#or afab in general

[sandinthepipes]

Yes, redemption arcs are good, but have you ever heard of corruption arcs?

[foldingfittedsheets]

I think something a lot of other people can relate to is the way that you get so conditioned to discomfort that you stop registering it.

I remember sitting at the table with my family, eating dinner as a child. I’d try to eat, because of course I was hungry. But sometimes the flavor or texture was so repugnant that it moved into a category of Not Food.

“Two more bites before you can leave the table.”

“I can’t,” I’d say, trying to explain the impossibility.

But because I was a child they heard, “I won’t,” and made me sit at the table. I’d sit in dull agonized silence, bored and hungry for hours until bedtime when they’d give up. I’d hate myself for not eating and my parents for forcing me to sit there. The few forcefeeding moments ended in vomit.

They’d say, “If you don’t eat this you can’t eat a snack later,” and I moved past trying to communicate my discomfort into accepting that I’d just be hungry.

That state of affairs didn’t last, because my parents realized nothing could force me to eat so they catered to my palate, worrying they’d starve me. But the message stuck. If you can’t do anything about a situation, just accept the suffering.

A few years later my mother called me off the playground to ask, “Are you limping?”

I shrugged. My feet had hurt for a long time, but that was just the way things were now. My mom pulled my socks and shoes off and gasped. The soles of my feet were covered in huge painful planters warts.

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” She demanded but I could only shrug at her. I’d learned a long time ago that saying things about my discomfort didn’t matter, so now I had no words. Sometimes things hurt and sometimes they don’t. I simply accepted and did my best.

Now as an adult trying to learn to improve my own conditions can be hard. If I make food that I can’t eat I’ll force myself to sit at the counter still, full of guilt and self loathing, trying to will myself to eat it.

At first I needed my betrothed to gently take it away to present me with something I could eat. Now on my own I can usually admit that it’s not happening before too long and get something else, but I still feel guilty.

Laying in bed at night waiting for my betrothed to finish getting ready I let out a huge sigh of relief when they turned the lights off.

“Why didn’t you turn them off if they bothered you?” they asked the first time it happened.

“I didn’t even know it was bothering me until it was gone.”

Assessing my physical state now to see if I can improve it is something I’m still relearning but I’m relieved to finally have the space and support to do it.

[tojisun]

beast simon preparing you for days so you can take in his knot. he clicks his tongue when you get whiny and desperate, and grabs you by your jaw because you’re not being obedient; because you insist that you can take all of him already when he can barely fit four of his fingers in you. you always end up squirming, legs shutting close as you cum, splintered moans scratching from your ragged throat. but you’re too overstimulated already, so wrung dry, and you feel like your cunt’s been stretched out enough. you say this to simon and all he does is pull your face close to his, his gaze intense, before grunting out, “next time i hear y’whine, my knot’s goin’ down y’r throat instead.” that shouldn’t have made you wetter than you are already—

[farfromstrange]

Customer Service | Matt Murdock

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!reader

Summary: After a particularly rough week, all you want to do is cry. It has you on edge and makes you say things you don’t mean. After letting out your anger on your boyfriend, he makes it his mission to take care of you for a change.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), Matt Murdock eats pussy like a champ, fingering, squirting (I feel filthy), emotional hurt/comfort, no use of y/n, no pronouns, reader has female body parts, 1st person pov (?)

a/n: As someone who quit their job in customer service for the exact same reasons I have stated in this fic, this is very personal to me and self-indulgent, again. I wrote this after a particularly bad day. Sometimes I wish Matt were real so he could actually do this to me.

There is nothing in all of existence that I loathe more than people. Why I chose to work in customer service in the first place has become more and more of a mystery to me. I could have quit after the first week, I should have, but whenever the thought crosses my mind, I tell myself: ‘It’s going to get better. You will get used to it.’ I did not, in fact, get used to it. Or, I did, I just started to hate myself even more. Every day I get home from an eight-hour shift, I’m tired, I’m exhausted and I feel the desperate need to throw myself off a cliff. 

There are days when it’s easier. The elderly couple who comes in every Sunday, for example, to drink their coffee and have a lengthy conversation over a piece of cake, never fails to make me smile. They’re always kind, and forthcoming and they tip, even though I know they don’t have the money to.

Or the woman who likes to pick up lunch for her husband, she always calls me sweetheart, and she’s never bothered if her order takes just a little too long. The regulars chat me up and I like it because it makes me feel less alone behind the counter, as life passes me by and I can’t help to stare at the clock every five minutes to calculate how many hours of the day are left. They make it easier to forget about the overtime I inevitably have to put in every night. They know I don’t eat enough or smile enough or drink enough, and so they make me smile because they’re good people. 

But some continuously want to tell me how to do my job, the one I’ve given blood and sweat for to master down to the smallest detail, and those who treat me like I’m responsible for their bad days and those who don’t care that I’m human, I just have to serve.

It’s so exhausting that some people don’t care about the workers behind the counter. I hate that my boss doesn’t seem to care either, that we don’t get paid enough, and that I’m expected to jump whenever they want me to. I got a life too, but that doesn’t matter because I’m cheap and they love to use those who never learned how to say no.

I physically can’t tell them I can’t work whenever I’m asked to pick up an extra shift, or when I’m sick or have to do anything else. It’s not even my main occupation and yet, here I am! Every day, I tell myself, I should just quit. It’s not my responsibility if they can’t treat their employees right. It’s not my responsibility they’re understaffed. I’m a student, I go to college, and I’m working hard on my degree - why should I prioritize my job over the thing that will determine the rest of my life? 

And yet, every day, I go back. I go back and I work until my feet hurt and I’m sick and I’m tired and all I want to do is just cry. I go back because I, for the life of me, can’t say no. I can’t quit. I want to, but I can’t, and it’s killing me inside that I can’t talk about it the way I want to. In the end, I will always feel like everything is my fault and that I messed up, even though all I did was show up to work and turn into everyone’s punching bag. 

