’t leave your side.”

You crumble against his chest, letting everything out your hid so well within these last couple of hours. Oh, how much you fucking missed him, how much you longed for his touch all this time. Is it really possible that he doesn’t care about your state? Could it really be that…

Yuta Okkotsu loves you the way you are?

“You don’t care about how miserable I am?”, you whimper, taking in his delicious scent that hasn’t change even after all this time.

“Not the slightest. But I will kill everyone who did this to you without blinking”, he remarks in all seriousness.

You gaze up at him. The unsure boy in him seems to be vanished in thin air, eyes filled with confidence while he balls his fists behind your head.

Yuta Okkotsu might have changed, but the tenderness he holds in his gaze when his eyes meet yours is still the same.

“I swear that nothing like this will ever happen again. I’ll stay here with your and will make sure you’re safe.”

Your glossy eyes widen, mind trying to process his words.

“But you…you weren’t even supposed to be here. You still have to train-“

“No training in the world is more important than you. I love you, (y/n). And even though I wasn’t able to admit it back then, I want to stay by your side.”

And then is lips meet yours. Before he losing the courage to finally do what he dreamed of countless nights, to make sure you understand how much you mean to him. He will make them pay for what they did to you, he will move heaven and earth to make sure they get the punishment they deserve.

But for now, he gently strokes your hair while kissing you with all the desire he hit over the past months, will all the love he holds for you.

“I’ll be there for you, okay? And I will kill every single one of them with my own hands.”

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi

there you have it @lees-chaotic-brain I really hope you like it <3 I know this isn't your request yet but I thought you'll enjoy some Yuta content still @belovedvamp

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 7 months

Text

peace - m. murdock

a/n: hi guys! missed you. desperately wanted to write more hoh!reader, so i did it. this can be read on it's own, OR it can be read as a part two to my fic, 'the lakes', which you can read here! feedback always appreciated! <3 warnings: so much damn fluff, suggestive behaviors, like literally tooth rotting fluff! mentions of some abelism but nothing actually happens it's just sort of mentioned. matt hates buffalo chicken pizza, the cold hurts readers ears, also a lot of kissin' and tinnitus because of course there is. word count: 3.0k summary: tinnitus, buffalo chicken pizza, and objections. what more can you ask for from matt murdock? paring: matt murdock x hoh!reader now playing: peace - taylor swift "the devils in the details/but you got a friend in me/would be enough if i could never give you peace?"

There are things that no one teaches you about dating.

There are things that no one teaches you about dating Matt Murdock, a blind man.

There are things that no one teaches you about dating Matt Murdock, a blind man, who has super senses and is also a vigilante.

There are things that no one teaches you about dating Matt Murdock, a blind man, who has super senses and is also a vigilante… while also being deaf.

As you lost your hearing, you knew dating would be difficult. That was never a secret. Your first girlfriend after you started wearing hearing aids once hid them from you as a punishment after an argument. Safe to say that relationship didn’t last long.

One time, you went on a date with a guy who asked in the middle of your dinner, ‘Could you please take off your headphones? It’s cool that they’re Bluetooth but it’s really rude.’ You did not make it to dessert.

Then there was the time that your ex-boyfriend thought you were talking about him in ASL to your mom in front of him. You broke up with him soon after.

And Matt has experienced his fair share of ableism in dating too—Women who thought they could get away with stealing from him because he was blind, or that thought that he just had to have a service dog, and he’d be so cute with one.

So, when you started dating each other, things were obviously different. You weren’t sure how, but the idea of dating another person with a disability never occurred to you. Maybe it was because of how often you found people playing oppression Olympics, a classic game of ‘who has it worse?’ a game you had no interest in playing.

And the struggles you and Matt have in your relationship are never ones represented in rom-coms or in romantic novels. Dating any blind man would have been hardly represented but Matt, with his charm and heightened senses, was completely uncharted waters. And yet, you dive in headfirst.

One of the most romantic things Matt does for you within the first six months of your relationship happens on a cold February day. Winter in New York isn’t over until at least March, so you walk home from work, arm in arm. You decide to stop in for Thai food but decide to stand outside in favor of in the crowded restaurant where Matt would be hearing too many things and you wouldn’t be hearing nearly enough.

But he notices, as he often does, how you squirm in discomfort, waiting for time to pass. Though you do not show it in your face, he hears it in the way you breath deeply to try and relax through whatever it is that’s bothering you. He notices the grip on his arm tightening, even just a bit.

“What’s wrong, bee?” You’re never getting over your fondness for the nickname. But you stay quiet for a second, because you know he can tell if you’re lying.

“My ears hurt.” You hate saying it, because you feel like it’s all you do—yap about your ears and how much they hurt. They hurt from talking on the phone and holding it up to your ear for so long. They hurt from being in loud environments like parties and bars. But dear god, do they hurt right now. And you know exactly why.

“Oh, is it too loud? We could move to a different spot,” he says softly but you shake your head.

“Uh.. No. It’s cold. The cold is bothering my ears.” You explain, and he just nods. But before he can respond, you continue, “They’re in pain when it’s cold and earmuffs don’t do anything except block out sound and I can’t hear anyways, negating the point of my hearing aids.” You’ve tried earmuffs time and time again. And usually, you’d just wear a beanie or something, but you forgot yours.

So, Matt thinks for a moment, before tucking his cane under his arm, before lifting his hands to come up to your face. The heel of his hand comes up to rest against your cheeks while the length of his fingers gently cup around your ears. He’s not pressing down, making it harder to hear, but your ears are immediately warmer. Matt’s hands—and well, everything, are naturally very warm and the leather gloves he has on makes it even more so.

Your face flushes, as you lean into his touch. What a man you have found yourself. You stay like this for a little while, until your food is ready. Your face turns and you plant a gentle kiss to the palm of his hand.

As you leave the restaurant after grabbing your food, you want to say one more thing. Just quickly.