My stupidity is what got me here. Usually, I would be home now, studying, but they asked me to pick up a late shift at the cafè again, and I worked for seven hours with only a fifteen-minute break in between - I look horrible, I smell of coffee and cake, and my body is hurting in all the wrong places. The weight is heavy in my stomach. I’m nauseous. I ate, but not enough. I’m hungry. I feel sick. Even the smallest sounds make me want to jump up the wall, kill someone, or perhaps even both. I’m angry, and I don’t even fucking know why because nothing happened. Other than a rather messy day with too much to do and too few people to do the work, the people weren’t even rude and I’ve had worse days - still, I feel everything at once and it’s ridiculous, really, because I’m an adult and I should know better than to let a rough day affect me. I don’t. 

When he called and asked if I wanted to come over, I said yes. I didn’t want to, but saying no? Not something I would do, especially not to him. I walked into his apartment with a lump already in my stomach. The door creaked - God, I told him to oil it - and that was the first strike. I tossed my key into the bowl and it promptly fell back out. Second strike. My coat slipped from the hanger the second I hung it up. Third strike. I breathed, I had to, then went to the kitchen to make some dinner. Cooking usually works, usually, but the day must have gotten to me because the fourth strike - the fucking milk being expired - happened way too soon and it hit me, hard. After that, I was pretty much done for, and I knew, I just chose to ignore it. 

Of course, I should have known I would screw up everything else, too.

“Hey, sweetheart,” his voice is kind and soft in my ear as he presses a kiss to my cheek. His stubble has never been something to bother me before until that very moment. I flinch away, not sure why. If he realized it - which I’m sure he did - he doesn’t show. 

“Smells good,” he says. 

I put the garlic into the pan. It smells too much like garlic and I hate it. 

“What you making?”

“Pasta,” I tell him. 

He kisses me again. “Mh-hm. How was your day?” the question is stupid, but it’s normal and he always asks. He gets himself a beer - only himself - removes the cap with his mouth and then leans against the counter. 

He shouldn’t infuriate me. He shouldn’t make me angry just by standing there and asking me questions couples ask themselves, but inevitably, he does. And I hate myself all the more for the way my voice sounds when I answer him. 

“Fine,” I say. 

“Fine?” he asks. “How was work?” I feel like he’s getting suspicious. “You only had two lectures today, right? English lit and what was the other one?”

“Linguistics.”

“Ah, yes. Your least favorite.”

Perhaps that’s why I’m angry. 

“You know,” he says and the tangent he goes on after revolves around him and only him, and while I don’t like talking about myself, that doesn’t mean he has to unload all of his stress on me - I don’t know why I think that way and it’s scaring me because I don’t actually feel that way, but at that moment I do and it’s all very confusing.

I just want to lock myself in his bedroom and cry. He looks so good with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up. He’s wearing his glasses, still, but his tie is loosened and he smiles because he knows I love that smile. I should love it. I should love the way his muscles tense underneath his shirt or the way his dress pants hang impossibly low on his hips, but for the first time, I don’t. I don’t love anything, I just feel anger, which makes me hate everything, but mostly myself. 

I must have zoned out. Suddenly, he’s calling my name and he’s calling me sweetheart and he’s poking me with his hands - no, he’s stroking my hips, hugging me from behind, and it’s all too much. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I lie. He knows I’m lying. He can hear it in my heartbeat. He can feel it in the way I move away from him to rinse the now-empty pan in the sink. 

How is the food already finished?

“You didn’t listen to a word I just said,” he dares to sound offended. 

“No, I did.”

“Really, what did I say?”

“You and Foggy had a case, didn’t go well, bla bla bla. Same as every day.”

He sets the bottle down. “Alright, sweetheart, what’s wrong? I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Oh, so just because I don’t care about hearing the same story repeat itself every day and you whining about it means there’s something wrong with me?”

He’s taken aback. Quite frankly, I’ve never snapped at him before, not like this, not out of nowhere, and we’ve been dating for over a year. With his super senses, there is little that eludes the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, especially when it comes to his girlfriend. I hate that it’s like this. I hate not having any privacy, even when I try to. But I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want privacy. Or, I think. I don’t even know what I want. I know I want to be around him, but at the same time, it hurts because the anger is too damn hot to swallow, and his concern doesn’t make it any better. It should be, but it’s not. I’m a lost cause. 

“I was just telling you about my day,” he says. I would yell back at myself if I were him, but he knows me. He knows yelling doesn’t help. He knows I’d cry, but maybe that’s what I want. Maybe I want him to yell just so I have a valid reason to cry, to be angry. 

I want him to hate me the way I hate myself. 

That’s why I can’t help it anymore. “Maybe I don’t want to hear about your day.”

“What?”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Matthew!”

He’s confused. I don’t blame him. The second the words left my mouth, I regret them. They make me sound like the most selfish person on the whole planet. I can’t take them back though. If I did, he’d know something is wrong and then he’d worry, he’d pity me and no, I don’t want that. I want to rile him up. I’m not sure why, but it makes me so angry that he’s so calm and I’m… well, I’m me, but I’m also not me. I’m a stranger in my own body. 

I put the pasta in a bowl. It stinks of alcohol and tomatoes and garlic, too much of it. I wonder how anyone could eat that. 

“Here,” I shove it into his hand, “You’ve been served. I’m gonna take a shower.”

I’m a bad person. I’m pretty sure I am. Who yells at their boyfriend because they can’t deal with their own problems? Who makes the person they love more than life itself feel like shit on purpose for no reason whatsoever? A sane person wouldn’t. We have never been a normal couple, Matthew and I, but we’re trying. Turns out, I suck much more than I thought I would.

It’s not the age gap, I’m sure of it. I’m in my last year as an English Major and he’s a defense attorney. Somehow, we make it work. He loves me, I know he does. He’s afraid of rejection - he thinks everyone he loves will leave him, which is why it took us a while to find together. I should have known my words were going to hurt him unimaginably. He thinks he did something wrong, but it’s not him. It’s never him. He’s damaged, but he’s nothing if not perfect to me, most of the time. 