“Thanks for helping, by the way.. I’m sorry I constantly complain about my ears.” You tell him, and he just gets this goofy grin on his face.

“At least you’re not blind. That would suck.” He links his arm with yours. You just laugh, leaning against him.

“Shut up,” and at this request, he scoffs.

“You love listening to me talk, it’s one of your favorite things ever!” he defends.

You just grin because your boyfriend can tell when you’re lying. And you know anything other than telling him that what he said was true would be the biggest lie you ever told.

...

It’s not all sunshine and rainbows with Matt, though.

Okay, maybe that’s sort of dramatic. Neither of you are particularly violent nor angry, but one time you get really heated.

Your time working with Nelson, Murdock & Page is wonderful, and because it’s just the four of you, often, you wind up getting lunch together. Someone runs out, grabs food, and you all sit in the conference room, talk and eat.

But today, you barely made it to lunch.

“Where do you guys wanna eat today?” Foggy asks, leaning against your doorway. He knows Matt can hear him from wherever, but you need him to be in the room to be able to decode what he’s saying. Karen leans against the desk in the main part of the office.

“Pizza?” You shrug, and Matt calls from his office,

“Sounds good!”

“Great. What do you guys want?” He asks.

“I’m really in the mood for buffalo chicken pizza, I dunno why.” You shrug. Matt’s footsteps echo through the office, before he’s in your doorway as well.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

You gaze at him, perplexed.

“Uh… I want buffalo chicken pizza?”

“Honey, You cannot be serious.”

“What is your problem, Matthew?” You laugh, but he looks disgusted.

“You are a New York native! How can you enjoy something as blasphemous as wanting buffalo chicken pizza?” He asks, and Foggy just laughs.

“Dude, no way. You can’t be discriminatory towards pizza.” Then, Karen speaks up.

“No, you can’t. Not technically. But I most definitely am. Buffalo chicken pizza ruins the point of pizza!”

Then, you go to defend yourself.

“The point of Pizza is to enjoy it! And I enjoy buffalo chicken pizza!”

“Well, you’re enjoying pizza wrong!”

“You can’t enjoy pizza incorrectly!”

At this point, Foggy is just giggling, “I can’t breathe,” He wheezes.

Now, you stand and leave your desk, going into the main part of the office.

“Where are you going?” Matt asks.

“I don’t need to be berated about my pizza preferences in my own office by my own boyfriend!”

“I have a valid excuse; I can taste all the ingredients of buffalo chicken pizza and it’s disgusting!”

“It’s not my fault you’re a freak with crazy senses!”

Matt gasps, “Bee, you wound me!”

“Do not use that nickname with me, Matthew!” You tell him, “That’s a low blow!”

“Why, just because I think your pizza choices are awful doesn’t mean I don’t still love you, Sweetheart! Your pizza preference is just inexcusable, and I think you need to accept that—”

“You know what?”

“What?”

Your hands come up to your ears, quickly turning your hearing aids off and taking them off, putting it on a nearby desk.

Though you cannot hear, Foggy and Karen’s face tells you that they are dying of laughter, and Matt has this offended look on his face when he realizes he no longer hears the familiar buzzing of your hearing aids.

This is how you spend your day. You sit at your desk, hungry, as your boyfriend yaps by your doorway. You know he’s asking you to put your hearing aids in or telling you that your pizza request is dumb, you can just sort of make out what he’s saying by the movement of his lips.

But you do not budge, and by the time it’s time to go back to his apartment, you simply slip on your coat and wait for him to meet you by the door. He has given up trying to talk to you, for the most part. But the silent treatment is killing him. Even when you get to his apartment, he’s left speechless as you silently retreat into his bedroom, stealing some clothes and going to lay down.

Honestly, though? The worst part isn’t the silent treatment or ignoring him, but it’s the fact that he knows your ears ring even worse when you walk through the city without your hearing aids on. He knows you’re in pain. It’s killing him because you’re trying not to show it, but he can tell you’re clenching your jaw and burying your head beneath his pillow. You’re trying to rely on the softness of his sheets and the faint smell of him lingering between the sheets.

So, he devises a plan. And every minute he waits for the plan to be carried out is torture because he knows you’re too stubborn to forfeit your opinion on buffalo chicken pizza. When he is finally able to give you an apology you truly deserve, he grabs your hearing aids off the coffee table and crawls into bed behind you. You feel the bed dip but don’t say anything.

He plants a soft kiss to your hand, beginning to trail kisses up your arm and shoulder. He kisses your neck, and then jaw. You glance back over to him, seeing the hearing aids in his hand. You take them from him and put them on, before turning them on. He grins at the familiar humming they create at a frequency that will not bother you.

“Still mad at me, bee?” He asks, kissing your shoulder again. You shrug.

“Mad is a strong word, but yes.”

“Let me make it up to you?”

“Fine, but only because you’re cute.” He likes this answer. He takes your hand and pulls you off the bed, taking you to the kitchen. And you smell.. Pizza. There’s a box from your favorite place, and you step away from him to open the box. It’s a half plain pie and a half buffalo chicken pie. Because no matter how much he disagrees with you, he just wants you to talk to him and not be in so much pain for the sake of winning an argument.

You turn your head and place a soft kiss to his cheek. He tilts his head and places a soft kiss to your lips.

“Am I forgiven, bee?”

“I think so, Matty.” You hum.

He grins and kisses you again, thrilled to sense your more relaxed posture now.

...

Another challenge of your relationship comes from being lawyers. Mostly since you’re both ridiculously stubborn. You have a fun game you like to play out of it, though.

This one time you play, you’re laying with him on his couch, listening to music when you start yapping.

“I think I might style my hair a different way,” you tell him, but he just shrugs and plays with your hair.

“I think you look gorgeous either way.”

You furrow your brows for a second, and his face splits into a grin since he knows what’s coming.

“Objection,” you start, “You’re blind, you have no actual way of telling if I’m conventionally attractive.”

He considers this for a second.