I’m heavily crying at this point, trying to conceal my sobs, but it’s not working. The water is loud, not loud enough to fool Matt’s hearing, but even if he were to hear it, he knows better than to provoke me any further. He doesn’t know what’s going on and neither do I, so it’s just the two of us silently waiting for the other to come around. He shouldn’t have to feel that way. And so I cry more because God, I do not deserve that man. I don’t deserve his kindness or his love. I don’t. I really, really don’t. 

And once I’m out of the bathroom, I remember why I don’t deserve him. 

The table is set for two. Candles substitute for the harsh ceiling light. He knows it gives me headaches sometimes. He put a bowl out for me and a glass of wine. White wine. The sweet kind. The kind he hates but keeps around in case I ever need a glass. He’s drinking red wine. It’s cheap, but it looks expensive and he likes to feel special from time to time. 

I hug my arms around my body. He has his back turned to me, fixing a salad in the kitchen - I must have forgotten it. The way he moves is almost angelic. He moves as if nothing happened, as if I didn’t just treat him like a bitch. He’s singing my favorite song or humming it, anyway. The room smells of him and me and the food I loathed before, but watching him do all of this for me, even now, is sucking the air out of my lungs and suddenly, I don’t mind the thought of eating with him.

I only want one thing. I don’t want to ask for it and he’s not going to do anything unless I talk. We agreed on that from the beginning, no matter what kind of intimacy it involves. Without consent or a proper conversation, nothing will happen. And I curse myself for not being able to speak without the tears blocking my view again. 

“There’s a sweater on the couch,” he states. He knows I’m cold. “And some fuzzy socks, if you want.”

The clothes smell like him. 

“I put some more salt in the pasta. I think you forgot to salt the water, so I took it upon myself. I hope you don’t mind. Also, I tried to make your favorite salad dressing, but I’m not sure if I managed to get it right this time.”

He smiles and then his glasses are gone and he has an apron on and he looks like he loves me, really loves me, and that’s it. I pull my legs up to my chest, falling deep into the couch and I cry. All the pain just comes exploding out of me like an active volcano. 

The leather dents next to me. “Comfort or solution?” he asks. It’s so casual, I get the feeling he’s not mad at me. 

“I don’t know,” it sounds so broken.

His arm finds around my shoulder. “Is this okay?” I can only nod. Yes.

He moves me gently so I’m in his lap and he can rock me like a baby. It feels good to be loved like this, but it’s also suffocating. Still, I can’t help but fall deeper into his hold because this is, in fact, all I needed. Too stubborn to ask for it, I almost ruined something good. I know I did. He knows, too, but unlike me, he knows the difference between me being mad at him and being mad at the world. He knows I don’t mean what I say unless we’re fighting, and this isn’t it. We’re not fighting. I’m just angry and I want to cry, even while crying, and that makes me cry even more. 

“You want to talk about it?” he asks once I can finally breathe again. 

I blow my nose like a disgusting person and say, “Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe.” And that about sums up all of my life. 

“Is it school?”

I shake my head. If it’s not school, it can only be one other thing. 

“Work?”

I nod. 

“Anything happen or just a bad day?”

“Bad day.”

“That’s why you yelled at me? I didn’t do anything wrong?”

“No,” I say truthfully for the first time. “I’m just angry. I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Maybe next time try telling me though. I was actually scared I did something until I heard you cry in the shower.”

I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I tell him that, to which he only chuckles. 

“You know how many times I acted hostile towards you after a long day?” he says. “It happens. It’s okay.”

“I just… I’m so stressed all the time. I hate work and I hate people and I hate not getting paid enough or on time, but I can’t quit because you know, I’m me and they know that, so they take advantage of my inability to say no, and it sucks because I’m so tired of working more than I go to school, but I need the money, and so I can’t leave until I’ve found another job, but no one else wants me, so now I’m here, trying to see the good in this stupid job, but I don’t. I can’t. I hate it. I hate everything and everyone and I hate myself and I think I’ll get my period soon because this should not be upsetting me this much.”

His hand on my back manages to soothe me. 

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.

He smiles down at me, all loopy, and his sightless eyes are focused somewhere on my forehead, which makes everything so much better. 

“I love you.”

And yes, I love him too. I love him so fucking much, it hurts. 

“I love you too, Matty.”

As soon as I say his name, he knows what I want. He knows I need to destress. He knows I can’t eat until I can forget. 

“Is there something I can do?” he asks, but damn him, he already knows. 

“Can you…” no, I can’t ask him for that.

“Yes?”

“Matt, can…” No. “You know what, never mind.”

“No, sweetheart. Tell me. What do you need?”

“I just…” my chest heaves a frustrated groan. “IneedyoutoeatmeoutuntilIcantremembermyname.”

He enjoys it. He gets off on it, my desperation. “Sorry, what?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t think I did. Can you repeat that?”

“God.” My face is burning. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just, this is the first time you actually asked me and I love hearing you ask for the things you want. It’s sexy.” 

Somehow, that’s even worse. My thighs clench like I’m some pathetic little schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher. 

“You know, maybe you can ask for a raise tomorrow, or quit altogether,” he says. “But for that to work, you have to tell me what you want right now.”

“I asked you to eat me out until I can’t remember my fucking name!”

“Thank you. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

If there is one thing Matt Murdock is incredibly skilled with, it’s his mouth. And I don’t just mean the words that come out. Essentially, it’s all in his tongue. He’s managed to render me speechless on more than one occasion, and he knows. He knows I love when he touches me, but there are times when it has to be about me, and only me, and he’d gladly suffocate between my thighs. He’s told me that time and time again.

He keeps telling me to ask him if I want something. I never do. I hate asking for it because it’s embarrassing. It’s good that he knows what he’s doing, that bastard because if he didn’t, I wouldn’t be cumming and I wouldn’t tell him. Somehow he always gets the job done, no matter how stressed I am. 

That’s why I need it so badly. I need him to take care of me, no matter how long it takes. I know it might take a while because I’m tense and he knows too. He reads my body like an open book. That’s how he knows I’m horny before I even do. 

He doesn’t move for another minute. He just stares at me. “You want me to take care of you?” he asks.

“Please,” I beg. 

“Guess I’ll have dessert before dinner today then.”

He lifts my head and then he’s suddenly on top of me. He’s sliding me up the couch so he can fit in between my legs. I’m dressed in shorts, a t-shirt, and his sweater and for a second I wonder if it’s even worth it. I’m ovulating, I’m bloated. I feel like shit. My hormones are all messed up. I can feel the weight of my boobs tear on my back and I’m pretty sure the hairs on my legs prickle his cheek as he kisses them. It’s making me want to take back everything I asked of him. 

My confidence has taken a low blow this past week. 

Though Matt doesn’t care, he never does. He digs his nose between my thighs and takes the longest whiff I’ve seen him take in a while. To be fair, the last time we saw each other, he was busy with work. We didn’t have time for intimacy, which hardly ever happens. He moans. 

Smug bastard.

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells me. It melts my heart. The compliment means so much more knowing he can’t physically see me. To him, I’m beautiful. He couldn’t care less about what I looked like. Although sometimes I wonder what picture he has made up of me in his mind. 

His lips are on mine fast. I can’t help but sigh. They’re so soft. He doesn’t rush, he just kisses me and then kisses me some more. I tangle my hands in his hair. I’m sure, this is what heaven must be like.

“Let’s take this off.” His sweater joins my shorts on the floor. “May I?” He hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of my panties. “Or do you want me to keep them on?”

I have no doubt he could do it with five layers in between and still make me cum.

“Off,” I say. I want this. I have to remind myself that my insecurities mean nothing – he loves me. He wants to do this for me. He wants to do this because he likes it, or else he would say it. 

Matt is vocal, but I’m not. If he doesn’t want to do something, he’ll say. Can’t say the same about me, which is why he asks repeatedly, even after I already told him it’s okay. He wants to make sure I’m on board, that I don’t feel pressured and can pull out any time I want, but I don’t, because the second the cold air hits my bare cunt, all I want is him. 

I can feel his eyes searching for me. “Hey,” he says my name. “We’re not playing this time, okay? You can cum when you need to and how many times you want to. You just have to lay back and relax. I’ll take care of you.” 

He intertwines our fingers on either side of my spread thighs before he dives into me. It’s slow and steady. He doesn’t care about fucking me with his tongue like he usually does. He licks and bites, but mostly, his tongue and lips stay around my clit and they suck. They suck so good, I see stars behind my eyes. His touch sends shocks down my spine. My sensitive walls clench around thin air, but his head is so far between my thighs, I still manage to feel full. 

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t focus. It feels so good, way too good, and on any other day, I would’ve come by now. His beard burns into the inside of my thigh as I rock against him. I try to, but it’s exhausting. I can feel the coil in my lower belly clear as day, and yet it’s too far out of reach. I need it, I crave it. 

I can hear myself saying, “This could take a while.” And he laughs because he finds it funny. It’s not funny though, it’s serious. I hate the fact that he makes me feel so good and I can’t find it in myself to enjoy. 

“Close your eyes,” his breath fans hot against my folds. “And just stop thinking.” 

He makes it his mission to ruin me. I close my eyes and as soon as I do, he’s on me. It’s not just his mouth. One of our joined hands reaches up to touch my breast – he twists my nipple through the shirt until it’s hard and has his attention. The other reaches behind me and lifts my hips. The next thing I know, he has me propped up on a pillow. The muscles in my lower back relax. I sigh. It’s so good. 

He’s given up on slow and steady. His head moves in circles as he abuses – I don’t have another word for it – my clit and eats the rest of me like a man starved. I realize I need it fast and I need it hard. He knows it before I do. His tongue expertly parts my wet folds, a mix of arousal and spit trickling down my thighs, but I could care less. He’s inside of me and then his thumb is there and it’s rubbing and rubbing and rubbing and I’m so fucking close, the knot in my stomach feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, and it’s applying sweet, sweet pressure on cunt. 

“Fuck!” I throw my head back into the leather. My back arches impossibly high, and his head squished tightly between my thighs. I need him closer. His hair is so soft, it makes me want to cry, and I do. I cry, but not in a sad way. I cry out because yes, God yes! and then I’m cumming, suddenly and without warning, hard, all over his face, and it doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop.

The growl is animalistic. It vibrates perfectly through my pussy and I can’t help it – it barely takes two minutes until his lips start hurting so good as they keep sucking my clit, a series of ‘one more’ leaves his lips in a plea, and I’m rocking against him hard. I’m begging him, “Matt,” but I’m not sure what for. 

“C’mon,” he says, “you can give me one more.”

He’s right. God, I hate when he’s right. My toes curl and I push his face so deep into me, I’m convinced he’s running out of air, but that’s what makes him moan and it sends me over the edge.

I’m pretty sure I passed out. The pleasure is so intense, my stomach feels like it’s being torn apart and then put back together. The world is dark and for the first time today, quiet. 

Something nudges my cheek softly. It’s his hand. Matt kisses me and I can taste myself on his lips. “Hey,” he coaxes me back into lucidity. “There you are. Are you okay?”

I nod.

“You need anything?”

It’s a reflex, reaching for him. He gasps slightly when my hand touches between his thighs, expecting to find a visible bulge, but there is none. I’m not sure if it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but there is a visible wet spot where his dick is supposed to be. 

“Did you-“ I finally open my eyes. He looks so drunk in the candlelight. I realize then that he is drunk on me. 

He buries his head in my neck. “You’re not the only one who’s been worked up all week,” he says. 

“You just- oh, my God.” I never thought it possible that it could be enough for him. “Thank you.” 

“No, thank you. You’re always so good to me. Good girl. But I think-“ his finger steals my breath as it circles my entrance and promptly slips it inside of me. “You can cum for me again.” 

I arch into him. My chest brushes against his. Our shirts suddenly feel like too much clothing and I’m desperate, so I tear at the buttons until they come apart. He has his arm back underneath me, holding me flush against him as if he’s afraid I might slip away. 