“Overruled,” He determines, “Beauty is subjective, and in my opinion, you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known.” Your face flushes.

“Objection,” You start again, and he groans, knowing you won’t let it go, “You don’t need to flirt with me, I already want you.”

“Overruled,” He counters again, quicker this time, “I like flirting with you, and it keeps the spark alive. Plus, I like making you blush.”

You raise an eyebrow, and he knows what’s coming next.

“Objection,” You hum, “How could you possibly know I’m blushing?”

He simply moves his hands from your hair and rests them against your cheeks, before deciding.

“Overruled.”

There’s another time that you’re at Josie’s, and you want to talk to Karen about a surprise you’re planning for his birthday, but he’s sitting right there, so you start signing. And he knows you’re signing by the way your hands smack, and the air moves through your fingers.

“Objection,” He groans, “I can’t understand what you’re talking about!”

“Mm, Overruled,” You determine, “There are some things I’m allowed to keep from you, but you have super senses and can tell when I’m lying and can hear me from a long distance away. Signing is the only way to have things be confidential.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, objection—You aren’t supposed to keep secrets from your partner.”

“Overruled.” You tell him. “One, that’s something people say about wedded spouses, ask me to marry you, get a marriage certificate and show me a nice ring then we’ll talk,” He blushes at that, “Two, you have an unhealthy idea of relationships from past relationships. You’re in therapy for a reason.”

Matt nods.

“Okay, okay.” He sighs, “That’s fair.” You grin at this.

“See? Was it so hard to let me win, Counselor?”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, it was, Counselor.” He tells you, but you just giggle, because you love being a lawyer and you love your boyfriend.

But this last time is your favorite.

You spent the night drinking at Marci and Foggy’s, but there was this tension between you and Matt, and you can hardly wait to get home. So at some point, you make a half assed excuse, mumbling something about how your hearing aid batteries are low, but whatever it was that you told them as an excuse, you don’t really care.

Because now you’re on your bed, Matt pressed against you as he kisses down your neck. His teeth graze against your skin, and you gasp when he bites down, leaving a large mark on your neck.

Then, Matt, horny and a little tipsy, goes,

“Objection, I thought I told you to be quiet.” He continues to kiss your neck, jumping from side to side, leaving marks here and there.

“Overruled, I’m deaf, I can’t tell how loud I’m being,” You hum, your fingers lacing into his hair. He hums and kisses your collarbone before he speaks again.

“Objection,”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Matt—”

He shushes you softly before kissing you.

“Ssh… It’s listening time, sweetheart,” Okay, that was hot, “Objection,” He starts again, “You can be quiet for me, I know you can. I know you can follow orders, baby.” He then kisses your neck again.

“Overruled,” You start, tugging on his hair a bit. “You decided to play our game while knowing I’m at your mercy. It’s an abuse of power.”

“An abuse of—” he half scoffs, half chuckles. “You know what, Sweetheart?”

“What, Matty?”

“Objection. Be quiet or I’ll stop.”

Damn. An ultimatum. You knew that in situations like these, Matt’s willpower is stronger than yours.

“Sustained.”

“There we go, bee, was that so hard?”

...

The real best part of dating Matt Murdock, a blind lawyer with super senses while being deaf?

Well..

It starts on a warm sunny Sunday morning. You’re laying in bed, the sun peeking through its curtains. You’re laying on your stomach, face smooshed against pillows as he stretches out beside you. In another life, your dear boyfriend was a cat.

You don’t have your hearing aids in yet. It’s too early. Plus, you’re just enjoying the look of Matt basking in the warmth of the light. He’s gorgeous, your boy.

You lean forward and gently kiss the corner of his eyes, squeezed shut as he stretches. He stops when he feels your lips against his skin, smiling softly. He says good morning, but you can’t really hear him, so you just take his hand and press a kiss to his skin there too.

He returns the favor later, as you’re pouring your coffee. He presses a soft kiss to your ear, and you grin, resting your body against his He presses another kiss to your other ear. It’s something small, but it thrills you.

Matt is gentle with you in a way that you’re not used to. It’s not the sort of gentleness that comes with most people, where they’re afraid of breaking you because of your being deaf, but it’s a gentleness that comes despite it.

You enjoy bathing in his affection, especially because he is just so willing to give it to you and while it should be something you’re used to, you’re not. But you’re getting there. Matt makes sure of it.

The pair of you just seem to find the darkest cracks and crevices of the other, and you love those parts dearly.

You begin to kiss the corner of his eyes more often, and it quickly replaces his jaw as your favorite place to kiss. And your ears, despite how much pain and suffering they provide to you, Matt is a big fan of just kissing them.

So, when he leans forward and kisses your ears, you lean over to him and kiss the corners of his eyes. The way he squeezes his eyes shut at the affection is pretty adorable. It’s always awful when he must slip on those red glasses that hide those pretty eyes.

“Objection,” you groan.

He places a soft kiss to the top of your ear.

“Overruled.”

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x you #daredevil #daredevil fic #matt murdock fic #daredevil fanfiction #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x hoh!reader #deaf!reader #hoh!reader #matt murdock x gn!reader #gn!reader

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cripplecharacters · 2 months

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hi there, i really appreciate this blog! i was wondering if you had any advice when it comes to writing characters who use mobility aids (manual wheelchair and cane) and things that are like, pet peeves or cringey to see written? other than the big ones like “wheelchair bound” or having people just grab their chair or otherwise be disrespectful. i’m thinking more “little things that make it seem like the author is clueless” lol. thank you!

Hi!

You can check out our main #mobility aids or #wheelchairs or #canes tags for the general info! If you have a more specific question, feel free to send another ask:-)

I will talk about my own cane pet peeves because oh boy:

The most glaring, obvious, author-is-so-clueless-it-hurts thing I have somehow seen multiple times is when the writer/artist doesn't understand the difference between a mobility cane and a white cane. Usually in the form of giving their blind character the same kind of stick I use for my mobility issues. Of course, a person could need both for different disabilities! That very much happens. However, it's absolutely never the case in this kind of scenario. This one is an example of a lack of basic research so bad that it circles back to being kinda funny.