A wanton moan escapes me. “That’s it,” and his praise is even better. “Think you can take another one?”

He adds a second finger. It burns but only because even after a year, I’m still struggling to take any part of him. His fingers are thick and they’re rough and they’re scratching my inside walls just right. They massage the flesh. He’s pumping his fingers in and out and in and out, and he adds his thumb back on my clit because he knows I won’t be able to cum without it.

All of the stress falls off my shoulders. I feel him everywhere, his kisses, his touch, his hard nipples against mine. He’s hard again, poking against my thigh. I reach for him and he whines, he whines into my mouth. I’m not sure which one of us will come first. I suppose it’s me, it’s always me. He makes sure it will be me.

He hits as deep as he possibly could. His fingers curl inside of me and then, “There it is!” Is so victorious, it makes my eyes roll back. He keeps hitting that particular spot over and over again. My hand clutches his shoulder. I want to scream, but all that comes out is a series of whined and pathetic moans. I can’t help it, my muscles contract around him. 

“Damn, you’re gonna break my fingers,” he says. His chuckle is breathless. “You close?”

I hum.

“Do me a favor,” and I expect him to tell me anything but what he requests, “Don’t cum.” 

It’s rude. It’s cruel and it’s vile and I want to murder him because just as he says it, the coil tightens impossibly tight and I need to let go. It’s painful to hold it in, especially now. But I do as he tells me nonetheless. I want to please him. 

“Matt,” I moan. He’s so unfair and he knows it.

He smirks. “Just hold on a little longer.”

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. I know you can.”

“St- oh, fuck!” He hits my sweet spot with twice the intensity. I almost cum, but only almost. I keep it together, no matter how much it hurts, and it’s making tears prick at my eyes. “Please, just let me cum,” I hate begging him. “Please, Matty.”

“Shhh. We’re almost there.”

His thumb speeds up. I can see heaven. God is reaching his hand out for me. My stomach is in a tight knot, so tight, the silk might rip any second. The pressure is unreal. My muscles have been trained by him, I admit, but nothing can prepare you for this. Nothing can prepare you for the times when Matt has his mind set on something and he’s going to take it. He’s going to take you. 

I can’t think. It’s too much. I know I’m going to disappoint him. The animal inside of me is beyond satisfied and she wants out. She wants to let go. She loves the feeling of his fingers buried to the hilt inside of her. She loves him, and loving him tends to turn into sweet, sweet torture.

I moan his name again. His cock twitches underneath his dress pants, hot against my fingertips. 

“Almost,” he promises. “I just want to try something.”

What could he possibly want to-

“Cum.”

I’m flying. My back lifts off the couch and if it wasn’t for him, I would be dead by now. My body is shaking. It’s earth-shattering and it’s wet and it’s everywhere. I can feel the orgasm tearing me apart from the inside, blood rushing in my ears. My senses go black. I can’t see, feel or breathe. Everything is too much. It’s burning, it’s heavy, but it’s amazing.

His fingers don’t stop until he has milked the last drop of me until even the last ounce of stress has left my body and I’m limp. I’m a corpse. I’m barely breathing, a wet sack of potatoes in his arms. 

God, the look on his face. He’s cumming too. The wet patch on his pants has doubled. It’s not from me, although I’m suddenly very aware of the fact of what he just made me do.

“Oh.”

“Fuck,” he growls. “That was amazing.”

I never expected to have it in myself. “Oh, Jesus.” My words are highly blasphemous but I don’t care. I’m not even sure how to feel. The blush creeps up my cheeks and I close my legs a little. Everything is so wet. It’s all me and some of him, but mostly me. Just spurts of cum all over his hand and his couch.

He clicks his tongue, shoving my thighs apart. “Don’t go shy on me now,” he says.

“No, it’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing? Sweetheart, I’ve never felt more proud of myself.”

“I just- your couch. Oh, God.”

“I’m pretty sure the couch will survive it. Leather is easier to clean. How do you feel?”

I sigh, snuggling against his chest. “Better,” I have to admit. “Much, much better.”

“Good.” He kisses my neck. “Can I have my fingers back now?”

“No.” I like the feeling of him inside of me, even if it’s just his fingers. It makes me feel complete, almost. 

“Okay.” 

“Just gonna rest my eyes now.”

“You do that, sweetie. I’ll be here.” 

And he is. He always is. I wake up, and he’s there, and he always will be because he promised me this is forever. Us. Me and him. And I realize then that I’ve never been more in love with another person than I am in love with Matt Murdock.

[thee-radio-host-is-a-kookaburra]

trans community listen to intersex people challenge (impossible)

[uncanny-tranny]

The thing about assigned sex labels (AFAB/AMAB) is that a lot of its usefulness comes from discussions around medicine (though there are still issues with this). In a social sense, AFAB/AMAB isn't very useful to describe peoples' lived experience.

Assigned sex happens to people as babies, and "AFAB" and "AMAB" describe very broadly sex categories. Assigned sex acknowledges past assignment, not current reality with regards to one's sex and/or gender.

I find that when people try to apply sex assignment to social settings (e.g., "all AFABs experience this!"), it comes very close not only to misgendering, but also to sex essentialism in many cases.

I simply think there are too many assumptions made about what every person AMAB has (such as a certain body, a certain gender, and certain lived experiences) and what every person AFAB has. We cannot make sweeping generalizations about people, and I think a lot of people seem to forget this especially with regards to transition and/or "rare" sexes.

[lord-shitbox]

don't repost w.o asking // original here

kuras and leander prank mhin NOT clickbait !!!!! white hair and pronouns haver DESTROYED by awful prank real footage

[suffarustuffaru]

A while ago someone asked you for your thoughts on Garfiel. I figured the sibling set should be complete, so what are your thoughts on Frederica?

HALLO FINNB!!! interesting question :o my thoughts on frederica are. a little mixed. but ultimately i think what we’ve seen from her so far is interesting and that she has a lot of potential here.

we just dont know all that much about her :(( on one level i get it—rezeros cast is immense and naturally tappei has to rotate through everyone and give every character focus and spotlight at different times. but bc we dont know that much about frederica i feel like shes mostly just Kinda There, yknow? :<< we know way more about garfiel and i feel like frederica being kept on the backburner for so long kinda works against her and the emilia camp in general writing wise just bc she just has to be stuck in I Havent Had My Character Arc Limbo when the emilia camp is the main group we see consistently for rezeros main route ig. or at least thats my thoughts on it atm :<<

plus i was honestly kinda sad frederica didnt get to go along in arc 5 If Only bc she didnt get to see what her mom is up to firsthand. then theres the actual arc 4-5 interlude with frederica and garf trying to bond after sanctuary that i HOPE gets included in s3 :<< frederica is just lacking in screentime and literally almost any info at all for sure. which makes me sad bc tappei LET ME IN I WANNA KNOW MORE ABOUT HER !!! >:(((

and again i get it that tappei cant develop every character in existence at the same time. dude has to juggle the most massive cast especially by arc 7. but definitely this has its drawbacks especially with the way tappei writes everyone. bc at the moment frederica is one of the characters suffering the most from it—she appeared all the way back in arc 4 and four arcs later i cannot tell you all that much about her :<

i do think though that what we do see from her so far is interesting!! her insecurity regarding her appearance, like her sharp teeth, her being so fond of petra while also being so dead set on disciplining petra firmly when needed (which is sweet!!!), that one ss where frederica takes care of ram when shes feeling more under the weather than usual (which is Again super super adorable), frederica listening with a smile as emilia gushes about subaru to her. and also her just flatly pitying otto and hearing this guy say hes totally normal and being like “he Literally cannot perceive himself accurately at all” + dropping otto in the anime just to hug petra is fucking hilarious i need fredotto fics to actually acknowledge this.

but also other details like—and ok granted i dont remember every detail on frederica (yet) but leaving garfiel like that is still kind of. a dick move HAH. and i know her reason was smth along the lines of wanting to improve the outside world for demihumans iirc but like whats her Full Reasons for doing all that?? what was she even planning to do?? why couldnt she talk to or see garfiel more in this entire time period?? i think it comes with the interesting implication that frederica isnt entirely as nice and sweet as she looks—or at least that of course she herself is flawed. which is fun!!

also her relationship with clind is. ………..naturally of course i dont trust tappei with anything regarding children and clinds weird shit with children but ignoring tappei for a moment i do at least appreciate the complicated thoughts frederica has about clind. how she had feelings for him once and they still linger but she keeps her distance bc hes like That, you know? that feeling of broken trust and “i cared for you now what do i do with This Feeling” is So interesting to me i just hate clind’s whole thing with children bc tappei will never write it in an entirely serious and satisfactory manner 😭 BUT greed if and the dynamic between frederica and clind and frederica having to help kill / kill clind bc of greedbaru and echidnas shit is SO interesting (and clinds lore apart from being Creepy About Children is very interesting). but also poor frederica……….. ;-;

and poor frederica bc if the rumors about her getting more development by like arc 10 or 11 are true then shes gonna be stuck in I Havent Gotten Development Yet Limbo for a while ;-;

but yeah anyway. the frederica crumbs so far are interesting, the shit going on with frederica and garfiels family is Interesting, and i definitely dont trust tappei with children 👍 but i hope we get more info on frederica and that her character arc slaps really hard !! i Need to learn more about her!!!

im not fully familiar with fredericas side of the complicated family drama but if memory serves me right her birth was. not an entirely happy affair bc her poor mom has been through A Lot of shit and frederica was a product of that. and then her mom later tries to go find garfiel’s dad. like all of that is just so incredibly sad to me and again, i wish frederica was there to see what happened to her mom in arc 5, and also im curious about how thats affected frederica more in depth. knowing she wasnt exactly wanted. having these demihuman features from her dad (im assuming), whos also One Of the people who hurt her mom. knowing that she was born a burden, learning that her mom cant entirely take care of her and isnt in a stable life situation and almost certainly isnt mentally stable herself. garfiel coming along and their mom leaving. frederica leaving garfiel in sanctuary herself. her growing up admiring clind, which is an unfortunate parallel to what couldve happened with her mom and garfiel’s dad. its just so so tragic to me and theres a lot of things you could explore there!!

frederica to me seems like someone whos probably grown up too fast, who comes off as composed and very disciplined and likes taking care of others but also fumbles a little at growing closer and is insecure and uncertain herself even as shes good at being the older and wiser one to petra and later garfiel a bit. but also we dont know much about her so im kinda just spitballing here but she has potential methinks :,) im definitely sad that it seems like the fact that shes a pretty anime waifu or whatever kinda overtakes discussions on her character sometimes ;-;

and also one of my pals is really passionate about animals and gave me a whole lecture once a few years ago on why they think fredericas beast form design fucking sucks and i cant remember all of their points now but like i Will back them up i think garfiel and fredericas beast forms could look better but im not an expert at illustrating animals so HAH i cant speak on that. but def the eyebrows on the beast designs is so…… whaaaaat is that 😭 go FULL beast design or NOTHING. WHERE IS MY EXTRA EXTRA EXTRA BUFF FREDERICA BEAST DESIGN !!!

also ngl i just think frederica looks really cute in this shot <333 ALSO iirc she feels like she cant wear cute outfits bc shes insecure about her body and :((((( GIVE THIS GIRL ALL THE CUTEST OUTFITS IN THE WORLD PLEASE :((( and also i just think its a tragedy just how much shes sexualized :(( and i just think there are. a lot of AFAB specific and girlhood specific themes you could explore with fredericas storyline but tappei is tappei so all the foundation is there but idk if i entirely trust him. but on another level i think its fascinating yeah!!! sad how much it flies over audiences heads sometimes.

in conclusion: i like frederica i hope we see more stuff from her. and im crying about how she reportedly wont be getting development for a wall :<<<<

[allyourfearsarecomingtrue]

oh I WONDER why so many trans men/transmascs don't go on testosterone?? social barriers? can't get a doctor appointment? still living with family who would notice if you started growing a beard? nah, must be the idiot brain-dead little girls too full of self-loathing to transition!!!!