The writer not knowing which side the cane would go on for the character. Obviously, in real life, there's a whole lot of hyper-specific scenarios why someone could use it the ""wrong"" way and why it would work for them specifically, some users can also use either hand for the cane; it all depends on why they use it. The problem that I have is when the writer doesn't have a single clue about any of it and just gives their character with a bad knee and nothing else the cane on the same side. Again, shows lack of basic research.

As a certified knob cane hater, I can't just not talk about them here. They're so bad. So non-functional. Don't serve their function as a mobility device because they literally aren't one! That's a fashion accessory. Unless your character has a wrist of steel and doesn't mind that the aid meant to help with stability does the exact opposite, I guess.

I know a bunch of people will disagree with me, but I think the whole sword cane thing sucks. Sorry. The only time I don't roll my eyes on this one is when the writer is also a cane user. I always felt like it checked out two tropes that I hate, the "abled character pretends to be disabled and is actually dangerous" and the "abled writer thinks mobility aids are boring and has to stick a gun in them to justify their existence".

The cane that somehow makes the user non-disabled. Sounds contradictory, I know. I mean the kind of scenario where the character is Weak and Frail™ but then they get the cane and are suddenly just fighting, running, jumping, doing god knows what. Like, did they author forget what the cane is used for? Obviously it will depend on the character's disability how much the cane mitigates symptoms, but this writing choice always feels bizarre to me. My cane is here so that I'm not in as much pain or to help my gait disorder, it certainly doesn't turn me into an abled man who just happens to have a stick in hand.

All these tired old person or similar jokes/comparisons are probably not that funny. We get it, older people use canes. It's not even cringy or whatever, it's just so unbelievably boring it's hard to react to it with anything else than an eye roll anymore.

Apologies for the extremely late reply! I hope it helps :-)

mod Sasza

#mod sasza #anonymous #mobility aids #canes

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puckpocketed · 5 months

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i just hate when players do this and people call them “warriors” i know you wanna play in the playoffs to help your team but YOUR FINGERS ARE LITERALLY BROKEN MY GUY THEY COULD NEVER GROW BACK TOGETHER THE RIGHT WAY im crying

my poor cringefail wifes i love them all so much i hope they all take the rest they need

GOD I hope they get rest too :((

breaking soooo much character right now to give my fullest take, and it’s that we can hold multiple ideas in our minds and i don’t think they conflict

playing through injuries is terrible.

They are whole adult human beings and professional athletes who have resources to keep them informed about long term consequences, and they still get to make those choices even if we hate the choices they make. Even if those choices drastically reduce the length of their career. Even if those choices end with long term heath complications.

i might lose some people on this one but i don’t care!! it’s what I believe: being disabled or chronically ill/injured/in pain is not a death sentence. it is not the worst thing in the world. people live full and happy lives whilst also being disabled. can it suck for the person living through it? yes. absolutely. but to me, people are not and never will be defined by how able-bodied they are!!!

All of this is true (to me) and also we can still condemn the circumstances that cause them to make these choices. (culture of not wanting to be seen as soft, the normalisation/valorisation of playing through injury, all the other [gestures wildly] forces at play that set athletes up to make these decisions) Like i’m sorry to get political but choices do not exist in vacuums. sports does not exist separated from hegemonic models of masculinity or capitalism. there are so so so many reasons a player might choose to harm themselves by playing through injury and not all of them are noble or valid, some of them are stupid and informed by bullshit!!! and we should be mad at that bullshit!! because it’s awful!!!!

these are their jobs, and i’m talking in the sense that they are performing labour and i think labour laws and workplace health and safety must apply here too. I think we have to start talking about these things in terms of workers rights, in amongst all of the compassion we have for them as players. there’s the pressure to perform due to contract status and salary bonus milestones; there’s team doctors having direct conflicts of interest, a monetary and cultural incentive to look the other way when clearing people to play; there’s the plain fact of the best possible safety equipment (cages/bowls, neck guards, cut resistant protective gear) not being mandatory; the blatant denial of CTE coming from the league itself. there’s a lot. and it’s a workers rights issue, not just a moral one. someone will play through xyz because of the culture, because of the pressure, and they will die from it.

EVEN STILL. there is beauty and narrative resonance and something compelling about it all, and I don’t want to deny that. as someone looking from the outside in, sports captures people’s hearts because of these narratives. sacrifice and teamwork and triumph — we have an appetite for these things. I am never going to sit here and deny that I feel compelled by it (which is simultaneous to the anger, the fear, the deep deep well of “i’m sorry you have feel you have to do this”) This appetite I/we as a society have for pain — unpacking it and addressing it is a whole other conversation and I am not qualified to have it. I’m just going to acknowledge it exists because I think pretending it doesn’t would be dishonest of me.

we are allowed to feel fucked up about all of this. call it parasocial, call it entitled, call it inappropriate, i don’t know!! we are people and knowing other people are in pain tends to fuck us up — and as much as I try to keep a healthy distance from these celebrities, as much as I remind myself they’re strangers, I care when they’re hurt because I’m human.

anyway. YES OUR POOR CRINGEFAIL WIVES 😭🤲

#i attempt to have a nuanced take #i say it’s my fullest take but all of my tales are evolving constantly with new information and over time👍#nothing is final and we are all learning #asks #anon #hockey culture #injury talk #<- new tag maybe? i don’t anticipate using it often but it would be nice to have somewhere to file it #edit: you know what fuck the cut !!!

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penncilkid · 6 months

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Been thinking about my experiences as a POC within fandom while also being an artist and how much that sucks sometimes. This is primarily in regards to the Redacted fandom, but could be applied to any other fandom honestly.