[sciderman]

Sometimes i remember a comics moment i randomly came across somewhere, where Sam Wilson mentiones a musical and Steve Rodgers says he doesn't like musicals, to whitch Sam goes "Guess that means you really are straight" and even tho i don't care about Cap America or the Avengers, the moment stuck in me for that quote by Sam. And like....Sci, any ideas if straight men actually don't like musicals or is that bullshit?

actually i think i know more gay men who hate musicals than i know straight men who hate musicals. i've had a drag queen stop me point blank when i was about to sing a barbra streisand song, and i know so many gays who pointedly hate abba. so based on my experience i think the inverse is true. most of the straight men i know are kind of impartial about musicals, but gay men? hate.

my theory is that a lot of gay men don't want to fall into stereotypes, maybe. but thaaaaat's just a theory! a gay theory.

[leighsartworks216]

Biological Malfunctions

Data x AFAB!reader

I rewrote this and then did not proofread it so have fun!!

Warnings: THIS IS A PERIOD FIC. THERE IS TALK ABOUT MENSTRUATION. PLEASE DON'T READ IF THAT MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. Reader is described as having a uterus, but no other explicit descriptions of their gender is made. Can be read as platonic or romantic (like, the beginnings of a crush)

Word Count: 2003

Masterlist

Tag List Form

Data entered his room as he had over a thousand times before. He stepped in, making sure Spot was not by the door waiting to rush out and scamper down the hallways, and- He stopped in the middle of the room, hardly two steps in the door. Something was different. The lights were dimmed.

Data only changed the light setting in his room during Alpha shift, a ship-wide nighttime when he was usually put in charge of the Bridge, as he did not require sleep like the others. By doing so, he simulated a day/night cycle for his beloved feline friend. However, Alpha shift would not start until approximately 2 hours, 37 minutes, and 15 seconds. Also unusual, the lights were dimmed to 20%, a setting he himself never used.

Now the question was why?

Truth be told, he was momentarily titillated by this mystery. He considered, briefly, donning his Sherlock Holmes outfit to investigate. Alas, the mystery did not last long enough for a costume change.

“Data?” a voice called from the bed-area of his quarters. “Are you back?”

The android followed the voice, as did Spot, to a figure curled under his Starfleet regulation blankets. The fabric shifted, and a face peeked out from the edge, squinting up at him. He recognized the voice, but seeing the face it belonged to absolutely confirmed it.

“Lieutenant Y/N, I did not expect to find you in my quarters.”

“Sorry,” you yawned. The blankets were warm, and clean from lack of use. They drew you in deeper, coaxing you into curling further within the cascades of fabric, warm and safe. Spot climbed on top of you and began lovingly making biscuits into your side. Data was briefly fascinated by the strange exhibition of behavior. “I needed to see Spot,” you admitted. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Your presence was unexpected, but you are always welcome here.” He met your tired little smile with a sort of grin of his own. “May I ask why you needed to see Spot? Has she done something wrong?”

You chuckled airily at the question. “No, she’s a good kitty.”

Data nodded, agreeing without hesitation, as the cat in question snuggled into a ball atop you and began purring contently.

In a softer, less comfortable tone than before, you murmured, “I needed the comfort.”

“Comfort?”

“Mhm. I’m…” A deep-rooted tree of shame ached in your chest at the thought of confessing your problems. You couldn’t help it, really. All your life since middle school, the biological issues - whether physical, mental, or emotional - you faced were heavily enforced as your problems. Even further, the most enforced rule of all was to never disclose them to men.

You would think, in the 24th century, these silly little laws of society would die.

When you did not respond after a moment (approximately 37 seconds), he understood that you may not wish to tell him. A prolonged silence in humans often reflected a sense of unease or discomfort, especially relating to conversation topics they were uncomfortable with. Your voice stopped him before he could retreat back to his computer.

The branch squeezing around your heart, pumping guilt through every channel of your body, won out over all.

“I’m going through some, uh, biological malfunctions.”

Data’s eyebrows raised, surprised by this new information. He kneeled down, positioning himself in a better position to speak with you face-to-face. “If you are feeling unwell, I suggest going to sickbay for an examination. Doctor Crusher is well-suited to a wide variety of biological issues. If you would prefer, I could ask her to visit you here.”

You nearly startled at the suggestion, speaking in a rush. “No, no, no, no. Really, Data, I’m okay. I just have to wait it out. I’ll be fine by the time you go back on shift, and then I’ll be out of your hair, promise.”

Confusion replaced his surprise. You seemed to panic at the subject of Doctor Crusher, yet you have shown no previous signs of anxiety relating to anything medical. Not to mention your strange phrase. “Lieutenant, you are not in my hair.” You found yourself relaxing once again as he rambled on about the logistics of being in his hair, a small smile finding your face once more. “A single hair is roughly 80,000 to 100,000 nanometers wide, while the average adult male is approximately 2 billion nanometers tall. To fit in my hair, you would need to shrink down to 25 times the size you are now. Alternatively, you would need to increase the size of a hair by 25 times in order to fit inside it at the height you currently stand.”

His sweet naivety reminded you of how you so easily fell into a friendship with the android. You could discuss niche topics in varying detail for hours on end and never get tired. He helped you feel like you belonged when you were just an ensign, fresh from the Academy and unsure in every step. Even now, without even trying, he grounded you and gently pushed away all of your anxieties.

Only once he was finished did you speak. “It’s an expression, Data. It just means that I won’t be in your space, or causing you any problems.”

His head tilted, cataloging the new phrase within an ever-growing list of human figures of speech. “Ah, I see. You are not ‘in my hair’, Lieutenant. If you would like, you are welcome to stay once I leave for Alpha shift. I do not mind.”

“I appreciate it.” You breathed in deeply, closing your eyes to revel in the dim light, surrounded by your best friend and his cat. The quiet sound of machinery beeping and Spot purring made it feel like home. This was not your room. “But I really should get back.”