Proper "fussing" under the cut (for those who would rather not see):

Sometimes, I really stop and think about what it must be like to be a white person in fandom, especially when you're an artist. To see yourself reflected in the spaces you exist in all the time. There are some exceptions to this, of course. For example, lack of body diversity is just as much of a problem in my opinion (Like fat people exist. Disabled people exist. Fat, disabled people exist. You can draw them, y'know? /rhet) But generally speaking, it's not difficult to find designs that probably look like you. There will be blondes, brunettes, redheads even— It's everywhere you look.

I don't think most people realize how isolating that ends up feeling though.

Because it's not just the fact that most of the art/designs you'll stumble upon won't resemble you. It's the fact that the prevalence dictates how everyone else interacts with fandom too.

Do you know how much it sucks seeing a post saying "So we all agree that Asher's blonde, right?" and knowing that most people are thinking of a white guy and nothing else?

Or noticing how Alexis, a generally "hated" character in the fandom, is the only vampire most people are willing to make visibly brown?

How about the fact that Gavin, the "thrilling" and "sexy" incubus, has so many black and brown designs— But I can count the non-white Lasko designs I've come across on my hand?

People can do whatever they want. I've said it before, and I'll continue to repeat it when I make these rambles. If you want to make every single design you have varying shades of white and never stray from that, that's your prerogative. But for the love of god, I wish I didn't feel like I was fucking crazy for talking about how much that shit sucks to see as a person of color.

On top of that, do you know how frustrating it is to watch white artists get praised for generic diversity when POC artists have been consistently bringing forth such compelling, stunning designs to table? Like I see the kind of shit that gets praised in this fandom and what doesn't. Racial ambiguity or the slightest addition of a curl gets treated like it's revolutionary— And that's only if it's the "correct" character. It has to "make sense", right? The same way Sam has to have sun-kissed, golden skin even after he's been turned, or the way Guy has to be white because there's no way someone with that personality could be anything but.

Do you know what it's like to be filled with such a sense of joy because someone made a design where a character had your skin tone or hair texture or facial feature? Like, I genuinely have a strong reaction whenever I find a black or brown design in this fandom because they're so rare in comparison to everything else. And when I really stop to think about that, I realize how fucked up of a phenomenon that is.

I love the designs that I've made, but I've also noticed which ones "do better" comparably. I don't change much of anything with how I go about posting or promoting them. The only difference is that some of them fit what is considered widely "canon" in fandom. And the others... don't. I go out of my way to make every design POC in some regard, and you can usually tell visually even without the addition of colors. I'm not gonna stop doing that because I know why I started in the first place. But fuck, it does start to hurt seeing white artists with the same general white designs get hyped up endlessly while I internally debate if I should even make another character look like me or not. If it'll even matter to anyone but me.

Some days, I just really wish it didn't feel like shit being black in this fandom. I hate knowing that I'm gonna post this, and I'll probably get responses for other people of color primarily.

But maybe putting this out will help that pill get easier to swallow.

#PK Rambles #Fandom Wank #If you feel “targeted” by this post: Maybe just ask yourself why? /gen #Because I promise you that your brief discomfort will fade with time #And my isolating exhaustion will continue to seep deeper and deeper into my bones #I'm just really fucking tired in a lot of ways

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blessedarethebinarybreakers · 8 months

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Not sure if this is the right place to ask this but I gotta start somewhere. I've been learning a lot about indigenous history and activism as I work on deconstruction, and a sentiment I come across a lot is bitterness towards Christianity. I cannot emphasize enough how much I fully understand. The rough bit is that sometimes when I read their work, I get the implication that there's nothing worth saving in the Church/Christianity- that to hold on to it is to hold on to all the colonialism and white supremacy and yuck.

As a disabled trans Christian, I get that, but it still hurts. I love God and am a Christian despite everything. I want to be an ally to indigenous people, but I want to follow God this way too. I know those aren't mutually exclusive, but it feels that way sometimes. Do you have any insight for me to find peace in this regard?

Thank you.

Hey there, thanks for the question, sorry for the delay!

This is something I've also wrestled with — a question I ask myself over and over, and probably always will. I cannot offer you peace, because as Jeremiah 6:14 says, "There is no peace!" — not while our faith continues to be wielded as a weapon against so many peoples. What I can offer you are some of the thoughts that have allowed me to continue to be Christian with hope that this faith can be better than what it's long been misused for, and the resolve to do my part to make it so.

First, that Christianity isn't unique in being co-opted by colonialist powers.

Any belief system can be twisted for violence, and many have been. If Christianity didn't exist, white supremacy still would — colonialist powers would have found a different belief system to twist into justifying their evils.

That absolutely does not absolve us from reckoning with the evils that have been done in Christianity's name! This isn't about shutting down critiques of Christianity with "uh well it could have been any religion" — as things played out, Christianity is the religion responsible for so much harm, and we need to acknowledge that and listen to groups who tell us how we can make some form of reparations.

But for me at least, there is some comfort in understanding that Christianity isn't, like, inherently evil or something. Recognizing that it isn't unique even in its flaws helps me look at the problem with clearer eyes, rather than wallowing in guilt and shame, if that makes sense.

Next, that there are Indigenous Christians, and Black Christians, and other Christians of color — that oppressed peoples have found things worth cultivating within Christianity! If they can find something worthwhile in this faith, it would be arrogance for me to deny it.

For instance, even when white slaveholders edited Bibles to remove too much discussion of liberation, even when white preachers emphasized verses about slaves being obedient to their masters, many enslaved people recognized how Christian faith actually affirms their equality and the holiness of their desire for liberation.

Black Theologian Howard Thurman opens his 1949 book Jesus and the Disinherited with a question asked to him by a Hindu man who knew the harms white Christianity had done to both their peoples: “How can you, a black man, be Christian?” The long and short of Thurman’s answer is that, in spite of the pain and exploitation too often inflicted by Christians in positions of power, the oppressed have always been able to see past that misuse of the Christian message to the true message lived out by Jesus Christ: a message of liberation for all.

For more thoughts on why and how to keep being Christian in spite, in spite, in spite...I invite you to look through my #why we stay tag.

___

How I wish that Christianity had never gotten tangled up in Empire! but it did, and it still is, and because for good or ill I cannot help that my spirit is stubbornly drawn towards the Triune understanding of the Divine, the best I can do is to use my privilege and what small influence I have within Christian institutions to move us towards decolonization. What some of that's looked like on the level of my personal beliefs:

I am firmly against any form of proselytizing. I don't support evangelism financially, I speak out against it, I don't platform it. (If someone wants to hear about my faith, they'll come to me — I don't run after them. And if someone does want to have that conversation, I aim to make it a dialogue, where we are learning from each other.)

I continuously work to recognize and uproot Christian supremacy within myself — the beliefs I didn't even realize where there until I started digging. That has included challenging any inkling within myself that Christianity is the "best" or "most right" religion. (One book that's helped a lot with that is Holy Envy by Barbara Brown Taylor.)

I seek wisdom from and relationship with Christians of color. Their insights are vital to our faith, and I try to use what small influence I have to uplift them.

On that last note, here are some resources I recommend as you continue to explore these questions:

This First Nations Version of the Christian Bible is gorgeously written, and a great way to explore scripture through a Native lens.

Native by Kaitlin B. Curtice is a lovely poetic memoir that explores how one person has sought to hold both her Christian faith and Potawatomi identity within herself. (She also has a new book out that I haven't read yet but really want to!)

God is Red: A Native View of Religion by Vine Deloria Jr.

Rescuing the Gospel from the Cowboys by Richard Twiss

I haven't read any of these 4 books but they look good too

This video with advice to non-Indigenous Christians

If anyone has any resources to add, please do!

#why we stay #issues in christianity

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bonegloss · 1 year

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You're not a failed artist.

After over almost two decades on the internet, entering various art communities and establishing my online presence, I've noticed something.

The persistent idea that you've "failed" as an artist if you get a "real job" will not go away.

This, for the longest time, permeated my electronic meat slab and nestled in deeply MUCH to my detriment . For years I fought with myself over this idea. Self-flagellating and noisy, negative thoughts were almost suffocating because I was unable to Do Art As A Job consistently and efficiently enough to maintain a living off of it. Between navigating life for almost 30 years not knowing I was autistic (and all that entails) and trying to turn something I love into something I could make a living off of, it was a vicious and repetitive cycle of trying something new, getting burned out, entering a depressive state, climbing out of it, rinse and repeat. This is clearly unsustainable, especially now that I am more independent in my adult life; bills aren't going to wait for me to get out of my depressive funks. Even having jobs and still making art on the side today, this idea is still nestled in there, nagging me sometimes.

Would I like to make a living off of my art? Of course! Would it be even better if I was supported from making stuff from my own IP's? You fucking bet. But I know how I operate, I know I can't personally do that (yet? maybe?). Now, I realize not everyone can just go get a job, and I don't want this to come off as a rally cry to Just Go Out and Work (I know many creative people are disabled or have other reasons they cannot work), but I do want to stress that its okay if art needs to remain more of a hobby than a job. It is okay if you cannot sustain yourself solely as a living artist. Over the years, I've burned myself out so god damn hard and have watched others work themselves to (near) death or can barely scrape by because of this incessant feeling that we need to be doing art 100% of the time to have "made it". It is hurting us both physically and emotionally to keep this shit up.

Going forward, we have to do better. There is no shame in having an income that is not dependent on the things you make. I think that it can help alleviate a lot of stress and fatigue that can become associated with creating (and thus, making it hard to do something you love). We need to learn to be kinder to ourselves and unlearn comparing our experiences to what we see from other creative peers on social media. Its hard, finding work sucks ass, and no job will be perfect, but if it can help you survive a little easier and rekindle your relationship for creating the things you love to make, it'll make a world of difference.

You are not a failed artist. You're doing what you can so you can keep doing what you love.

#*Real Job is used here within the context of mainly not getting employment in a creative field #I know that many creative people are able to get jobs within creative fields #but even that can help alleviate the financial pressure of having your creative outlet be draining #because your livelihood depends on it #Also I would like to note that while it would be nice to have UBI and more support for the arts in general in the US #that is not the case in the current economic setting and I fear it won't be that way for a while so working will have to do for now.#UBI would fix me #art #artists #creative burnout

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writingwenches · 23 days

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OC Sportlight — Ser Rahul Qorgyle

birthplace: Sandstone, Dorne asoiaf era: House of the Dragon; Pre-Dance of Dragons themes: cognitive disability, hating your own mental illness/disability Sandstone + Targaryen history: shortly after Aegon's conquest, Sandstone's castle was burned by Balerion and Vhagar riden by Aegon and Queen Visenya. Technically, House Qorgyle never submitted to House Targaryen

The Before

Ser Rahul Qorgyle was much like the other knights of the realm, who were set to inherit their family's title. He drank, he gambled, he whored, he was boisterous, he was loud, he fought, he was a proper man. He was raised on the story of the Targaryen conquerors and the horrors suffered by the hands of the incest dragon freaks. His favorite hobby was beating the life out of their supporters. Ser Rahul entered the King's tourney, excited for the chance to get his hands on one of the Targaryens royals. He was prepared to take the chance to end them, just as his family trained him to do.