“Would you like me to escort you to your quarters?”

You hummed, considering. “Maybe.” Data’s bed was unused, soft, and clean. It was much nicer than yours, which had a pronounced divot in the mattress after sleeping in it so long. But, you reminded yourself, you had barged into his room and made yourself comfortable in his bed, without any form of permission to be had. You were trespassing, despite Data’s all-too-welcoming attitude. Still… He was giving you a chance to stay for a bit longer. “I don’t want to take advantage of your hospitality,” you opened your eyes to study his pale face, “but I don’t really want to leave right now.”

“No advantage taken. I even find your presence quite…” he paused to ensure he had the right word, “enjoyable.”

You smiled gratefully at the android. Now, more at ease than ever, your eyes slid shut and you welcomed the exhaustion that tickled the back of your mind. You pulled the blankets slightly to tuck them snugly under your chin, and even curled the blanket around your feet, effectively trapping in the warm air and sealing out the colder air beyond your cocoon.

Data watched your actions with interest. He wasn’t exactly privy to how humans slept, nor did he find the topic as fascinating as sneezing or hiccuping. The act of sleeping itself, that it. Dreams were another topic entirely. Now, though, as he watched you curl into a fetal ball, nuzzling your nose into his pillow, he wondered why he had not been interested before. For a brief moment, you curled in tighter, holding your breath. A grimace twisted your features. And then you breathed out slowly, uncurling a little.

“Lieutenant,” he pried, continuing even when you did not look at him, “your actions suggest you are in some form of discomfort. If you tell me what your symptoms are, I can look up methods to ease them.”

The branch of guilt and shame coiled like a snack around your heart once more. It was illogical to be ashamed, especially when you were talking to Data who would never be offended by anything as natural as bodily functions. The years and years of having your femininity shamed only brought you anxiety and a vague feeling of nausea. He wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t be disgusted.

“I’m menstruating.” For such a small admission, you wanted to crawl within yourself and die surrounded by your shame. You kept your eyes firmly shut, pressing your face into the pillow, in hopes that, perhaps, this was all just a dream. “I’m just having really bad cramps right now.”

His head tilted, though you refused to open your eyes and see it. “Am I correct in thinking that you are uncomfortable with this topic?”

You huffed a strained laugh. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Menstruation is a natural occurrence among biologically female humans. I do not understand your discomfort.”

“It’s just… not really something humans are comfortable talking about, especially in mixed company.” Before he could ask your meaning, you added, “With males. Biological functions make people uncomfortable.”

His eyes lit up. “Fascinating.” He opened his mouth, ready to ask more questions about why, but stopped himself as you curled up tight once more. Right, he said he would help with your symptoms.

“There are a wide variety of methods said to reduce menstrual cramping. Methods include holding a heat compress to your lower abdomen, taking a hot bath, eating anti-inflammatory foods such as berries, tomatoes, pineapple, almonds, walnuts and salmon, or holistic treatments such as acupuncture or acupressure. Other methods such as exercise or abdominal massages are also said to relieve discomfort.”

You huffed out a frustrated breath, body curling in on itself as a second wave of pain ripped through your body. You curled in as tight as you possibly could, and yet the pain stayed. Your constant movement disturbed Spot, who finally had enough of laying on top of you, and jumped down. Data followed her movements as she found another, solitary, surface to sleep on.

As the wave ebbed away, it left behind aggravation and irritated tears that pricked at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t want food, you didn’t want to move, and you definitely didn’t want to get poked or prodded. You just wanted the pain to end. Spot had been acting as a sort of heated compress before, one that purred and had soft fur. Now, though, you had nothing to help.

Unless…

“Are you doing anything important right now?”

Data was confused by the odd question. It was entirely subjective. “I am kneeling here, talking to you. Is that not important?”

You may have been touched by the simple sweetness of his words, in the naivety he carried to find something as simple as talking to you important in the over-simplified, highly-literal way he saw the world, if you weren’t busy scrubbing the wetness from your eyes and gathering every ounce of dignity you had left. “Will you cuddle with me?”

“Inquiry: ‘cuddle’?”

“Just… lay with me and hold me?”

Data, confused but willing, nodded. As he got up from the floor, you scooted to make more room for him on the bed, while at the same time opening up your cocoon for him. In smooth, albeit unsure, motions, he joined you in the bed. Laying on his back, you threw the covers over him and helped to guide him in a rough lesson to cuddling. With no resistance, you were able to pick up his arm and wrap it around you as you settled down into the nook it created. He watched as you pressed yourself against his side and rested your cheek on his chest. You were close enough to hear the soft whirring of his inner mechanisms.

“Is this cuddling?”

Your cheek shifted against his uniform as you nodded. You appeared more at ease now. He… enjoyed seeing you like this.

“Yes, Data, this is cuddling.” After a brief moment of hesitation, you found his hand resting loosely behind you and guided it to rest over your waist. And as everything stilled, you were finally at peace.

[ninjigma]

QuinObi Week Part 5/5 - First / Previous

Day 5: AU Track: 'Walking The Wire' - Imagine Dragons (Spotify / YouTube)

"You know it would be much easier to save you if you didn't insist on breaking out yourself." "Was getting bored Obes, you know me." Obi-Wan sighed, blocking blaster bolts even as she failed to stop the small smile. Because she does know Quinlan, and he knows her. Always has and always will, no matter what may happen.

Yes this is a full, thought out AU. Nothing I have really written yet besides some QuinObi snippets and some little found family things, but none the less, it is the QuinObi story I have the most thoughts on hehe. Version without all the lights below the cut (this makes Quinlan's injuries more visible, as a heads up).

Enjoy!

@quinobiweek

[ghouljams]

y'all are indulging my omegaverse thoughts too much

[soup-scope]

huxley and damien are total girl dads

[unforth]

Actually, I really wish Tumblr as a whole was less comfortable using feminizing language for gay men, especially gay East Asian men.

[somepunaboutspace]

•Gods of death•

Cult of the lamb has me in a chokehold wanted to draw the funny little guys

Individual under the cut