The Aftermath

There was an accident, at the King's Tourney. Ser Rahul was kicked in the head by a horse. He was left in the Maester's care in King's Landing, and has never left. His younger sister took the helm of House Qorgyle at Sandstone, and thought it best the mentally incompetent true heir remain far away, as to not embarrass the family to their peoples. Reluctantly, Rahul remains in King's Landing, even years after his incident. His brain no longer works the way it once did, it no longer served him. He sometimes struggles to speak. He has trouble reading, and doing sums. The light hurts his eyes, and he suffers from regular migraines. Whenever he is persuaded to restart his sword training, he quickly gets frustrated with his lack of ability and holds up in his rooms instead. He hates his mind, he hates his body, he hates what his life turned out to be. He hates that he struggles for every basic thing he achieves. He would sacrifices whatever the gods asked to get his old life back. But, that's not how it works. His younger sister has taken over the family, taken what is rightfully his. Rahul knows he has to prove himself if he wants to regain what is rightfully his. And maybe helping the fall of the Targaryen dynasty once and for all is all it'll take...

a/n: I don't know about you, but there are plenty of times that I hate my mental disabilities. Also, you never see characters with cognitive disabilities, so I challenged myself to make one. Also, Dev Patel is my forever crush, you can't take him away from me. The Green Knight is one of my favorite movies, so I needed to put that muse somewhere~

Always love to hear how OCs fit into others' stories, so send me any inspo, muse, stories, or characters you think of~

#house of the dragon #oc: Rahul Qorgyle #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #writing #game of thrones #hotd oc #hotd imagine #house of the dragon oc #Qorgyle #House Qorgyle #Dorne

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ahummingbirdwitch · 18 days

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I absolutely LOVE your fics, can u maybe write us some more cypher smut? <3

Technically this addresses multiple requests I’ve also received but here ya go!

Hide and Seek (Cypher x F!Reader)

Summary: You hide, Cypher seeks.

Pairing: Cypher x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2124

Warnings: blow jobs, p in v sex, unsafe sex, creampie

Notes: To the people who asked for more Cypher smut and that one person who asked for Cypher receiving a blowjob, this is for you guys 💗💗

“Helloo? Anybody there?” Cypher’s sing-songy voice echoed throughout the training room. “Where is my kitten hiding?”

You put a hand over your mouth, stifling your giggle. You were hiding behind one of the many barriers used in training simulations, and it was only a matter of time before he found you. After teasing him all week while away on a mission, the two of you were finally reunited, and to celebrate your return, Cypher had suggested playing an… interesting version of hide and seek.

Earlier that evening, he’d called you to the deserted training room, all the security cameras disabled to ensure no one outside could have a look in. It also meant that Cypher himself had no extra eyes to watch you with—but knowing him, that didn’t mean he was truly at a disadvantage.

“You have until the count of ten to hide,” he’d said from somewhere in the dark, his familiar croon sending a shiver down your spine. “When I find you, you’re mine.”

Not “if,” he’d said. When. You knew Cypher would find you, but luckily, that was exactly what you wanted.

You’d managed to evade him for about fifteen minutes or so, moving from barrier to barrier each time you heard what sounded like footsteps approaching. Cypher would get closer and closer, and every time, you’d stay almost until the last second, only to move away quickly before he could reach you, giggling under your breath. You weren’t exactly trying to hide from him; he could catch you in an instant if he wanted to, but it was clear he was toying with you, seeing how long you would try to keep him at bay.

Even without his cameras, Cypher was a master tracker, and right now, you were his prey.

“Where aaare you?” he sang, his voice somehow coming from all directions. Gooseflesh rose all along your arm, and you pressed yourself harder against the barrier behind you, wondering if he could see you or not. “You can’t hide much longer, darling. I will find you.”

You bit your lip, warmth pooling in your core. In the darkness of the room, you could see very little, but all your other senses were more alive than ever. Every word he spoke in that low, gravelly tone tickled your ears and sent heat rushing between your legs. You silently thanked whatever god had put this idea in Cypher’s head.

“You’re probably afraid,” he drawled from somewhere nearby. “Aren’t you, kitten?”

You probably would’ve moaned at that if you weren’t so determined to stay quiet. No, you weren’t afraid—you knew he would never hurt you—but hearing him taunt you like he taunted enemies on the battlefield was undeniably arousing. If you were being honest, you’d had a fantasy like this before; you’d just never thought Cypher would be willing to play into it.

“Tell me, sokar,” he purred. “Do you know what I’ll do when I catch you?”

You leaned back against the barrier, pressing your thighs together. No. Tell me.

“You’re probably thinking something good, aren’t you? Some kind of reward, perhaps?” He chuckled darkly. “Well, you’d be wrong about that. Only good girls get rewards. And you’ve been very, very bad, my love.”

You heard footsteps not far away, and your heart pounded. “What? Are you gonna punish me?” you wanted to taunt back, but one peep from you would alert him to your location. Instead, you held your tongue, smiling to yourself giddily. Cypher was always so solitary, so tightly wound, and you loved nothing more than to rile him up, watching pieces of his real, hidden self come out even if his mask never came off. That was when the two of you had the most fun.

The footsteps drew closer, but slowly—he was taking his time with you. “I’ll tell you this much,” he went on in that same lilting tone. “What I’ll do to you, I won’t even need to prepare you for.”

You knew right away what he meant. Twenty minutes of this cat-and-mouse game and your panties were soaked through, every inch of your body prickling with desire. The moment he finally touched you, there was a non-zero chance you’d cum on the spot.

Cypher was even closer now, and you found yourself hopelessly conflicted. The thought of drawing out the game was tantalizing, but you were rapidly losing your patience, your need for him growing stronger every second. Did you dare continue to evade him, until he finally snapped and took you? Or would you stay right where you were, and let him find you right now?

Just as the footsteps neared your hiding place, you made your decision, darting out and slipping behind another barrier. You flattened your body against the wall of it, breathing as quietly as you could. Your heart raced with equal excitement and trepidation. Where was he now? Did he know where you were? How soon until he found you?

All of a sudden, your questions were answered. You heard footsteps beside you, then felt cold gloved fingers around your wrist. They yanked you forward, and your breath hitched when you realized Cypher was standing right in front of you.

“Got you.”

It was difficult to see in the dark, but you could make out the outline of him before you, lit up slightly by the soft neon lights along the floor, and stared with words caught in your throat. He wasn’t wearing his usual coat or hat, instead dressed in form-fitting black clothes and boots, his face covering already pulled up to his nose. Cypher tugged you closer to him by your wrist, looking down at you with a smirk on his scarred lips. “Get on your knees, sweetheart.”

You obeyed him without question, dropping to the floor, and he reached for his pants hastily, working to get them open. You gazed up at him, flooded with adoration and lust. “I missed you,” you breathed.

Cypher half-laughed, half-grunted as he freed his cock. “Then show me how much you missed me.”

You licked your lips, admiring his incredibly hard cock for a heartbeat before taking it greedily into your mouth. You wrapped your hands around his base, pumping it lightly as you began to suck, and the sound he gave you in response was just as good as you’d hoped.

One of Cypher’s hands traveled down, tangling in your hair as he bucked his hips. “Yes,” he groaned. “That’s a good girl.”

That little bit of praise was all you needed. You moaned around him as you sucked him harder, worshipping him with your mouth, and he moaned back in return, thrusting even more eagerly now.

“Llwa,” he cursed, breathing heavily, “I missed your mouth. You made me want it every night, driving me mad with those videos.”

You locked eyes with him as you dragged your tongue up his shaft, wordlessly pleading him to forgive you. You were already repenting for him on your knees, weren’t you?

Cypher gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on your hair. “Bad, bad girl,” he growled out. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to fuck you.”

You whimpered, drenching his cock in your saliva, hands still working his base. The more he thrust into your mouth, the wetter you got. Fuck me, then, you wanted to beg him. Show me how badly you wanted it.

Cypher moaned low, picking up speed and hitting the back of your throat. You gagged around him, drool forming at the edges of your lips, then without warning, he yanked his cock out of you. He stood back for a moment, panting, then lunged forward, shoving you up against the wall of the training barrier. He slammed his mouth into yours, his hands suddenly at the waistline of your pants.

You didn’t hesitate to help him, and in seconds your pants were forced all the way down, your sodden panties practically sticking to your thighs as they followed suit. He traced the wet streaks with his still-gloved fingers, the cold metal making you shiver. “Just as I thought,” he murmured, chuckling against your lips. “Dripping for me.”

You responded with a soft whine. “Please.”

“Dirty girl.” Your lower lip between his teeth, Cypher hoisted you up with ease, and you wrapped your legs around him without thinking. “Mine,” he hissed before plunging into you.

You wailed as he forced himself as deep as he could go, immediately setting a punishing pace. Cypher moaned into your ear, fingers digging bruises into your thighs. “Is this what you wanted, dear? For me to fuck you like this?”

Choked cries tumbled from your mouth, cut short each time your back hit the wall as he fucked into you. It was rough, but it was perfect. “Yes,” you gasped. “Yes, yes…”

He sucked on your earlobe, earning a shrill cry from you. “For such a sweet girl,” he panted, “you can be such a brat.”

Your mind flitted to those videos you’d sent him and you whined pitifully, dragging your nails up and down his back. “I just missed you so much,” you babbled. “I needed you, Amir—I needed you so bad.”

Cypher groaned into your neck, not slowing down in the slightest. “I know you did, sweetheart,” he rasped. “But I needed you more.” He bit down just then, sucking a dark mark into your skin while you moaned out loudly. When he finally came up for air, he growled, “You don’t know how much I need you. How much you occupy my thoughts. I can’t focus when you’re near, and I can’t think when you’re away.”

You could only answer him with a needy mewl, too far gone to properly express how much that meant to you. Hearing he needed you as much as you did made your heart threaten to burst.

“I need you,” he uttered, trailing frantic kisses and bites down your neck. “Every second of every day.”

You shut your eyes. Too good, too good. “Fuck… Amir…”

“You belong to me,” Cypher breathed against your lips. “Your mind, your body, your soul.” He punctuated each word with a sharp thrust.

You nodded desperately. “Y-Yes—yes—please—”

“Please what?” He was so close to kissing you, but each time you moved in, he pulled back just a little, keeping you wanting it.

“Please.” You hardly knew what you were saying. “Fuck me, just please, please make me cum—”

Cypher hummed, and you could feel the vibrations inside your mouth. “Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out. “I’m sorry for—for teasing you, just—please—”

Cypher let out a soft, dark laugh. You’d never seen this side of him before; delighting in making you squirm, putting you in your place. “That’s my good girl,” he cooed. “Once I fill you, you’ll have your turn.”

He snapped his hips, fucking you harder and faster, and you threw your head back, crying out with abandon. You didn’t care if anyone could hear you outside the room. As far as you were concerned, no one else existed but the two of you. Just you and Cypher. Cypher, Cypher, Cypher, Amir…

“Amir,” you wailed. “I love you—I-I love you—”

“Yes.” Cypher grunted with effort. “Yes—say it. Say it again.”

“I love you.” You grasped the sides of his face, feeling around his head where his scalp was covered. “I love you.”

You could tell he was losing his composure, leaning into your hands as his breathing grew more and more ragged. “My girl.”

Yes, yes. His girl. You were his. “Cum for me,” you pleaded. “A-Amir—”

“Sokar,” he uttered. “Sokar, I—”

Cypher couldn’t finish, his words cut off by a harsh groan from deep in his throat. He shuddered against you, his grip on your thighs faltering, then all of a sudden it was tighter than ever, and he held you firmly in place against the wall as he thrust his release inside of you.

You gasped as he filled you, your body milking his cock and swallowing his cum without a second thought. Cypher did not let go of you, riding out the rest of his climax with his face on your shoulder, his breath hot on your skin. After several heartbeats, when his breathing had slowed, he finally lifted his head and pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw. You giggled softly, soothing his upper back with your palms.

When he set you down gently, putting you back on your feet, you were worried it was over after all, but then Cypher picked you back up abruptly, this time in a bridal carry. You gave him a surprised look, and he smiled.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet,” he said slyly. “Let’s continue this elsewhere, shall we?”

#cypher #cypher x reader #valorant #cypher valorant #ao3 #ao3 writer #thanks for the request!

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